~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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 own intricacy, so unique in its self-similar reflection of the greater unity out of which it came, and to whence it should soon return. Together the exquisite snowflakes covered the whole world with what could've been what 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. Only, it wasn't like that this year. And the muffling of noises it should've caused used to cause that softness of sounds so soothing to the soul, it just wasn't there this winter. 
          Indeed there were something missing this time around, something fundamental. At first I couldn't put my finger on what it could be, but then, when at last it came clear to me it hit me as sudden as a flash lightens up a 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 frosty visible by the cold of night. It was strange, I thought, as magnificent and comely as each and every snowflake were in its singular shape and structure, there wasn't anything captivating or enchanting about them this year. And it was all due to this lack of that core element which goes beyond the mere superficies, and above it all, the spirit element, what might just be the light of life.
          It was like had the fierce gale of fall, through its long, incessant callousness, blustered 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 ferocity and 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 to the pain and suffer once felt by the leaves, a despair with which they now met. It appeared to me as was the leaves' intrinsic anguish and lugubriousness so strong it coloured 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. It seemed to me now this was the only possible outcome of an encounter with the left-behind traces of such a menacing faith. "Yes, that's it", I thought to myself, "the snowflakes are falling onto a different Earth, and so naturally their qualities changes in perfect accordance with the difference with which 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 hollow emptiness and despair. 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.
          From my position I could hear the maddening sound-wave of the void and the roaring, screeching echo of the fall tempest surging 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 the two met they found a shady trace of the kind, giving rise to a warped kind of comfort. In this sensation they strengthen one another in a hollow world nakedly exposed to the abhorrent condition of estrangement.
          I wondered about it, wondered about it all. Especially I
wondered if the fall tempest had went away for just a short while, you know, 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 noiselessness in the air, a sound and sense of silence never experienced before, awake to a feeling of peculiar and astounding calm surrounding me? Perhaps it would be like an underwater sensation? With glittering sunbeams illumining a wondrously warm and exquisitely beautiful underwater-world. Calm green-blue water going in an azure nuance, 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. Within the water a spectrum of light-green and yellow-shaded seaweeds, together with strong rainbow-coloured 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, began pondering upon the matter of my being there. I saw how I pensively reconnoitred the landscape of my mind to figure out what had happened, from where the sudden emergence of such blissful gentleness, tranquillity and awesome colours could've come. 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 vanquished from the face of the earth from one second to another, and the place of soul-suffocating dread, cold, calamitous desolation had turned into a realm of pacific peace and ravishing, loving colours. 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 the eye of my mind, 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 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. Yes, even with the terror sound-waves of the void and tempest overpowering me, echos resounding all throughout eternity, casting havocked shadows onto the whole 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, there I felt that the breathtakingly wonderful realm I'd seen was more than just a vision. It was a premonition of a path laying ahead of me. And yet oh gruesome yet ... yet I doubted I just couldn't bring myself to dare trust in it, to believe in the possibility of what I saw. Not anymore. I was so immensely fragile by now, you see, so weakened, belittled, worn out and broken down by having been in the midst of the horrendous fall gale, its ruthless, furious torment, for so long. It was as had I lost faith in hope itself.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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 fearsome core. Everything, save the intrinsic shady light of denial and annihilation. But you know, it was as if that dreadful darkness was so dense and so overwhelming it lost hold of itself and so, in the very midst of it all, 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. Yes, like had a loving wormhole opened up in this gruesome fabric.
          From within this strange little gap I heard soft yet vastly powerful notes giving rise to the most beautiful Requiem. Singular as it may seem it was like these preciously dainty tones, so lightly and serene, in the most loving togetherness danced forth this gap, yes, like was it created through the beauty and ubiquitously moving song they made, coming together. In any case, the notes, aligning themselves in tunes constituting an absolutely magnificent 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: The thick pressure of annihilation was everywhere around, severing her inside out. Burning every re-focus.

♫   ♪   ♫   ♫   ♪   ♫   ♫   ♪   ♫   ♫   ♪   ♫   ♫   ♪   ♫   ♫   ♪   ♫

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 inversely bound.
So just let go, give up the fight, and Love will bring your Guiding Light
tiny tiny Trossle.

♫   ♫   ♪   ♫   ♫   ♪   ♫   ♫   ♪   ♫   ♫   ♪   ♫   ♫   ♪



Author: Dark Dread

Takemehome Book Cover, Foreword and Table of Content Chapter 20
Chapter 22

T h e  I s l a n d  o f  M a n s t a r i a
Site  Navigator: