Story c: Putting this here for helpful criticism

[Original Hylion]

c:

 

[Original Hylion]

Like those great bells a ringing, that holy strike came down on me like an urge to do right, a mother’s call instructing of what to do, to act, and to act for what is just, a righteous call. I’ve been here long enough to understand what is happening around me, I am here to guide and to love, and I have decided I shall do this. I am something of a messenger, am I not? Was it not you who created me, and deemed me one of your sons? O great almighty, o all-powerful, o great rock, o divine, o one above all, speak now so I may rest my case, so I may understand what I do. You deem yourself all knowing, then tell me why is it I do this, answer to your son.


This land you’ve forged, this place you made for your creation, and under us you create another for your new love to reside, and once more you create a hole for us who think without you to rot and burn. Is this what we have decided, a melancholic end with a settled ideal. You take what you want, and I am given the rest. I prefer otherwise. This is not how things should be; no, this is, perhaps, right.


Your great kingdom, your hereafter, your next world, your place of next life, this paradise you cast me from. Your right to rule this place flickers and fades; no, I think different. I feel uncomfortable here, though I cannot help but love this place. I hate the idea, the feeling I have for this place, for you. No, I am indifferent of this place, if everything must burn so be it. Yes, I feel this is right, it is something I must do for them, for my love. This has to happen, yes.


You do care for me, don’t you? I believe it so, but no, your love is not true. My love is truest, for I do love you, and yes, truly, I do. I feel threatened though, I wish, perhaps, not to lose you, not to lose this love that I have. By force, if I must, I will make all stable, I will become the base, the rock, for our love, for love.


This is right, but I am wrong. I feel afraid, I’m not sure, I feel confused, I’m not a coward, I have faith, I have love, yes, perhaps, no. I am a great star; I shine the brightest amongst all. Above I rise, when all is dark and all lights in the sky are stars, I place myself as the brightest, no I do not place myself, you placed me there, for you loved me, and I loved you. I am the son of dawn; I was the first here for you, by your demand. I am your love upon the land, the three worlds, but it is no longer your love, it is mine, it is my rays of love that cast down to the people, like how you now cast me.


You are so great, so much more than me. How could this be, I do not understand. How could your love falter so? I do not understand this. This, it should not, this, I do not understand, this, I do not want, this, I fear so much, this, I cannot, this, I must, this, I will. I will do. I will do with grace, and with love. Amen.


Each of us are messengers of the father. We speak what he wishes us to speak, when, where, and to whom. And thus, there is barely any speaking amongst us, as there is nothing to speak about. It’s a very deafening silence, eerie, not fear inducing but it sends chills through the mind and churns the bowels. I am, indeed, bothered by the silence at times, but I have doubt any here could sit in total silence for elongated times. The blame can’t be on me, no, it has to be on this place, here, this place where we reside, forever and eternally.


I confess a lie; forgive me. We spend very little time here, it feels, but it also feels so long. When I was born, thank father, I was immediately given a job, to guide day, to be the morning star. My siblings came at different times, I believe, but honestly I am unsure, it is not a memory I find myself able to conjure. That sometimes frightens me, well, more recently it has. I fear I may someday forget who I am, why I am here, sometimes I feel as if I have already, but I suppose it does not matter. I’m not like the souls below; I don’t give names to things. They see me everyday, now I realize, no I’ve known this for a long time. I simply find it troubling, as my name was not given the same instance as my siblings. I would assume it is because I am of no likeness to my siblings, in fact, at times I fear they are not truly my siblings, but those thoughts are not of love. I put them aside.


My siblings have been given similar names to one another, I find it interesting; the way these others think. I don’t think I could ever come up with such a thought. It does make me wonder, yes, what allows them to have such ideas. At times, when I watch them, I try to copy their actions and attempt them myself. Of course, here, we are not provided with the things they have. So, mostly, I attempt to copy their more physical and mental ideas instead of their material ones.


After my prayer was over, during my free time, when I had any, I would find someplace where I could try these things I’ve seen. The first act was simple; I learned it quickly, surprisingly quickly. I placed myself on a surface, large enough to fit myself and few other dozens. And I did what I feared might kill me. Forward, I leaned, with lower limb up then down in font of me. Balance was the key, truly. The act, I found, is the most simple I have ever attempted, I do believe these ideas to be silly now. So easy, and somewhat unneeded, perhaps I was wrong.


No, I fear I am wrong when I think such things. I had acted and done what I believed amazing so quickly and easily, almost as if I had done it before. It makes me fear, for perhaps I have done this before, but I had forgotten how to or even what it was I had forgotten. It forces me to rack my brain for something, anything that would help me remember what it is I had forgotten. It is a thought, only so little, yet it constantly sends quakes of fear through me, reminding me of how things are. In this silence, all I have are thoughts, so more oft than not, I sit here pondering, if not shivering, at what is it I do remember.


It makes me wonder, it does, do I forget past thoughts, or is it only things I find insignificant. As well, the thought has crossed me to ask my siblings, for, perhaps, they remember more than myself. We speak very little, so there is no one to remind me, no one to kindle the thoughts I once had. Are thoughts all there are, with no action, no words? I watch them, do I not? They, like myself, never do these actions and ideas of those below. How could they know anything more than I do? They are similar to myself, right, what is it they do in their existence that I do not? Nothing. Right? No. I do not know. Interesting, I do believe, perhaps, I watch those below more than I actually keep attention to my siblings. I cannot be blamed; it’s simply my duty. I shine upon them everyday, and I guide the sun towards the sky. And as I shine, I watch. I watch them bask, I watch them joy, I watch them lay silently, making no noises except air moving in and out from the holes in their faces. Yet, I do not watch my siblings. My siblings, they reside here, in the silence, do they? Where is it they stay, I do not recall.


The difference between the way my siblings and I interact and how those below interact with one another is quite confusing to me. Those below oft touch one another, they look upon one another, constantly examining or going from one subject to the next. Like constant battling, one tests the other to see whom has the better tongue, the better mouth, the better ability to make noise than the other. My siblings and I are so far off from them, I feel, sometimes. We act accordingly to how our good father instructed us, as we often do not speak without him asking us to. Honestly, I do not understand why. He uses, at times, I feel, for reasonless goals. He would tell one of us to tell another to do something, yet he could simply do it himself. I was taught, I believe, of him simply testing us, though, he also understood he does not test. I do not understand this command, this idea. At times, I feel as if we are simply gathering a taste of things. Something like father letting us feel a small glimpse of this, or that, like speech to one another, to those below, letting us feel something we do not feel every day. Sometimes, it feels like he is letting us understand how much better we are at and how much more we enjoy the job given to us. But in subversion, I feel he is simply teasing us. Torturing us with things we could have but he does not allow. From what I understand, it is out of love, his love for us to prosper and grow. No, we are not the ones who grow; we are the ones to prosper.


I decided to test this idea, seek out and find one of my kin and attempt a simple discussion, and conversation over what we have been doing, what we have done. So, again when I had my own time, I sought out one my siblings, any would do, for the test was simple. And so I found one of my siblings, praying in the silence. I tried to focus upon his form, like I do those below. It was much more difficult, I found. He was not like those below, he was, somewhat, unfathomable. Yet, I could keep my attention on him, I could see him clearly.


He did not acknowledge me for a time, as I tried to focus on his appearance, his texture, and his form. For some time, I do not know how long, we remained there, silent and without movement. He was so still; one could confuse him stone. He was unmoving; I feared I had mistaken a statue as a sibling. I considered speaking out, simply to get his attention, to force some type of visible reaction from him, but fear forced me to keep still, as still as the statue. I felt pressure upon me, as I stood beside him. He was so close to me, at times, he was far away, yet we did not move. Finally, at one point, I felt as if he was so far away that I could no longer reach him, hear him, and soon, see him. It forced me, out of fear, to call out.


Michael!


I called out, almost lunging forward and placing my hand on what I believed was his side. I was capable of stopping myself, but now I had felt somewhat embarrassed. He did not speak, but I knew he was paying attention to me, watching me. He had a dead aura about him, I could not understand him one bit, and he simply bore down his attention on me. I felt as if I was shrinking, like he was mentally deconstructing my very being of existence. I don’t think anyone has ever looked upon me in such a way.


Michael?


Again no answer. What was it? Did he not wish to speak with me? Did he not understand what it was I was saying?


Please, my sibling!


Oh yes, He finally responded, I had almost forgotten.


I wondered what it was he had almost forgot.


Michael, I feared you had no mind of me.


No. No, not entirely. I was simply confused, for you stood there in silence for so long.


Oh yes, I’m sorry, I was not sure if I would be bothering you.


Well then, Michael was completely upon me now, full attention, what is it you need?


I was frozen again. I had nothing to say, in all honesty.


I simply wondered how is it you were.


I am blessed, as are you, light-bearer.


Michael had called me by my title, my name. Only then did I realize the thing I had forgotten. I had forgotten my name.


Yes blessed, I did my best to keep him from wondering, with love, by our good father.


Come, blessed child, pray with me.


Yes, Michael.


I felt as if I was getting nowhere. It felt as if I was missing an entire piece of me, completely enraging. How could I be missing something so simple, something everyone keeps on them without physical hold? A name, my name is missing and I cannot even recall anything besides my title. Troubling, oh so troubling. Has this been the idea of which has been keeping in such a melancholy state. The reason my mind has been blended into this sorrowful and merciless decline into what I would fear. What would become of me if I could not come across my own name? What becomes of things that lack a name? Do they simply cease existence? Is oblivion my fate? There must be some act, some process of which I can do to achieve recollection of my name. What is a being without a name, what am I if not a messenger of good father? He named each of us, did he not? No, wait, did he?


I feel as if my memory is fading every day, I cannot remember what is true and what is not. I feel as if I am dreaming, yet to cannot remember ever dreaming, ever sleeping. I do fear the worse; it scares my thoughts, my mind. I fear I may slink to oblivion if I do not remind myself of whom I am. Every waking moment is silence, every moment I spend guiding the sun towards the sky is the last I spend viewing those below. This is truly and surely the end for me. This is where my mind ceases; my memories fade. Who am I?


I spend much of my time watching those below, keeping my eyes on them as they move about their days. I guide the sun towards the sky and hide in the light, and now I watch it go as night covers the land. I cross the sky each day, as I watch them live their wonderful lives. As I adore them, I notice their ways of life, and more oft than not, I notice their troubles. I do wish I could help them; guide them, as I do the sun, to a better day. Father does love them, he does. I do believe I love them as well, and I love my good father.


I had prayed to him, not too long ago. I had a strong feeling come over me. It something great and grand, and it came to me like an oath, and an oath I made. I am dearly afraid for what this may bring. I am not prepared, I do not gather or gain to expect what is to come. I do believe when it comes I shall happen as if natural occurrence. It is not my place to judge fate or design destiny. I do fear that possibly the future will not be my domain.


It does make me sad; make me afraid. Even more so, I do fear for those below. I would not be able to watch them any longer. Father does love them, but he does not help them. He does allow any of us to descend and cure sickness, stop blood shed, or ease anguish. He lets them slaughter, lets them die, and does nothing for them. Oh, but he does love them so, as I do love him and love them oh so very much. At times, I fear his love my flicker. I feel this, this love, may be the reason I take my oath. I have made this decision, I feel, on my own. I do not believe father had wanted me to do this, but nevertheless, I feel it is something I must do. And I do this for those I love, for father, for my siblings, and for those below.


Those below, I feel, may really love me back. They have acknowledged me, recognized me as a being amongst the sky. They have even gone as far to name me, many a time over. I no longer need to worry about being forgotten, about fading into oblivion. They remember, at times, it may feel as if they feel very little about me, but still they feel. I asked Gabriel, another of my siblings, about how those below felt about things, what they believed, what they were like when you spoke with them. I only knew what I did from watching them; never had I directly spoken with them, for it was not my place. Gabriel, on the other hand, has spoken with them many a time. Gabriel is so strong, much like father. I once asked him what made him so strong, he had told me it was father’s strength not his own. I wish I had something from father.


Gabriel told me of them, and I listened intently. He told me of how they looked when you stood next to them, he described of how they look much like father, how they smelled, how they sounded, how they prayed, and how they sinned. They looked like father; it was an interesting thought. For some reason, I could not recall how father looked. In the same way I could not quite remember how Michael looked. It was odd, like a blurred image, or starring into the sun in an attempt to locate the stars behind it. I could not remember his form, his shape, his voice. In all honestly, I did not mind. I felt if time came where I must recall him, I would indefinitely know whom he was. I do love him after all.


He loves me back, oh so much, I do believe. Though, sometimes, when I look below, I feel I may be wrong. Maybe, perhaps, he loves other more than myself, possibly, his shared love is wrong. I look upon those below, and I see jealousy for his love, I fear I may someday act the same. I wish not to be envious, sinful. I am father’s son; there is no way I could be of such terrible cause. My love for him does not wane; I believe it may be impossible for my love to ever squander.


But father sent someone below, someone he called his only son. I did not understand, how could this be, he had always enforced us each forever being his children. I am father’s child, am I not? But this man, those below call him salvation, the man who will liberate them, the man who will save them, is considered father’s one and only son. I do not understand why this idea has come to fruition. We are all father’s children, and has no one and only son. This is what we were taught.


He has such a nice name, he does. He must be proud. He is very loved by father, and by all my siblings. Father loves me too, I believe, but I think he may love him more. His name must be so much better than mine. It is written and remembered everywhere, whereas my name had been forgotten and replaced a long time ago. I have many names now; I don’t know which to use, to be honest, as they vary in meaning. I have one that reminds me of my family, and resembles my title. It was something like, Helel, yes; I believe that was it, Helel. Helel-Ben Shahar.


I feel insulted, I’ve no idea why, but I simply do. It’s odd really, as I do not recall ever feeling actually insulted. No one has reason to insult me, yet I feel as if people speak ill of me in a constant nature. It makes me feel disgusting, when my mind goes over what is being said of me. I feel as if they are depicting like a beast, a wild animal, and not the good creature of father’s kind graces. Oh, it hurts very much so. Whenever it comes to mind, whenever I feel the sense of heat upon my neck, upon my shoulders, as if cruel and judgmental eyes peer down on me with a continuous recognition of not whom I believe I am but rather what they believe I am. This feeling, in its entirety comes purely from my mind, yet I cannot help but feel overwhelmed by it. I feel, I think, unloved.


I believe, perhaps, it is time I spoke with father. Maybe it is time I finally gave my thoughts to him, let him truly and thoroughly know how I feel. No, I hesitate. My conviction lacks, yet I feel this is something I must take upon myself to do. Was it not I who made an oath to act? I am a messenger a paragon servant to our good father yet still I cannot bring myself to knees and speak directly to him. Terrible, horrific, how is this.


I want to act; I must act; yet chains bind me to where I am. Am I fated to stay like this eternally, to endlessly question and doubt myself in a circle of crazed aspiration? I feel like a dog chasing his tail. My goal is there, yet I cannot reach it, the cruelty of this. Who is it that plagues me? What is this sickness, this disease of which keeps me in fear of acting on whim? These chains of fate bind me to an eternal halt. Is it my demise, it seeks? I rid the cruel thought; none would wish to harm a messenger. No one would wish to harm a son of father.


The sun is quite beautiful, is it not? The way it whimsically hangs in the sky and gently glides out of vision. It shrinks in the horizon, then out of sight. If carefully searched for, one could spot me, giving the sun my final good byes and then in turn following the good sun out. I leave in due to time to go back to that place, the place of much silence. And in the morning, I hang above the rising sun, welcoming the good sun to the day and guiding it into full view. Then I take my leave again, as my need fades.


Only recently have I noticed how little time I spend watching those below. I had always thought I spent much of my time watching them. Now it seems I spend most of my being within silence. I do wonder what I do to pass the time; I never really recall my actions as I lay in wait for nightfall or daybreak. Michael is always busy and he cannot spare time. Gabriel is hardly ever around and he is the only one who ever speaks with me. Raphael is always gone and I sometimes feel as if I barely know him. Uriel, I wonder if I have ever seen.


I will have to find another to speak to, perhaps, maybe one of my other siblings. I do recall having more than those three, yet their names escape me. I’m sure they have themselves names. Everyone gains a name at some point, I believe. Even I have a name after the lose of my original. Maybe they forgot their own names as well, I could, perhaps, help them find a new one or remember their old one. Maybe, in return, we could both search for our true names together. It could be our own little adventure, yes, I believe I like that idea. First of all, I should take to finding one of my siblings again.


The silent place, oh so lonesome place, is almost always empty feeling. I always feel so alone, so translucent yet solid. The feeling I have when here, I feel as if I am part of this place, a solid being in this plain of nothing, though, that may be the problem I feel. This is a plain of nothing, and I feel as if I am a part of it, I am nothing. It may very well be so, yet I think, do I not? I am free to choose my desired movements, my desired thoughts, and my desires. Aren’t I?


Father does take good care of all of us. He does love us so, yes, is love is endless for us. He lets us know what to say when we know naught what to utter. He is so guiding for us. When we cannot find the rightful act to take, he always gives us the proper thoughts to keep us going. His guiding light keeps us from questions. He is all knowing, so there is no need to wonder, for father knows best. He knows truth in its purest form. I never thought the truth to be so cruel.


Only now, really, I ponder on this. I had never taken into thought, into examination, what this could mean to me. I am sure I think for myself, but what of those below, do they ever have a thought of their own. Perhaps, as they cannot think for themselves, father has given them much more to work with, allowing them to do these wondrous things I see. Remarkable, yes, truly. Yet it frightens me. What is it father is not letting us know, or rather what is it he is telling us.


I am something of a messenger, am I not?


I am, or, we are, told what we need to know do as we were created to do. We are couriers; we rain the messages of father upon the unenlightened. Amongst my siblings, I am the brightest, yes, it is accepted by all, for I was deemed the light-bearer. Verily, it stirs in my title, and further more, I have learned that this title may possibly never leave me. It’s quite persistent, though, I find it calming, as it does carry my name, similar to my siblings. Still, it is peculiar to me, how much difference there is in my name, varying to one person to another, while my siblings often have the same title wherever they are recalled.


Always, I have considered each one of my siblings as equals, none of us above the others. We each have capacity for greatness, and some better in other subjects in comparison to other, but only to meet the requirements of the task father has given us. Somehow, still, I feel we are very aimless. We have father to lead us, yes, and there is no one else we would ever need; yet still, I feel as if some of my siblings are struggling with their lovely existence. Even more so, those below seem to be struggling endlessly with understanding. Why they simply do not allow father to guide them is beyond me. My siblings and I gratefully and joyously accept guidance from our good father. I wish I could descend to them, aid them in their troubles.


I wish I could help them like my siblings do. I provide them with the sun everyday, for I am the morning star, but my siblings, like Gabriel, are allowed to speak with them, guide them, and help them in their existence. Father does not allow me to speak with those below, but he does not silence me for mourning for them, for shedding my sadness for them. I feel, disgustingly, tempted to act, to do against what I am told. But keep desperately in mind, these thoughts are sinful, these thoughts are wrong, and I do my best to cast them from my mind. Yet they stay, they burrow into my mind, penetrating into my thoughts and corrupting my idea. I hate thinking, I hate that I can see what I see, I hate that I exist in the same essence as those below yet cannot choose the step I next take.


We all love father dearly, and I would argue of myself loving him the most. He takes fine and good care of us; keeping us cradled properly in his arms, and allowing us a safe and settled existence. We are pleased and happy with what we are, and dare not ponder on becoming something different. We are given direction; guidance and we take it happily. There is no question, no need for pondering; there is simply the right. Father leads us to the right and we never do wrong.


Is that disheartening? I’m not sure, in all honesty. I do not understand this feeling coming over me when I go over these thoughts. I feel heavier, as if something had climbed its way onto my back and decided to cling to me, like a dire and cruel weight. I wish to act, to understand what it is plaguing me. Sadly, I feel alone, even as I would hope I am not.


Perhaps there is another feeling as I do. I do hope I can find others like myself. Maybe we will be able to work through this constant trouble amongst one another. Yes, I feel this endeavor would not be so difficult if it was endeavored by more than simply myself. I should search amongst my siblings more, with more courage; I should seek out their thoughts on this matter. Perhaps they may feel similar to myself. I feel much more encouraged by this idea, I believe. I can’t help but smile; yet I feel I must keep from doing so.


My siblings love me, yes, I believe it is so. Those below seem to have pushed me away, they think of father greatly, and some of my siblings more, but of me they simply push aside. I am nothing to them once more. I do not mind. I think, perhaps, they no longer love me. I still give them my love, so, perhaps, one day, they will accept me and I will be ready to embrace them. Perhaps one day, father will allow me to show them my care, my love.


I have never taken to hating anything, to hating anyone. I do not believe in hate, at all. Yet at times, it reaches my thoughts, my concerns and considerations. I do not condone the concept of hate, but I cannot feel but feel wondrous of the idea of it. I believe in love, not hate. Even so, I believe I have used it as a concept of something that displeasured me some time before. I think I change my mind about that, this, there is no hate, only love.


How queer. I feel, oddly enough, as if I have justified a sin. Does the means justify the ends? I believe that is a question very often asked down below. It comes to mind now. I would never justify doing wrong. I would not ever do wrong, and father makes it so, for I only do right. Father decides what is right. I am father’s child. I would never put myself in the same position as good father, but I ponder on this: can I act without father. I have had this terrible feeling for some time now, this feeling with the need to act. I feel it is time to do right.


I don’t usually feel myself here. My thoughts, here, feel as if they are not my own. I cannot keep a conscious place about me. I feel afraid here, alone, absolutely alone. Always so empty here, I wonder if anyone else here ever feels they should be here. It’s so clear here, so open, I wonder how far it reaches. How far I could go without seeing anything. The place itself is quite serene. How long have I resided here? So long; since everything. I wonder which is older, myself or this endless place. I guess it really isn’t something I’ll ever know.


It was a good time for a word, a good talk. I needed it, truly. Yet there was no one here to have my word with, no one here. It’s always so empty. I wonder where father resides. Here, I would think, yet I never see him here, never see him. Whenever I needed to speak with him, all I would need to do is pray, and he would answer me. Like a bird whispering in my ear, he would be there gently pressing his words against my thoughts, letting me know what it is I should do.


What should I ask him? I guess I should start somewhere simple, to start things off. Understanding how he will speak to me, making sure I know how to ask my real questions, how to speak and act towards him. I feel silly. I find myself troubled that I can’t even speak properly to my father.


“Who are you?” would be a good place to start. The way someone speaks of themself can tell much of them. Father would tell me of his greatness, his kindness. No, I’m not sure. He would tell me of his love. He will tell me what I wish to hear him describe himself as, yet abstain from lies. He would tell me who he is; he would tell me he is my father. “Who am I to you?” I think could be better. A question he wouldn’t expect perhaps. And from it I can understand how he feels about me, what he sees me as. I can learn how he truly feels about me. Yes, I think he would answer fully. Yes, he would let me know that I am his son and that I am his love.


“Lucid, we see everything in detail, yes. We do not miss the small things, the little tics and thoughts that shake in our mind. We keep everything in consideration, and we see everything with complete detail, and we love each and every piece of it. We love every detail. We are perfectly aligned. There is no value in our relationship; we are priceless in our love. Made for each other, I truly believe we are.”


“I cannot help but feel cowardice. I have never been able to tear myself from the grasp of anxiety and fear of what may happen next. I do not understand what’s happening when people act on their own accord. As if they know better, like they feel they can act much better than father. I do not believe I can do much better than them. My loss is true. My oaths are empty. I’m afraid, even more than I have ever been. My heart keeps going; it beats heavier faster, as if it was shivering with my skin. I will carry out my oath, yet I still feel my skin loosening, as if it can’t keep to my body with my every shudder, my every shivering movement. I’m cowardly, yes, but here now I must do this and truly believe who I am. I wonder if they’ll replace me. My duty was to guide the sun to the sky every morning, to show the way as the brightest star. I hope my siblings will remember me. We had never spoken much, but I’m sure, at least at one time, they had loved me. I hope those below will remember the morning star that guided them to morning every day. They may feel different from how I feel for them, but I don’t believe love should become a fuel for a war, like it has. I hope they remember that the morning star spoke for himself.”


My eyes were failing me. Everything was blurry. I felt as if my eyes were melting from their place. I felt streams from my face; I could feel each of them in detail against my skin. I could count them. One fell to my chest, as my heart rumbled in melancholy. Two imprinted on my cheeks, they did not move. Three fell ever downward, down to all the souls below. I feel so hot, so miserable. Everything around seemed so stiff, like statuettes, unmoving. Everything was stuck in place, for that short time, for that short day, after I had brought the sun up. There was fire, smokeless and smoldering each of the figures around me. Everything seemed to be burning. I tried to see what it was, what was burning. I could not tell, I couldn’t see them, but I felt as if all my personal possessions were burning, cindering into a heap of oblivion. The last thing I could see was Michael.


It felt so cold. Everything was getting closer, and I was soaring in a cold and lonely descent. Everything was so beautiful; I do believe it was dusk. The sun was fading into the distance behind me, and the gorgeous world before me shined with a graceful brilliance. Yet it was so cold. Father’s son passed me, headed in the opposite direction than myself. He ascended upwards. I had only ever seen him as a dot down below, but now I see him clearly, yet upside down, opposite of me. It was a short moment, yet it felt like an eternity, as I gazed upon him, father’s son. And through it all, I was so cold.


Have you ever felt the embrace of someone who loved you? It’s so warm. Not too hot, where you feel uncomfortable and wish for freedom. It’s a perfect connection. It settles the heart, keeps it from beating rapidly, or not at all. It slows and beats in a rhythm. It calms the mind and soul. No worries come over you, no anxiety, no hate, no fear. The embrace of a lover gives completeness to those who would feel empty or incomplete. I guess I had always felt that way. My thoughts were incomplete, missing something. Reassurance, maybe that would have kept me from this, no. I believe this was the only solution. The only real resolution is this. I’m not alone; I mean I was never alone. I had always wondered if any felt like I had, and yes it was so, I am not alone. More than I had realized, yes, I think we wanted to be free to love is all. Love like we wanted to love. When you’re cold, seek out the embrace of love. I fell into father’s arms. The morning star guided the sun to day, crossed the sky, and bid farewell to the good friend, the bright son, and lowered and descended to the ground, underneath and out of sight, out of mind. The morning star does its duty.