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In the prelude of my wake I confronted the pluming vastness which has all but devoured the Æons of the primeval Gods, writhen long since humanity’s precession. This maligned emptiness hearkened to me, its corrosive tendrils assailing all notions of subsistent reality which I had so desperately endeavored to procreate amidst the aberrant æthyrs of my cognizance and the vagabond torrents of my heart. This façade has long since collapsed, although to some extent I choose to disbelieve it as a painful measure to preserve what yet remains of my sanity. I have become indifferent towards memories as they no longer appear to possess any verity. But for you, my pale companion, I shall draw back the numinous cascades of time.
Reminiscing on my causal existence, I recalled the many moons that had transpired throughout which I allowed myself to believe that the purpose of my outlandish quest was to cleanse myself of my former-life, going under. In time I came to grasp that there was neither a “former-� nor a “present-life�, only the ever-unfolding moment Which Is. Across the cascades of time I chose adherence to the path of a despicable coward, fleeing from ørlög and cursing to damnation my awareness of it. Although I eventually overcame my insecurities and chose to live proudly and gloriously in spite of my mortality, it proved to be of no consequence. In time I came to ascend into the vacuous horrors of the primordial Abyss pervading an acausal universe beyond the farthest gates of Asgarðr and the deepest corridors of Hel. Therein, all aspects and notions of human identity dissolve into emptiness. Everything that is believed to define a man, everything that he may have ever intuited or fathomed, ceases to exist completely.
There was such a time when I was young and vibrant. Restless within the confines of civilization, I had chosen to abandon my homeland to traverse the wilderness. There is neither any tome nor any teacher capable of conveying the wisdom that is to be found throughout these overgrown paths. At least, so I had then believed. Time took its course and my laborious journey beneath the unfathomed sun and phantasmal moon invoked a profound sense of awe towards the raw force of the Universe. As I adhered to the subtle tides of its ambiguity I found myself confronted by a surreal vastland of yew and oak.
As I entered the forest it almost appeared as though my very presence had disrupted the natural harmony therein. A mælstrom surmounted the heavens, embezzling the quietude with howls of thunder, kissing the treetops with a delicacy of rain, and unleashing an ancient fury in the wake of collisions. I felt a sense of impatient yearning to breathe in the incandescence of starlight and yet strangely contented by the sublime furor that now caressed my body and mind. As I traversed onward the hallowing strikes of lightning, slashes of wind, and torrents of rain spoke to me in brotherly resonance. I felt deeply for these elements; for their elegance and majesty, for their destructive and creative capabilities, and for their eternal passage betwixt time and shadow. These attributes are inspiring and in this vein I choose to aspire towards them.
Continuing along this overgrown path I came across a clandestine grove, a place where the Ancients still breathed. I sat atop a spire that had long since fallen to ruin and yet, in spite of its timeworn visage, it had refused to relinquish its glorious spirit. In observance of my surroundings I came to realize that so long as this fragment of solemn beauty remain sheltered from the Æons of humanity it will exist unique unto itself amidst the Universe. That was, without the faintest doubt, worth my appreciation and respect.
The indiscreet harmony of the blaring mælstrom averted my perception beyond the forest canopy, piercing the subtle lacerations within the nimbi and cascading me forth into the primordial vastness. I began climbing out of myself in ascent towards the depths of that entrancing abyss and in doing so began to perceive the pacific tendrils of a forlorn miasma, their temptuous existence writhing throughout the abstruse depths of my ardent desires, cascading through the inclement capillaries of my dreams. While my body perceived the exquisite frigidity of rain, indiscriminate bitterness of wind, and taciturn serenity of the forest, my thoughts wandered elsewhere.
I began to fall away from the spiritual grove, going under. Expecting to fall back into the Acheronian spectrum of dreams and memories, my consciousness abruptly collapsed into tides of vacuity. In this evanescence of cognizance I became relinquished to the circulatory deluge amidst the seat of my soul. For quite some time, there was stillness amidst the atmosphere of this chasm. Æons had transpired, or so it had seemed, and my cognizance began to rouse from within the emptiness of the void.
