From my earliest memories, I knew there were two gods. Later I was told there was one, but that did not make much sense to me. There were two! I remember two. It was they I had to thank for my daily bread.
They taught me what was right and wrong, and what the consequences of each was. They gave me knowledge of the basic magic of language, and after a fashion the alchemy of love.
They were the arbiters of my world. They were not beyond doubt. They were simply above it. Their word was law. No, it was more than that, their word dictated what I should believe, and I took it down more accurately than any scribe, although I could not write. Their actions were the hammer and the anvil that shaped me. Law does not encompass their total and utter control in the process of my creation.
Like any good deity, they performed miracles. They made light with the flick of their wrists. They put magic powder of some sort in my water and made it taste far better than any wine. (Although I did not know that word yet,) They smiled, laughed, and made funny faces, which was enough of a miracle for me!
For these miracles I worshiped them. I worshiped them with that peculiar mixture of love and dread found in sermons. The utter love reserved only for the divine, the being to whom you owe all, and who preserves you only at his or her pleasure. They brought me every happiness I ever felt, every second of joy, and every moment of laughter; each was a gift from them to me. Yet it was also true that…There was nothing of my own, nothing that I had ever done, nothing that I could do, to induce the two gods to spare me one moment, if they should desire otherwise. This was my love for them, beyond total, beyond reason. A love both holy, and wholly amoral.
My gods were good gods. Better than any one god I have heard of. They loved me. They worked very hard. They were merciful. They were kind. They punished me for my sins most of the time. Sometimes they punished me for the ill deeds of others I had never heard of. This scared me. But I learned from that.
I was a very quick learner. I learned how to tell if more worship was needed. At which times silence was best. When to speak and when to ask. Most importantly how to avoid their wrath. I delighted in my ability to calm their passionate tempers--that is, when I could calm them.
Sometimes I could not. Sometimes despite my best efforts there was war between them. When there was war in heaven I cried for the pain they sent. I learned gods do not fight with lightning. They use thunder. And that thunder does more than enough without it. I wondered why this particular storm had come, and what I might have done to stop it. What sin had I committed to deserve this storm? There was always a way to stop it. There must be! There must be a reason for my pain! There was always a reason, for my gods were just… if I was just devout enough to find it. I had faith in them, through it all, as much as any one named Job.
Still on came the thunder, until I could stand it no more. It was then I learned the cancerous skill. The ability to take the world, which at that point I still loved with open arms, and reject it. Reject what my senses told me, and live in my own little world. I took shelter from the storm in a place no one could reach me. A soulless, dark, and cold place. But the thunder was quieter there. So I bore the cold.
Despite the muffling effects of my new home, I twisted, turned, trembled, and cried. I screamed, and begged through my tears for it to stop. It did eventually, but not in answer to my prayers. And never soon enough. Yet… I survived. Thank gods.
One day you may be deified, and one day you may hold sway over the minds, bodies and souls, of some disciples, much the same as I was held in thrall, as we all were at one time. I beg you from my dungeon sanctuary to remember this tale of two gods. Just, decent, kind, and good gods, and their small congregation. For they never sought to cause me pain. Would have spared me if they could. For truly they did, and do love me, and I them. Nonetheless, there was pain. So I ask all the gods to remember. Perhaps by writing this anecdote, I can help some other monk with a different, yet not so different faith, through his or her own storms of senseless divine agony.
| How wonderfully written this is. I like the fact that it seems more to be a childish point of view- so innocent it almost is, but not quite because of the language you've used, the metaphor.|
I think if a person were to read the first few lines without reading any further, they may become offensive. Which is wrong on thier part b/c then they have not fully given the write justice and read the write completley. I think they would feel insulted b/c, as many christians, catholics-one god believers there are, they would fail to accept any thing else- which is beside the point of this write.
As much as I know that your Gods were indeed your parents, I think the meaning of your write could be so flexible to mean many things pretaining to faith- any sort of religion.
Your Gods did things b/c they deemed it necessary for the best of you, and your believed wholly, devotedly that they were write. They were your faith system, the reason why the world was the way it was. As small as the world is in a child's world, as big as the rain and thunder will seem to be, which is never really Thunder and Rain, but "THUNDER" and "RAIN."
Magic, miracles come in all different scales, levels for many people. For many people, thier God's miracle is that Bible they so desperately cling to, for a child's God or God's, those miracles are the simple things they are able to do- knowing how to cure thier illness (common cold), them being able to tie our shoes when we didn't know how to. It's those simple things.
Before I ramble on any further, I must "Thank You" for such a brilliant and quite enjoyable write. It's so childish but brilliant. I know no other way to express why I like this write so much, but to say Thank You.
The emphasizes on the Thunder and it's actual meaning is quite amazing. I remember those nights, it was very scary. I had no other place to go but to my bed where my stuff animals lay. I'd close my eyes and wish it to go away, never understanding why so roaring would arouse. I remember, late at night, when I got scared and I thought I was too big to run to my parents, I would take all my stuff animals and put them all over me (I had a Lot and still do) and believe that they would protect me through anything else.
I'm afraid I have said too much for both of us and so I'll leave it to, You did a wonderful job with this one.
I find you to be a very Mature writing concerning your age. You'll go far.
|| Posted on 2006-05-25 00:00:00 | by idlewriter | [ Reply to This ] || This piece needs more comments, more readers, more disciples of this divine way. As a parent, and a son, I see both sides of this story and you're dead on accurate. As a lesson, this is powerful as hell.|
As a piece work of literature it seems really solid to me. You've come up with a novel approach to a common subject and you've used it very well to make your points.
I wouldn't consider a lot of changes, but here are two. First you have a sentence fragment in the last paragraph. Would have spared me if they could.
Secondly, while I realize that the 9th and 10th paragraphs may be your personal story and they do illustrate the effects of too much thunder, I don't think that they're adding all that much to the lesson you're giving. (As I write this though, I find I'm pretty ambivalent about them. They don't hurt the lesson either) Maybe I'm just grasping at straws looking for ways to help a piece that's already really good.
|| Posted on 2006-04-19 00:00:00 | by Lost Sheep | [ Reply to This ] || moot, what can i say. the thunder metaphor is good, but slightly twisted. lighting is hwat? and thunder what?|
the sound, though you can't see it? perhaps a line about how you would hide inside your temple, because watching the storm was too painful, but the thunder came through the walls? that would clean up that metaphor.
moot, as always, you reach emotional clarity with a genuine and childlike honesty that renders it beautiful. because it's true.
|| Posted on 2006-04-20 00:00:00 | by AptPupilofLife2 | [ Reply to This ] || Beautiful language. Very Similarion-like (without the days and days of descriptions). Your turn-of-phrase is keen and you have a very strong voice. I love it- "There are two gods" over and over again, like a mantra.|
The only thing I would suggest changing about the piece is the title; I do not have any suggestions though- perhaps some obscure phrase or quote from the Old Testament about parental loyalty would work. "Thou Shall Honor" maybe, but perhaps that would give it away from the very beginning. *Shrugs*
Ah well, I loved it. It made me grin at least.
|| Posted on 2006-04-17 00:00:00 | by EmeraldJealousy | [ Reply to This ] |