Firefly Ravine The Hypostasis of the Archons

@Kekoa :)

Running water always calmed him. He witnessed it with the double-sided pang of reverence and frustration that haunted him often these days.

Geese milled downstream. Resting against a tree, he watched the crescent flash of their pale underbellies as they readied themselves for their southward exodus, wondering if he had ever seen the same bird twice in his life.

How he yearned to understand their strange language! To emulate their proximity to heaven!

In their cloistered lives above the cover of clouds—he was certain that they bore gnosis.

Being a herbalist with such little knowledge of herbs made Kekoa feel rather pathetic. However, his memory was reliable.

He had been treated at this ravine with the surrounding herbs before, therefore he planned to collect what he could remember and bring it back to Saatsine.

Careful paws approached the water, leaning down for a drink without paying any mind to the wolf just across the ravine.

The flock rippled. One, two, then three took off into flight. Their feathers bristled in turns.

Abraham turned too, towards the newcomer. Upstream, a tall youth bent over to drink. He was quiet, but the birds could sense more, and Abraham diligently transcribed their every reaction, a stenographer in a courthouse.

But the last of them peeled off. Abraham pulled himself up, limb by limb, and approached the boy, though they still stood on opposite sides of the river.

Blessed day.

Eyes flicking up to the stranger, he stared. What an odd thing to say, he thought.

It made him curious.

"..Blessed day?" He returned the statement as he lifted his head, his assumption being that it was a greeting.

The boy's response is upturned in question.

He pondered this tone, and pressed onwards.

I'm Abraham, a traveling priest.

His eyes shone with quiet mirth; his posture was slack, and welcoming, even as his feet grew cold in the water of the river, he did not dare remove himself from it, the conduit to the world's sole truth.

If I may ask you—what do you know of God?

God - what did he know of god? "I've heard things in passing." A simple answer, but the truth. He perked his ears, clear interest spread on his expression.

What could this god do for him, he wondered.

"What can you tell me?"

His brindled face brightened. The boy had heard things in passing, which meant that the Word had lingered here, if but for a moment. This pleased, but did not surprise the itinerant priest; he knew the Logos permeated all.

So there were many ways Abraham could take to inscribe a path towards, around, and through God. As a line is made of an infinite set of points, a plane an infinite set of lines, a space an infinite set of planes, the air teemed with potentiality.

In the end, he decided to go with the question that Chanan had asked him upon their first meeting.

What if I told you that the world you see in front of you—the material world—of men, women, all creatures, the earth itself, and here he kicked a clod of mud to the side, the gesture almost truly contemptuous, that nothing good could come out of it?

He stepped further into the shallows, the current tugging softly at the silt underfoot.

The words of the well-spoken man both surprised and intrigued him. Was it a trick question?

Giving an honest answer was the only way to find out.

"I suppose I would believe you." He took a careful step towards the other, a dry paw entering the water. The world was cruel, he knew this well. Did this stranger have answers?

He grew more and more certain that the Logos in Its dispensation had preordained this meeting. They are both in the water now; the living water, that great turgid artery of the world of light.

Then could you believe that it was a mistake, his tail lashed behind him, drops of water darkening his hocks, that it was never meant to be...!

Now his voice became pensive, the intensity draining from the sharp lines of his face.

But we can seek redemption. It is possible to put all the filth and wretchedness behind us.

As those words left his mouth he could recognize their bitter aftertaste. It was his own former cynicism and ignorance, metabolized by his body and returning to its origins, the forsaken atmosphere.

He crossed the stream. There was another fact: it was impossible to step into the same river twice.

Up close, the boy looked younger than he had at first surmised, and yet his answer belied a world-weariness beyond those lanky arms and unblemished face.

Redemption.

The word rang in his ears, his golden eyes staring back at the priest. In an instant he found himself filled with emotion, with a need to confess.

But he would not. Not yet.

He was lonely, and this stranger was making him feel welcome, comforted. However he knew questions should be asked first.

"Please.. tell me." The words came out much more pleading than he had intended.

Tell me. Empathy threatened to crush him. He was lost once, just as lost as this.

He had toiled in the depths of unknowing. Had slummed among the hylics, and nearly resigned himself to become one of them. Had indulged in earthly pleasure, and pledged himself to false messiahs. How many hours, days, months had he squandered?

It is never so easy, hieiv. And he let the bitterness steep in his throat, and the tannins darken his mouth.

You've already seen what most do not. You see that the world is base and evil. And that to forsake it is also to glorify a higher world.

What is your name?

"Kekoa." There was a comfort that came with saying his own name. He could hear the voice of another in his as it slipped off his tongue.

Abraham filled him with questions, his tail swaying as they ran through his head. The other canine felt regal and proper in comparison to him - and with this he thought that he must be wise.

"Is that all there is to it? To be redeemed?" It couldn't be so simple.

He laughed with a richness that did not match his face.

If it were that simple, I would not be here.

Gnosis was not something one could pluck from the shelf like an object. He had not yet found a phrasing of this to his liking. He could sense this in his bones: gnosis was an asymptote, always a hair's-breadth from one's reach. And yet it was right to strive for it—by his verse the minds of many were excited to despite the world and to aspire to heaven.

If you can choose to remember anything from what I tell you now, remember that the spirit is good and the body is evil.

He turned in the direction of the current and began to walk, beckoning for Kekoa to follow.

Let us walk, and I will tell you more.

His strides were easy and slow.

The boy man followed, clumsily matching the pace of the other as he stumbled over his feet. He wanted to know, he wanted to be told.

He would stay quiet and listen intently; there was something to learn here. Something that could help him. He questioned what it was he had to do to reach this redemption; would it be difficult? Would he be able?

He would not know until the cryptic canine told him.

Apologies for text wall/lore dump!

Every now and again he glanced back to see that Kekoa followed. Their steps took them away from the water and deeper into the forest.

You will hear from heretics and those who call themselves true believers, his voice turned flinty at the euphemism, that God created the world and all in it. But this is not true.

Else, why all the anguish around theodicy? Countless tears had been shed around the problem of evil despite the existence of an omnipotent and benevolent God. He found that such debates seemed petty to him now, nothing but inanity and white noise.

In the beginning was God, and nothing but the One.

The Monad.

Out of him arose Barbelo, the first thought.

Thrice male, thrice powerful, thrice named.

And out of Barbelo arose a daughter, Sophia.

But Sophia is female, and thus fickle, and chaotic. She begets a son, Yabaldaoth, without the knowledge of God. And the son is misshapen, and she is scared, so she casts it away where God cannot see it.

In his mind's eye he can envision it clearly: the beast with a lion's head and a snake's body, inflated with the belief that it knew all, that it had mastered its world. Inevitably, it is accompanied by the darkling throng of demons, their shadowed bodies blotting the sun like the corpses of mosquitoes on a lamp.

But God's goodness now cannot influence Yabaldaoth. And he, endowed with the powers of his mother, creates the material world, the fallen world. Yabaldaoth is a false god, a jealous god. He believes himself to be the One, but he knows nothing.

Yabaldaoth and his demons create men and women in the image of the perfect man. But Yabaldaoth is far from God, so we are imperfect.

In his studies the names of three-hundred-and-sixty-five demons had been enumerated. Each one of them owned a part of the body. The eyes, each finger, each rib, and more—all demarcated, laid out as primal cuts at some cosmic boucherie.

His steps slowed and stopped altogether as he turned to face the boy, the leaves shivering overhead.

There are those among us who will never be able to seek enlightenment, Kekoa. They love the earth too much, and cannot see beyond their own horizon.

And so they will be left behind on the very place they cherish.

His clinical tone evinced the lacuna which yawned in the place where one might expect remorse or its lesser cousin, pity.

Instead, of course, there was nothing.

No worries! I enjoyed reading!

He took in the information as it came, doing what he could to internalize it. He was rather nervous, really - this all seemed rather complicated.

Ears twitching, he turned his head to the ground as they stopped. Questions entered his mind - questions that he had held back for fear of exposing himself. This time he would not.

"Can God forgive the cursed? Could he cure me?"

His eyes lifted to look to Abraham, yet his head remained lowered. Images filled his mind - of Kaisaan, of the lies leading him to Saatsine, of the abandonment of his loved one's, of the second chance he had wasted.

Ah, so that was it. Abraham smiled without mirth---but quickly modulated his expression into one of concern.

What is wrong, hieiv?

He appraised Kekoa with new eyes.

Forgive me. I've been speaking of irrelevant things... he trailed off here with a hollow laugh. And you have been silent all this time.

But it was true, that Kekoa seemed reticent and perhaps even jaded for his age. He recalled the girl he had met on the beach, similarly withdrawn, similarly young.

Why would you be cursed?

Abraham believed in many things: the one God, the twelve archons, the three-hundred-plus demons. But he did not believe in curses.

He took a moment to gather his words, to find an explanation.

"My siblings - they're dead and it's my fault." Realizing the statement could be misinterpreted, he shook his head before expanding on it. "There were six of us. two were murdered when our pack was raided, the other got sick.." He paused.

Kaisaan - his death hurt him the most. That was the one he could remember. "And my brother - he was crushed while he was with me."

Ten months old. Ten months old, and he had left home. "I left home earlier than I was meant to - to protect my remaining sister."

A sign of hope - that was what they were meant to be. There was no hope for the dead.

He chewed his lip, suddenly boyish in his hesitation.

I told you before that the soul is good, and the body is evil.

The soul cannot be destroyed. It is ever-lasting.

Nothing in the universe could truly disappear. Matter only deconstructed and reconstituted itself, forever in flux. Strife the only constant. There were philosophers who believed that the sun remade itself with every morning, the inverse of the Biblical quote: there is nothing new under the sun---under the sun, everything is new.

I believe you will be reunited with your siblings. You will meet your brother, and everything will be perfect.

His eyes shone with the ghost-lights of Pleroma.

But for now you are atoning. For what, I do not know. Perhaps for something in a life before yours.

Fingers of sunlight danced on the ground between them.

He gave a nod, looking up to the other in clear awe. Yes, he would atone. He would atone and then everything would be alright.

"What do I need to do then? To please God?"

A gentle wave of his tail. He wanted to learn. He wanted to be told.

This man had been delivered to save him. He would listen, and he would be saved.

Warmth, delight, the soft joy of imparting what was most dear to him—

when was the last time he had felt these things?

For a moment the reserved line of his mouth trembled with emotion.

First, I must baptise you in flowing water.

He glanced back to the stream. His ankles were still dampened, but he welcomed the lingering chill.

Baptism is a kind of rebirth and a surrender at once.

But there were no words he could use that could contain what it did for one's soul. He recalled his own baptism: the sap on his forehead, the immersion, the communion which followed.

Come.

He turned to walk to the river, in the direction they had wandered from.

Pausing for a beat he soon followed after the other, glancing down to the stream. What was so special about flowing water?

"I'll follow your instructions then."

He felt no danger in the situation - not just yet. He would put his trust in him.

Slight powerplay. Please let me know if you'd like anything to be edited!

Dappled light flared across the blade of his nose as he turned to Kekoa.

Water that lies still, in ponds and lakes, is impure. Devils could persist in their depths, unhindered by a current. The water had memory---soiled once, it would always carry with it even the faintest vestiges of impurity. And besides, couldn't one taste it, how it lingered bitter and vegetal in the back of one's throat?

Flowing water is clean, and holy.

Abraham stood in the stream, the water lapping at his knees and shimmering, as if the finest chainmail had been strewn across its surface. He ushered Kekoa alongside him, and if the boy let him, he would guide his body, starting from his head, into the flowing water.

And now I immerse you in the River Jordan.

For Thou hast said, O Lord: Wash and be clean; put away evil things from your souls.

This last line he uttered under his breath, so that the words might grow warm and malleable in his mouth. Wash and be clean.

He allowed himself to follow, allowed Abraham to move him to the water.

A sense of calm flowed through him as his body was encased in the flowing cold. He held his breath as his head entered, letting it go as it rose.

With this he would become new. With this he would be able to move on.

His troubles would haunt him no longer.

sorry for the lateness! perhaps we could fade out here?

it was done.

when the boy broke the surface Abraham could evince the fine muscles of his neck and the curve of his skull meeting his nape, his fur having slicked close to his skin.

it was a familiar vision. he had seen this tens of times before.

and yet every instance of it still stunned him; that was the nature of miracles.

to know yourself is to know God, he finally murmured, and pressed his paw to Kekoa's cold forehead in the proper gesture of the kushta.

overhead the sun shattered itself against shivering leaves.