The Preeternal Chrysolite
Note: Don’t worry abt the incoherence between title and story. It’s drawn from a deeply Sufi context that I do not expect most people to know. (If you’re interested, read up Ann Marie Schimmel’s And Mohammad is the Messenger)
Could a love be so big that it shadows the sun that is Juliet?
Could a love be so small that it fits into a fist-sized heart?
God is a great Will pervading all things by nature of its intentness. I read this line 14 years ago in Ligiea, one of Poe’s masterpieces of terribe love. Love brings back a dead woman who attempts again and again to conquer the Conqueror Worm. God and Love. Love and Death. Death and Hope. Hope and Eternity. Eternity and the Human Element.
I’m supposed to sigh here. I’m supposed to look up into the infinite blackness that the night sky is. I’m supposed to turn up sad, haunting songs that brush my heart with visions and stirrings from a pre-eternal unseen world. A world where in a vast plain stand like silent ghosts infinite human souls wrapped in white cloaks and hoods, their heads bent, all facing the Center.
God is the center, the circumference and the spokes.
His whisper KUNN wafts, blows, rages, storms through the plain, whipping the cloaks, whipping back black hair from pale brows till the whisper melts, echoes and notes melting into each other like lava, turning into the First Question:
Alast-u-Bi-rabbikum?
Am I not your Lord
Infinite nonjaws creak open, one resonance wafting out, billowing the nonwind, exploding creation into being as a side effect of the Wind, Kunn:
Indeed You are.
Perfect Servitude is born.
It will not last though, for Perfection has been marred by Creation.
The Center is already fading behind seventeen thousand curtains. The souls turn and start trudging. Some move towards the silvery Water that is shaping into the pearly gates of heaven. Others watch with interest as their memories fade and a ball of heat rises, mist-like, from the Wind’s echoes, to form Hades, Fire.
The rest move towards the dust from the plain that rises in a spiral forming earth, Earth.
The Center winks one last time and disappears from the sight of the eyes that see not. The curtains closes.
Indeed we are from Him and unto him shall We return.
Who is the author? The piece is “uncategorized.”
It looks like Usman’s work.
Uggh. I hate it when u post smth and ferget to uncheck the box. It is indeed I.
I was right!
I am blown away.
“God and Love. Love and Death. Death and Hope. Hope and Eternity. Eternity and the Human Element.”
Brilliant!
“Perfect Servitude is born.
It will not last though, for Perfection has been marred by Creation.”
Beautiful!
What imagery! I am as green as my sweater right now.
One thing to change if you will:
“I’m supposed to look up into the infinite blackness that the night sky is.”
“…that is the night sky ” sounds better, don’t you think?
You’re back with a bang, huh? And you said you were out of practice! Shame on you for lying.
I never know what ppl mean
when they say they’re green.
LOL. That’s a tiny poem in itself.
I actually don’t know what that means.
Green with envy, stupid.
Or green like the Grinch. Hmm… I like that.
Well Usman, after reading this I have to say that you may grade whatever rubbish I put up anytime you want.
What really got me was that even though I didn’t agree with the driving logic behind the peice, I kept reading, and re-reading, mark of a great for me!
Thank you, ppls.
Fraz: You’ve written some excellent pieces, but, yeah, modesty’s a good thing. Write on!