Older Gods 3
Disembodied we connect now more completely, cells in motion swaying in these current pressured deeps. Now there is no you, no me, no consciousness wrapped up in skin, no ties beyond the ones we choose, no master, slave, no kith nor kin. The mitosis of the God’s blood is undone. Collapsed, compressed, at long last we are one.
And yet amid the electric impulse of our joy: you, me, I, us could feel the thread of something left unsaid unravelling. In the paean of this mad and lonely God, this deity trapped in darkness, this Lord bereft and manorless, is the shadow of some immense untruth. We who lost our youth to ageing travel, desiccated by the salt and sun can sense the veil, invisible, afloat upon the sunken waves, the dance of something long desired but always swaying just away from sight.
The God; drunk on our long awaited draught: belief; sensed the poison of suspicion. We glimpsed the shadowed vaults of his vast mind, the galaxies colliding in their stately walk to death, the effigy half hidden in the lightning of his thoughts. The poison fired him, unable to stop his being soaking up all our belief, the venom of hestitation reflected his withheld confession. His rage tore torrent and tornado through our vaporous existence, until expended he fell sobbing in the throbbing quiet vastness, inseparable and one we coalesced again.
“Ask not”, he begged, piteous shadow of omnipotence. “Ask not, for I am so long alone in this hard darkness, and maddened by the very scent of you.”
I have been waiting centuries; at long last you have come.
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