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Lachlan MacLearn: Blog

#21 - Zuriel

Posted on January 6, 2015 with 0 comments


How long has it been? This - my present task - has been brief even by human standards. And yet, for a period of time beyond all human reckoning I have been memory, wrapped in the flame of the Kerubim, of all that 'is' and will ever 'be'. I am the shining reminder that all that passes for mortal man is illusion, and all that seems so illusive... eternal. And when bidden by the Great Spirit 'whose-name-can-not-be-known', I accepted this humble task - to reside for a time, in the form of a small, aged figurine; once a year, to be removed from storage, from the carton, and years later the plastic storage tub, and placed atop an evergreen tree, for two weeks, maybe three.

And for that brief time, to watch those whose mortal lives are mine to observe and thus report. To watch a generation fade, and the next one rise.

Ah, but in a near-distant time, I see the approaching crossroad. For the mortal in my present view is without children, and past that age where a new family may reasonably begin. His comings and goings are both random and ordered, by the rotation of the sun, and the duties that call him away from his home, most days. And if my Nameless Master allows, this mortal's remaining days, by my calculation, may yet be counted in the thousands... perhaps as many as ten thousand or a little more. But his days shall surely end. When I shall be called home, and how I shall be called, I can not know.

Music. Warm, peaceful music from a nearby device spills effortlessly throughout his abode, during this short span of days. But only when he is present. Perched above his living space I hear his voice, at times, as if he communicates with another, unseen, unheard, with yet another device held to his ear.

On a few occasions, he is visited by friends. Food and drink is served. Laughter and good company is shared. By this I know that his is not an entirely solitary life, and I am comforted. For the most part, human kind fare poorly in solitary existence, and yet so many seem to suffer it. The Nameless One leads me to know this is sometimes a necessary part of an admittedly difficult journey, but that humans are never entirely alone. And I consider that, in some miniscule way, I am proof of that.

For a time, he shared his abode with a wife and her children from a previous arrangement. I reveled in that brief time, watching the abundance of shared gifts, and the many daily comings and goings, from my perch atop the tree. But this time of 'family' ended for reasons beyond my knowing, and he was alone once again.

I marvel in all the myriad pieces of existence on this inexorable plane, even to this odd little figure I presently inhabit. Surely, I think, it has seen better days. My clear synthetic wings, with their red stars, are scratched, and deformed by endless years stuffed in tiny, cramped container spaces. My pipe cleaner arms are largely devoid of fiber, and the facial paint of my small wooden globe of a head mostly rubbed or scraped off. When in storage, it is my gift, from He-that-is-All, to know dreamless sleep, until that time when fresh air and light again invade my space once more.

"Perhaps", I think, "this is not unlike the mortal experience of life and death". But even in this thought I remember that mortality itself is but a short-lived illusion. Even adult humans are childlike in their belief that all they will ever be exists between first infantile awareness, and the approach of their final 'sleep'. Humans cling to their mental partitions, fearing for their very survival, little realizing that the core, the very 'essence' of what they are is eternal, and part of what has always been - always will be. A million times a million times I review and consider this fear - how it sits at the center of all their greed, violence, selfishness, and self-loathing. And it is for this very reason that we watch, and wait for signs they are evolving beyond this sad place.

Perhaps, my subject knows something of this, else how would he manage so well, even taking into account the spontaneous, and inexplicable shedding of tears I have witnessed since his family left.

And yet, I often hear laughter, and increasingly a sense peace in his ramblings through the rooms and hallways that surround my perch. His days continue unabated. The voice of his soul is quieter now. The surface of that sea within, mostly calm.

In the realm from which I arrived, to observe, as I do, from so small a place as a figurine, while possessing the power to create or destroy worlds, is the sole dominion of the Kerubim, and He-who-brought-us-to-be.

And so I will watch my human, now, as he takes the baubles, once again, off the tree, myself last among them, to return to my plastic storage tub, with the colored globes, and Father Christmas figures. Soft, soothingly sad music issues from his music device. Dutifully, I shall report his state, and all that I have seen these twelve days, to the 'Greatest-and-Nameless-One'.

I am Zuriel. Angel. Servant. Watcher of all things human. For all time.

(c) 2015 L. MacLearn