Last night I dreamed I was trying to get home on the bus; ended up taking the crosstown bus to Burnside. Definitely one of my more prosaic dreams, but hey, a dream is a dream.
Heard from an old friend recently. Always a good thing.
New goal: Do some creative writing every day.
At the beginning of creation, the Merciful One created all human souls and placed them in the remotest reaches of the Mystery, in the sacred chamber that is the abode of the Spirit Throne. When a baby is conceived, Lilith, the Angel of Night, plucks its soul from its resting place in the recesses of the chamber, and brings it before the Spirit Throne to learn its destiny. The Spirit Throne is shaped like a cube with thirty-two sides, six feet wide on the outside and six billion light-years wide on the inside, and its radiance cascades down from the most recondite reaches of Mystery into the worlds below. Lilith cradles the infant soul in her arms; she nurtures it with the Rose of Paradise, holding the blossom under its chin so that the essence of the Rose flows into the soul, while the emanation of the Spirit Throne fills it with all of the wisdom it will learn in life.
Then the Angel of Souls appears, ready to accept the soul from Lilith. This is always a difficult moment for both angels, no matter how many children are born: the Angel of Souls trembles as she takes the new soul into her arms, and Lilith looks down intently, avoiding her eyes. The Angel of Souls holds the soul over her head, that it may shine in the glory of the Spirit Throne before all the other souls, with whom it will one day be reunited. Now, while the other angel holds the little soul in its last moments in heaven, Lilith reaches down to her side. She draws forth from its sheath the fiery blade of the Sword That Does Not Slay. Ever so gently, she touches the soul with the tip of the sword. At its touch, the soul flees the realm of heaven and the abode of the Spirit Throne, and awakens, crying and frightened, in a baby’s body. All of its wisdom is forgotten, and all that remains is the imprint of the burning sword in the cleft of its upper lip. The child will begin to grow and to live, and will spend the rest of its days learning all its lost wisdom.
Though Lilith’s blade has struck wisdom from memory, yet it has left desire. Desire will spread from that point, and desire will guide the child to suckle, and desire will guide the youth to kiss. Desire will guide the sage to speak, and desire guides our hand when, unthinking and lost in thought, we stroke the mark of Lilith’s sword, as even now we seek the wisdom and the light that we once knew.