08-12-2020, 05:32 PM
Armande saw the beep of a receipt acknowledgement and despite himself, his heart pulsed. He turned, opened the door, and looked back once more into the room, the two beautiful sleeping women, relaxed and content in their rest and in each other, tangled sheets making it difficult to figure out whose limbs were whose. His heart tugged. He wanted to put the wallet down and crawl back into bed with them. He knew they would open up to him, bring him into their cocoon, their haven. The sanctuary.
Not tugged. He felt a tearing. He wouldn't lose them, he knew. Not soon anyway. But perfection required finality. The Greek tense aorist. The action complete. done. Beautiful art in whatever medium- a painting, a carving, a building, a piece of music, a novel, a play- bounded in space or time, to be appreciated in its totality and completeness.
The opera was nearing its end, final notes trailing off to cap the overwhelming experience. The book's coda was being read, bringing the story to an end, to be digested and savored.
Valeriya and Rowan in bed, the new home he had found, brought him to by fate, a place from which to be reborn. He had been Regus of the Atharim, with all its concomitant titles- Vicar of Iscariot, Ouroboros Nominal, etc, etc, etc. They made him tired. In hindsight, it seemed as...venal as the letters at the end of his name with regard to his multiple degrees. BS. MS. Ph.D....etc, etc, etc. He had transcended those definitions. Now, under the guidance of fate- a fate he had railed against once, furious to have felt played or manipulated- he had found his place. Here, with his Eyes. Something beyond the Atharim, even. The core stayed the same. But the world was far larger than he had understood. And his place larger. He felt centered and at peace.
Only now, as the idyll came to an end, could he see it in all its beauty. The attack on Apollyon, the fires that drove him below, the Khlysty, his beloved fiery hearted Valeriya who had patiently stood by him while he postured and played the arrogant fool, radiant in her thousand lashed back to teach him humility, the Voodoo Queen restaurant and his earth goddess Rowan, who had ripped away her own eye so that she should see more truly. And there he stood, with them, a trinity, each face possessing qualities of the other, each face different and unique.
It was breathtaking.
But the vision. There were four faces. The four cherubs.
Thus do we begin again...
He turned, shoving down his heart tearing, and went to the console of the vehicle, placed his wallet on the surface, and activated the comm.
The bright blue shining eyes of Patricus the 1st, looked back at him. Strangely, despite the tiredness and confusion, there was a...difference about him. He would not say content. No, not that. But the man had been on his own journey it seemed.
"Hello, Patricus. I imagine you must be surprised to hear from me." He could imagine the man's response. Of course I am surprised. Last I heard you were dead. Or something to that effect. The man was sharp tongued when the unexpected occurred. He laughed at the memory of their first meeting. “What was suppose to happen? I see this thing and am instantly a believer? Well, it fucking worked.”
He looked back, curious as to whether Rowan or Valeriya would wander up here soon and join the conversation. He didn't mind. It was the three of them now that acted. Three faces, one being, whoever spoke.
Not tugged. He felt a tearing. He wouldn't lose them, he knew. Not soon anyway. But perfection required finality. The Greek tense aorist. The action complete. done. Beautiful art in whatever medium- a painting, a carving, a building, a piece of music, a novel, a play- bounded in space or time, to be appreciated in its totality and completeness.
The opera was nearing its end, final notes trailing off to cap the overwhelming experience. The book's coda was being read, bringing the story to an end, to be digested and savored.
Valeriya and Rowan in bed, the new home he had found, brought him to by fate, a place from which to be reborn. He had been Regus of the Atharim, with all its concomitant titles- Vicar of Iscariot, Ouroboros Nominal, etc, etc, etc. They made him tired. In hindsight, it seemed as...venal as the letters at the end of his name with regard to his multiple degrees. BS. MS. Ph.D....etc, etc, etc. He had transcended those definitions. Now, under the guidance of fate- a fate he had railed against once, furious to have felt played or manipulated- he had found his place. Here, with his Eyes. Something beyond the Atharim, even. The core stayed the same. But the world was far larger than he had understood. And his place larger. He felt centered and at peace.
Only now, as the idyll came to an end, could he see it in all its beauty. The attack on Apollyon, the fires that drove him below, the Khlysty, his beloved fiery hearted Valeriya who had patiently stood by him while he postured and played the arrogant fool, radiant in her thousand lashed back to teach him humility, the Voodoo Queen restaurant and his earth goddess Rowan, who had ripped away her own eye so that she should see more truly. And there he stood, with them, a trinity, each face possessing qualities of the other, each face different and unique.
It was breathtaking.
But the vision. There were four faces. The four cherubs.
Thus do we begin again...
He turned, shoving down his heart tearing, and went to the console of the vehicle, placed his wallet on the surface, and activated the comm.
The bright blue shining eyes of Patricus the 1st, looked back at him. Strangely, despite the tiredness and confusion, there was a...difference about him. He would not say content. No, not that. But the man had been on his own journey it seemed.
"Hello, Patricus. I imagine you must be surprised to hear from me." He could imagine the man's response. Of course I am surprised. Last I heard you were dead. Or something to that effect. The man was sharp tongued when the unexpected occurred. He laughed at the memory of their first meeting. “What was suppose to happen? I see this thing and am instantly a believer? Well, it fucking worked.”
He looked back, curious as to whether Rowan or Valeriya would wander up here soon and join the conversation. He didn't mind. It was the three of them now that acted. Three faces, one being, whoever spoke.