A lifetime since Pride gave birth to the Hegemon. White kan-dao, Imperator. Pride incarnated. Justice of the King. The sole ruler of the people creates a world for them.
A lifetime since Pride gave birth to the Hegemon. Black kan-dao, Kshtriyani Gentle other half. Loss of idol. The ideals and dreams of the innocent gives the people hope.
A lifetime since Pride gave birth to the Hegemon. Reversed blade, sakabato Fukei Painful mercy. Punishment without death. The stern teachings of a guardian educate the people.
A lifetime since Pride gave birth to the Hegemon. Flawless steel, katana Gekkabijin. Lonely moonlight. Solitude of transience. The beauty of sad evanescence grants the people appreciation.
A lifetime since Pride gave birth to the Hegemon. Serbian blade, schiavona Caudillo. Fearless warlord. Inspiration by example. The model of the hero inspires the people.
A lifetime since Pride gave birth to the Hegemon. Ancient memory, gladius Dignitas. Valued possession. Legacy of honor. The name of the sovereign defines the people.
A lifetime since Pride gave birth to the Hegemon. The black sword, Desrona Truest mind. Origin of birth. The mind at the beginning binds the people to the vision.
Simple little writing prompt I put before myself. Short version? Manifest an inner world and override reality.
Inner World, (?)End My eyes are closed. There is no need to look outward. Or should I say inward? This is not the world that people know. You could say that such a world cannot exist anywhere. The weather is not set. It can change in the blink of an eye. Sometimes, it is an arid desert where nothing can grow, a desiccating wind the sole accompaniment to the immolating sun. Others, it is a blizzard without let that covers everything within this land under the snow, allowing no one the possibility to advance or retreat. The snow will capture, freeze, and slowly...bury.
It is desert now. I sit... I rule alone in my inner world. I have imposed my will on reality, bending it to the shape of my true vision. True....? I'm not sure. It is true that I have reshaped everything that falls into my territory into my vision. My territory is endless; it lies beyond the horizon. Even if the true world seeks to reject my inner world, it must bow down so long as my will continues.
I open my eyes. This landscape is very familiar to me. Dotting the landscape like tombstones are familiar shapes. I don't know how many times I've drawn them. They're always there. There's more of them each time I bring forward my inner world. How many broken ideals have been forged into something new here? How many dead dreams have been painfully scrapped?
I wonder how many words I can use to describe the raw materials? Dreams, fancies, fantasies, ideals, hallucinations, delusions, illusions, wraiths. Specters. Fake. All of it is nothing but a dream. False dreams, broken ideals, crushed fancies, murdered fantasies. You can't escape my territory. No matter how you far you run, you'll see nothing but the end result of the raw material.
I slowly stand. To your left is steel with an undulating style. To your right, the simple elegance of a curve belies deadliness. Beyond that, steel of every type imagined and seen exist. My right hand reaches out and draws from the ground my favorite type of sword, the schiavona. If you're here in the desert, I'm sure you understand. The blizzard would have given you a peaceful demise, but here in the desert of my inner world...
You have entered the Field of Blades. Forged from false dreams, broken ideals, crushed fancies, murdered fantasies, each one of these swords is stronger than any mere mortal or his insignificant hope. Few can survive the despair embodied here. Even fewer can continue on with these manifestations of wounds and still feel the pain inside each sword.
That doesn't matter any longer. Here, I am King. The desert is unkind. My swords are forged from that harshness. It is irrelevant if you fight. Come, I will show you kindness.
Haiku structured stanzas strung together. I think I managed to keep the spirit of the haiku even as I told a longer story. For things I can't name, I'm just numbering. As the previous one was 85, this one is 86.
Precisely a year I am like the Fisher King The pain is still here
My dear assailant Liar, traitor, beloved Justice, please strike soon
What a bitter day For I still bleed everywhere Today it hurts more
Perhaps a good knight Will be merciful today And end this by force
No such mercy comes I exist in sheer agony Suffering alone
Knight of greatest loyalty Forge your soul into a blade So that you do not lose your way This is the path of the Highest Duty With many lives is it paved
Knight of greatest loyalty You will never know peace in this world The next is filled with eternal battle Build your will as you would your strength For it is your soul that leads you
Knight of greatest loyalty You will rise to the state of legend The future shall look to you as the past To you is the highest of praise As the King of Heroes
A short story I wrote. I went a bit theological with this one. Cassiel is the angel of solitude and tears, who observes the cosmos with very little interference. He presides over the death of kings, and given who and what he is, I feel a certain empathy towards him. I added some real Hebrew to keep this legitimate.
What is Time to You?
His last memory was pain. The pain had come from all sides, sharp, piercing pain. He had not expected it. He had sat in his chair, lost in endless paper work, when they had come up to him with a petition he had no intention of granting. He had enough people inimical to his cause to even consider adding another. So he refused, and continued to refuse.
He had finally snapped an angry command, and looked back down at his paperwork, determined to get it done before the meeting started when he felt a violent tug and hot, searing sensation. He was a soldier; he reached out and grabbed the cur’s hand, startled to see glittering steel dripping crimson.
He could only exclaim in horror as the lot of them surrounded him. Violence. Pain. Struggle. He had not cried out. He fought. He resisted, but in the end…
שָׁלוֹם
A voice not of this world spoke, emanated. He shivered. “I know that language.”
He turned to the voice that had come behind him. For one of the few times in his life, he gawked in shock.
The figure was strange, a tall being dressed in flowing white robes and a hood that concealed his face. In his right hand, he held a white scythe, curiously wrought but marvelous to behold. Just as impressive, the being had six wings, but for what purpose one needed six wings, he knew not.
“Who are you?
פציאל
Once again, that sensation, that power that he had never felt anywhere before. “That is a word in your language I do not know. Do you not speak a language I do know?” he demanded, beginning to grow frustrated.
He did not know why, but he could have sworn that the specter before him was staring at him. He felt more than saw the slightest twitch of the sextuple wings, the merest shift in weapon hand, tremors that most eyes, including his own at this point, would have missed. But yet, he had the feeling.
Ani Mitzta'er, I am sorry. I shall speak in a tongue you prefer. I am Cassiel.
An apparition that could speak his language was something he could deal with. “Cassiel? Is that a name or a title?”
A name.
Not a talkative fellow. “What are you?”
A messenger.
“From who?”
Adon HaShamayim veEretz
“The Master of Heaven and Earth? I suppose it is no time to bandy theology, but I had not thought that the Jews would be correct as to the nature of God.”
A man in the desert can find wisdom.
“Or heatstroke.”
A sense of humor. Tut Mir Hano'eh.
“That pleases you?”
It is not often I encounter a king with a sense of humor.
He had had enough. A king? A hundred ignorant fools ranting at the top of their lungs that he had taken away their rights, that he had usurped power and made himself a king. He would set this specter on the straight and narrow.
“King? I am no king. I am duly elected official!”
You are a king.
“I am no king! We have no king! There has been no king for over five hundred years!”
The figure was still, facing him. His eyes could sense nothing, but again, he felt it. Amusement. The unknown being before him was amused? His temper was up. “What’s so funny?”
Ani Mitzta’er. It is not often that I come for such a one as you.
“Such a one as me?” He scowled. “I am no king! I wear no crown!”
Is a crown the only measure of a king?
“A crown is what defines a king!” Oh, he was angry. There was no need to bother him with such petty arguments at this stage. But he would have at least one being, mortal or not, acknowledge that he was no king. “A king has absolute power that no one can challenge! A king has no equals, only sycophants! There is no one to struggle against, to compete against!”
Was anyone left alive who could be your equal?
He fell silent. All of his rivals were dead. There was none such left. But that did not mean he would concede the point.
“Semantics.”
Truth.
“I am not a king.”
You have the blood of a king in your veins.
“I am merely a descendant of Venus and Aeneas, of Mars and Romulus.”
An interesting metaphor, the truth lost to forty generations.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded, peeved.
E-l Adon. There is no other God besides him.
“Then who are my ancestors, if there are no other gods but yours?”
You wish to know?
“Amongst other things, I am a student of history.”
Your ancestress was a sacred queen, a chosen priestess who was thought to incarnate your Venus. Your ancestor was a sacred king, a warrior who was thought to incarnate your Mars, and who fought to the death before he passed on kingship to the next warrior.
“So I am descended from Venus and Mars.”
Simply not in the way you believed.
“Human perception is influenced by facts and emotions. So that is why we felt as we did. We had a tendril of truth, but not all of it. No matter how we misunderstood, however, it was our belief that made it true, even though it was actually false.”
A scholar.
“Another pleasant surprise for you?”
Indeed, Melekh.
“For the last time, I am no king.”
Did you not admit that perception colors human belief? Understanding is a three-edged sword; your side, their side, and the truth.
“The truth is that I am not a king, you blighted psychopomp!”
Stubborn.
“I never claimed that I was not.”
You are a king. Though you took wives, you were married to duty, to responsibility. You did not step aside into history, though you could have. You stood there, alone, above all, striving ever higher, reaching beyond life into history.
“I admit the latter, never the former!” he snapped, goaded beyond belief by the detached voice emanating deep within that cowl.
The king’s unspoken duty is to teach, sometimes by horrible example. You taught. You will teach far beyond your lifetime.
He allowed his satisfaction to show. Then all was not for naught. He had succeeded in the goal he had set himself as a lad. Then he stopped himself. He realized he had accepted Cassiel’s judgment, without even thinking. He shot an accusing look deep into the shadow of the face he could not see. Cassiel said nothing. He said nothing. It was a long moment, an infinite moment, but neither said anything. At last, he spoke.
“I understand the Jews have a place. Gehenna. Am I to go there?” he asked, unconcerned. Jews had been tenants in his mother’s building; he knew quite a lot about them since he had grown up around them, and that question bothered him.
Always a question the knowledgeable ask.
“Then the answer should be something you repeat by rote.” The reply was as dry as the Syrian desert.
He shall judge where you go from here, whether He raise you up or cast you down.
“How reassuring. I can but hope there is some generosity in His judgment.”
He is fair. Justice and mercy you shall receive in equal measure.
“Then lead on, messenger Cassiel. I have no desire to put it off any longer.”
Chutzpah. The same quality you held at Alesia you have now, at the moment of your death.
“Has it been only a moment? I feel as if it has been an eternity.”
