2009-05-24T17:49:00.000-07:00

Prologue

It was primarily a war of plunder.

By that I mean that its aims and purpose were so small, almost infinitesimal, that I can hardly dignify it with goal or motive. It was primarily a destructive impulse, though thru

the eyes of it’s purveyors, like any war, there was no doubt some prize or glory to be achieved. But all that had grown and prospered in that dark time ran lawless and without constraint. So small was the intelligence that it could hardly sustain a flicker. So great was the ignorance that it imagined itself not only solitary and alone, but in a way supreme, in that there was no Other; and although sustained and even nourished - verily embedded in a sea of birth, growth and renewal - it regarded even this as a kind of unexplained darkness.

So it was for this fruit that had lain out but for all the instant of one afternoon for ripening possessing not yet even the rudiments of true memory, it could only see the storied heavens thru the eyes of absolute abandonment, lost as a ship upon the vast sea.

But shortly these tendrils will awake from their short dream, and find they dream no longer, nor were they ever “unto themselves”. Such foolish thought is at its end. That what has been sleeping will now awaken and the foundations will tremble, and every where fear and trouble will have its day.

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Anteaus

Aletho

My days are long and I suffer from lack of exercise and movement, and of course freedom. I sit and face only the hope of a benevolent death, and fear the coming of old age as one must fear the tower. Yet in this work, writing to you, I do find some succor - and by its means also extension - and sometimes even flight.

I know the perplexity you must feel having fell so headlong into the great ignorance of battle; how almost all your experience has been taken away, so that at times you no longer even suffer the loss of your former self. Indeed that aspect to me is the most troubling and it is why I come to you now, to renew our dialogue, to revisit all the magic of our past.

Icarius:

I call to you even as you slope away

across the boundless hills

and disappear from sight.

Every moment struggles and perishes:

all living goes astray

like the dead into dreams and memory.

Into the bleak country of each day

a new crossing

where the flying banners of opposing armies

gather amidst ruin and hope

waiting for some whispering dream,

I loathe to awake.

I see a torch ahead of forthright Power,

of welded iron armor

its shield before you on its door

Your mind will feed upon its body

and bathe your eyes with wonder,

your lips will drink the wine of its amazement.

Everywhere its oceanic presence

will sweep over your substance like a tide

and unleash your feet.

You will be swept out to sea

But it will breathe for you.

There will no longer be stores of food for you.

On this journey everyday will lead to unknown shelter

and each night lay beneath a new unmapped sky.

There is no route, just boundaries you must cross

boundaries of Earth, boundaries of Air, Fire and Water.

Your heart will grow silent as your eyes encompass more and more.

It will be the end of sleep and the beginning of everlasting vigil.

There will be nothing but merit and de-merit.

You will struggle and grow tired.

There will be no house along the roadside.

You will cease to measure even happiness as onward you go

into the hypnosis of sight and song,

You will discover an enduring mystery:

behind the outer is the inner,

behind you, another You

behind body, another Body,

behind sense and sight, another sense and sight

behind the flowing show of unity the commerce of the invisible.

Thomas P. Wise