Memories Of A Mortal Man
I am only a mortal man. I no longer see the things I did when I was young. The old has bent my bones, so I walk without youthful vigor. My feet are chained to this accursed earth, terra consecro. But once, I flew across the eastern sky, the sun reflecting off my face like light on a mirror, the wind bringing tears to my eyes, and for more than just the pain, for there is a thin line, like the edge of a knife, that we humans walk, between this fallow ground and the celestial spaces, caelestis habito. It cuts deep into the skin of our hearts, for it is a great pain to live as an earthbound creature, and we struggle to survive it's razor sharp insight. I rose high above the fertile plains, ager furtilis, below, and the terrible earth could not shake me. I was as a cherubim, who flies in the sight of The One Who Is The Same, and in my moment of glory I uncovered my eyes.
But to my great distress, I saw my glory as but a fool's, who, like Ichurus, believed for but a moment that my wings were more than mere wax. And I fell. Through the recesses of of the ground, deep into the centre of this earth, medius tumulus, where all who try to take flight as such shall indeed come to rest. But there is no rest in this place, for it is a place of despair, and my heart did not give a beat. It is so for all who wish to see heaven in such a way, that seemingly sincere longing to see the Great One, when in all reality the soul is reaching to be the Great One, and so defiles the one thing that kept it aloft, and tumbles down to what seems the final defeat for those with no hope. I waited in the dark, slowly becoming used to the unrest that stirred within me. My intellectual processes induced me to believe that it was the end that I had created for myself, and I knew that in all the equity of my fellow beings, I had given myself to my death. But for some unknown reason, my heart spoke to me of redemption, of healing my broken wings, and gave me want to believe my heart over my head. I stared into the stillness, hoping to see even a shadow, for that is all that can be seen when one is given over to the blindness of folly. But still, my blindness persisted, and my heart again fell, into the only illusion of peace it can conjure, sleep.
And with a sudden realization I awoke. Not to find peace, but to find the terror of knowing that even though I cannot see or hear or even speak, my senses told me I was not alone. And I awoke not only to that consternation, but to the seeing that I knew of these voices before I could sense them, and they were speaking to me with great rapidity and vitality, as if an unseen end were quickly approaching. I moved to touch them, but I felt but the cold of the ground, frigus terra. It spoke as if to comfort me to give me peace in a time of unrest, and I fell for it's wiles. It spun a web of self pity, speaking the blasphemy of perfection, even as the heart turns to ice. It is in this place, and to this crafty adversary that many a soul has lost a battle, because they were convinced not to fight, and were vanquished by their own fallacies. I would be among those corpses presently, if not for the whisper. It was only audible by a miracle, and if not for a small breeze passing by through the dark cavern, acerbus specus. I immediately perceived that the voices in my head grew louder and more defined. I heard them grow succinctly louder as the voice on the wind grew softer. But as the voices became more vociferous, the whisper grew smaller, and within this, a great paradox took place. For the whisper was as clear as love is, when it shows it self like the sun in midday. It muffled out the voices with such authority that, with a swift blow, it vanquished the angry racous with a great clash of thunder. With that final blow, I fell into a great sleep, and I knew no more.
It is said that when a mortal endures the cruel earth of life, he sees it as living awake, but when the cover of darkness overcomes his eyes, he awakes to a celestial place so bright, that he knows that all before could be naught but a dream. It is so with those who have fallen from heaven, and I can claim no difference over that lot. I too awoke, and slowly started to move. I did not give myself over to the uses of physical limbs, for they are of little use in such place. I moved my heart, and my mind, to what seemed to be a mental light, animus lux, calling my name. I realized I was dreaming. I ran across the luminescent softness, and as a ran, I came to the realization that I was too calling out a name, the name of the One Who Is The Same. I did not realize that I knew such a name, for it is for the angelic and divine to speak of such things, and even then in awesome reverence. But still I ran, with naught but a trace of reverence in my stride, for I understood that it was not I who was truly running, but I was being carried along by the irresistible pull of His love. I ran like a hind on high places, who gives not recognition to the steepness of the mountain, but only gives credence to the peak that calls it's name. I too gave into this urge, and as I did, I found to my amazement that it was not a dream I envisioned, but a reality so firm, so complete, that nothing could be in existence without it. I and with this realization, I saw Him. Not with the eyes that kill, not with the will to be greater, but with the eyes of the heart, so firmly fixed on Him. They had never strayed, for they were his own eyes, the eyes of love. Agape, diligo, amo. There is no space between the chasm of sin and the face of Love, for it bridges that gap so completely, so perfectly.
The being that was before me, in all its glory, was certainly many things, a burning bush to give the light of truth, a pillar of fire to give light to a nomad by day, a star in the east to light the way for the king in the night. But these things, in all their incomprehensibility, were made complete by a small shape, that sat before my eyes. The greatest one, before the first and after the last, greater than the greatest, and brighter than the morning star, stood before me in the shape of a lamb. It confused me at first, for my mind wandered back to thoughts of magnificence and splendor greater than my most wonderful dream. But then I saw that within the perfection of whiteness, there ran a small trickle of red. It was the blood, the blood I felt in the darkness. It was not I who had been the possessor of that liquid so potent, but this spotless lamb, pergo omis. It was not my pain that was suffered to death in that place, but this sacrifice, that gave itself so fully. I felt the unworthiness of imperfection rise up in me, and I slowly backed away. But suddenly, to halt me, a voice came. It was the same whisper, carried by a gentle breeze that warmed my face. It spoke to me in an air of kindness, so fully and ultimately compassionate. It spoke to me clearly and long, and I listened for an age to much that my heart had been aching to tell me. I learned of the past, of all that I was made of, the crafting of my soul in the most intimate place, and how I came to being. I listened to the epic of my downfall, through my forefathers, who passed on to me this curse so hateful. He spoke of the promise, and the foretelling of a light, that would pierce the darkness foro, acerbus. He spoke of all these things, and then there was a long silence.
And then with a sudden movement, the Lamb turned its back to me. I fell back in horror, as I saw the scars of generations fall, and the sting of the whip of the masses of people throughout the ages. I stood till I could not bear it, and fell upon my face. For I saw myself holding the whip, and I knew for the first time, the sadness of knowing the truth, veritas, rectus. It is not all glory and awakening to joy, but some to seeing the truth of ultimate sadness, taken upon the very one who they would see saved. I fell and shook, for there is no comfort except the tears of bitterness in such a time. I lay for a time in such a manner, when a sudden warmth overtook me. I look around to see that the Lamb was lying upon my side, as one who comforts in sadness. Even though I had not the heart to approach love, it came to me in all of its goodness. I did not push it away, but sat a time, thinking.
A roar awoke me from my sub consciousness, and I felt coldness again. I did not see the white of the Lamb, though I knew I was not alone. I feared to look up, for I remembered the voices in the cave, and fear crept over me. But some last vestige within me told me to look upon the approaching being, and I raised my eyes.
I stood but for a moment before I cowered in fear, for before me loomed a great beast, the king of all those of like kind, a lion. It came closer and closer, till I could feel it's breath upon my neck. I dared not move, for my life could slip away with but a trifle. A great voice addressed me, and told me to stand. I obeyed such a command, considering the great animal before me.
In a moment of terrified silence, I saw that something was expected of me. The voice spoke again, and I fell back from its power. It commanded an answer from me, one that I knew I could not give answer to. For I feared it wanted to devour my dark heart, so full of the flesh of evil, and the filth of sin, and I began to weep, deflio, lacrimo. I made ready for my end. But with a swift movement the great animal swept me up to my feet again, and this time, I felt not the fear I had encompassed within my heart, such a short time ago. I looked around to see who would have interceded for me, but there was no sight to my eye. I looked at the great eyes in front of me, and they understood my query. They looked down to where the Lamb had slept upon me. I saw for the first time, that my dark heart, so full of anger and hatred, now gave off a bright red hue. The blood of the Lamb, from it's wound, had filled the very thing that would have condemned me before the Great One. By His wounds, I was healed, and by His scars, was I made new. I felt a newness of life flow through me as the blood of the Lamb spread through my body, and gave myself over to it. I did not see completely what it was that happened, but in a quick movement, I was in the air, flying with the very cherubim and seraphim, angelus, phasma. It was the essence of that which gives the oil of gladness for a heart of sorrow, and I felt no fear or sadness. But with a surprise I looked down to find that it was not I that was flying, but the Lion. The great limbs of the beast seemed not to hinder it's seeming weightlessness, and with a swift rush, we went higher.
I am only a mortal being. I no longer see the things I did when I was young. The old has bent my bones, so I walk without youthful vigor. My feet are chained to this accursed earth, terra consecro. But once, I flew across the eastern sky, the sun reflecting off my face like light on a mirror, the wind bringing tears to my eyes, and for more than just the pain, for there is a thin line, like the edge of a knife, that we humans walk between this fallow ground and the celestial spaces, caelestis habito. And in this line I have flown, with that which cannot be broken or defeated. With this time I have flown beyond eternity to the gates of heaven, and there again, with the wings of Love itself, I will fly into the everlasting arms that shall sustain me forever and ever. Amen.
Copyright © 2004 by Joel Clarkson. Reproduction is forbidden without permission of the author.
But to my great distress, I saw my glory as but a fool's, who, like Ichurus, believed for but a moment that my wings were more than mere wax. And I fell. Through the recesses of of the ground, deep into the centre of this earth, medius tumulus, where all who try to take flight as such shall indeed come to rest. But there is no rest in this place, for it is a place of despair, and my heart did not give a beat. It is so for all who wish to see heaven in such a way, that seemingly sincere longing to see the Great One, when in all reality the soul is reaching to be the Great One, and so defiles the one thing that kept it aloft, and tumbles down to what seems the final defeat for those with no hope. I waited in the dark, slowly becoming used to the unrest that stirred within me. My intellectual processes induced me to believe that it was the end that I had created for myself, and I knew that in all the equity of my fellow beings, I had given myself to my death. But for some unknown reason, my heart spoke to me of redemption, of healing my broken wings, and gave me want to believe my heart over my head. I stared into the stillness, hoping to see even a shadow, for that is all that can be seen when one is given over to the blindness of folly. But still, my blindness persisted, and my heart again fell, into the only illusion of peace it can conjure, sleep.
And with a sudden realization I awoke. Not to find peace, but to find the terror of knowing that even though I cannot see or hear or even speak, my senses told me I was not alone. And I awoke not only to that consternation, but to the seeing that I knew of these voices before I could sense them, and they were speaking to me with great rapidity and vitality, as if an unseen end were quickly approaching. I moved to touch them, but I felt but the cold of the ground, frigus terra. It spoke as if to comfort me to give me peace in a time of unrest, and I fell for it's wiles. It spun a web of self pity, speaking the blasphemy of perfection, even as the heart turns to ice. It is in this place, and to this crafty adversary that many a soul has lost a battle, because they were convinced not to fight, and were vanquished by their own fallacies. I would be among those corpses presently, if not for the whisper. It was only audible by a miracle, and if not for a small breeze passing by through the dark cavern, acerbus specus. I immediately perceived that the voices in my head grew louder and more defined. I heard them grow succinctly louder as the voice on the wind grew softer. But as the voices became more vociferous, the whisper grew smaller, and within this, a great paradox took place. For the whisper was as clear as love is, when it shows it self like the sun in midday. It muffled out the voices with such authority that, with a swift blow, it vanquished the angry racous with a great clash of thunder. With that final blow, I fell into a great sleep, and I knew no more.
It is said that when a mortal endures the cruel earth of life, he sees it as living awake, but when the cover of darkness overcomes his eyes, he awakes to a celestial place so bright, that he knows that all before could be naught but a dream. It is so with those who have fallen from heaven, and I can claim no difference over that lot. I too awoke, and slowly started to move. I did not give myself over to the uses of physical limbs, for they are of little use in such place. I moved my heart, and my mind, to what seemed to be a mental light, animus lux, calling my name. I realized I was dreaming. I ran across the luminescent softness, and as a ran, I came to the realization that I was too calling out a name, the name of the One Who Is The Same. I did not realize that I knew such a name, for it is for the angelic and divine to speak of such things, and even then in awesome reverence. But still I ran, with naught but a trace of reverence in my stride, for I understood that it was not I who was truly running, but I was being carried along by the irresistible pull of His love. I ran like a hind on high places, who gives not recognition to the steepness of the mountain, but only gives credence to the peak that calls it's name. I too gave into this urge, and as I did, I found to my amazement that it was not a dream I envisioned, but a reality so firm, so complete, that nothing could be in existence without it. I and with this realization, I saw Him. Not with the eyes that kill, not with the will to be greater, but with the eyes of the heart, so firmly fixed on Him. They had never strayed, for they were his own eyes, the eyes of love. Agape, diligo, amo. There is no space between the chasm of sin and the face of Love, for it bridges that gap so completely, so perfectly.
The being that was before me, in all its glory, was certainly many things, a burning bush to give the light of truth, a pillar of fire to give light to a nomad by day, a star in the east to light the way for the king in the night. But these things, in all their incomprehensibility, were made complete by a small shape, that sat before my eyes. The greatest one, before the first and after the last, greater than the greatest, and brighter than the morning star, stood before me in the shape of a lamb. It confused me at first, for my mind wandered back to thoughts of magnificence and splendor greater than my most wonderful dream. But then I saw that within the perfection of whiteness, there ran a small trickle of red. It was the blood, the blood I felt in the darkness. It was not I who had been the possessor of that liquid so potent, but this spotless lamb, pergo omis. It was not my pain that was suffered to death in that place, but this sacrifice, that gave itself so fully. I felt the unworthiness of imperfection rise up in me, and I slowly backed away. But suddenly, to halt me, a voice came. It was the same whisper, carried by a gentle breeze that warmed my face. It spoke to me in an air of kindness, so fully and ultimately compassionate. It spoke to me clearly and long, and I listened for an age to much that my heart had been aching to tell me. I learned of the past, of all that I was made of, the crafting of my soul in the most intimate place, and how I came to being. I listened to the epic of my downfall, through my forefathers, who passed on to me this curse so hateful. He spoke of the promise, and the foretelling of a light, that would pierce the darkness foro, acerbus. He spoke of all these things, and then there was a long silence.
And then with a sudden movement, the Lamb turned its back to me. I fell back in horror, as I saw the scars of generations fall, and the sting of the whip of the masses of people throughout the ages. I stood till I could not bear it, and fell upon my face. For I saw myself holding the whip, and I knew for the first time, the sadness of knowing the truth, veritas, rectus. It is not all glory and awakening to joy, but some to seeing the truth of ultimate sadness, taken upon the very one who they would see saved. I fell and shook, for there is no comfort except the tears of bitterness in such a time. I lay for a time in such a manner, when a sudden warmth overtook me. I look around to see that the Lamb was lying upon my side, as one who comforts in sadness. Even though I had not the heart to approach love, it came to me in all of its goodness. I did not push it away, but sat a time, thinking.
A roar awoke me from my sub consciousness, and I felt coldness again. I did not see the white of the Lamb, though I knew I was not alone. I feared to look up, for I remembered the voices in the cave, and fear crept over me. But some last vestige within me told me to look upon the approaching being, and I raised my eyes.
I stood but for a moment before I cowered in fear, for before me loomed a great beast, the king of all those of like kind, a lion. It came closer and closer, till I could feel it's breath upon my neck. I dared not move, for my life could slip away with but a trifle. A great voice addressed me, and told me to stand. I obeyed such a command, considering the great animal before me.
In a moment of terrified silence, I saw that something was expected of me. The voice spoke again, and I fell back from its power. It commanded an answer from me, one that I knew I could not give answer to. For I feared it wanted to devour my dark heart, so full of the flesh of evil, and the filth of sin, and I began to weep, deflio, lacrimo. I made ready for my end. But with a swift movement the great animal swept me up to my feet again, and this time, I felt not the fear I had encompassed within my heart, such a short time ago. I looked around to see who would have interceded for me, but there was no sight to my eye. I looked at the great eyes in front of me, and they understood my query. They looked down to where the Lamb had slept upon me. I saw for the first time, that my dark heart, so full of anger and hatred, now gave off a bright red hue. The blood of the Lamb, from it's wound, had filled the very thing that would have condemned me before the Great One. By His wounds, I was healed, and by His scars, was I made new. I felt a newness of life flow through me as the blood of the Lamb spread through my body, and gave myself over to it. I did not see completely what it was that happened, but in a quick movement, I was in the air, flying with the very cherubim and seraphim, angelus, phasma. It was the essence of that which gives the oil of gladness for a heart of sorrow, and I felt no fear or sadness. But with a surprise I looked down to find that it was not I that was flying, but the Lion. The great limbs of the beast seemed not to hinder it's seeming weightlessness, and with a swift rush, we went higher.
I am only a mortal being. I no longer see the things I did when I was young. The old has bent my bones, so I walk without youthful vigor. My feet are chained to this accursed earth, terra consecro. But once, I flew across the eastern sky, the sun reflecting off my face like light on a mirror, the wind bringing tears to my eyes, and for more than just the pain, for there is a thin line, like the edge of a knife, that we humans walk between this fallow ground and the celestial spaces, caelestis habito. And in this line I have flown, with that which cannot be broken or defeated. With this time I have flown beyond eternity to the gates of heaven, and there again, with the wings of Love itself, I will fly into the everlasting arms that shall sustain me forever and ever. Amen.
Copyright © 2004 by Joel Clarkson. Reproduction is forbidden without permission of the author.
Contact Joel Clarkson at: jicmusicguy@hotmail.com
posted by Eucharisto | 11:01 PM
3 Comments:
I don't remember the occasion, but I know it was one of those rare times that inspiration was ripe, and I just started writing. I think the draft took me about an hour and a half to finish. When I write, I generally don't stop until I've got a complete draft, because I don't like to leave any artistic work unfinished.
Anyway, I've been editing it for the past couple months (mostly looking up latin phrases and words), and finally decided to finish it up and post it. Hope you enjoyed it!
That was powerful and beautiful.
These thoughts that we experience are clear in our own minds, but to combine them so that they can be understood and loved by the reader is a difficult task. Very well done, and very inspiring. When I read your words it makes me want to write again.
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