Dreamt some deity hauled my ass onto the carpet to answer for my poem last night. Really rough handling. Whoever it was took no chances and gripped me by my wings the way one grabs a chicken for dinner. My answer to each and every question was, “You are not my god.”.
I remember a boot on my neck, my face ground against an unforgiving surface.
“You are not my god.”
The left wing was pulled against the joint while the boot on my neck forced me to gulp for air.
“You are not my god.”
I heard the sound of a large blade being slid against something. The threat needed no words.
“You are not my god, and if you want me to suffer for my insolence, you will allow me to leave here unharmed and intact. For every wound you place on me will be answered for, if not soon, then later after I am freed from this flesh. And make no mistake, I do not carry many grudges, but the ones I nurse, I nurse into creation, and you will receive your full due for your unlawful actions now. You are not my god. You will never be my god. There is only one that can claim that title, and [ke] keeps me at arm’s length on purpose. You want me to suffer for my sin of rejecting your claim of authority? Let me live this wretched mortal life. And hope it is a long one, so I will forget your little temper tantrum in time.”
I closed my eyes and stopped physically resisting the hands abusing me. I made my peace with myself again, and accepted I am effectively godless. I wondered if all the little hints I had caught over the years about that part of Weaver that is not incarnated was true. If so, I spoke no lie. If not, this was one of the biggest bluffs I have ever played.
The wing was wrenched even harder. I felt a tendon pop as my body struggled to hold itself together. A sudden scuffle of noise announced the release of my wing and the removal of the boot from my neck. A full argument, in a language I can not consciously comprehend, started and stopped as quickly and as brightly as a bird’s chirp. Whoever, whatever, had intervened had done so successfully. Unfortunately, when the deities departed, they took my understanding as well so I was unable to thank my benefactor.
I was suddenly alone. I had no knowledge of who I had pissed off with that poem. I sat up in utter darkness, my left wing limp and sore on the ground. Nothing some coffee can’t cure.
I know this is not the end of it.
Ask me if I give a fuck.