January 22, 2021•244 words
If I told you the soul had walls, would you believe me? Walls, chambers, catacombs, a church and a palace, all this and more. But the greatest wall of all guards the soul's exterior, the border of the walled city, between certain life and certain death. What purpose has it but for defense? Against what? Why, against the invasion of pain.
And so begins the onslaught, at first pinpricks, escalating into an encompassing force, the mighty wind. And, in an instant, the defenses fail. A flash of white and the pain is gone, replaced with a strange pulsing euphoria. The barrier has collapsed, the inside and outside no longer struggle but dance, terror gives way to calm, brutality to the gentleness of nostalgia and melancholy.
What force could pull such an assault? Surely it must be rapid, rhythmic and synchronized, and above all ethereal, as in of the ether itself, such that it may float and soar and be of the same substance as that which it invades. And yet, this betrays a certain delicacy, like the fragile streaks of cloud, flittering between real and unreal, defined and mysterious, of the Earth and of the Heavens above. Even at night, it appears as a gentle glow, the northern lights, the aura above the city. Once the wall collapses, this is all that remains for one to see. Oh, what beauty indeed!