An Epiphany

I We know all about those lost ages dogging a time of glory, when darkness descends suddenly like winter twilight over a pale landscape, and we witness even the heartiest hope can manage only two last breaths and then is stilled. And so we become reluctant carriers of both grief and darkness. We try to escape but find the way blocked by other griefs and deeper darkness. Must Achilles die again, this time with no attendant glory to ransom his youth? Must Odysseus wander until exhaustion depletes him and he dies in a strange land, still longing for Ithaka, never-forgotten Ithaka? Will the surviving heroes follow Ajax's example? I wonder if eventually Homer thanked the gods for his blindness, so that he could fully create his bronze-armored, great-souled warriors in all their ancient glory, even as the Iron Age destroyed every last vestige of their virtue and wonder. We must be obedient to the times into which we are thrust, with no regard for our readiness or willingness. We ask, who now will determine the degree of the next Job's suffering? Who will thank Martha for her service but praise Mary for recognizing the radiance? Who will number the casualties at the next Battle of the Somme? Who will love our enemies even as the war heats up? Who will declare a decade of peace after a century of warfare? I fear, the god of this world is abandoning his creation. He walks awkwardly down corridors of spent time, muttering, HAD I KNOWN THIS THEN, THERE WOULD BE NO NOW. He cradles a new-born lamb in his folded arms, as he crosses the threshold of The World II I feel life slipping out of me, as the god withdraws his sustaining strength. Is this the sway of Nothingness overtaking my senses? But my will asserts itself against the very thought of an exhausted creation. I cannot tell what my present condition is. It's as if I stood in the eye of a storm, calm and unafraid, as clouds of fiery energy circle around and over me. Or is it just a projection of mind, stunned by the absence of the quiet thinking of our departed god? A Lucid Dream of vast proportions from which I shall awake a new man, almost a man ready to play the role of a god. Perhaps this is the moment of The Phoenix, whose mantle I will assume. The fire subsides. I see people, like myself, scattered across the scorched landscape. Like me, they seem to be ready and capable. From the few remaining charred trees, a flock of orange birds are singing brightly.