The Woods, The Lost Horizon and The Blinding Sky
"The reader is offered a visual bridge between the fantasy of Gothic past and the inevitability of Noir future. Love makes its way to all of us, eventually, in many forms and dimensions. It can be quite the Revelation. The full tapestry, in 5 Parts, unfolds in Candide Diderot’s Short Stories section."
“It will all happen so fast, in a blink, a mere flutter of the eye. The last trumpet will call, and the dead will be raised from their graves with a body that does not, cannot decay. And we who are living will also be transformed.” (Cor 1 15:52)
“The Blue Labyrinth and the Falling Sky"
I. The Woods
Sunlight filters through the canopy’s lace,
waking shadows where the moss lies deep,
and the blue-grey ghost gums stand powerful, erect.
In that quiet, hidden woodland space,
the ancient trees their silent secrets keep.
A gentle shiver wanders through the air,
as velvet bluebells sway in petrichor,
they bow their heavy heads in holy prayer,
drenched in the silver morning’s trembling dewy lore.
The sapphire scent drifts through the shadowed pine,
a soft and fragrant breath upon the skin,
like threads of silk that gracefully entwine,
to pull the wandering, weary spirit in.
To stand amidst the delicate, drenched stems,
is to feel the forest pulse within the chest,
each petal bright as long-lost azure gems,
where peace and quiet longing lay at rest.
V. The Lost Horizon and the Blinding Sky
In that other world, outside The Woods
in more relevant dimension,
the morning breaks a vault of blinding light,
where stormy shadows strip the dark away
and wash the walls in pale blue, blinding bright -
that specific, electric shade of an early morning sky
just before the pressure breaks, that brings in the heat of day,
mirrored perfectly on the surface of a rising tide -
there is a sudden, quiet shift in the air,
a gravity that pulls the space between us taut.
The temperature of the room is altering now,
thickening with a silent, consuming weight.
The morning sun leans hard against the glass
like a gathering storm it captures two ecstatic forms;
I hear you, I see you, outside the All -
the slow, deliberate rise of you,
and your succumbing breath.
The exterior world narrows to a single point.
Your hands lock tight, a fierce and sudden press,
arching my spine against the shifting sheet,
as if to imprint the beating words
of such carnality full met, obeying
its melting corporeal secrets -
as sunbeams flood the room in stark excess,
our rising sky and ocean pulse in burning fusion
where we co-joined do meet.
I look above to see that pale blue space,
mirrored within the hunger of your eyes,
locked in the heavy blaze of your embrace,
where every thought of earth and shelter dies.
The sky ignites, a vast and blinding hue,
as my whole universe dissolves
into the sky-blue rise of you.
We move together now
into the shadow of the forest canopy,
until the cool morning air is completely burnt away.
The sky outside ignites in a blinding glare –
and the lost horizon, that stark line
drawn harshly in between
the You of you and I am I,
blue sky and the living tide-pulled ocean,
like a Revelation,
simply disappears.
We are the one word now -
Love;
and like a book worth reading,
we are intoxicating
read and open -
So below, as Above.
Candide Diderot. ‘26
“I want to see you
As you are now
Every single day
That I am living
Painted in flames
All peeling thunder
Be the lightning in me
That strikes relentless…”
(Partial Excerpts, Lyrics: “The Lighening Strike: What if this Storm Ends?”, Snow Patrol)
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