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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 own intricacy, so unique
in its self-similar reflection of the greater
unity out of which it came, and to whence it should
once 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. 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 against 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,
"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 they 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.
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When I came
again 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 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.
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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 inversely bound.
So just let go, give up the fight, and Love
will bring your Guiding Light
tiny tiny Trossle.
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