One Note of Perfect Beauty
[A encouragement originally posted
in my LiveJournal, 22 June 2007]
*dave sits on a patch of dry Georgia sand,
a patch that used to be his yard,
before the recent drought*
*in a blink, Titania, Queen of the Faeries,
is not there, then there*
Titania: “Hail! Journey with me, for the time is come.”
dave: “The time for what?”
Titania: “The time for you to hear one note of perfect beauty.”
*stretches forth her hand, the earth-power flows,
and sand becomes the mirror of the Faerie Queen*
*the image in the mirror is blackness*
“Take my hand, and I will protect you;
for where we go, there is no air to breathe.”
*dave takes her hand as they step through the mirror*
*they hover in darkness over a tiny dark world*
dave: “What is this place?”
Titania: *touching her left palm to dave’s left temple*
“Here, look with my eyes, and tell me what you see.”
dave: “I see a perfect sphere of pure iron the size of a planet,
...a dull, dead, boring planet.”
Titania: “You see well; each thing has its time and place,
and the time for this place is now.
Behold! She arrives from the far side of the universe,
for distance has no meaning to her power.”
*the darkness breaks as a luminous being appears from nowhere;
she is winged and beautiful, radiant yet hard to look upon*
dave: “What is she?”
Titania: “She is a Seraphim; from the beginning of the Arch of Time,
He-Who-Rose-with-the-Dawn placed one word, one note of the
song beyond words, in her heart, to be used at the appointed time.
That time is now. Listen and watch.”
*the angel opens her mouth and sings one note,
one solitary note of perfect beauty and awesome power;
somehow, even with no atmosphere, dave “hears” it;
and while there is no hint of sadness, dave is sad anyway,
because he is sure that he will never again
in this lifetime hear anything so wondrous*
*the effect is immediate;
the iron orb changes into a myriad of elements,
expands, spins on its axis and orbits its newly-formed sun;
it develops oceans and mountains, rivers and plains;
birds fly, and a herd of unicorns runs along the bank of a river;
the birds sing, and the unicorns answer with notes they trumpet
through the holes in their horns; each plays in a different key,
and together they sound like an orchestra*
dave: *dumbfounded* “What are they singing?”
Titania: “Birds and unicorns alike sing of the joy to be alive.”
dave: “Unicorns?”
Titania: “If the Creator wishes to raise up unicorns,
who are you to question it?
And if God wills these gentle beings to tarry
until the 1000-year reign of the Anointed One,
and then to run across the fields of Deep Heaven,
what is that to you?”
*The Queen of the Faeries talks to dave once again
of the things that were, the things that are,
and the things that are yet to be*
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