Friday, June 29, 2007

Light writing


The God of Light moved on the face of the water. The Demiurge waited in the darkness. Between them they formed the world.

A Recording Angel was created, who drew spirit from matter, or made matter from spirit. Whose idea this was is not certain.

Image, idea, thought, language all abounded, solidified from the senses' apprehension of the delicious, terrible, ever-changing world of matter, but trapped in the dark cave of skull, mired in the grey matter of brain. Already the Recording Angel was overwhelmed.

'You're going to have to delegate;' the Angel was told 'they'll have to be told how to record for themselves.'

The sharp hard stone bit into the softer one, the finger was drawn through the clay. The reflecting, refracting particles of pigment glimmered from the walls of the cave. In the dark hollows of the incisions, in the hidden facets of the crystalline minerals, the Demiurge, the God of Darkness and Matter, waited.

The hands were placed on the cave walls, dark earth taken in, expressed, spattered around them, the hands lifted away, shown forever shining from out of the darkness. The marks were grouped, angled, accrued weights of meaning; the forms of things, their lights and shadows, were caught, held sacred. They mattered. They mattered so much people killed and died for them. The Demiurge licked his lips, for he was also the God of Dead Matter, of corruption, of the earthen solid reality of death, of mortal clay.

Things recorded became knowledge, solid matters, transcending death, passed on. By this knowledge more and more could live, could hold on to the dear, sweet world of matter they inhabited, could amass what they gained. The Demiurge smiled and grew fat.

The God of Light said to the the recording angel, 'Make it lighter, smaller, less substantial, reduce the dimensions, two is better than three! Give them a flat white surface, dark liquid, so more spirit can be held in less matter!' Calves and sheep were slaughtered and made into parchment, trees were turned to pulp. The Demiurge lurked in the black ink and licked at the paper skin.

'Let them capture their moments of illumination, their visions in patterns of darkness and light, in translucent glowing shapes and patterns on surfaces light passes through, make them move and change and sound and sing...'

But the images could not hang in pure light, they needed support, a surface to rest on, frames to hold them, the books could not all be contained and cherished. And they became too many; the upper storeys and forgotten corners became clogged with dust covered, mould-speckled, musty-smelling boxes and haphazard piles, corners curling, spines wrinkled and torn, white paper jaundice yellow, gloss crackled, colours grotesquely faded. The Demiurge, who is also the God of Clutter, feasted.

The God of Light said to the poor, overworked, self-questioning Recording Angel ' Give them boxes of pure light, as fine and flat as can be made, in the corners of their lives and homes,
so their visions, their thoughts, their creations, their loves and hopes and dreams and memories, their laughter and their curiosity, their desires and secrets and fears and sorrows and joys can all be contained and made to fly between them, without ever needing to be made into gross matter.'

The lights burn and burn. The minerals, the very matter of the world, are sucked and incised from beneath the earth to form and feed the votives of the God of Light. The Demiurge slavers.

'They are mine' says the Demiurge.

'They are mine' says the God of Light.

17 comments:

marja-leena said...

Wow, amazing! Like a creation myth. Is there more?

meggie said...

Hypnotising.

Plutarch said...

How did you know?

leslee said...

Heh. Yes, boxes of pure light, but still the piles of books... The God of Clutter is feasting here, even as I pack.

Lucy said...

Thank you.
ML - no, I think that would be taking itself too seriously...
Plutarch - ah-ha, that'd be telling...

Lucy said...

Leslee - sorry, you weren't there just now! Good luck with the packing!

Granny J said...

Ah-- light. A new form and new life for clutter.

Lucy said...

Yes, virtual, luminous clutter!

Isabelle said...

I've just been reading some of your back posts and they are SO interesting. How fortunate that I'm on holiday now and can read the rest soon.

I'm constantly amazed at the number of really excellent writers and indeed photographers in blogland. When one thinks of some of the rubbish that gets published in book form...

Lucy said...

Thank you Isabelle. I'm very flattered that you should be spending precious holiday time reading my back posts!
You are right about the matter of blogs in general, I think I quite enjoy that it's a well-kept secret like that, of which many people are ignorant or dismissive, like a beautiful but largely undiscovered place. Also, it's the freshness and freedom people find here, and also the supportiveness, that makes it so good, and brings things out in them they didn't know were there. The other blogs I read and love I do for so many different reasons; sometimes I find myself gnawing at 'Am I as good as so-and-so, or better than another...', but that's the wrong way to go - though being inspired, encouraged, egged on to do better, or using others' ideas as jumping off points is great.
It's the freedom from that constraint of having to make the grade, having to sell oneself,having to be successful, which makes it so fruitful, as far as I'm concerned anyway.

zephyr said...

what a haunting, delicious, potent piece of writing!!
Are you building upon this?

Lucy said...

Thank you Zephyr.
No, I don't really think it would hold up!

Jan said...

Lucy, WHAT stunning stuff!
It has all the elements of myth, quite breathtaking.
Yes, there IS some brilliant Blog writing.
Some folk can be very dismissive about it; I think they must be the ones who haven't read stuff properly.

herhimnbryn said...

Magical, L.
love hhnb via the light box in the corner of the dining room.

Jan said...

Hello Lucy!
Back to Blogging in the next day or so...wanted to say HELLO and hope all fine with you!

Lucas said...

Not sure if this is the current comment box. I really like this myth; there is a sense of grandness and glimpses of far horizons: a prose poem to go with the photograph. Thanks.

Zhoen said...

Such a divine burble of humor beneath it all.