Blogging Assignment
Orual,
I have known always we would meet this way. I have watched you, known you, birthed you, killed you, been
you, thought you. There is nothing
you could say that I do not already know.
What story you will spin for me here, I have heard before, but I wish
for you to speak it, regardless.
This myth of yours, you have lived it your whole life, but you have
failed to see what others have seen.
You have professed to love Psyche.
You have professed it through and through. Repeated it endlessly, as you have repeated your complaints
against us. You have spun this
myth into a truth for yourself.
But there are many truths that can stem from myth, child. And you have been unlucky enough to
follow the one that has led you here.
You have stood before us, blind and deaf. Blind to anything except that which you want to see. Deaf to everyone but yourself. Your jealously is ugly. But you know that. Your soul, as well, is ugly. But you know that, too. “Mine!” You have said. That nasty word, mine. Over and over you have repeated it. Hoping to make us understand your love,
or possession, of Psyche. But no
one can possess another being. And
your attempt at showing love in this way, shows only how little you know about
love. As you have “loved” Psyche,
so have you “loved” Bardia. I am
telling you these things, but you already know them. You have known them.
You knew them always. They
are truths that have been there for you all long, running, in stride, next to
your fantasy. You were faced,
blatantly, with this truth when you head it from the temple priest in
Essur. But still, you balked in
the face of truth, continuing, instead, to live out your myth.
You
have been told we are not just, and aye, what justice do you deserve? Even your attempt to beautify your soul
was out of selfish desires. You
are a fallen child. Young in your
ways and thoughts and questions.
But despite this, there is something in you that I see. Something that is redeemable. For you are old and have lived an
imperfect life. But what is life,
if not imperfect? You are not one
of us, you could never be. But I
wish to grant you mercy, and leave you with a clear conscience so you may live
out the rest of your days, aware of all that has happened, but at peace. You shall struggle no more. Your soul shall be beautiful, and your
face, in your old age, beautiful as well.
Come
child, do not shed your tears. Do
not grovel in thanks. Do not try
to make sense of your judgment, for truly you are undeserving. But that is the beauty of my
power. Know that you have been
lucky, and now that the truth has been placed within you and you can no longer
deny it, go and live out the rest of your days.
No comments:
Post a Comment