Tent Flap VI

Gordon turned and thought he had found God.  He had escaped the religion of his youth unscathed, and while not an entirely spiritless person, he considered himself a good deal more pragmatic and realistic than the average soul.  He grounded his beliefs in reality and what he could perceive.

So what the fuck was he looking at exactly?

The shimmering form of light and liquid was too bright to look upon directly.  His eyes found some comfort in the ashen landscape, and his psyche registered the fact that his pose would constitute one of eyes-averted.  In his peripheral vision he could see limbs and tints of color, blues and greens, and then he realized those splashes of color were actually scintillating rainbow hues.  There was the dichotomous sense of perpetual motion and stationary permanence.

“Such time, such passion,” the figure said, the voice digging through flesh and bone, “Cycles of life and death, of creation and destruction.  There is no control.  There is only harmony.”

The figure drew close and Gordon felt each nerve ending within him, each particle of life tingle with immobilizing wonder.  He didn’t know how he was aware of it, but the sprout behind him quivered and stretched its length, reaching skyward with renewed fervor.  He felt like he was going to disintegrate, to fly apart in a spray of molecular building blocks.

“Why have you forgotten?” the voice thundered within his mind.

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