Dreams Of Small Things

I slept, and I dreamt. In those dreams I stood entranced, a prisoner on a high tower. I was fettered around the ankles with chains of silk and glass, with chains of air and fire and the beautiful hair of unknown women. And a great voice which silenced the multitude beneath said to me, "Write what you will. It changes nothing, but it does not return to me void."

Then I saw, as if through a glass of great clarity, the truth of the crowd beneath. They fought and duelled, drank and ate, conspired and collaborated, negotiated and socialised, and accomplished the works of their hands. They built what to them was great and mighty and sure to bring swift death to others, or glory to themselves. They strove mightily to assail each other's ramparts and defences and, when balked, swore equally mighty oaths and returned to their mills of cruel technology.

One might slay another, another might essay calumny upon a third. The sequences and alliances shifted; the entanglements swelled and shrank. And to each of these, it mattered nothing that a greater work was upon them and over them and around them. Indeed, their happiness was with the work of their hands alone, established or not, made beautiful or not by the perfecting touch of the hidden voice.

All this I wrote, and it seemed to me that I had a plate as of horn and ivory, framed in metal, and as I moved my hands across it, words of black fire streamed across its face. And the voice said, "How have you written it?"

I replied, "With black fire that is not quenched, on a plate of horn and ivory framed with metal that does not rust."

Then, behold, I saw the crowd look towards me, as if from a valley far below, as if they were ants. And some of these ants were larger, or more wrathful than the others, and they made towers and weapons of war to assail me. I was afraid, for I was myself an ant. But the voice said, "As you have written, so it is; for this is a gift, and a covenant. Woe shall surely be upon you and your house for the misuse of your gift; but blessing and power will be upon your house for the gift returned as service to me."

And lo, I was a grasshopper, not much larger than the ant, but more dangerous; not much larger, but dependent upon the ants for sustenance. "You shall hunger," said the voice, "And you shall grieve in dark times. When you have learnt from the ant, you shall be wise. Go now, and serve."

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I must stop washing down my coffee mug with apple/blackcurrant juice and drinking the washings.