09-13-2020, 10:07 PM
Her wound did not penetrate the shell of his armored expression. Truth was painful, which was the motive for its avoidance. He spoke the truth, and she fled the rejection. It was not unexpected, not even for one such as she.
However, even for Nimeda, there was an inevitable fate that transformed truth to acceptance, even if the metamorphosis transpired over an entire lifetime. For those that avoided the pain of truth, illumination brightened their deathbed. In the last moments of life, truth was desirable, because to endure pain was to be alive. He knew it first hand, haven given the last rites of heavenly embrace for more faithful than he could remember. Sometimes those solivagant souls laid in plush beds awash with medical comfort and familial presence. Sometimes, they were criminals destined for execution at the hands of mankind's worldly powers. He learned early that those who desired truth and those who rejected it were often not what one would predict. The brave and the cowardly all faced the same end: holding Philip's hand, listening to the song of his earnest prayers because absolution was an equal right's opportunity open for any who sought it.
But for the cowardly, who could not tolerate the pain of truth even at their mortal end, their first moments with eyes awakening in eternity would encounter what the flesh avoided, much to their eternal torment. A sad fate, to avoid the fleeting passage of pain of the flesh only to walk an eternity of painful hell as an abandoned soul. Philip once called the dream an illumination of truth. When he first encountered Nimeda, he thought that truth to be an escape from himself. Now, alone in the verdant forest, he realized The Truth. A painful truth. That he was alone asleep as much as awake; alone but for a companion the Lord and their divine bride, the church.
He hung his head, solemn in Nimeda’s swift absence. He took a breath and spoke to the waters in her absence, as if they may carry the message to their mistress. “You’re wrong about love,” was all that was spoken, and then he woke up.
However, even for Nimeda, there was an inevitable fate that transformed truth to acceptance, even if the metamorphosis transpired over an entire lifetime. For those that avoided the pain of truth, illumination brightened their deathbed. In the last moments of life, truth was desirable, because to endure pain was to be alive. He knew it first hand, haven given the last rites of heavenly embrace for more faithful than he could remember. Sometimes those solivagant souls laid in plush beds awash with medical comfort and familial presence. Sometimes, they were criminals destined for execution at the hands of mankind's worldly powers. He learned early that those who desired truth and those who rejected it were often not what one would predict. The brave and the cowardly all faced the same end: holding Philip's hand, listening to the song of his earnest prayers because absolution was an equal right's opportunity open for any who sought it.
But for the cowardly, who could not tolerate the pain of truth even at their mortal end, their first moments with eyes awakening in eternity would encounter what the flesh avoided, much to their eternal torment. A sad fate, to avoid the fleeting passage of pain of the flesh only to walk an eternity of painful hell as an abandoned soul. Philip once called the dream an illumination of truth. When he first encountered Nimeda, he thought that truth to be an escape from himself. Now, alone in the verdant forest, he realized The Truth. A painful truth. That he was alone asleep as much as awake; alone but for a companion the Lord and their divine bride, the church.
He hung his head, solemn in Nimeda’s swift absence. He took a breath and spoke to the waters in her absence, as if they may carry the message to their mistress. “You’re wrong about love,” was all that was spoken, and then he woke up.
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