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Chapter 21

 Wistful Wind Whining

Then winter came upon us. Grand snowflakes fell in heavy lightness onto the world, each one so perfect in its intricacy, so unique in its self-similar reflection of the greater unity out of which it came, and to which it should return in time. The whole world was covered under what could've been – used to be – a stunningly beautiful mantle, a fluffy, almost velvety blanket woven in gentle white with light silvery ornamentations glimmering brightly every here and there. But it wasn't beautiful this year. And the dampness it should've caused – used to cause – that softness of sounds so soothing to the soul, it wasn't there. 
          Indeed there were something missing this year, something fundamental. At first I couldn't put my finger on it, but then it came clear to me as sudden as a flash lightens up a dense low-looming darkness: the snow had lost its illuminating spirit. The snowflakes didn't glitter and gleam in elated joy as they used to do when the smiling sun plummeted upon them. Nor did they dance in delight and happy communion as they merrily shivered themselves visible by the cold of night. It was strange, I thought, as magnificent and utterly complete as the snowflakes were in their shape and structure there wasn't anything captivating or enchanting to them this year. The spirit was gone. It was like had the fierce wind of fall, through its long, incessant callousness blown away the mystic marvel winter used to hold as a promise within; as had it cast it out along with the pained leaves it'd hurled away in its furious despair before leaving them to turn grey and wither helplessly on the barren ground.
          There just wasn't anything beautiful or forgiving about winter this year. Although it appeared as if the dainty snowflakes tried their very best to gently cover the dead and dying leaves in forbearing white, it was as stood they no chance to match up against the pain and suffer once felt by the leaves, the despair with which they now met. It appeared to me as was the leaves' intrinsic anguish and lugubriousness so strong it colored off onto every single little snowflake the very instant it touched upon them, making it tremble in horror and insufferable distress, hence leaving them no choice but to lose their joyful lustre and turn a hazily shade of grey. That seemed to be the only possible outcome of an encounter with the left behind traces of such a menacing faith. "Yes, that's it", I thought, "the snowflakes are falling onto a different Earth, and so naturally their qualities changes in perfect accordance with what they meet." And what they met this year was a wasteland of tortured spirits; a burial ground for brittle, fragile hopes once held by the innocent and vulnerable.
          Magic was gone from the world. In the void it'd left behind a relentless, inexorable sound-wave vibrated deteriorating tones of emptiness and hopelessness. An unbearable oscillation of desolate, defenceless seclusion. The fall tempest was also gone by now but its roaring echo lingered on, ever so vaguely yet so indisputably there, somewhere, in the far away distance. Soaring menacingly in dark discern I felt it like an audible undercurrent at low noon.
          The maddening sound-wave of the void and the roaring, screeching echo of the fall tempest surged into one another. Listening to them I got the feeling that the two horrific sound-currents needed each other, like, could none of them bare the loneliness of its own secluded being and so they desperately searched some kind of self-reflection. When they met they found a shady trace of the kind, giving rise to a warped sort of comfort. In the sensation they strengthen one another in a world nakedly exposed to insufferable estrangement.
          I wondered about it, wondered about it all. Especially I wondered if the fall tempest had went away for just a short while, just to catch its breath only to return upon me with renewed strength from its gathering with emptiness. Or, was it, perhaps, slowly but truly withdrawing from me? The mere thought made my heart beat faster. Would I one day, maybe not too far from now, wake up and notice a strange silence in the air, awake to a feeling of peculiar and astounding calm surrounding me? Perhaps it would be like an underwater sensation? Glittering sunbeams illumined a wondrously warm and exquisitely beautiful underwater-world. Calm azure green-blue water so soft and zestful to the touch, interlaced in sunlit gold with shimmering thin intense-blue swaths as an occasional sunbeam playfully struck an unexpected silver-clinging chord in the great anthem. In the water a spectrum of light-green and yellow-shaded seaweeds and strong rainbow-colored flowers slowly floated about in harmony with the dampen, peaceful underwater motions.
          When my mind touched upon this vision I could see myself being there. I saw how I, bewildered at first by suddenly finding myself in such a tender, gorgeous realm, pondered upon the matter. I saw how I pensively reconnoitred the landscape of my mind to figure out what had happened, how I tried to wrap my mind around the sudden emergence of such blissful gentleness, tranquillity and awesome colors. I smiled to myself as I watched this scene playing out in my inner eye.
          Maybe, hopefully, I would stay ponderous for merely the briefest of moments and then, oh then! – then my heart would recognize it and realize the delightfully mind-blowing truth: that not only was the fall tempest gone for ever and for real, but also, with its infuriated gale it'd blown away all of the awful debris that like a malign cloud had shadowed and greyed the Light of life since times of yore. It was gone! It'd been vaporised from the face of the earth from one second to another, and the place of soul-suffocating dread and cold, calamitous desolation had turned into a realm of pacific peace and ravishing, loving colors; a soul-soothing tranquillity never heard, felt or experienced before was now everywhere to be found.
          Yes my friend, I could see this so clearly in my mind's eye, or, I believe the vision actually took place in my heart's eye. There I could sense how it would look like, be like, feel like … Even though the roaring echo of the ghastly fall tempest was still so threateningly close and hence, with its far-fetching tentacles – translusive limbs forged in the tainted heart of Hell itself – still held me in its icy-cold stranglehold. And even with the terror sound-wave of the void resounding throughout eternity, inexorably casting its havocked shadow on the world, overriding it with depression. Yes, sister, even so I could see this vision as lucid as were it already here. I could sense it to the fullest.
          And what's more, in that place deep within me where my heart has its home – that place beyond all and everything where God speaks to me – there I felt that the breathtakingly wonderful realm I'd seen was more than just a vision. It was a premonition of the path laying ahead of me. And yet … oh dear God, yet, I doubted … I just couldn't bring myself to dare trust in it, to believe in what I saw. Not anymore. I was so immensely fragile by now, you see, so weakened, worn out and broken down by having been in the midst of the horrendous fall tempest, its ruthless, furious torment, for so long. It was as had I lost faith in hope itself.

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When I came the world was dark. Oh yes my friend, truly so: I turned up in a reality spun out of traces sticky with ancient terror, despair and anguish; an existence blinded by poisonous yarns tangled so tight to each other that by now everything got sucked up in its fretful dark. Everything, save the intrinsic black light of denial and annihilation. But you know, it was like that dreadful darkness was so dense and so overwhelming it lost hold of itself and so, in the very midst of all its scary black, a void was created. A void, a mysterious little gap moulded furtively and ever so gently in what appeared to be a compact and impenetrable harshness. Like had a loving wormhole opened up in the gruesome fabric of the pitch black space-time-continuum.
          From within this strange little gap I heard soft yet vastly powerful notes giving rise to the most beautiful Requiem. It was like the preciously dainty tones lightly and serene danced forth in a loving togetherness from within the very ether of this gap. I remember thinking that maybe the gentle void was itself created through the beauty and ubiquitously moving dainty tones of this death mass. In any case the notes, coming together as tunes constituting a breathtakingly awesome anthem, guided me right, and so I found her.
          I found her all alone in that toxic web. She was its slave; an enamoured prisoner stuck in a horrendous creation. It didn't matter which way she turned, it was all the same: Hope was gone and the pressure of the thick annihilating dark was everywhere around, severing her inside out. Burning every re-focus.

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The darkness is so very huge, tiny, tiny Trossle.
A hymn in E Minor sang in fugue, tiny tiny Trossle.
An ocean wide it brings you down, its gruesome core is homeward bound.
So let go, give up the fight, and love will be your guiding might
tiny tiny Trossle.

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