2 - from wounds to wisdom

Tantamount to sorrow, living on the brink, the translucence wafts in mid thought, oblique as it is opaque, knowing little but fixing its one great ocular scope on the upward bend of space. Below as it bounces on the firmament creatures of more substance but less opinion nibble at the fresh train it weaves, chafing on the surface of a new world. The translucence exists only to see, and in its great clouded mass it stores each image as the One has decreed. Heaven is a canvas and the stars are the brushes that swirl and coalesce into Klimpts of vast sagacity, blotches of light and dark, a chiaroscuro portion of soup to feed the soul of an unimaginative creature.

Each night when the celestial,wobbling orb completes its dance of revolution, darkness unfolds and the scrabbling being, ethereal in its impotency, unfurls a great lid and partakes of the beauty that permeates the spreading dome above. Elucidation envelopes its being and cellular elocution sparkles along synaptic chords. Tonight still hovers upon the cusp of a notion, and creation is rampant, fertile, overwhelming. Even as the vermin below cling to its scarred underbelly, feeding on the bulk it daily grows to compensate for a bulging memory core, the strain begins to rend and play havoc, until the translucence buckles from within and resolves to capitulate – it divides and surrenders precious memories to a second half. But in doing so, there is more beauty to behold, and to debate.

So the masses are fed, from on high to the lowliest, and presence is maintained.

part 3