The Nephilim's Narrative

Do you believe? Not
what he believes, not
what they teach to believe - just
do you believe?

I know a man, one
some call mad, who lives
in a world where the Ghosts
of our Yesterdays dance
with those of our Tomorrows -
a world of Elves and Imps, Trolls
and Goblins, a place of The Nosferatu
filled with Brownies and Bean Sidhe,
where The Nephilim live
and more.

The irony? Due to an irascibility
of nature and tongue most, it seems
are shocked - doubting on learning
that this man believes - what
not even fitting
to the equation.

But, he
believes -
do you?

Without apology, nor even caring
to explain, he lets them all call
the names without response - apostate,
heretic and hypocrite, deluded mad man,
sinner, perverter of thought
and word, dammed, and a million
more - he has heard them all
a thousand times before - no anger
left, anger's flame having burnt
flesh from Bones.

Not defending, thinking instead "How
can they live in a world with
out mystery, with out magic?" but
were he to defend? Defend his mad
faith to those clinging to monotheistically
rigid systems of guilt and fear - or ideas
so milk toast any can swallow, electing
the socially accepted status of a religion
attached to their being with out
thought or consequence or
responsibility to their lives?

To them the defense
is easy - and pointless. Still, if pressed
his words would be simply of learning -
to learn your histories - learn the names
of your deities and saints and days
of feasting before they were yours, learn
of the time before when the world
was still young enough to see
what was before its eyes - learn
the roots of that which your thievery
absconded
from others.

They will not hear - hearing,
will not listen, but he tells
the words still.

And to those bereft of all mystery?
To those fatalists who see only a futilistic
existence with out reason past the doing?
Being - and maybe, somewhere, someone,
someday might remember your name
for things said, done, thought in an age
later than today - to those who can find
no reason, no purpose, no meaning,
barely existing in the drudgery
of it all just waiting - waiting - waiting
'til it ends at last returning them
to freed, thoughtless, molecules
in another random compilation?

There are words for them,
as well.

To them he asks only this: "When
were your last alone - not
for a while, not for a day, alone - truly
alone for days on end where there
was no sound but the refrigerator chasing
running toilets while your breath
and grey rains mixed
with your thoughts?"

And when you have found that place
in your memory where few - angel,
demon, human - dare to tread, remember
the late night sound of things scurrying
in distant rooms; animal sounds
far too large to write away
as mouse and little more.

Remember that thing
you placed on a kitchen table
in a cottage filled with nothing
but your self, and remember
the thrill and puzzlement when, an hour
later, it was there no more. Remember
the rushing of blood and energy
to the instantly flushed forehead
while a heart leapt; panic-struck
in joy, trapped by a wall of ribs
to sink back in on itself.

Remember
the feeling of being watched
ceaselessly, your every move
through the wood studied by eyes, minds,
neither benign nor malignant - only
being, watching, unseen from shadow
and moonlight. Remember
the soundless screams as you stand
on midnight steps smoking - knowing
someone, something, sits there keeping
your company - though the light will not
show. Or, on half-waking, that befuddled
sensation that another has just left
your empty bed.

And when they would explain it all away,
citing the sciences and biology of fear
and primitive harkenings from the younger world -
from a time when we were more animal
than human? He would respond
thus; "Perhaps, but if that is true, why
do you know exactly, these fears
and exhilaration I describe - known exactly
as I describe?"

And when that fails? Needing the security
blanket of non-belief as desperately
as the aforementioned monotheists
who abandon their selves' to thoughtless belief,
to faith? When the one does as the other
resorting to words - idiot, paranoid psychotic,
fool and crackpot, mad man to be ignored
or locked in exile lest He endanger
the harmony of the meaningless existences,
he would ask simply "Are my beliefs
any more wild than yours? Why? Why
do you deny what you once believed
before you grew up, become sane - Why
do you deny what I
still believe?

Ask your children - unperverted, they still
see, still hear, still speak with, and
still believe."

I know a man, one
some call mad, who lives
in a world where the Ghosts
of our Yesterdays dance
with those of our Tomorrows -
a world of Elves and Imps, Trolls
and Goblins, a place of The Nosferatu
filled with Brownies and Bean Sidhe,
where The Nephilim live
and more.

He believes. Do you believe? Not
what they teach to believe, not
as he believes - just do you
believe? Or has your world
drained at last of all color
and mystery?

_{(11-06-2010n @ 16:32)}