The Garments of Men
Time is a veil over eternity, carrying each of us inside a single wave atop its boundless sea. Millennium after millennium, uncatchable as vapor and small as a grain of sand, drift by without a proper farewell. And yet, humans remain tethered to vessels of flesh, bound to a fixed point in space-time like a never-ending wheel, unable to go anywhere but forward. You should know I am not one of those humans. At least, not anymore.
I awoke in my garden earlier today to a sound like trumpets blaring. The holy melody made my hair stand up straight and sent shockwaves of fear through my body. I couldn’t decide if I should flee or bow, so I did neither. I laid deathly still upon my flowerbed and watched.
A terrible yet beautiful vision flashed before me. Four animal-headed creatures, each with five eyes for seeing, six arms for performing, and seven wings for carrying, flew toward me. Every creature extended three of its wings, so they created a platform like a cloud, upon which stood a man—or perhaps a God—wrapped in a robe of shifting blue waves. On and on the train of his robe went, shading the earth behind and watering the grass below.
The man descended to my side, soiling the train of his robe with the dirt of my lawn. He asked if I needed help and I said yes, though I knew not why.
“Well then,” the man said, “would you like to go outside?”
I thought to myself, “Are we not already outside?” And before I could answer he was stepping over me.
As the train of his robe touched my forehead, I found myself naked in a garden resembling my own but surrounded by a steep ledge. The man was there too, still clothed in splendor, and I moved to his side. His presence reassured me of safety, like a warm campfire in an unknown forest.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“Nowhere we haven’t been before,” he replied.
A few minutes morphed into hours, and soon we were chatting like old friends. We went about laughing, or crying, for what felt like an eternity. That is, until someone rudely interrupted our conversation.
A strange voice rang from below, and I became dangerously aware of how high I was. Looking over the ledge, I saw the man’s robe coil underneath the garden to create a spire with our garden at its peak. Further down, the robe continued outward in an infinite spiral, covering the whole Earth in an ocean of deep blue.
“Don’t you wish to be clothed as splendidly as he?” the voice sang.
I was bested, or worsened, by my curiosity. Longing to discover the voice’s origin, I examined the spire and caught a glimpse of something circling the tower. A scaly silhouette came into view, and I realized the creature was ascending toward me.
“Is everything alright?” the man asked.
My heart dropped. I had become so distracted by the man’s robe, I’d forgotten about the man himself.
I opened my mouth, yet before I could respond a gorgeous siren emerged at the ledge. She grasped my arm and yanked, but the man also grabbed my spare arm, or I grabbed his. A most painful choice entered my mind. Either I would enjoy the man’s company but never match his prestige, or seek new beauty and risk losing a friend. In the end, I let go of the man’s hand and immediately regretted my decision.
As you question the sanity of my choice, remember I was in a vision. I really did want to stay with the man, but I craved to know what other wonders his robe concealed beneath the garden. I also figured if the seas and his robe were one and the same, wouldn’t his garments catch me? I’m still unsure of the answer.
Goosebumps coated my body as I broke the surface of cold water. I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids clamped shut while the creature dragged me deeper downward. I fought to breathe and found no air. Water filled my lungs. Wrenching in pain, I screamed inside and hoped for death to end the constant pain of drowning.
I fully expected my life to flash before my eyes. Instead, everyone else’s life passed in front of me (including yours) as if all of human history could be blurred together, made into a stew, and forced to drink in a single sitting. Yes, I witnessed every loving sacrifice, scientific advancement, and valiant victory, most of which will be long forgotten by mankind. Yet, I also suffered through the massacre of families, torture of prisoners, and every other merciless act down to the smallest quarrel between neighbors.
O Reader, do you know what such horrors will do to a person? Men are not meant to see all things. I’d rather claw out my eyes and drown a second time than undergo the same experience again. Are we not the fruit of those who came before, and the seed of those who come after? Where do we swim in the whirlpool, or perhaps cesspool, of goods and evils we prefer to call human history?
The vision ended as I awoke in my garden on a blanket of shifting blue waves. The man previously robed in splendor sat across from me, clothed in garments of dirt. I uncorked a bottle of wine and poured him a glass.
“Thank you, Adam.” he said, and we went about laughing, or crying, for what I now know to be an eternity.
A Feast of Sorts
In the lowliest corner of the greatest of cities
A single tree grows amidst hundreds of shanties
As day folds to night and the sky closes its tent
Three scrawny frames lie below branches, half-hungry, half-spent.
Empty stomachs cry out defiantly, battling decay
Yet another day’s earnings just wasted away
Though cool winds can’t pierce as deep as malnutrition
The tree’s clapping hands give a new invitation—to feast.
“Come witness bright and hollow stars waging heavenly wars
The Elder Father dances and girds up his cords
Dead white lights descend upon the children of men
Lights empty of warmth, enslaving all who worship them.
Mourning the feeble bones and knotted hearts of Earth’s kinsmen
The Morning Sun supernovas in condescension
Bursting flames shatter bonds, enabling man and tree
To pledge allegiance to the Sun for all eternity.”
As the tree ceases to chant, the three arise in new song
Reminded their feast surpasses the strong’s. They sing
“In the wealthiest tower of the poorest of cities
A woeful man lived above hundreds of shanties
As night opened to day and the dark closed its gates
The heavyset man laid aside many plates, half-finished.
For despite his full stomach, he never shared food or meed
and harbored his earnings as captives unto greed
’Til late one evening, when the cold wind brought a friend
A Dove flew to the window and invited him in—to feast.
’Behold, the Sun over Heaven requests an audience
Come dine in the Cosmos, bring all of your servants
For the Morning Sun shall soon be wed to the Moon
Witness Celestial Beauties collide, escape your gloom.’
But as he’d eaten his fill, he turned and went back to bed
So the dove tore him to shreds and dropped him dead—below.”