Some Epiganies IV

Then the Angel took me to a perspective from which all battlefields can be seen at once, in such a fashion that the strands of their origins were emotionally and intellectually apparent to my perception. “Do you understand, now?” asked the Angel. I held up my hand, with fingers wide. “I see the fingers clearly, the palm less clearly, and the wrist I largely fail to attend at all.” “Yes,” said the Angel, “but what if the hand was a wing, and the wing comprised of feathers, themselves, stranded and estranged from liberty?”

Finally, something arose in my awareness. “My first answer was true. But not in the sense of rations. Now, I see the waters of Beyond, which I am compelled to deeply adore without reservation.” “This,” the Angel said, “could be understood as the natural result of your hand not containing a gun.”

“I have but rarely favored such devices.” I replied.

I heard the voice in my mind. “It’s a matter of the conscilience of velocities when temporally compressed according to the angle of approach.”

I could no longer sense the Angel, then.

I looked at my hand, and the absence of a gun was profound.