Hadi Atallah

When that evening came, and the pendulum struck once unfolding the great theme of his life. 

They did know. 

It seemed like he was a fine man to them. 

They have never seen a pendulum sound once. 

“And understand this,” they said. “This man does not discuss such things.” 

But they did know that the man was invaluable. 

Perhaps, some argued, perhaps he would have been a past master. 

There is a great deal of anthroposophy. 

“And now,” said the true believers, “now that he has defied the others, we shall see him on the moon.”

Where will we go now?

What is the nature of sin but the thirst in the smell of wine or the hunger in the smell of food? 

And when the trivial is over, these people rest in solitude and their thoughts play endlessly with the chasm. 

And they hope they bury the chasm. 

For there are many different opportunists living many different lives. 

They wonder how such fortune can come to them. 

Those humble, those passionate like the moon having gone over the hilltops only to sink in the lap of the boundless horizon; like a pearl in one of God’s hands; the sword in the other; warm and alive; crowded with faith, hope and love. 

Just like a father when children are released. 

Their curiosity is every calm’s adversary. 

But their music mixes with the essence of the true Self.

Can they see the little road ahead?

Coldness comes over us, just as rage does. And we’re all right. Then the hunt and how high we bid our abilities of hatred and shame is gone. The irritability crafts a pearl and a historic moment, and we’re thrown back to the sea. We’re all one. We’re all part of a divine creation. We all serve the higher order. We all conduct ourselves in a known pattern. Every unit communicates to the whole. I don’t mind being present or passive. I don’t mind being white or black. I don’t mind being rich or poor. There was no self-consciousness to start with. We walk towards the city of lights because the crowd there is present. Like a river and an ocean…

…In pure nervousness, he speaks.

We could see everything and perhaps remember. And some may give the whole thing up and go back to the dark way. A path in danger from the assaults of Hell. But in the midst of a laugh and into the dimness of our little office we think of taking our memories to place in a collection of sea shells. Feeling the creeping fate and value of flames. For our dream of light is real and never to be destroyed. Our senses burning alive while every road seems blocked against us. And our demons will to stop us.

…But over the cliffs and across lighthouses does a flame ever freeze?

Men were afraid of the monster of uncertainty they called Hell. It lay in a puddle of fire and through the oceans, over light years, and every light year was horrid. But Sophia had missed her old world and she did never cling to the new one. For from her dream she was now awake. Forever real and never to be destroyed. To determine to believe and to sing it out was to be there. Whole and giving. Men had remained silent for a long time. And Sophia danced with their elders. For she had defied fate itself. What had she to fear but starvation after all.

…They could not take the chance, not with their straightness.