Hierophant
Oaty, Mild and Sweet. These were the first touches of a thought that trickled into his void-full mind. Encased in that strange position between aware and asleep the comfort of his rest seized his mind. Tugging and yanking him away from the situation surrounding himself. Finally, his eyes opened with a slow labour and a great sigh left his body. The wind murmured and left a cold gust to jerk him alive. He tilted his head left and right then looked to his toes in a strange calmness that defused his body. Barley. Barley everywhere! With a heave and a stretch of his body the lost man arose above the boundless sea of gold that reflected the sun to which beamed and announced even as it started to rest above the hills. Lifting his hand and protecting his eyes by the shadow cast he saw the fields and hills beyond seemed completely covered and shined. A vast, mountainous radiance.
The lost man gawked at such a find before he heard the crying and complaining of seagulls above. The lonely man looked with a peevish displeasure over such animals. “To have the world around you. To see with only the expense of time. So why should you sound so sluggish and shiftless?” he said in remark. of course, the flying rabble of mischief did not take his words to heart and continued their journey. Then once more the oaky and nutty smell of the grain surrounding himself attracted his attention, but his gaze aimlessly fell to a sight to which His mind now sparked in the wake of a new find, a chapel.
Staring down the stone arches that loomed over like the maw of a voracious and punishing fish each moment unmoving revealed only another grim detail of the chapel he stood before. The angels gently carved looked grim and rageful in expression, the shattered stained glass of its window riddled the weeds with visages of monsters, red and black. With an unwilling motivation he stepped over the stone towers that had fallen and crept into the spoiling before himself. Each wooden bench had eroded as if they had committed to their service and granted merciful rest with each one safeguarding the secrets of those it held high and empowered, hearkened and hopeful. The lost and lonely man looked to the altar, the ambulatory that surrounded the back end of the church and higher walkways that overlooked the building gave spectacle and awe but no roof to provide shelter. Enticed he made ready to rise higher and see the view above.
A disturbance of weathered bricks had altered his steadiness and a voice clamoured, insulted, outraged, aggrieved “Apostate!” Turned towards his scorner the man faced a fast and strong wind that engulfed just as quickly as it left him. “Malicious indoctrinate!” Once more the man had turned to the platform at the end of the church but could not see his attacker. he thought his vision was starting to blur as the air and space around the broken altar seemed to move in places or was it that the church was starting to shake and jump? No matter the lost man’s conclusion he saw a narrow and straight line of a blue, white whenever he could catch a glimpse without feeling sick. Raising his hands and flinching he slowly viewed the voice and asked “who are you? What are you?” As if insulted the voice announced, proclaimed.
“I am the Word! I am the grim, the third. I am the bearer of dust! The left hand! The spirit of this garden and the quiet servant to the void! I am the celestial devil and cherub to the red fire! This I am but always and only Anointed!” After such statements, the silence could not be more pernicious and deafening. Now this voice in eldritch fashion transformed and from the ground up a copper pole that grew stiff then a snake of metal slithered round this staff before becoming motionless and still but staring in judgement. “He delivered! He retained! But you, a son of dust complains! Impertinence and insolence. Will you obey even in punishment?” The snakes head then started to break from its body and it fell from its height, splitting in two. the rod bent and wined in its labour with the head morphing into fur as the voices second form gave breath to life. A lion with a great crown forged into its head. Wings spread and gave dumbfounding aura to its form. The glorious beast stepped or rather strolled down from the altar and the voice spoke through the creature “can you be risen to the position of a man?” before an answer was made the beast twisted violently and threw the confounded man from his feet with the ruined chapel shaking in clamour. The lion stood up, changed in colour and height. A head of gold, a chest of silver, a loincloth of brass, legs of iron and feet of clay. A king of grim demeanour then spoke with unmoving lips “will you look upon my works?”
The voice challenged the guilty man with an unspoken question “will you take penance gladly, wholeheartedly?” “I will…” he replied but after a moment he recalled his words. “Yes. Such a garden. Such a garden that I tread too heavy upon. Limbo is what may wait for me where scholars and philosophers await in argument. Such a Word? I do not know but with broken staff, boils and sores ill continue even if mutts and mongrels keep me company, I will be thankful of their sickening tending’s” His response was quiet and humble but shamed. feeling an unspeakable presence, the guilty man looked up and saw a blinding light that expelled shadow and time “Will many enter such a place?” the now content man asked. The chapel, the birds, and the golden fields of barely seemed to glow in flame. “a great many but you must remain.”