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edenfallingThis is kind of a mish-mash of a number of things I've read over the years... I think the idea of mirror-pictures having their own reality comes from Susan Cooper's The Dark Is Rising series, and the other references are Oz, Dune, and the Bible. Oh yeah, and the title is from Ozymandias, one of my most-favorite poems.
On a somewhat related note, I feel I should mention that I have a weird relationship to the Bible. I used to read Bible stories when I was little, and treat them exactly the same way I treated Greek myths and traditional fairy tales. As a consequence, I have extraordinary difficulty taking Christianity seriously on a fundamental level. After all, to me, the Judeo-Christian God is always first and foremost a character in a bunch of children's stories. *shakes head* Religion is weird.
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The Lone and Level Sands
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There was a painting, photorealistic in detail, that hung over the living room sofa. Jennifer liked to study its reflection in the dining room mirror, watching the hypnotic layers and spirals of color and form that shaped the canyon bowl. It was lined by rocky spires, eroded by wind and water and sand until they seemed almost alive, like a forest of frozen stone.
It was a rendition of Bryce Canyon, that was what the signature in the lower right corner said, but Jennifer called the mirror version the Singing Stones, the Great Bowl, the Hand of God. The mirror painting was more real to her than the actual reproduced canvass.
She decided that the Hand of God lay beyond a great desert, perhaps the Deadly Desert from the Oz books, or maybe the sands that covered the whole world of Dune. It was a holy place, where lightning danced and the gods came to walk the earth and speak to the people. And beyond the canyon there was life again, plains of lush grass and forests of dark pine rising to the distant, snow-capped mountains.
Jennifer called that country the Promised Land. Someday, she told herself, she might go there, she might meet a caravan meandering through the bone-dry desert and come to stand at the lip of the Singing Stones. She knew that the sandstone spires would not echo ordinary speech, but they would return words in the ancient tongues, and they would wreath songs into endless rondos and fugues, weaving music into rainbows that hung shimmering in the midday sun.
If Alice could go through the Looking Glass, Jennifer reasoned, even if it was a dream, then someday she would reach the Promised Land.
As she grew older, she held on to that hope. Even if she was only dreaming her journey, she decided, a dream of home would be better than a whole life imprisoned away from everything the heart longs for.
And so when she found an apartment of her own, she asked her mother for the painting of Bryce Canyon, and she hung it over her headboard, so that the first thing she saw in the morning was the reflection in the mirror across the room. She woke every day to the reminder of hope.
Maybe she was like Moses, she told herself, since she'd begun to despair of ever reaching the Promised Land. She could see the way, but not complete the journey. But even Moses was allowed to see the land he dreamed of, she reminded herself, and so she waited, trusting that eventually, eventually she would find her way through the desert to stand at the Hand of God and see the vision spread before her.
And in the meantime, she could rest from her yearning and allow herself to be happy.
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Inspired by the 28 March 2004![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
15minuteficlets picture
I am going to have to learn how to channel male characters one of these days. Ah well. At least my internet connection is working again -- it turns out that it was nothing more than a loose power cord. I HATE when problems are as stupid as that. On the other hand, at least it was easy to fix!
On a somewhat related note, I feel I should mention that I have a weird relationship to the Bible. I used to read Bible stories when I was little, and treat them exactly the same way I treated Greek myths and traditional fairy tales. As a consequence, I have extraordinary difficulty taking Christianity seriously on a fundamental level. After all, to me, the Judeo-Christian God is always first and foremost a character in a bunch of children's stories. *shakes head* Religion is weird.
---------------------------------------------
The Lone and Level Sands
---------------------------------------------
There was a painting, photorealistic in detail, that hung over the living room sofa. Jennifer liked to study its reflection in the dining room mirror, watching the hypnotic layers and spirals of color and form that shaped the canyon bowl. It was lined by rocky spires, eroded by wind and water and sand until they seemed almost alive, like a forest of frozen stone.
It was a rendition of Bryce Canyon, that was what the signature in the lower right corner said, but Jennifer called the mirror version the Singing Stones, the Great Bowl, the Hand of God. The mirror painting was more real to her than the actual reproduced canvass.
She decided that the Hand of God lay beyond a great desert, perhaps the Deadly Desert from the Oz books, or maybe the sands that covered the whole world of Dune. It was a holy place, where lightning danced and the gods came to walk the earth and speak to the people. And beyond the canyon there was life again, plains of lush grass and forests of dark pine rising to the distant, snow-capped mountains.
Jennifer called that country the Promised Land. Someday, she told herself, she might go there, she might meet a caravan meandering through the bone-dry desert and come to stand at the lip of the Singing Stones. She knew that the sandstone spires would not echo ordinary speech, but they would return words in the ancient tongues, and they would wreath songs into endless rondos and fugues, weaving music into rainbows that hung shimmering in the midday sun.
If Alice could go through the Looking Glass, Jennifer reasoned, even if it was a dream, then someday she would reach the Promised Land.
As she grew older, she held on to that hope. Even if she was only dreaming her journey, she decided, a dream of home would be better than a whole life imprisoned away from everything the heart longs for.
And so when she found an apartment of her own, she asked her mother for the painting of Bryce Canyon, and she hung it over her headboard, so that the first thing she saw in the morning was the reflection in the mirror across the room. She woke every day to the reminder of hope.
Maybe she was like Moses, she told herself, since she'd begun to despair of ever reaching the Promised Land. She could see the way, but not complete the journey. But even Moses was allowed to see the land he dreamed of, she reminded herself, and so she waited, trusting that eventually, eventually she would find her way through the desert to stand at the Hand of God and see the vision spread before her.
And in the meantime, she could rest from her yearning and allow herself to be happy.
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Inspired by the 28 March 2004
15minuteficlets pictureI am going to have to learn how to channel male characters one of these days. Ah well. At least my internet connection is working again -- it turns out that it was nothing more than a loose power cord. I HATE when problems are as stupid as that. On the other hand, at least it was easy to fix!
