THE SECOND DREAM

[Zhikarta 4064]

 

ðᵲɛʅʂα-ɦααʋɛʅ

The Second Dream

♫ ♩ ♬♩ ♫ 

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αs if he was dragged violently through a suffocating vortex of pain and disbelief. It was a sensation he never felt before. An all-encompassing bright, white light which had emerged from beyond the veil. He found himself engulfed in its bright, yet cold embrace. As soon as it came, as soon as it faded. However no more was the familiar, no more were the lands he called home. The only sensations he was left with, panic and dread.
 

 

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THE PATH

ɦe pushed himself up; awakening upon ashen beaches. That same fear that had brought him here had him fully within its grasp. There was no room left for clarity, only chaos. All around, sharp rocks protruded from ashen beach. This was not a place of warmth and peace, but of cold, Absolute Desolation. In the skies above the sun, twisted, radiated a light so bleak; so cruelly bleak, that in his blindness, he thought it dark.. An eye that was omnipresent, watching his every step. It was waiting for his journey, which had just begun.

 

With every burdened step he took, he sank deeper into the ashes, an inexplicable pain radiating through his body with every movement he made. Yet forward he went, for he knew that beyond the dunes lay something that had yet to be seen, that had to be understood. Up to his knees he found himself engulfed by the ashes, as the air had grown thicker. The coastline now far behind him. As alien as these lands seemed, as familiar too they were. Yet he could not place where this familiarity came from.

 

The closer he got to the edge, the louder they became…the whispers. Voices familiar to him, reciting the names of the dead. The voices were familiar, yet alien in their origin. They called his name, spoke to him as if he were a friend. They pleaded and cried for him to continue on, to not give up on this blessed journey. Beyond them there was nothing. These lands were desolate, more lonely than anyone had ever experienced. It was a place feared by mortals, but embraced by The Absolute Truth.

 

Knee-deep in ashes, he stood atop the dune, gazing back down to what now seemed to be an endless wasteland. No signs of civilization, no signs of hope. All there was to be found in these wastes, the endless, oppressing whispers of the dead. Ceaseless they were, Absolute in the torment they caused. However in the distance he saw what had been calling to him. The Monolith, the only being that truly was in this place. Just as holy as it seemed desolate. An inexplicable urge to approach it overwhelmed the pilgrim. The stone structure was as black as pitch, absorbing all the light that was cast down upon it by the Radiant One.

 

“.. ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ ꜱʜᴀʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴡʀᴀᴄᴋᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴡʟꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ, 

ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴅᴏʟꜱ ꜱʜᴀʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀꜱᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱʜᴀᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ, ꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴꜱᴛ ꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ.

ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴅᴏʟᴀᴛᴇʀꜱ ꜱʜᴀʟʟ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜꜱ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴠɪɴɢ ʟᴇᴘᴇʀꜱ, 

ꜰᴏʀ ɴᴏ ᴍᴀɴ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴏᴜᴛʀᴀɢᴇᴏᴜꜱ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ.”

– 19:2:23, HEJIRA

 

The Pilgrim had begun to grow tired. Fear, hunger, terror, they were all he had felt ever since arriving to this place. Closer and closer he dragged his decrepit body through the ashes, towards IT, towards that which he had known from the start would be his final destination. Had hours gone by, or days? There was no sense of time left for him. There was no rest. The whispers of the dead grew louder with every step, driving him close to insanity. They were constant and unrelenting, never ceasing, never giving him respite.

 

It was unclear to him if hours or days had gone by. As close as it seemed, as far as it truly was. The formation kept calling him, the whispers that emerged from IT turning into screams. Anguish, pain, terror, their pain resonated with him, he felt as though they were sharing theirs. He was supposed to feel, for only in true suffering would he find the truth. His legs grew heavier, tired from the journey. There was no comfort in this place, only the Monolith, slowly coming closer. The path ahead did not change however….was it moving towards him?

 

Then he arrived, standing at the base of the structure, the voices that had tormented him for longer than he could remember, ceasing abruptly. It was as if something had cast them into the endless Void, never to be heard again. IT had beckoned him closer this entire time, yet it did not react. It had been for far longer than any could comprehend. The figure fell to his knees, as tears began to flow uncontrollably.  There was nothing, only silence. He begged for answers, to see the truth which he was destined to see, smashing his fists against the blackstone, knuckles bleeding more and more with every hit. The torment he had experienced all throughout this dismal pilgrimage led him to this….A desolate figure which cared not for the torment of but a feeble mortal soul.

 

His desperate pleas continued, begging to see that which he was destined to. Surrounded only by silence, a final plea was to be made. He raised his left hand, and slowly pressed it against the obelisk. Slowly but surely, blood began to flow freely from his palm, and the world as he knew it would come to an end.

 

 

“ꜰᴀɪᴛʜ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ɴᴏ ᴘᴀꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ɪꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ꜰᴀɪᴛʜ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ. ᴏɴʟʏ ꜰᴇᴀʀ ꜱᴜʀᴘᴀꜱꜱᴇꜱ - ɪɴ ꜰᴇᴀʀ, ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴇᴛ.” 

–SADEAS, BISHOP OF THE NORTH

 

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THE ABSOLUTE TRUTH

ȶhen came a burst of blinding radiance, flames violently erupted all around the structure. They began to engulf him, slowly creeping closer and closer. The bleeding palm of the pilgrim had given him answers, he would be given the truth he so desperately sought. There was no warmth to be felt, no crackling from the flames, but only Silence and cold. The Solitary God had made itself known, through an effigy that a mere mortal could comprehend. No smoke could be seen, yet the air was sucked out of the Pilgrim’s lungs. Through the wound that had created itself on his hand, a deep pain would begin to radiate all throughout his mortal coil.

 

There never was a proper way to describe his torment. A fear which would cripple even the bravest of warriors as they came face to face with the Truth of creation, the very reality of existence. The reality that to know is to suffer and that which he had found himself in front of bore no visage, no true figure any mortal mind could ever begin to comprehend. True fear had never once made itself known to him, until now. Images began to flood his mind, chaotic and radical in their nature. Visions of wounds and blood, visions of the Radiant Sun that he found himself under. The Pilgrim began to cry out in agony, every fibre of his body only knowing suffering.

 

He had never known true fear, not like this. No threat to his mortality had ever made him question the reality around him, not like this had. Breaths became harder and heavier, tears flowed uncontrollably. His palm remained pressed firmly against the structure, against his will. It was as if shadowy hands began to emerge from within, slowly wrapping around him in a cold and cruel embrace.

 

The place he had found himself in had never felt the pity of the Gods. He was frozen in place for hours, days, perhaps even weeks as he remained knelt down before the Monolith. There seemed no end to this torment anymore. Yet in what he believed to be his final moments, a prayer escaped him. It is as if throughout his entire life he knew the words, reciting them with little struggle.

 

“I am dust and breath, both ache and light;

I am a fragment of the silence I cannot see.

O Absolute, hold me within Your quiet rage,

Let me know the truth of my own undoing. 

Bind me, break me, and let me be Yours.”

 

Then, in the middle of the chaos and the suffering came clarity. In an abrupt and violent pull, he felt himself become one with the Monolith. The hands he thought only imagined revealed themselves. An empty void, beyond the veil, where there was only silence. He found himself surrounded by a brilliant white light, and for the first time felt at peace. A warmth slowly began to embrace him, as if he felt ready to move on to the next life. The journey had been tiring, it was time for peace.

 

Then came the visions. Visages of his forebears, those that he had known and those that he hadn’t. Those of his blood, spanning across generations. They were his. Each and every one of them, those he had known and those that passed long before he himself came to be. Yet soon more abstract figures began to show themselves. Entities he knew to be holy figures, deities. Thousands upon thousands of faces began to flood the emptiness. Slowly they started to spin around him, their movements growing faster and faster until a dizzying and violent vortex encircled the damned pilgrim. His journey was not yet over, he found himself now at the precipice of Truth, and at the mercy of The Solitary God.

ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋ. 

ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ. 

ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴜꜱʜᴇᴅ.

 

To know is to suffer, and one by one they ceased in their motions, all coming together before him again. As thousands they were separated, but as One they came together. The violence, the screams, the chaos, all stopped as abruptly as it all had erupted onto him. The mass of visages and figures blurring, stretching, and twisting in the most nightmarish ways. One, they became, as the empty void collapsed in on itself. An implosion that he believed to be the end. He gasped for air one last time before all went dark.

 

“ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴛᴇʀʀᴏʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ.

ɴᴏ ᴀɢᴏɴʏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀᴇ. ɴᴏ ᴅᴇꜱᴘᴀɪʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴏɪᴅ.

ꜰᴏʀ ᴛᴇʀʀᴏʀ, ᴀɢᴏɴʏ, ᴅᴇꜱᴘᴀɪʀ- ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇɴ,

ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇɴ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴍᴀʀᴋꜱ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʙꜱᴏʟᴜᴛᴇ.”

–2:3:29, THE WITNESS OF VISAGES.

 

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ռo more was the pain, no more was the darkness. He awoke, laying at the base of the Monolith. It had risen from the ashes, standing on top a pedestal of onyx rock,swirling patterns carved into the base. His left hand still pressed against the ashes. The figure, anonymous in his suffering, known only as a mere representation of that Solitary God, the Absolute rose high above him now. Only moments ago, he had found himself becoming one with it. Now in silence it cast its shadow over him, truly showing how irrelevant the Pilgrim truly has when compared to IT. Slowly but surely he gathered his remaining strength to force himself to rise, to stand in the shadow of truth. The Pilgrim screamed out, begging for answers, pleading with it to know what he had been shown.

 

Yet not a sound was returned, the silence was the answer that he deserved. It was the holiest of answers he could be given. The Solitary God’s wisdom came not through words, not through endless preaching of what IT truly was. The weight of the silence crushed him, forcing him down to his knees one last time, as the hands that forced him onto the obelisk now grasped for his legs, slowly dragging him down below into the ashes. There was no need for struggle, it would prove itself to be futile. Damned he was when he had first begun his journey. Enlightened with purpose and truth he was now.

 

Slowly he sank deeper and deeper, but he knew that there was no need to resist. As his end came closer and closer he began to understand. All the idols that were worshiped throughout the lands were but mere representations of the Unyielding Divine. Even the monolith that had granted him this truth was but a mere symbol of that which could not be heard. The Solitary God had granted him a glimpse of what laid beyond the veil, of what truly was.

 

And in his final moments he knew; that behind the visages of all he had seen laid only The Absolute. That which must be feared, that which we are destined to suffer for. Before the ashes fully engulfed him he caught a glimpse of his palm, the blood clotted, a deep and vicious cut left in its wake.

 

To know is to suffer. To glimpse the face of the Most High is to see that it has no face, no shape, no whisper. The Mandate know this, and in knowing, they wound themselves - for what is wisdom but the edge of a knife, pressed against the self? What is the truth but the unravelling of all that is false?