Two disembodied spirits drift down the gritty hallway
In Life they may have sported names
but for the moment let’s refer to them as Morecambe and Wise
Morecambe asks, “What is that noise?
It’s him . . . what is he doing?
Wise says, “Praying.”
Morecambe scratches an itch ages old
“What’s he praying for?”
Wise says. “Who knows?
This one. . . yeah he’s the one.
You know he never was one for kneeling and wailing and such.
Often talked about how God refuses to be manipulated by prayers.
He sees praying not so much as a question of cause and effect
but more as a reflex of action and reaction.”
They hover amidst the bedlam
Morecambe syas, “You know it sounds like he’s in a lot of pain.”
Wise turns to leave
Says over his shoulder, “Well if that’s the case
then it must be a resurrection prayer.
Those are the most painful.”
It was sunset and
I had just noticed that the trees were swaying
but I couldn’t feel any wind through the car
Suddenly the road just wasn’t there
I fought to lock the antilock brakes
Coming to rest inches from the Abyss
I mean inches
I got out of the car
There was no bridge
no sign that there had ever been one
It looked like miles to the bottom
The pavement just ended
and I turned from the ledge
because the wind was roaring in the trees
When I turned back
the front of the car was over the edge
I grabbed the back bumper
Like I could have done anything
Inch by inch
the Beamer crept over the brink
Taking me with it
“Let it go.”
There was this little voice in my ear
just loud enough in the howling
“You must let it go.”
“I need it.”
“You don’t need to die.”
And suddenly it was gone
It fell forever
in slow motion
Exploded on impact
just like in the movies
Something grabbed at my coat
A gnarled tree limb had somehow snagged my sleeve
Another had the back
The thrashing trees had been no where near the road
when I stopped
They ripped off my coat
And then they stopped
just like that
Here I am on top of a mountain
On a road into the biggest freakin chasm
since the quake
Yet somehow it didn’t really matter
the moon will be up soon.”
I looked down and there was this spider
Now I have never been one of those guys
who hates spiders
In fact I kinda like em
But this one had just spoken to me
“What’s the moon got to do with it?”
And so we waited
It was like the sky was full of stars
and there were millions of tiny
The dew gathered on the grass
but I was not chilled
“Am I dead?” I asked
“Oh, hardly that.
You are alive, perhaps for the first time.”
And I noticed in the gathering moon light
gossamer threads spanning the abyss
Glimmering in the pale light
“Can I cross now?”
“I think so.”
I started to grab my coat
and the trees went wild again
“Let it go.” came the whisper
I put my bare foot on the cable
It wasn’t the least bit sticky
“You’re not gonna eat me are you?”
The spider made this hiss clicking sound
that could have been laughter
“You’re not my type.”
“Don’t be. Let it go.”
Now I’ve never been one for balancing acts
But on that night
I was magnificent
The Magician has not left the beach, except to hunt for food. He stands and watches as the tide rises and ebbs. He waits in fear and grief. There are no echoes in the dark chambers of his heart.
There! In the shallows.
She fights for the surface. She fights to clear her lungs.
She bursts into the light, coughing and spitting.
He drags her to the beach. His tears baptize her.
She opens her eyes to a blue-sky world and in his chest, she hears . . .warmth.
Silence . . .Silence . . .Silence . . .Eternity.
Silence . . .In a silent place, in a dark place, Silence . . .Eternity.
Silence . . .Silence . . .Silence . . .Eternity.
Silence . . . In a distant place and within the silence . . .Something . . .Something . . .
Something breaks the Perfect Symmetry creating a place where something is, and another where something is not.
Resonant chords crash and build within this place somewhere beneath the Sea. Currents and kelp throb in sympathetic cadence, interweaving with long silk rags of silt.
Within the sound, a self is born, a unique self, Stripped of all identity empty of all the things we mistake for self. Devoid of all thought yet a unique and sustaining self.
And it hungers . . .hungers for Being.
Silt and seaweed snakes writhe within the mixture twisting back on themselves knotting into arms. Twisting into hands, into fingers. Fingers that feel.
The world feels so smooth and cool, and slick.
Abiding within the Law, a newly aware self quivers.
Clear fluids congeal, calcifying into a lens, now this . . . she sees.
Dreams ossify. Fragile, brittle, frail structures seem to self assemble. Building layer upon layer.
“I want . . .I want . . .I want to breathe.”
There is a Universal Wisdom written in every element of the Universe. For the purpose of this discussion let us adopt the term Lorois as a name for this Wisdom, with the understanding that this Wisdom has, is and will be called by any number of other names.
It is the Anthropic aspect of Lorois that is an expression of the Laws of Ten Dimensional Space/Time and Quantum Chromodynamics, for, the most incomprehensible attribute of the Universe is that the Universe is comprehensible. Within the Law is the description of the processes that creates opposites, opposites that mutually annihilate when they touch and within the same Law the Balance that holds them so, that they do not.
It is only in the holding of this Balance that this Universe continues. The protons in the nucleus of all atoms long to escape one another because of electrostatic repulsion. Yet the Strong nuclear force holds them in place and even when the electrons are in their zero energy state. They do not fall into the Protons despite their electrostatic predisposition to do so.
This Law of Balance dictates that for every Angel that is created, a Demon must be dealt with and both of these shall occur in every Human. And while one might think that they would mutually annihilate, sometimes they don’t.
The Pretender is falling to the depths. In her mind she is saying, “It’s never like this in the stories.
I am descending into the Depths, screaming in the Darkness.
At the threshold of this Nightmare I meet the Dragon big as the World, a thing of Darkness and Myth, a coiling of smoke and a river of razor, thousands of razor teeth, a Hunger that has eaten up all the World. A hunger that has eaten even itself until only the mouth and the Hunger remain.
I am here above the abyss. I run, but run as a woman run in dreams. It’s coming up behind me and I turn. I raise my weapons, and am cut to bits.
I am falling into the abyss, dissipating cloud of dissociated bits.
The Dragon was fragmented in the process of the struggle and the bits also fall, intermingling with bits of me.
The bits are sad they have lost control and can never be re-assembled.
The bits are settling in total darkness, there are no longer boundaries between self and other, the bits of dragon intermingling with the bits of what used to be me.
The roots of green things from the World of Light are burrowing down into this dark place rich with the debris of what used to be me. Root tips that touch the parts of what were formerly me, die.
I cannot nourish them.
There are worms burrowing through the muck lining the bottom of the abyss and when the worms eat the bits of me, they choke and die. The worms decompose and become muck and rot. The currents of the waters stir the muck, stir with torrential song . And where the songs touch the muck that used to be me, they die.
I am death incarnate and there should be great peace in this silence . . .”