Tuesday, December 27, 2011

I think it was on Christmas Eve, late at night, after all the excitement was over, that I went outside for a little bit alone for some air. You can see stars in the city, at least my part of the city, but I had forgotten what it's like, when the night is perfectly crystal clear and there are no lights to interfere. Not just stars, but like you'd taken a handful of glitter and spread across the skies; all those small stars that you never see in the city because the sky is lit up too much. It gets so dark here on the countryside, so completely dark it engulfs you in an otherworldly feeling. It took my by surprise.

For a moment I felt completely alone in the world, and the incomprehensible vastness of space made the reality of my own mortality well up from the beast beneath. The intelligent mind likes to push it away, but the beast knows. I got tears in my eyes, maybe because the insignificance of my life and death in comparison to the stars was a bit too much for me, but mostly because everything was so beautiful. Mortality, death, distance - and the sky. It frightened me, but made me wish for more.

Beauty is cold. It is not a warm red Santa, or the glimmer in a child's eyes, or the warmth of a hug. It has nothing to do with love or generosity. Beauty is a cold mistress, a crystal constellation; beauty is smooth, hard ice and deep impenetrable darkness and distant, uncaring light. Those who confess to the god of beauty will live like skulking wolves in the borderlands of the glowing crystal ice, forever struggling against their fear of light to get a glimpse of their most beloved mistress.

My beast stared up at the stars, and for a moment it shared with me the absolute obedience and loyalty that only beasts can know. It let me feel the fear that only beasts can fear, at the border between light and darkness, and it showed me how the light burned against its skin and how it still longed and longed for it. Perhaps it was my totem sign, marking my belonging to the church of glass and razorblades. But then again, we all knew that already.

1 comment:

Riklurt said...

Reminds me of this:

"Just before dawn Arcturus winks ruddily from above the cemetery on the low hillock, and Coma Berenices shimmers weirdly afar off in the mysterious east; but still the Pole Star leers down from the same place in the black vault, winking hideously like an insane watching eye which strives to convey some strange message, yet recalls nothing save that it once had a message to convey."

-HP Lovecraft