Reflection of a Dark Age
One night in ceremony my soul became eclipsed in confrontation with a sentient vessel that soundlessly rumbled past, obscuring even the faintest glimmer of light--an embodied dark age, a devoid-of-lightship whose trajectory left a trail of atrophy in its wake. On this archon's belly a swastika was iconically depicted. Dragging along the visionary sky of mind like a magnet it attracted the heavy metal of genetic trauma to the surface, as this was clearly the same dark magnet that had passed over humanity seven decades ago, striving to systematically wipe the earth's hard drive clean of the genetic data of my people. It appears as though this thing swims around eternity like a shark, surfacing in time once and again to feed. The notion of brighter days seemed a distant dream in the face of this powerful deletist and erasist force. Bearing witness to its stark thunderous waltz, as it mercilessly trampled on sacred ground, I understood how in the eyes of my ancestors--those who lived or didn't live through the holocaust--Faith in a benevolent creator seemed little more than a fantasy, unsustainable in the face of such thoughtless monstrous brutality.
Eventually after a long period of helpless, hopeless grieving and praying, long after the vessel's passing--its memory still haunting me--a small legion of consolatory, healing spirits began to appear in my peripheral vision. Gossamer transparent flickerings, subtle jellyfish-like membranes, pulsing phosphorescents--like the lively dandelion puffs from Avatar's tree of life, luminous as the submarine aliens from The Abyss. Like little snowflakes they dwindled down ever so gently. Some of them melted as they traversed the impenetrable darkness of my persistent sorrow, their light dying out before reaching me. The gods, as I'd call these forces of good, seemed so much smaller than the impressive forces of darkness and oppression that called their existence and importance into question. These forces of good seemed so much weaker in comparison because of how small and delicate they were (delicacies, after all, are eaten by bigger beings) but then I sensed their benevolent powers, though gentle, growing brighter with my recognition of them, and saw that they were imbued with the Ultimate Power, the power to create--the ability to create new worlds, to heal, to create new points of light in the ruins of the old world, new possibilities where before all had seemed lost and hopeless. They carried the power of love, the promise of life.
I'm writing this as a reminder to stay open and attuned to the delicate voices of the good in the world, because they're so easily drowned out by the noise and forgotten when a dark age passes over us.
The Ungoogleable Michaelangelo
www.voidandimagination.com
