Mon Dieu

And so it was that Dante Page found himself alone within the blinding light that filtered through the prison bars of ruined romance, crestfallen and trapped in a city after the End of Days and left by God to oversee the ruinous singularity that had catapulted his misery to the point of missing Rapture, and he stood and knew Aurora had left, but not that he had Known her, for she had in her final clandestine days been cruel and unwise and swallowed whole the incapability of mindful expansion or the resuscitated need for individuality and self-expression that can, in all the words of the Divine and in the scripts of the ancients and left humming and rumbling on the tongues of the wisest priests, the children of the stars and the happy prophets who fill the sky with meaning, yes this and this only can be described in a single word that glows and coalesces and burns with fervor in the hearts of those who refuse to be snuffed and allow the soft glow of candlelight not to confuse them from knowing the meaning of the sun, solar wonder and the vast truth of reality and the stations of the cross and all the relevant elevation that takes and wraps the mind into supreme consciousness: magic

Corruption of the spirit is the most grievous crime to which Aurora had been convicted, but her smoking tongue and lashing bouts of closing, that is the act of emptying the mind of sinfulness and filling it with books and pages and quotes and references to build a paper fortress and claim faith and longevity and embrace of the one realest truth to the exclusion of rhythm-truth that rattles in the ears of every soul that is in tune with the frequency of life, screaming and kicking and dancing naked on the streets as it is known to be, brick-layered grime covering the faces of children who Know that infinity is a concept and concepts are limiting and to memorize one's life is to unlive it and kill yourself in ritual suicide more hateful to the well-being of one's spirit than the destruction of one's life-wish, the acolytes and parsons and the abbots all hold a hymn of hallelujahs to the undying and unspoken creed that can only come after their uttered counterparts die in echo, underneath when all vibrations have rendered themselves empty, proven their unworthiness and the need for further expression and attainability and precious visions born from fleeting images that connect the mind to Sophia and her waiting grasp as God's only messenger in the instances when Void and uneternal paradox demons can no longer claw at what you have known and are pierced with searing spears of Knowledge which the Creator so knowingly put into Eden with secret omniscient all-Knowledge that serpents and Dean Skeller could pry the truth from the human condition and necessitate his untimely expulsion

So consider then the sin of man, which is not to be curious but to be led by woman, as Genesis would tell us, to great acts of unwisdom, to scorn the hand of Sophia, but this, as the serpent would have us to believe, is because of woman's own weakness to the call of corruption and that the entire adolescence of the human spirit required morals and guidance, but the tongues and fruits and trees are all inverted and the messages are corrupted by immortal anti-understanding that now prevents Aurora from grasping the Knowledge that Sophia provided her, and thus prevent her from elevating Dante to the quaver of her eternity, as the two souls become cast in gold and feel the calves and idols begin to melt and know and Know and un-Know that if they come untangled, they will succumb to the Biblical narrative and find themselves cast in roles not meant for them or for any who Believe, for their belief is now a venom that is poisoning salvation and demands tribute instead of elevation

I do not Believe, I look into the Void and see Cameron's smirking chaos and I hear madness screaming at the New Orleans floodgates and know that anything that I do and anything that I say cannot unmake the faults and earthquake nightmares that plague the immortal spirit of Dante and I begin to cry, not tears of salt or tongues of flame but for the Holy Spirit, for ghosts and gods and everything that never was and could never be for that is the only iron link that has not rusted in this accumulating belt of madness and Mars and war and death and sadness that will tear life asunder if permitted to grow in its storm cloud way