IntoTheMouthOfRavness

At last the time came for the bride
To be with Him.

Why does not my sacred church tell you:
The Morninglord only sees Himself.

(from the personal writings and poesies of Simeon of the Pillar, scribed in the more lettered hands of his fellow penitents: the Caliban Samael of Paridon, the blessed templar Ephraim of Mordentshire, and reverend brother Petru of Zhukar)

It is done. I know now that I can never again join my brothers in song at the Sanctuary of First Light: Father Lazario Kolyovich has made it so. In the opinion of my church, I am, in the words of Petru, but a blashpemous black magician. Though it is prideful to claim any devotion for myself, I am nevertheless grateful for his indignation at my treatment at the hands of my betters. I came but to make some peace, to beg forgiveness for my hubris, to kneel before the patriarch of the church and pray at the Lord’s consecrated altar.

Father Lazario seemed to have an easy answer for what happened at the church. I am still confused. I pray for such easy answers. He is a most blessed and compassionate man whom I love as I love the Morning and whom I have already forgiven, even before the dramatic occurences at the church. I wish I knew why in those moments when I wished to mend, to reconcile and be ordained at last after my suffering exile, I should exhibits such outward signs of possession. But oh! The rapture! To be so ravaged! To bleed the wounds, the taints of the Morninglord himself. Such unaduterous and unconditional love, bathing in his martyred blood and his nurturing light!…

I should mortify myself for my presumptions. It is not for me to delight in being the instrument of the Morninglord. It is for me to delight in his will, in his love.

These thoughts are unbecoming. I will have to spend more time in prayer, contemplating the ineffable beauty that is the divine…

Perhaps the Dawnbringer seeks not this reconciliation. My heart tells me it was selfish of me to desire something for myself. I am unworthy for the gifts I bear. But I should have no say in that judgement: it is to me to make myself worthy in the use of these gifts. Some of the priests murmured “Stigamata!”, and “Hallowed!” before the high priest banished them from the temple. Petru claims I should tear it down. I cannot do such until I am bid, until my Provider chooses to destroy it to rebuild the temple anew…

My soul is a candle that burned away the veil;
Only the glorious duties of light I now have.

The sufferings I knew initiated me into The Morninglord.
Only His glorious cares
I now have.

Then it is that I have become, irrevocably a heretic in the eyes of the Holy See. Yet, perhaps it is not for men to decide. I am a confesor for men, as we are all men confessors to our brothers and sisters. I have been granted the favour of the Lord. I have been baptised the keeper and giver of his gifts though I am not yet, or ever to be it seems, ordained. It is given to me to cure the sick, to give sight to the blind, to heal the ails of men and calm their damaged souls. I have been given power over the bloodsucking minions of the Nosferatu, of the night…

What matters it that I will not be amongst the Dawnslayers? I am my brother’s keeper, that I know. And I believe that, with the Lord’s love, am also the slayer of darkness! The bringer of Hope! I must protect all from the undying night, until the Dawn has come at last. The church of men, I am not a part of. I do not serve it will: “The sufferings I knew initiated me into The Morninglord. Only His glorious cares I now have.”