Enoch Son Of Himself

I, Enoch the Banned, son of myself and of my works, here I am reduced to the worst state that the human can know: abandoned by the Gods, hated by the Supermen, driven from the table of the Mighty Ones.

Deep in mud and garbage, this is where the Goddess sent me, where I will end my days like all my kind. For ever these infamous words stigmatize me and swallow away my courage. What to do –not to regain the heavenly stay— but to find the good graces of Hera? She threw me in the pigs’ soues, with them I will finish my days if I can not find a way. And doubt came to me.

What did she tell me? That I had dreamed my life, that I had spoiled my luck, that I had lost the memory of sweet or bitter moments, victories and conquests. That I was nothing but an empty bark, that the human pulp had withered under the warrior’s coat, that I was only the shadow of myself. A pale reflection of the four centuries spent with the gods. To have forgotten many things, the report is humiliating but sincere. As for no longer remembering anything, the punishment is terrible, which stretches at every moment.

Find myself ! To be a single being with myself, as before, when I was on the Sun of the Gods, when I was filled in the lap of my Mother who is in heaven, the holy Hera, the golden adored Madonna. Despair taught me prayer. From the mud my song has gone up to you, most holy mother. Hear my prayer. From the depths I cry to You, My Lady. Without you I am A-dam,without Lady in French deprived of You. To live in this way is endless suffering.

O Goddess

“Find your blade and your soul, O Enoch, these tears are unworthy, is not Enoch a coward, I sent you back to earth to find the warrior who sleeps in you, you have learned so many things, the art of war and mental combat, the art of loving, the art of taking and giving, the art of submitting to dominate, the art of building, the art of carving stone and to assemble the wood, the art of melting the metal to forge the precious orichalc and victorious bronze, the art of flying without wings and seeing from a distance, the art of invoking the dead and that of captivate the living. You secretly possess the secrets of high magic. You have more assets than any human had before you. And you allow yourself to complain? You allow yourself to balk like a restive mount? You stumble, you make a sad face, poor puny and fearful creature, you the son of the ive, you who will generate myriads, you whose descendants will populate the earth and all seas! I give you a last chance, O foolish worm! Don’t spoil it.”

I understood who You are

Then, suddenly, I saw myself near the Cyclops, my master, who told me the light war, and taught me so many other precious things. But my master was silent. His eyes were spinning mine, I could hardly hold a strong desire to burst into tears. What was he doing to me? I felt his soul rummage through mine, turn it upside down like dirty clothes. The tears gave way to a strong urge to vomit. I was weak, I was going to collapse like a poorly built tower, and the Cyclops heard a thunderous laugh. “Do not worry, little human larva, I show you the way” he exclaimed, slapping my shoulder blade. I fell into syncope.

When I woke up, no more cyclops, but a sweet face leaning over mine. It is that of the tender Orane, whom I have named Apple, and whom I have loved so much. Tears again bathed my cheeks. Was I well with the powerful witches, on the island of illusions, on the land of enchantments? Was it the real world, would it be a deceitful dream?

A dream, certainly! Or worse, a nightmare. Between my arms, the sweet Orane has changed into a snake. I jumped out of the bed with a horrible cry. The snake faded into the shadow, whence came, sneering, convulsed, the face of the furious Goddess.

And then the cyclops my mentor took the advantage. But his features did not hold up. I saw sometimes the giant, sometimes Apple, sometimes the great snake darting his bifid tongue by narrowing his yellow eyes. And then the Goddess again. And everything has cleared up.

I know what Your role is

Time is nothing. I am not 400 years old, 100 or even 20 years old. I am eternal. Before the beginning, I was. Before Snake Island, I was a snake, a cyclops, a witch, and a druid. I was a simple soldier, apprentice, schoolboy, I was a bear hunter and I lived everywhere. I am the golden glow of the sun on the puddle, I am the wind in your hair, I am your pretty teeth, your beloved tongue, your lips, I am life, love, the beginning and the end. I am Aleph and Tau, alpha and omega.

I read everything, knew everything, knew everything, lived everything. And I come back on my steps from age to age, crazy or wise, old or old. My eyes see beyond the heavenly horizons. I am one of you, I am all your brothers. I have one and multiple in me. The dream is so fleeting and the day so deceiving. I am of all races and all colors.

Thus is revealed to me what it means to go down from oneself and become one’s own son. Now I know that nothing is me, I see that I am nothing. Then everything will be given to me, because I am naked, without strength, without project, ready for anything, good for nothing, man of little, woman of all. Because the Goddess came down to me to fill me with graces, through Her I was my son, In It I find my joy.

~~ Enoch the Elder

I lived on the day of wonder
You and me, remember
And I crossed the wall of years
Miracles in my ears
Our future is not the same
I lived on the day of wonder

~~ Louis Aragon