The Legend of the Sleepers
Danilo KişSözler ve Alıntılar
And he hears a stone fall beneath the bare feet of those carrying him, hears it tumbling down, skipping from rock to rock, fleet and resonant, then more hesitant and hushed, retreating like an echo, but the sound never ceased, it merely faded, for it did not touch bottom any more than did his half-wakeful, half-dormant consciousness.
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Man’s life is decay and perdition, and the world is in the hands of tyrants.
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Her mortal body returned to the brothel, while her spirit moved on to a new Illusion.
Sayfa 52Kitabı okudu
Is it a dream or a sleepwalking illusion of his half-dormant consciousness, a dream of his pagan body, descending as it did from pagan ancestors, worshippers of the moon goddess, the full-moon goddess, ancestors who are calling to him now? Surely there is a full moon outside or a new moon at least, and the souls of his ancestors are awakening, the souls of his ancient forebears, calling to his pagan body, tempting his pagan blood.
Or is it the ascension of his soul to heaven, the moment when soul shears away from body, Christian soul from pagan body, sinful body from sinful soul, to which mercy is granted, whose sins are forgiven?
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Man’s life is a Fall, and a hell, and the world is in the hands of tyrants.
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The sun streaked with shadows beneath the arches of the town gates, the fern, the grass, the moss within each of his hands — no, surely it was not a dream.
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For this was without doubt the light of God's day and it was without doubt the blue light of the sky or the light of his ascension to heaven. Or was this too a dream, the flash that shut his eyes before he was quite out of the cave, rocking on the carriers’ powerful shoulders as in a boat, the light spattering him like water, his soul sinking into the glittering blue wave as into holy water, neck deep, the light engulfing him in a warm bliss that emanated from a distant memory of his soul, a distant vision, the light lashing at his eyes like an illumination and like the flame of angels’ wings, while he presses his eyes shut, presses until they ache, not from the darkness now or the visions but from the light? And he feels the difference, feels it behind his tightly shut eyes, for in his consciousness, somewhere in the middle of his forehead, somewhere behind the frontal bone, in the center, there between his eyes, at the base of the optic nerve and at the heart of vision itself, purple disks began to quiver, purple and crimson, and blue and yellow and green, then red again, and it was without doubt light and not an illusion, or perhaps only an optical illusion, but it was light!
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