On the far eastern corner of the known world, in the barren land of the dragon folk, and as the hearts of kings were fixated on exploration and glory, an old flame rekindled as the hundred years came to a close.
A small flame, almost imperceptible. One may even call it a glitch in the centuries-old system. A small glitch, a minor error to be rectified at the most local level of government. A cigarette butt to be stumped without hesitation, and without consequences.
The local sheriff did just that. He saw the threat and, afraid of catching fire, he stumped on it mercilessly. He persecuted the perpetrators with the most capital punishment known to man. The punishment of the one God. Fire.
What he failed to realize, what they all failed to realize, was that words have meaning in the hearts of men. Time can sometimes cover it up, like dust on stone. But the meaning remains, hidden, waiting to be conjured. And these words were no ordinary words, these were the words of Panjia, the prayers of the Mother. Echoed at the time of creation, when the one world split apart.
We are all one
Amen.
Indeed, We are all one.
What this small-town official misunderstood, or perhaps what he understood and made him act in such drastic terms, was that this world was once one. Land, sky and sea. Life. Everything was and is connected through the infinite matrix of Panjia.
The flame that lit up, small and temporary as it was, was only the prelude to the symphony, the prologue to the story, the introduction to the major players of the years to come. By the time local authorities even took notice of it, the wheels of change were already in motion.
The spell has been cast, the dice have been thrown and the stage has been set. The turn of the century promises to be much more violent than expected.
Comments
Post a Comment