THE WORLD IN YOUR OWN BLOOD

See the world in your own blood, O Lamb of God, and tell what it is to be Christian!

He muttered something and lit a match, took it out and turned the bowl on its side with
the flame he blew on his fingers and began to scrub the side of his neck.

The heat of the sun threw up the dust of a landscape spread out below him, the sunlight
dappling all the long lines of the ramparts, the clustered cottages and the dying orchards.
The rich gold of the mountains and rivers changed the morning into a golden sunset,
the muddy fields turned deep red and purple and the village put a million shafts of yellow
and pink and purple and rose into the space of the brook beneath.

In that space, bidden by the holy spirit, he saw four figures draw up in a little boat.
The loch was deep and dark as pitch, there was nothing but a long narrow clear channel
and the dark outline of the bank. The edges of the boat gleamed darkly against the blackness.
One by one the figures rose out of the boat and set foot on the water. They stood upright now,
the outline of their bodies lifting and falling as they stepped out. In the sunlight they stood
almost as if they were made of gold. They turned round towards him.

—We are the brethren of Christ!

They spoke together, in counterpoint, in beautiful voices. They had broad shoulders and long legs
like Roman centurions and soft arms and breasts. Each of them was golden-haired, the long wings
of their breasts almost showing between the golden folds of their veils. They wore jewels of gold,
and heavy gold chains hung down around their necks. The shadow of their figures moved gently in
the sunlight, and the river spread out before them, full of light.

—Beautiful! cried the Shard of Light.

It looked away down the slope, at the village, where the only white faces were the white toes of
the youngest children.

—My dear sir, said a voice from the boat.

-What is was always.

:: 03.05.2022 ::