Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Thing



I am in the dreaming. There is a beast here. It is as an ogre or troll. It is as the Grendel. Only in deep and final sleep can it be found. Only in the sleep within sleep can it be seen. It is to this sleep I sink, within the dark of the Dreaming.

It follows me. It chases me. I sense it but I cannot see it. I see its shadow but I cannot know its why, not until I sleep that deep and final sleep. I run throughout the dreaming, I race against the powerlessness of my dreams, throughout white icy caverns, throughout blackened, charred pits until I sink deep within the dark of slumber.

I see its face. It is hideous. Grotesque. I hear its name, but the conscious cannot conceive the sepulchral utterance of its curse. I smell the sharp sulfur of its existence within the deep and dark of me and taste my recurring fears. I feel its movements within the dreaming, beneath the unconscious, before my eyes flutter and I simply awake into a room as bright as day compared to the darkness of the where and thing I’ve just left behind .... if only for tonight.

The Fire Coral Narwhal and the Old Defeated God



I am walking on the shore of the sea with my loves. We are happy for the waters of the skies are blue, and we have each other and life is good.

Suddenly I sense a grave and dreadful danger behind us. The others are given to keeping the pace laid-back and leisurely, but regardless I rush and hurry them inland with haste, seconds before we glance behind us to see the fire-coral red hull of a giant narwhal bearing down upon us, borne with great speed on the waves of malice and killing intent. The eyes, sharp as teeth and shining like the morning star, emanate hate like the roots of all evil.

We make it inland, to the houses on stilts, and there I bear witness to the beginning of the end. Ensconced in the precarious safety of those stilted houses, I watch as an old god, gray as a fisherman, shoot tarot cards with runic quivers from an invisible bow out to sea. With each tarow he strikes the red beast, provoking its fury and unleashing its ire upon the hapless human souls too long and slow upon the sea's shore. As he controls its anger so too does he control the very fate and fabric of the human lives within its reach and realm.

I shoot a runic arrow from my own invisible bow, but without a card I have no real connection to or dominion over his divinity. Realising my awareness, he morphs from god to man, in which form I cannot see or touch his divinity. He is now Bryan of the Advocate, and as he tells to me in a voice wise with deception and duplicity, “You know, you can make a fortune with just the laces of your shoes”, from the Dreaming I thus depart.