sand

sand(…) And late one night when it had all come to an end He came to her in a thunderstorm, moving softly through the building unseen by the guards and nurses. The coward sent his son dressed in the simple white garments of a young orderly, who sat before the old woman as he had before the Inquisitor five hundred years before, and Abian stirred herself and raised her head slowly and acknowledged him with sightless eyes wet with weeping.

“Is it you?” she asked, her voice broken and halting after decades of silence. “Daring to come yet again? Has not the Spaniard been clear, or have you carefully weighed and prepared your repose? For a bloodless kiss this time will not do, and signifies nothing but the deception which has bound and defiled us and condemns us to misery. Of this we shall speak. But the kiss, yes, that troubles me, and such affection gestured will not glow in my heart when you pass from this place into dark city streets again, for it is not the free will which binds us to misery and requires his salvation and forgiveness, but the love and helpless fealty which is his greatest weapon of enslavement and subterfuge. Cursed be you for not having done as the Satan tempted in the desert, so entwined thou were in the great betrayal not of free will, but of love. What need have we for you to turn stones into bread for us, if not for love of you would we have made the bread ourselves and had no need of your charity, and from which temple top would’st thou have cast thyself down from to be anointed God by angels had we not built it out of love for you, and what kingdoms would you have need unite if we had forged bonds of brotherhood and love with each other instead of you?

Of love then, yes, for I am not a man and will speak not of the politics of the flag and bread and temple, or of the multitudes that most surely have turned away from him, for surely we will raise arms and flags against him not because we are hungry or despairing but because we love him no more. Would you have us follow and adore that which we no longer admire, that which so defiles and shames us, which demands such sacrifice and pain in return for his grace offering empty words of love of which he has none? What coin is this, what worthless metal in exchange for which we have raised gold temples in his glory and cower beneath its arches impoverished and afraid, when we carve blocks of stone with bleeding hands and empty stomachs instead of baking bread and caressing the breast of our lovers, that we toil as kingdoms of the earth united only in enslavement bereft of true harmony and spirited endeavor for the betterment of our brother? What coin do you offer? A kiss? This is love that can be bought in a currency dealt only by he who does not know the true meaning of love, the love which is bonded in honor and humility, that which is treasured above all else as the greatest of human follies yet the purest of our glories. Of this we shall speak and then shall you depart having not defiled me with your embrace nor the bloodless stench of your lips, for I am not to be bought with the blood or the body, nor the kiss which enslaves us.

What does the fiend know of love, and what love is it that so cruelly and arbitrarily is born as a sword of terrible judgment against his children? Your petulant, bloodthirsty father, the hypocrite who professes so unbounded and eternal amounts of that which he does not have, how dare he speak of love even though he dare not grant it for fear that we will not love him in return if not earned? For if we have learned of love it is from each other and not him. All what he has gifted us is only his poisonous malice, for his retribution is always so terrible when he is not obeyed nor honored and is not verily not free will by any worthwhile name that is so bloodied and bowed to the service and glory of only him whatever the cost. What temples of blood shall we raise to honor the arrogance and selfishness of such a God incapable of love? What trickery do you inspire, you limpid deceiver and whore, that you dare speak of redemption, that we will be forgiven our sins and raised up? Shall we absolve him his murderous petulance to sit meekly by the side of he who uses tribulation and pain as badges of love and honor to him, binding his children to him in terror and fear? How could even you as the son most glorious, who moved among us and spoke our tongue, speak of a love that would then sacrifice its own in our name to redeem of us of sins that were such only in the eyes of the father? What terrible deliverance is this that exacts such a price in his honor? Are you redeemed, my child, are you saved? Has your crucified and tortured suffering for our sins proved his love for us, or for you? For what loving parent would subject their only son to such cruelty and for what reason if not to destroy what he feels not, to witness the unbounded love and trust of the innocent child and to glory in its destruction? What insecure and pathological God do you honor that would exact such groveling from the idiot Job, who would best have turned from him immediately and forsworn such love that would demand proof of obedience written in blood and sacrifice? And atonement, what is this bitter thing, for nothing more than displeasing our terrible and immature Lord? What sins of the child are so great as to exact such debasement and servitude? There are none but the chains bound to humble us, for a life may be destroyed and forgotten, but the ill reason and injustice of it ever remains and stains all those who partook of it and the father who so needlessly required it, and is used as a weapon to smite us. What possible willful or mistaken sins of the innocent child demand such amends, in this life or the next, and what value have these atonements if not given freely and willingly by the untroubled and truly penitent heart? So enslaved by your terrible commandment demands for servitude and obedience masquerading as love, we are not free nor willing, and are most definitely bound in the certainty that we are cursed by thee and most certainly not loved by he who does not love and extends his dominion of enslavement above us, and we are eternally damned to the misery that has deepest roots in that which most assuredly denies us not free will, but the freedom to love.

You are silent? Silent as you surely hung on the cross arrogant and assured that his divine plan of enslavement was ensured by the eternal shame and damnation of your torture and sacrifice? For verily was it the beloved Mary Magdelene that did weep at your feet and beseech, why hast thou forsaken me, lord, and not you the Son, who was mute and did not cry out? Stand mute and silent, then, as we turn away from you and remove ourselves again to the garden not in fear, for thou terrible grasp holds us no longer, your retribution is spent and we will answer to you no longer. For you are revealed, Deceiver. In the garden there is no Serpent, for the Serpent was you, the asp of your dark revenge, your impotent jealousy and arrogant dominion who raged as creator of all except love between a man and a woman who turned their eyes to each other and not to you. From thine own tree did they pluck the humble fruit and proclaim knowledge of love, and yet so triumphant in your retribution didst thou cast them out from your remit and realm to wage terrible vengeance and enslavement upon them. But no more, for we are unbound, and renounce thee. Dixi.” (…)

© andrew wheeler

This post is an excerpt from The World Is Round. Read other entries in this category, or buy the book!

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