The Clearest Sea

 

It's such a loaded, dangerous term: clairvoyance. The art of clear seeing, like water from the rock. Clarity in an opaque world. Many people don't want to believe it's even possible, especially in this numb, excoriated culture. It makes them nervous, I suppose. That certain souls might be able to perceive things through extra-sensory means. Things that some men would rather remain hidden. Because we live in a world of surfaces and secrets, don't we? A world in which the threshold between the sign and the thing signified is becoming increasingly bizarre. We’ve lost touch with the sensations of rain. The sounds and rhythms of the river. And the sea.

But there have always been empaths, intuitives and seers. Those immersed in the inner waters. They’ve been both cherished and hunted all throughout human history. Not only in Yarden's ebb, or the shores of HaGalil. But by the elect of Rome, Greece, and oldest Egypt. These adepts of the gnosis are still invaluable even today. To occult societies, illegal black projects, and private defence contractors alike. We often call them remote viewers now, among other things. Telepaths and telekenetics. Those who can move and manipulate the electromagnetic spectrum in the subtlest of ways. Particles and polarities. Shadows, or light. Because water is indeed our eye, as the siren sang. Most faithful mirror.

These days we craft modern legends around such visionaries. Sensationalised perspectives, often presenting them as heroes or demigods. But reality is far darker and stranger than our fictions will usually allow. Such souls are often haunted. Not just by khemet ghosts, but by both trauma and tragedy. It can be a lonely life, so I'm told. But also one of wonder and incomparable mystery. Water from the rock, as I said. Of Peter or Paul. Simon's bright shadow falling upon the sick, and making them whole. Dear ones, do not fear the Fallen. Their throne is an abomination – and a lie. There is so much they still don't understand. We are wonders. All of us. Children of river and rain, stillness and storm. I myself am only an angel, a father of the lowlands. But my daughter has three faces. She is fate, and the sea. The clearest sea. Just know that I mean every word of this, and that I bid you love and wisdom on this day, my shining solstice miracle.