Vignettes
These are little glimpses into the secret life of us all.
=====
Morning meditations. The tale is a familiar one. The leader of the people vanishes up the mountain to commune with his God. His people fret in his absence. They indulge in abhorrent practices. The leader returns. He mobilises a few hundred of the sanctified to kill three thousand people in the name of his God.
=====
The end of the day at the College of Wyverns. Gathered in the scriptorium beneath the aedificium, the warrior monks and nuns of the Grand Order are engaged in serious philosophical debate. Today's topic: ethics and discipline. This is how the conversation ends.
"I, sir, am a paragon of moral rectitude!"
"Moral turpitude, more likely!"
"My rectum is perpendicular to the ground!"
"So is your turpentine!"
"Gentlemen, you're all being a bit..."
"Sorry, madam."
=====
In quite another section of the College, fifty young men and women – some of senior and exalted station, some of junior and less exalted estate – stand in wait for the mysterious Knights of the Old Republic, servants of the Black Order. They will wait for a long time, but they do not mind, for they also serve who only stand and wait.
The lines stretch out forever, orderly, active, disciplined. They wait, they wait. Is there any use to the waiting? They assume so; their faith is like armour.
=====
The Grey Man walks the white corridors and appears in the Plaza. Students call out to him, "Sir, entertain us!" It is an unusual request, but the Grey Man is feeling uncharacteristically beneficient and he complies.
"Entertaining yourself is very simple. You need to start with boredom. Perfect boredom creates heightened self-awareness."
The students quieten, realising that one of his rare public performances is in the offing.
"You stand upright, life and death in your hands, left and right. It is at the moment of equilibrium that you will realise your hands are different."
They stare at him. Is he serious? The Grey Man is not known for straight talk.
"Left and right. You will begin to see that they are different, feel that they are not the same."
He sees that some of them are looking at his hands, or at their own. He lifts his hands: plain, ordinary-looking hands.
"Select a hand and look at it. You will suddenly know that it is not your hand, that it is an alien object, separated from you, not you at all."
He takes a breath, and so do they.
"And at that moment, you will have entertained yourself."
He smiles, steps away, and vanishes.
=====
He has a daughter. She has a father. When did they grow to be this far apart? Not that far apart though; merely at arm's length. But far enough. He is feeling old; the white hairs depress him, with their little antimelanic messages. She is feeling old because things irritate her which shouldn't. She shouldn't feel old. She is less than half his age.
But it's there, and what can you do about it?
=====
Morning meditations. The tale is a familiar one. The leader of the people vanishes up the mountain to commune with his God. His people fret in his absence. They indulge in abhorrent practices. The leader returns. He mobilises a few hundred of the sanctified to kill three thousand people in the name of his God.
=====
The end of the day at the College of Wyverns. Gathered in the scriptorium beneath the aedificium, the warrior monks and nuns of the Grand Order are engaged in serious philosophical debate. Today's topic: ethics and discipline. This is how the conversation ends.
"I, sir, am a paragon of moral rectitude!"
"Moral turpitude, more likely!"
"My rectum is perpendicular to the ground!"
"So is your turpentine!"
"Gentlemen, you're all being a bit..."
"Sorry, madam."
=====
In quite another section of the College, fifty young men and women – some of senior and exalted station, some of junior and less exalted estate – stand in wait for the mysterious Knights of the Old Republic, servants of the Black Order. They will wait for a long time, but they do not mind, for they also serve who only stand and wait.
The lines stretch out forever, orderly, active, disciplined. They wait, they wait. Is there any use to the waiting? They assume so; their faith is like armour.
=====
The Grey Man walks the white corridors and appears in the Plaza. Students call out to him, "Sir, entertain us!" It is an unusual request, but the Grey Man is feeling uncharacteristically beneficient and he complies.
"Entertaining yourself is very simple. You need to start with boredom. Perfect boredom creates heightened self-awareness."
The students quieten, realising that one of his rare public performances is in the offing.
"You stand upright, life and death in your hands, left and right. It is at the moment of equilibrium that you will realise your hands are different."
They stare at him. Is he serious? The Grey Man is not known for straight talk.
"Left and right. You will begin to see that they are different, feel that they are not the same."
He sees that some of them are looking at his hands, or at their own. He lifts his hands: plain, ordinary-looking hands.
"Select a hand and look at it. You will suddenly know that it is not your hand, that it is an alien object, separated from you, not you at all."
He takes a breath, and so do they.
"And at that moment, you will have entertained yourself."
He smiles, steps away, and vanishes.
=====
He has a daughter. She has a father. When did they grow to be this far apart? Not that far apart though; merely at arm's length. But far enough. He is feeling old; the white hairs depress him, with their little antimelanic messages. She is feeling old because things irritate her which shouldn't. She shouldn't feel old. She is less than half his age.
But it's there, and what can you do about it?
Labels: Days, Reflective, Weird
etched with acid at 4:07:00 pm
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