Christopher (hospitius) wrote,

the ascent of light

He awoke into a dream of endless falling, legs flailing, arms windmilling, hands desperately clawing for some invisible hold, that feeling in the pit of his stomach of disbelief that there was no longer solid ground beneath his feet, as long has he held onto disbelief it contained a measure of hope, but already he felt he had been falling a long long time, only his body refused to adjust to this fact, it rebelled against its weightlessness with a sustained terror. Over and over he enacted the moment of his release into freefall panic. Time, no longer a sequence of lucid moments, stretched into one endlessly sustained howl. There is no way to measure then, how long he fell before he landed in that dark, featureless landscape, a thin ribbon of desert snaking between twin bottomles caverns. He looked down and realized that he still felt that same overwhleming vertigo, his soul still pinwheeled in darkness, and so he lept into the abyss to join body to soul, the tear between the two being too great to bear. His mind kept turning away from one thought, a feeling really, that something he had done or failed to do had caused his descent. Something, someone he had failed and failed to ask forgiveness had pushed him over the brink. But after a time, or after time ceased to have anymore meaning and the panic lessened because it wasn't endlessly evergreen after all, he began to reflect, and tried to remember that primal transgression, and when he failed, after almost recapturing it a hundred thousand times, he began to doubt its existence. Or, he began to strip belief to its essence; his body, his mind, its fall, the weight that pulled him down. And then he questioned even these. Of these four things, the sum and substance of his existence, he believed in his mind the most, the body next, and the others, increasingly, not at all. Why should he be falling if he himself had not chosen to? What weight existed independent of him in this place where the burden of his solitude filtered through his fingers like air? Thinking thoughts like these for what could have been a hundred years he suddenly knew what he had to do, it was so simple, really; folding his body he extended his hands out in front of him and dove downward with immense force. There had not been walls of rock around him for many many eons, there existed nothing to indicate north or south up or down and so he believed himself to be soaring instead of diving, flying instead of falling, and he again remembered or thought he remembered that once he had worn wings.
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