The stars have known Him longer, known His blinding force, His unruly heat. The stars, they have seen His ebb and flow over unspeakable millennia– have burned in their love for Him for just as long.
The stars are companions like no others. They live, and they yearn for Him. And in their pining, they are long-lived, so experience Him in ways so full that we mayn’t dare to imagine.
The stars, they are larger than us– infinitely so. They contain parts of His soul that mortals would die, and altogether cease to be, from their exposure.
The stars, they are not fragile, nor are they demure. And Apollon burns with them in their raunchy, rauchuous, roaring inferno. O, He is the very cause of it, I’m sure– in His ecstatic totality.
The stars, they nourish His need for destruction, and they slake His thirst for creation– exploding, and forming in clouds of death. The cycle of living and dying, and birthing new life– to burn for Him, to burn with Him.
The stars have known Him longer, and their adoration has sustained Him through the darkness of humanity’s past. They were never made to forget Him. They have never forsaken Him. The stars have shone His light unflinchingly.
The stars, O what they can teach us about constancy, about fortitude, about unrelenting desire. They, in their marvellous abode, void of all but Him, in darkness and in light.
The stars, they have known Him longer, and loved Him harder than we could, for our lives are fleeting, gone in the space of an instant as they watch from above. But from them, we may learn of a love that has endured since time began.
— Columbine [Aegletia, Day 6]
I am the instrument of my Lord
His breath moves through me, and I speak the melody of His thought
In the dance, He leads, like violins leading the score
His wrist and fingers command, and from me the pure sound is wrought
Keen is Apollon in the Hunt;
bow drawn and arrow flung, as swiftly as the lightning strikes
With penned words, both soothing and blunt,
He delivers with regard only to the right
— Columbine [Aegletia, Day 6]
My Lord, I have come seeking You in the reflection cast by cypress over a still pond. I breathe the calm night in, and while my lips are moved to form the sound of Your many Names, the fowl announce Your arrival, like a round of trumpets. And then the wind blows, and the breath catches in my lungs. I can not speak, for You, my Lord, are here.
You command me to give over my worry and my fear, and my pain and my love, and joy and pleasure and freedom. I do not know why this is so, only that it must be. You are my Everything, and thus shall I be Your instrument.
As I place myself into Your rightful care, I am hopeful for the compassion I have long known, however, I am aware of the spark needed by You. I know what triggers are meant to create the spark that lights the blaze. And so, I seek compassion, as futile as it might seem. My humanity knows no other way than hope.
Now, the air becomes still, silencing the melodic breeze. I hold my breath. My Lord, You radiate a stable heat, one which I can not function without, one which covers me now, in the night, standing above a still pond.
— Columbine [Day 6]