gone is the black

gone is the black house in the white tower.

this is a sign that the Elder, Tespu is coming closer to our surface. I am no more anxious or killing time by his side. the armchair is gone. my shoes are on. the claustrophobia of dank debris, broken walls of the unlit world is finished.

there is no furniture here, save the medicine bed. someone in the passing of time (maybe me) have removed the catheter and glucose drip feeds and blood transfusion machines. the sheets seem fresh, the body of Tespu less grey than i remember it. blood is moving.

there is more space here, the ceilings repaired, the balcony in the hall now rebuilt, open windows breathe pristine.

this is a summer like house, full of bright morning air and white washed walls.I do not find any of this familiar. we are still high above mankind, risen into clear skies overlooking the greatness sea. it is blue and shining with gold. All the abandoned ships, once the bane of this scene, floating there like frozen corpses, morose and burdened by rust, have vanished. the burning castles that once dotted the crumbling lands beyond, choking on smoke filled horizons are no where to be see. They belong to a fading memory. the world ahead is clarity.

but just like the world we used to live in, not everything is what it seems.

I sense gateways opening up in the sky. I sense that familiar feeling of invasion, but one devoid of malice.

I am rushing to close the windows.

outside, far above and to the left, slow motion wooden boats, painted black and red, are floating towards us. in my mind i understand their crashing will be ruinous and full of debris.

I am rushing to close the windows.

the shattering of boats into a crystalline sea shall not spill into our maiden mansion. I must keep the elder Tespu safe in his final hours of sleep.

gone is the black sites in our white skulls.

this is the sign that he has made space in his immaculate temple / satellite / body. i suspect that his mind remains galactic, but his heart is a rich open desert and his soul is full of bent time.

this is our eleventh day.

at some point in the time to come, we will rebuild a hut or cabin in the desert. that ‘sacredness of fertile space’ where the construct in the west was risen. we will use wood, sharply possessed by black and red ointments from the land. there will be no trace of salt in its bones. there will be no evidence of sinking back onto seabed. i suspect the great sea as I see it now will become a faction in our psyches. I suspect there will be comforts of a different bed to rest our heads despite not feeling weary.

gone is the black night in our white dominions.

at least for now.

for there is a distant voice that speaks in the old tongues of Ai-Fi and XIOL and Nebulore. One that knows ‘for every sight in a world of light, there shall live its blindness’

but one without devastation or defeat.

“we will be accustomed to the future dark,” the promiser of Tespu had said, “and we will fluidly move through the path of terrors.”

#prophescenes #irvingpaulpereira


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