Dream Journal: 2013-11-05.01

The Fallen Angel came and hung out with me a bit. We talked on names and what his cohort called each other. To them, names aren’t labels but descriptors in relation to the one speaking. That’s why the Fallen Angel called that backstabbing bastard his elder, “Brother Superior”, but Brother Martial called him something else that I grokked as referring to Brother Superior. The names weren’t important, because it was a private relational transaction between the one speaking and the one spoken to.

I mentioned K* (by the public initial) and spoke about the seemingly nonsense syllables ke gave me as kir name.

“They may not mean anything in your language, but they certainly mean something to this Kay, or ke would not have given you such a private key to unlock access to kir with.”

“It means something? Not just a pretty noise?”

“Oh yes. It has great weight.”

“But you only know the public sound. How can you be sure it means something?”

“Because Kay told you to call kir by it. That alone has given it weight. It is now the private name between you and Kay. No other angel may speak it. It is yours alone to utter. You may think you hear others say it, but that is your understanding working faster than your ears. What it means is probably being intentionally kept from you. What is important for you right now, is that you do not give this key to others, lest they abuse the level of access to Kay that you have.”

I shivered from a strange chill. The Fallen Angel, out of instinct, covered me with one of his wings. (The blight doesn’t affect me.) Being so close, I saw he really has four wings. The blight had weighed the lower two so much that they dragged uselessly behind him.

“You have a tribe. You feel kinless, but I tell you, you have a tribe. I have seen them and their connections to you. If one of your tribe were to call you a disparaging word, like ‘bitch’, you would not take offense, but would be proud of it. Yes? Why?”

“Because I would know the context of the… name. Oh.”

“If anyone else were to learn the name Kay has given you, it would be a betrayal of Kay’s trust. Because ke knows you, and knows your context. Your language is poor to explain these things. What you are calling a name could be a title, could be a description, could be a command, or could be a nothing that just makes sound. It could have power like Kay’s trusted name, or it could just be something everyone already knows, like my Brother Superior. Only the one being called knows truly what the name is, and how to respond to it.”

“Is that why Christian and Judaic angels have public names that are more job description than personal monikers?”

“… Many pantheons name their messengers as such.”

“Yea. True. But I’m trying to wrap my head around those two.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to figure out a better name to write you with than ‘The Fallen Angel’. Because despite the marks of your exile, you’re not fallen. And there were too many little marks and identifiers at the terrace to place you with other pantheons. Your clan descended through Semitic teachings. The markings on Brother Superior and Brother Martial’s robes gave it away. Brother Martial’s scent is very close to other Christian aligned angelic warriors I’ve had the displeasure of close contact with. So, if I’m going to write a better name for you, I will have to look at accepted naming conventions for those two pantheons.”

He sighed and looked away. “I have no job. I have no name. I have nothing to mark me as different from the others than the judgement on my shoulders.”

I pulled his wing closer to me. “You have comforted me when I felt abandoned. You have been an rope tying me to safety when my depression tried to drown me. You have stood between me and incoming assaults to shield me when I couldn’t shield myself. Do not fucking tell me that you are of no worth because your elders played ‘Scapegoat’ on your ass. You have been true to yourself from the very day you were exiled. Didn’t you try to comfort and minister to me when my empathy was being overwhelmed by your sorrow? Here you were, freshly wounded, and you were trying to put that pain aside to do what you have always done, angel. Minister and protect those that couldn’t protect themselves. I just haven’t figured out how to word your job title just yet.”

I squeaked a soaked feather between my fingers. For the flash of a moment, the feather shined bright and white before being smothered in fresh blight. “You’re exiled. But not fallen. You’ve remained true to yourself and your manifesto all this time. I will not refer to you as fallen anymore. I will not speak that lie again. I just haven’t figured out how to pronounce the truth. If you’ll allow me, that is. Because it seems, a name only has value if the person named accepts it.”

He smiled, and I saw his face shimmer for a moment. “There is more to names than that. But for what you are offering, it is enough. I have… had… no name that mortals would single me out by. I had always worked with my brethren. Or nameless when as… ” He clenched his fists. “You remind me of [unintelligible]. She would speak, and from her words, creation became. I would take a name from you. Not a private name, like your Kay. Not yet. But I would take a public name from you.”

“I’ll see what I can find.” I yawned suddenly and was pulled close to him. He laid his oily wing over me as a blanket. I was overcome with the sensation that everything would be okay.

How funny this must seem, I mused. The Apostate and the Angel. Go figure.


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