bolt of lightning
I stood on the edge of a cliff and the devil was standing at the bottom. The rock was loose and it was night, perhaps a storm on the horizon. I don't remember much else. Perhaps the sea was rocking deeply and silently in the bay. Perhaps it seemed that no one else in the world was alive except for me and the devil. I had this horrible feeling that I belonged to the devil and it was only a matter of time before the rock loosened, the darkness became all reality, and he'd steal away with me into the sea where he came from.
I stood on the edge of a cliff looking up into the sky where nothingness lived. Perhaps there were vultures making a conglomerate of hell within the folds of the clouds. Armies of force and foul waiting to watch my fall, for the fall of it would be very great as the Teacher said it would be.
Behind me were voices saying "you're not that bad, Peter." "Raise your hand if you've ever told a lie. Told a little white lie. Stole something. Said something you shouldn't have." The triviality of the church's conceptions of sin were poor whispers as I stood on the edge of the cliff and the devil was standing at the bottom. How could I reply to them? How could anyone reply to their whitewashed mouths? You've not lived in my head where the worm never dies, nor in my throat where the serpent writhes. You've not seen the fires of hell that burn under the shell of my religious politeness. I can't do it anymore.
The clouds were so black I thought that no light would ever come from them. And I looked down and saw the devil give me a wry smile and a flick of a claw: come on down, you who are worse than you ever thought imaginable.
So down I went. Submissively at first, I thought, like I might simply fall like a rag doll. But then flailing, yelling, wishing I could have been reserved a better fate than this, regretting the choice and yet wondering if the rocks under my feet had made the choice for me. Was there a storm brewing above me?
All I remember is a flash of lightning in human form, uncontained and yet bearing a body, the ferocious tenderness in his eyes set on mine, and the arms sweeping me high into the air before the devil could lay a finger on me. And then waking up as a boy feeling the sweet relief of having experienced a dream that foretold the story of my whole life in one single motion of grace and power.
I stood on the edge of a cliff looking up into the sky where nothingness lived. Perhaps there were vultures making a conglomerate of hell within the folds of the clouds. Armies of force and foul waiting to watch my fall, for the fall of it would be very great as the Teacher said it would be.
Behind me were voices saying "you're not that bad, Peter." "Raise your hand if you've ever told a lie. Told a little white lie. Stole something. Said something you shouldn't have." The triviality of the church's conceptions of sin were poor whispers as I stood on the edge of the cliff and the devil was standing at the bottom. How could I reply to them? How could anyone reply to their whitewashed mouths? You've not lived in my head where the worm never dies, nor in my throat where the serpent writhes. You've not seen the fires of hell that burn under the shell of my religious politeness. I can't do it anymore.
The clouds were so black I thought that no light would ever come from them. And I looked down and saw the devil give me a wry smile and a flick of a claw: come on down, you who are worse than you ever thought imaginable.
So down I went. Submissively at first, I thought, like I might simply fall like a rag doll. But then flailing, yelling, wishing I could have been reserved a better fate than this, regretting the choice and yet wondering if the rocks under my feet had made the choice for me. Was there a storm brewing above me?
All I remember is a flash of lightning in human form, uncontained and yet bearing a body, the ferocious tenderness in his eyes set on mine, and the arms sweeping me high into the air before the devil could lay a finger on me. And then waking up as a boy feeling the sweet relief of having experienced a dream that foretold the story of my whole life in one single motion of grace and power.
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