Not an Exercise Tonight

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Here is a distant place within myself
In which I choose to travel
A tiny sliver of finite among forever.

If you do not understand the nature of the world
Understand the nature of its designers
Creatures with a beginning but no end
Uprooting the raw world and propping it up
To make unto themselves houses.

Trithofar is an unstable world
In the hands of children.

You ask me if the evil ones will ever change
How long must a loved one ask you
Before you will change your mind
And abandon your father's ways?

How many cataclysms must pass to convince you
What you spent a thousand years dreaming
Was nothing more than a wisp of whim.

It is this that makes the races what they are
And broader still the creation goes.
Further and further out, up and down until
Up is down again.

You ask me why the races are as they are?
Why here is gremlin-like,
There is rat.
Here is dragon
There is goblin
And one is dog, and one is tall and broad
One like fox or squirrel,
Another like serpent.
It is because the gods cannot decide what the soul should look like.
Here is beauty, there is ugly
Here is grace, there is awkward
Which pet would you choose to kill to preserve the others?
Which do you offer as sacrifice
That you've raised up from whelp
And nurtured at your bosom like mother's first?

Which child do you side with to say art is there
Better and above and higher than all other sculpture?  

And so my children create,
They weave their threads inwards and make a tapestry
But none do know just what the pattern,
Where the colors go.

They splash paint across a barren landscape,
And I find pleasure in the colors on their hands.

They whisper words to one another
Squabbling children, squabbling on,
And one a doll makes
And later shares.

This is the nature of the universe.
This is your world, in which you have been put
A distant corner of my everlasting
A single leaf in an orchard across the horizon

One of my children gives you breath
One bone, another flesh, another pigment.
One pulled the hair up from your scalp,
Along your arms and body.

A child walked behind you, a sibling set to watch you,
To steady you in your first steps.
Now a child inspires you to learning,
While another seeks your way.

And each one of them fingers, each one of them hands,
What power you have to rise up and scream to the sky
And ask these questions,
Your words are made of my children,
Riding upon the backs of others.

My children will listen when you talk to them, too,
And they will listen to voices like yours,
Like-minded.
And others will hear still other voices.

And these will make this world, and remake it.

Now you have asked for guidance,
You have heard it.
Whispered to you like a new wife's first words before sleeping
In the first night's marriage bed.

There is magic in the whispering to the children,
There is power in how they are guided, what they're set to do.
Everything rides inside them
Everything is in their hands.

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I have just finished watching Inception, and was pondering that, when I started contemplating more and more some things about Trithofar.  As with any movie or book that blows my mind, and like any writer worth his/her salt, I wondered what I might borrow or steal from it, so like an idea like a virus I sort of stumbled into this poem.

I had been toying with the idea of how Trithofar has magic and yet could possibly support a Christian mindset and still have the 'gods' and etc.

I have also been toying with the idea of writing a central epic of the world in poetic form (which I am still debating).  One of the key figures of that central mythos is the idea of Willeonis Treborrin, the Bringer of Magic.  Willeonis Treborrin was a hunter and mef wrangler in Southern Allorinia, north of Frosomia (where Drinna takes place).  He was not from Drod, nor did he grow up with the same prejudices that many kunjels feel for Droddies, because he was never a slave in Drod.


He met with a strange man in the wilderness, who many Trithofarian scholars believe was, for all intents and purposes, God.  This figure is called the Father, the Traveler, the Creator, the Highest, the Counselor, and other many names, depending on the culture that discusses him.  Many cultures around Trithofar figure this character into their own culture's mythology and make of him a position of highest authority and highest cosmological esteem.

The Kinto-Shah call him Kri-Nao-Kundroa or a form of this person, who enters and walks among and impregnates Kri-Uru-Kundroa (the mother goddess) with whom he is one, and they believe he stops and starts time where he likes.

The Kunjels call this figure The Highest or The All Father or The Grandfather or The Creator (meaning he owns the property, so to speak).  Some of them still try to call him the Protector, though most Trithofar-born kunjels do not believe he is The Protector, though some do think the Protector is what the Creator became after he finished Creating.  This is especially true of Kunjels who leave Frosomia and travel abroad and encounter churches founded in honor of Willeonis Treborrin.

Many humans feature this figure very prominently into their mythology as the source god, or the first god, the Divine Dragon (meaning this is the Dragon who created the everything).  Some feature this figure as something akin to a Titan on Earth, a god so far elevated that ideas of morality and right and wrong are as alien to him as the doings of two warring ant mounds would be to us.

The elves consider this to be first deity Aeos who allowed the rest to grow upon him, like a beast that suffers fleas to survive when he knows how to get rid of them.

The point is that this mysterious figure teaches Willeonis magic, and touches briefly on the nature of the cosmos in conversations with Willeonis.  I have thought of several ideas about how I would handle the Epic of Leor, and I think this poem may be a part of it and may explain some things about the nature of Trithofar.