Fires That Light the Earth

from by Thrawsunblat

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I: Of Consuming Flame

There must be more, much more, to life
than this electric, egocentric, current
circumstance. On this Earth, there must
be more than this for Homo sapiens.
Homo spirans, Homo amans, Roamer of
the Earth for aeons. Thriver through ages of
ice. Homo pugnans, homo narrans*, Hauler Down
of Bear and Mammoth. We are they—the
same line. Give me sun and give me song, and
I will charge our blood with ancient life. Give
me sun and give me song—and the years I’ll
sing us back to ice. This chthonic howl echoes
across Metachthonia. Somewhere in the
distance it is answered. Look to the sky, look to
the hills, to ground you in this electric age.
Look to the folk and the past they fill to ground
you in this electric age. I find myself a being of
consuming flame and seeing that the senses
are deceived and isolated by machines. I find
myself a being of consuming flame and seeing
that the passions are deceived and maneuvered
by machines. As you journey on through these
modern times, walk light through the traps of
the age. As you journey on through these
modern times, walk heavy through the barriers
made. Metachthonia! Metachthonia! Chthonic
times are gone. Metachthonia! Metachthonia!
Metachthonic times live on. Look not to these
modern times—where diodes shine over the
sun—to solve questions older than life, for the
times only concern with themselves.

II: The Chthonic Call

Lost in urban sprawl. Spiritual withdrawal.
Lights and screens decide all dreams.
The distant landscape breathed and I
heard the sky above—it groaned clouded
words. Followed the chthonic call; journey to
the coastal wall, where great trees stand across
wide whispering land. The sound of waves
striking cliffs was speech, conversation. Eternal
tones, in the marrow of my bones: “And the
fires burn bright. And they burn in number.
Oh how they burn all across the Earth. And
the fires burn all across the glowing Earth. And
the fires burn for any who wish to find them.
Any who wish to find them.”

III: In Mist and Spray

I plant my feet upon the cliff and
breathe the spray of the sea. Arms wider than
the thundering sky. I roared out to all I could
see and stretched flame into the sky, though
immersed in mist and spray. The fire that
surged from heart to fist was ready to consume
me. I saw the threads appear in the air: not
quite cloud, not quite vine, glowing with each
pulse, reaching high from my chest to the
clouds. And the sky broke with crashing light
and sound to deafen Thor himself. Lightning
lit the ethereal braid. All went black. When the
storm cleared I sprawled on the green. And
the landscape breathed. The stars became life
in the sky. When I felt the blood pulse in time
with the Earth, I'd found my answer.

*spirans: who hopes, aspires; amans - who loves, has
passion; pugnans - who fights, battles; narrans - who tells
stories, relays experiences.


from Metachthonia, released June 17, 2016



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