He was not made for this world which had always been strange and unwarm to him, so he created those things that all need, and which others had. In times and realities within his own mind he established reason, purpose and meaning for the toil and strain of everyday struggles. He invented truth and beauty and elevated these things and from which, he could draw strength, conviction, passion- channeling it across the gulf into this alien plain to sustain his chained body. He lived by laws he had established elsewhere, and therefore could not be restrained by mortal ones, nor judged by mortals- he knew existence outside their world and the greater part of him could not be touched.
With feet in both realms he could shift his weight one to the other- in times of danger or anxiety- as he often found in the frigid spiraling world which had driven him out- he would lean back, retreating into his mind- his perspective and his care narrowing until he could see only a slim shard of this world, and its grip loosened. The moment could be seen, his aspect shrinking and fading- transparent eyes elsewhere- like squeezing into a deep, shadowed crack, and the world would pass by him by.
No comments:
Post a Comment