Whereas in the live improvisational theatre that is online RP, I might forgive some of the more awkward phrasing and declarative events, or even glory in them.... here, in the more static realm of journals, the mystery needs a curtain. Building it sometimes requires more than a few bald actions performed upon the scenery.
When I lift my hand, there is only a soft, flickering light upon it, like a low, round, golden candle flame. But looking deeper within, there are spirits: orbs and faeries drifting or darting about... and as the walls of the light fall away, the whole world is enveloped in soft golden glow. Orbs wander close, kissing your flesh for a moment and then fading out of sight. Small humanoid figures, sharp in outline, zap right in at your nose, touch it, then flutter around your head and back to their own dance.
The walls open, and this golden dance is laid out like a fallen box, four sides and a floor wide upon a dark, empty plain. In the distance, uncertain figures flicker, their own living light trickling a hint of hope out into the darkness.
And then I close my hand, and you stand beside me, your world no larger nor smaller than before.
I could lift your chair, fling objects about with a slight gesture, but there is no greater power than to know Creation as it knows itself; and perhaps no better gift than to pass this on to others.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-28 05:46 am (UTC)When I lift my hand, there is only a soft, flickering light upon it, like a low, round, golden candle flame. But looking deeper within, there are spirits: orbs and faeries drifting or darting about... and as the walls of the light fall away, the whole world is enveloped in soft golden glow. Orbs wander close, kissing your flesh for a moment and then fading out of sight. Small humanoid figures, sharp in outline, zap right in at your nose, touch it, then flutter around your head and back to their own dance.
The walls open, and this golden dance is laid out like a fallen box, four sides and a floor wide upon a dark, empty plain. In the distance, uncertain figures flicker, their own living light trickling a hint of hope out into the darkness.
And then I close my hand, and you stand beside me, your world no larger nor smaller than before.
I could lift your chair, fling objects about with a slight gesture, but there is no greater power than to know Creation as it knows itself; and perhaps no better gift than to pass this on to others.
Smile, for I smile upon you, O Mighty One.