2013-03-25 10:06![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pareidolist
pareidolistDear-Mun
Once upon a time, there lived beneath the earth a great race of conquerors. Proud they were, and ambitious. For naught but glory they built a thousand and ten monuments, each stretching hundreds of golden miles down, down through rock and chasm until their tips drew fire from the impassable inferno beneath. Yet still their spirit was unsatisfied, and they hungered for greater dominion. In the flickering heat of that chthonic blaze they forged innumerable iron insects, until they had assembled a swarm that extended beyond the reach of vision. And when the work was done they unleashed their creations upon the darkness around them. To delve into the furthest reaches, to bring light into every crevice. To cross paths a thousand times and ten until every hollowed mile had been claimed for the conquerors. To earn for their makers the right to boast their mastery of all that lay beneath the earth.
Yet still their spirit was unsatisfied.
No direction, then, but up – no path left but toward the vastness above. And so, for the first time, they climbed. Back along their burrowed pathways, back up through their golden glories, until at last the bravest fools had made their way to the place where the earth did end. There, staring out into that endless abyss, they understood for the first time the nature of the world they had believed conquered.
“Surely,” said one, “this is beyond even our abilities.” And another: “Surely no force can bring civilization to this, the demesne of irrationality.” “It is the nature of the element,” agreed a third. “For surely this aether, which according to its own whims first rages then quiets, blows first this way then that, is anathema to the deepness of the earth which birthed us.” “Surely none,” concluded the last, “could traverse this great emptiness and live.”
But even as the words were uttered, the peregrines heard a cry from above them – a piercing, hollow cry, and the flapping of wings.
And then every card was played, and the pieces had nothing left to do but dance out their parts.
The day was still bright and the pool beneath their feet clear, and in it the crow’s reflection clarissima. Understanding, the conversant four seized the fifth, who had been silent. They pressed his face against the surface of the water and with flashing voices demanded “Be our crow!” The fifth trembled and responded “I cannot be your crow, for I cannot bear the weight of its feathers.”
They lifted him onto their backs and brought him to another pond, in which was reflected an eagle. They pressed his face against the surface of the water and with flashing voices demanded “Be our eagle!” The fifth trembled and responded “I cannot be your eagle, for I cannot bear the sharpness of its beak.”
In the third was reflected an ibis, but he trembled against the water and responded “I cannot be your ibis, for I cannot bear the need of its hunger.” In the fourth was reflected a dove, but he trembled against the water and responded “I cannot be your dove, for I cannot bear the span of its wings.”
“Then what,” they asked with frustration, “will you be?”
But by then, the birds had pecked away all that was left.
And nothing answered them
but the whisper of the wind.
Once upon a time, there lived beneath the earth a great race of conquerors. Proud they were, and ambitious. For naught but glory they built a thousand and ten monuments, each stretching hundreds of golden miles down, down through rock and chasm until their tips drew fire from the impassable inferno beneath. Yet still their spirit was unsatisfied, and they hungered for greater dominion. In the flickering heat of that chthonic blaze they forged innumerable iron insects, until they had assembled a swarm that extended beyond the reach of vision. And when the work was done they unleashed their creations upon the darkness around them. To delve into the furthest reaches, to bring light into every crevice. To cross paths a thousand times and ten until every hollowed mile had been claimed for the conquerors. To earn for their makers the right to boast their mastery of all that lay beneath the earth.
Yet still their spirit was unsatisfied.
No direction, then, but up – no path left but toward the vastness above. And so, for the first time, they climbed. Back along their burrowed pathways, back up through their golden glories, until at last the bravest fools had made their way to the place where the earth did end. There, staring out into that endless abyss, they understood for the first time the nature of the world they had believed conquered.
“Surely,” said one, “this is beyond even our abilities.” And another: “Surely no force can bring civilization to this, the demesne of irrationality.” “It is the nature of the element,” agreed a third. “For surely this aether, which according to its own whims first rages then quiets, blows first this way then that, is anathema to the deepness of the earth which birthed us.” “Surely none,” concluded the last, “could traverse this great emptiness and live.”
But even as the words were uttered, the peregrines heard a cry from above them – a piercing, hollow cry, and the flapping of wings.
And then every card was played, and the pieces had nothing left to do but dance out their parts.
The day was still bright and the pool beneath their feet clear, and in it the crow’s reflection clarissima. Understanding, the conversant four seized the fifth, who had been silent. They pressed his face against the surface of the water and with flashing voices demanded “Be our crow!” The fifth trembled and responded “I cannot be your crow, for I cannot bear the weight of its feathers.”
They lifted him onto their backs and brought him to another pond, in which was reflected an eagle. They pressed his face against the surface of the water and with flashing voices demanded “Be our eagle!” The fifth trembled and responded “I cannot be your eagle, for I cannot bear the sharpness of its beak.”
In the third was reflected an ibis, but he trembled against the water and responded “I cannot be your ibis, for I cannot bear the need of its hunger.” In the fourth was reflected a dove, but he trembled against the water and responded “I cannot be your dove, for I cannot bear the span of its wings.”
“Then what,” they asked with frustration, “will you be?”
But by then, the birds had pecked away all that was left.
And nothing answered them
but the whisper of the wind.
◾ Tags:
