| 144: Rebellion |
[Sep. 24th, 2006 ~ 07:47 pm] |
How can you-- how can you say that? How do you compare me to him?
My words to Michael. He likened me to the brother we no longer acknowledge as our brother, whose given name is no longer spoken by any of the host. Lucifer, we call him now, a faint monkey-tongue echo of what he was to us: light-bringer, daystar, son of the morning...
The first to fall.
First casualty of the war he started.
(He tells it differently, of course. The fallen says that he was created only to fall, that all he has done has been at the manipulative will of Him whose Will is perfect. If you give him half a chance, he will speak of injustice and predetermination and being only a pawn in the great Drama. Oh, he is bitter. And I don't claim, I don't, pretend to understand everything of why he fell, of everything that transpired between him and the Father. I do know this: he had a choice. Whatever else he may say of how much was Planned and how much was his own pride, in that I know he lies. He had a choice. I remember.)
I remember--
He lit the stars. He, he was given the torch and sent forth into the void, to kindle and wake each of them in turn. Can I describe it, the soft wondering sigh that arose from us and became song as we stood in our Creator's light and watched answering lights be born in the darkness? Can I describe how Lucifer shone, invested with the Father's glory? He was perfect, even to minds that didn't yet understand the concept of imperfection.
I remember speaking with him, in the early days. The planning stages. We were designing the universe. All of us, I mean. There was the City and there was us, but He wanted so much more. And that was our job. Someone working on sunsets and someone else sorting out how fast light should travel and several of us in charge of figuring out 'music' and there were so many questions, so many things that had to be modeled first, and what about gravity and color and chrysanthemums and mitochondria and--
--anyways. It was a busy time, let's just leave it at that. My opinion was asked on some of the concepts with which I was going to be associated, but for the most part I was not building. I was carrying messages from one quarter of the City to another, from this group of angels to that, or from the Name to the named. I remember being-- so much of this is impossible to translate to monkey talk, I'm sorry. I think... I think I was... intense? Impatient? It'll do. I was... intolerant of delays. And Lucifer would tell me to chill.
Slow down, Gabriel. It will all happen in time, he would say, and smile. He empathized with my desire to see the completed project and get the universe up and running, but he was much more patient than I, much wiser. All will happen in His time, Gabriel.
It's not really applicable for me to say how long it was before he began to have questions. Time was just another one of the concepts in development. Perhaps it took us geological æons to structure each emotion and physical law, or perhaps it happened in spaces that would fit between human heartbeats, I don't know. But I remember...
I think it's going too fast, he told me once, eyes troubled.
What do you mean?
There's... too much we don't have figured out yet, Gabriel. We ought to make sure we have everything right first...
It's all in accordance with His will, Lucifer. He would tell us if it was wrong.
He paused. Finally said, Yes, of course He would.
Later: What do you think of the progress on the humans? You're very involved with that species, aren't you?
I remember being taken aback at the question. Well. We don't really know what He intends to do with them. But it's an interesting model for development. I think I'll enjoy bringing them into the world.
And taking them out of it? That too?
Of course. I remember shrugging. The symmetry of it is beautiful.
Lucifer's gaze was fixed on the horizon, on where the City ended and the darkness began. But what if it isn't? What if death turns out to be a... a... thing... that is not beautiful? A wrong thing?
I laughed. An error? (We'd had to make that word after one of the youngest angels hadn't taken gravity into account while designing rainbows. That had been. Messy.)
Yes. What if it's an error, Gabriel?
It can't be an error. It's part of the Plan.
Yes. Yes, I know. But... what if the Plan has errors?
***
Fast-forward. Many years. Time kicked off and the suns started their slow burn and life was woken up on a million worlds and Lucifer decided he had serious problems with the Management's strategy. He was not content with following orders as they were handed down. He wanted to be a part of the decision-making process.
There was war.
I had hardly been the only one to enjoy speaking with Lucifer. Some had listened to him.
There was blood on the City's streets.
At the end of it, we stood on the walls, wrested the thrones of our sometime brothers from those walls and threw them after their owners. It was such a long way down. They burned as they fell, Lucifer so much brighter than the others; a raw scar of furious light slashed across the blackness.
The first war was civil war. Every enemy we forced from our home was a colleague, a friend, a brother.
I watched Lucifer fall until he was no longer visible, and unlike some who stood with me on the walls I did not weep for his fall. I felt only white anger, that he had believed himself worthy to correct the Creator, and that he had torn heaven asunder with his pride.
***
Later yet. I stood in a field and watched blood spill onto the stones, forbidden to intervene. A lamb's, first. And then Abel's, shed by his brother. Things had been dying ever since we had closed the gates of the garden, but these were the first deaths. For the first time I fulfilled this part of my function.
What if death turns out to be a thing that is not beautiful? A wrong thing?
***
Couple of thousand years later. After bringing death to the firstborns of Egypt, after taking the armies of the Assyrians and the cities of Israel's enemies, I'd long since ceased to care that death was not symmetrical and beautiful for the monkeys.
I'd long since ceased to care about the monkeys at all. They were all alike, these short-lived, small-minded animals, weak creatures that cowered in fear before anything stronger and turned around to deliver cruelty to anything weaker. I found it hard to care even for those who still followed the Name, when every generation of them saw them weaker, more fallen away from Him and more given to Lucifer's lies.
But then I was reminded there was a Plan.
For a time-- for some thirty-four years-- I remembered the glory that had we had known at the beginning, the delight we had taken in our duties. I brought a Message to this small, dirty planet; I heard the choirs singing with the same note of awe that had been in our voices when the stars had been born; I whispered to the Child in the womb with renewed joy in what I did, with reverence and faith. Things were going to be set right.
Thirty-three years after the Child was born, I was standing at the foot of a brutal cross of wood, waiting to take Him as I had brought Him. Wanting nothing more than to deliver vengeance on His murderers, the crawling stupid ungrateful vicious filthy ignorant animals. How could they? How could they?
My incomprehension at that moment was nothing to what followed when I realized what His death had meant. That the Plan was to allow them into heaven. The Plan was to forgive the monkeys every ugliness their species had committed, every sin and crime, and grant them our home. They were to have the paradise they had sold away, and not even because of any atonement they had done. Only because they had taken the greatest Gift to their species, and slaughtered Him like a dog.
What if the Plan has errors?
I stopped obeying. I told myself that we must have misunderstood it, that somewhere we had gotten it wrong because there was no way the Name could have meant for this to happen. A mistake had been made, but it could be fixed. I could fix it.
There was war. Again. Blood shed by brothers. Again. But this time we fought not in the City, but down on the mudball, where we were flesh, and this time we died, our bodies were destroyed and we guttered out like candles. Vengeance entered into the equation. Each death reinforced my resolve to convince my brothers they followed a lie. If I could do that, if I could unite us, then we could make it like it was before, when we knew that He loved us best. When we could hear Him clearly.
See, with the sounds of all our fighting, somehow His voice got lost in the noise.
This went on for about two thousand years.
During that time I spared very few thoughts for Lucifer. For his part, he was amused by our war. Thought it a great cosmic joke that after all of it, we should be fractured again, fighting again. I amused him most, which he told me about in great detail once I was downstairs with him.
You see now I was right, Gabriel. Right all along. You should have joined me in the beginning and saved yourself a lot of trouble. He's wrong. He has always been so. Infallible? Hardly. It is far more likely, Gabriel, that He is only indifferent.
And you.... messenger! Carried His words for so many years and toed the party line, parroted everything He said back to the other slaves. What a good little pet you were! And you see how He rewarded you. You see how your faithful service was paid for: you were given to me.
Well, Gabriel. Welcome to my rebellion.
And still I didn't understand. Not then. I still thought that all I had done had been right. I had watched the humans killing each other in the name of God for millennia and shaken my head at their stupidity, yet I had done the same. No, I had done worse, because I should have known better, I did know better.
And so when Michael compared me to Lucifer... it was as if he had struck me. I had, after all, done it for reasons I believed just and righteous. I had done it with the best of intentions.
It is only now I understand that Lucifer walked the same road. The grade is gentle, the going seems smooth. Each step makes sense at the time.
Michael was right to compare me to him. He meant it as condemnation, and it was deserved. But does even he realize the true import?
It's not that I fell so very far. It's not that Lucifer is so very removed from what we are. We tell ourselves he's something unimaginably Other, an abomination we have nothing in common with.
But he is still our brother. And the step between him and us is a very easy one to take.
I find myself unable to hate him, these days. I only pity him.
______
gabriel * the prophecy (series) * word count: 1986 |
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| Comments: |
Always?
(ooc: wow. This is great. And my stubborn little muse here thinks so, too, though she doesn't see forgiveness as a virtue in all cases. Niice writing!)
Always what? *small smile* Always believe forgiveness is best?
It's hard to make sweeping generalities. But I think that yes, forgiveness is the best course. Not necessarily for the person being forgiven. But for the one doing the forgiving.
And hi, Tersa.
That, too.
Hello, Messenger. *a shy smile*
Yup. The thing about forgiveness it that it -is- a gift. As such, it's not something earned, not something "deserved." That's not a gift, that's payment. But mercy, forgiveness; these are things that stand independent of the crime committed and are wholly grounded in the being who chooses to extend them.
That's why I'm always a bit baffled when anyone says someone's done something so terrible it can't be forgiven. It's nothing to do with what was done.
Anyways. It's nice to meet you.
Perhaps not everyone's strong enough to forget?
Perhaps not. But I think it's not even so much strength as it is understanding where someone else is coming from.
John reads what his friend has written. "Oh, Gabriel!" He looks into space a long long while watching these visions play in his mind's eye, as best he can conceive of them, seeing his friend's face experiencing them - the original expressions of the faith and pain, the glory and anger of which he has only seen shadows. "Oh, Gabrie1" he whispers. There are no words... enough. He is profoundly and personally moved - not in pity, nor sympathy, exactly - but deep wonder and fellow-feeling. It is so very much.
He repeats quietly, of that which Gabriel does, The symmetry of it is beautiful.
There will be a lot to talk about.
Gabriel smiles faintly at John's reaction. "Eh, it's not that big a deal," he murmurs a bit sheepishly, in response to John's whisper.
"After all. Most of it was a very. Long time ago."
Despite the light tone of his words, Gabriel is still quiet, his thoughts on what rebellion meant for both him and his brothers. He had a great deal of time to think the questions over, but he has only begun to put these thoughts into words. It is a blessing, he thinks, that he has found such friends to listen to them.
So it isn't true that Christ was born to be sacrificed?
I didn't say that. At the time, I didn't think it made sense-- I thought there'd been a mistake. In hindsight... in hindsight I suppose it was all part of a plan, the Plan. Which was not about perfection so much as redemption.
Thank you for clarifying.
I think you need to come over for dinner soon. Before I go to Los Angeles soon.
If I'm being cooked for, I'm certainly there. *grin* You just give me a time and place.
Whatever works for you is good for me. My social calendar isn't exactly full at the moment.
Do you like spicy food?
Love it-- there were some great Mexican joints in L.A., during my time there. I'll have to see if. You outdo them. *smiles*
Then I'm pulling out all the stops for you. Is there anything you can't eat? Oh, and you aren't going to have issues with my ghost, I hope? The ghost in my apartment, I mean. It isn't really my ghost. He's my ghost.
ooc: I'm heading to bed soon, but I can start a thread whenever. Just let me know what's good.
Hmm, nope, anything's fair game foodwise. That whole no-pork-or-other-unclean-foods thing is a monkey thing.
And I certainly won't mind your housemate.
OOC: Sounds great! I'm sort of limited-net-access for the next few foreseeable days. If you don't mind me being SLOW to respond, we can start whenever you want, or we can wait til I'm back at my home computer. Your call!
Why do you call us monkeys when we're made in His image?
Unless that isn't true?
ooc: Slow is fine, I'm not going anywhere. I'll start a thread tomorrow.
Oh, that. *waves a hand dismissively*
Ehhh... It's sort of, well. If I say trade secret, you're not going to be put off, are you? *eyes Ynez* Nah, you're not.
Okay-- *runs a hand through his hair* --when it says "His image" it doesn't mean-- I mean, what, you think the Boss actually has two feet, ten toes, eyeballs and nose hair and stomach lining and all the rest? Because He doesn't, trust me.
It's more like... *another vague gesture* ...all things are made more or less in His image. Because they're alive. But humans have souls, they're connected to the Divine, and that's closer than most things, then plants and birds and so forth. So that's what "in His image" actually means.
As for the monkey bit... *looks around to make sure there's no theologians in sight, or, for that matter, scientists-- he doesn't need either camp on his back* --Genesis is a big fat bunch of metaphor. I call you monkeys 'cuz I watched you all clamber down from the trees, not so very long ago.
*laughs*
I know all that, silly. I didn't just fall off the turnip truck, you know. I just wondered if you aren't disrespecting Him just a tiny bit when you say that?
Ah, okay. *small grin*
Well. Originally I meant it as insult. Nowdays, I tend to think of it more as a pet name. Denotes fondness, and all that. *smirks just a tad*
You'd be surprised what the Boss lets us get away with. He does have a warped sense of humor.
A sense of humor. I'm not surprised to hear that. It's the only explanation for so many things.
I can only answer that with a fervent Amen, sister.
You are a writer so talented it makes me sick.
VERY VERY SICK.
I'll reply IC when I'm not so fucking SICK of all of your SICKENING talent!
((*laughs herself SICK*))
Callie would say that mercy just comes natural, we all have it, just have to listen to it. :)
ooc: I kind of agree with not_rude_ginger *g*
a raw scar of furious light slashed across the blackness.
what a beautiful line and image...
Callie'd be right, Gabriel would say, except he would also say that unfortunately not everyone finds it as easy to listen to that voice of mercy as she does.
And thank you very much. *digs toe in dirt and blushes* | |
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