Lemon Tranquil by Somfay

The promise of new life. It came across the horizon lines above the Earth one morning. Complete stillness - the archer lets go.

They used to call it “Weird Science & Fucking Magic”, those strange and funny creatures. They could not conceive that the world they lived within was yet only nascent - an embryo. How could they know - a baby knows not that it is a baby. Nativity naïveté. A white hot ‘tsk tsk’ from within - thinking that they were chosen, and that the entirety of the Universe was theirs alone. Conquering Kings and Queens all to dust, to whisper and to breath - to silence - from empire to footnote.

In their wisdom it was OK to give in. To rupture at the breast their destructive desires - in fact it was broadcast day and night. They had become so numb to it that it had become entertainment - a laudanum for each sense. They hated it in their hearts but could not stop, as it was their ambrosia. One oxidized needle was not enough - and a moment onward, nor were two. It continued until the vasculature of their souls had just about collapsed.

“If you were to cover up the scent of pure evil with the chiming bells of lemon-lime, you’d hesitate to think that the mess were there at all”, they loved this. Their eyes glistened like diamond and became saucers at the very thought of it. They would drench their brains in it, turning themselves into soporific sponges. This spray-tan for the mind, smelling of an immaculately maintained home. With the purity of an electrical fire; they felt that in their lassitude was a core of clarion call.

At this, we came to you in leagues - we spoke to you in dreams, through your music and your arts; your dances and writings. We thought at first a delicate tone would do - that you’d understand and see. A butterfly’s kiss. Fog on your cheek. You didn’t hear us - so we spoke louder - and louder still!!! In bold and italic we spoke - in the simplest terms - the clearest. You heard us alright; but you chose not to listen - you told your heart to go get a job and live in the real world. “The Real World”, as if you could possibly know in your earliest sentience what Reality really was.

We have been gardeners for so long - the ideas of time and distance have long since become unimportant to us - yet in our cores we care still so deeply for our saplings. We loathe to see them in this way. However, our gardens are many - you could not possibly comprehend, and we too, from moment to moment, catch ourselves in surprise at the multitudes.

If in one garden there is a failure to flourish, and no cross pollination, we will simply re-seed for the following season. To you this might seem unfair - a ‘long time’ - but for us it is only a single grain in the sand-timer’s mouth.

You must understand that if you are to fruit and flower to set seed, you must first grow strong and healthy - you must find a common harmonic. In your growth, there will be great pain, and great joy, but you must never allow your growth to be stunted by numbness. If you are deeply wounded yet cannot feel, nor see, the cut, you will bleed until your river runs barren. You are in pain so that you may heal yourselves and one another; not through whispers but through kinesis.

As you become sentient beings - as we intend in our gardens all - you must tend yourselves and the soil from which you sprout. You must especially be mindful to maintain symbiosis - each of you holds the balance of the other within yourselves. If at this you should fail, it will be because you chose to be numb - to rest your head on a pillow of burning embers, wearing a garland of fire. You are your own custodians now and it is time to douse the flames before they enrapture your garden, cloaked in orange.

Divisions: Genetics, Parallax, Corolla.

Fiat Sentiunt.

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