On-becoming the Night against the Evil that Stalks at Noonday.
As the power of the color of the night breathes, the Pallid Civilization, like death warmed over, crosses the precipice of a tumultuous Rubicon. The Sun beats down on fresh human decadence that bedecks the sidewalks of an Earth filled with bloodletting rituals, decapitations and cenote human sacrifices. The Sun lashes at the faces of invented ones to provide pretexts for wars on humanity, for perpetual wars, with their endless avalanche of blood, maintained by a desperate oligarchy in order to propitiate their angry desires – their greedy gods, their gluttonous angels – who like the devil, pour not libation, but throw bloody showers of gore.
When shall the night fall? When shall the night seek revenge – to offer a hand to the tainted day? The Owl replies, “Soon. Much sooner. I saw a hole in the devil, deep like a hunger that he will never fill. It is what makes him sad and what makes him want. He will go on taking and extracting from everybody, from everywhere until one day the Earth will say, ‘I am no more. I have nothing left to give.’”
It is then, only then, that the night falls. The night comes. The night stops running away from evil. The chase ends. It lasted far too long. The night faces the devil. The night eclipses the day; it engulfs the evil leering at the apex.
But where, where shall I be? What shall I become? Whence shall my help come? As the forces of nature gather, the unstoppable mist falls. Much has transpired. Evil took my village at the height of the barbarity of the Pallid civilization. Herein lies the comeuppance of the journey I must make in order that I may yet escape the human sacrifices of the West and rescue my uncertain future.
The snare is broken. The arrow missed its target. I am injured, yet I must run. Four centuries I have run among the bushes, the shrubs, the vipers and the crocodiles, deep into the bellows of the forests. I have trekked away from a beckoning unrelenting menace. It is not the Deep I fear, but the marauding evil I despise. Injured and scared, I have escaped. One more century in the tree I have spent. The lion, the jaguar and the viper I have met. I cross not their paths. Still they must follow their instincts and I, mine. We are forged from the same furnace. So I lead them towards the evil behind, knowing full well that I shall also one day follow my own instincts. I must – or I die for nothing. Or I die betraying who I am.
This century I overcame my greatest fear. I jumped down the waterfall. The spirits of the deep kept my head from smashing against the rocks beneath. I swum clean. The water washing away the blue of devilish motifs on my body. The water washing away the smear of endless wars, the mark of slavery, the smudge of looting and colonialism, the blot of imperialism, and the stain of a blood-thirsty culture.
I have descended into my own, into my own forest where I am comfortable. I must become aware. But deeper I must go to find this consciousness, deeper into the Shadows into the Mud pit where I must find my memory. Against the Black Hole I must struggle to prove my worth for the fight ahead. Struggle I must within the warm embrace of the darkness of the deep. This time I am decorated. This time I am ornamented in blackness. This time for eternity. This time for good. This time for my ancestors. This time so that I can achieve oneness with my instincts. So that I can become one with my forest.
For the burden of fear with which I escaped from bondage is lifted. That fear, that deep rotting fear, is gone. It has infected my peace once. But no more. My forest is safe from its carnage. That fear, that sickness, has no place here. I shall not allow that fear to crawl into the soul of my certain future. I was not raised in this forest to live with fear. Fear is stricken from my heart. It will not enter my village. It will not enter my farm. It will not enter my house. I am transfigured.
My spirit is one with the lion. My soul is one with the jaguar. I move with the viper. My instincts I shall fully obey. The chase ends here. Look at me. I turn my back to you. Black as tar, as a Blackstar. Dark as the night-fall, melting into the shadows of my forest. I stare you down from behind. You are nothing to me. You deserve nothing. I owe you nothing. “My name is Lion Heart. I am the Roaring Night. I have descended from Narmer. I have descended from Tahaka. I am the son of Kemet. I am the grandson of Nubia. I am the great grandson of Punt. My Fathers hunted this forest for millennia way before me. My name is Lion Heart. I am the Roaring Night. I am the hunter here. This is my forest. And my sons will hunt it with their sons after I am gone.”
Are you scared? You should. All you who are vile – you Pallid faces. Would you like to know how you will die? The sacred Night is upon you. Behold the blackness of day, the darkness of the deluge. Behold the nightfall. Behold the man who thinks the lion’s thoughts, the man who snarls the jaguar’s growl, the man who whistles the viper’s hiss. Behold him, recreated from the Night, resurrected from the Mud, and reincarnated from the Earth. For the One to whom he takes you will cancel the sky and scratch you out of the Earth. He will scratch you out forever and end your world. He’s with us now. The Day will embrace the Night. And the man that is the Roaring Night will lead you to your end.
As the Pallid curse falls over, fooled in tow into the cadaverous path of a newly arriving and equally blood-thirsty chaff of Requerimiento wielding conquistadores, a Colorful Civilization beckons away, far away from the rabble of gibbering savages. Deep beyond the outskirts an epic journey home, where the wealthy souls dock and where the wholesome future berths, begins. This home, as comely as the Night, welcomes the Indomitable One.