That
"He marks the fall of every sparrow" was duly considered by
Brother Clothren as he keyed the designation "Denumerable" into the blank
spaces following the prompt CARDINALITY? blinking in pale violet on his
workscope. A fitting designation, he thought for the paternal man-god
of an insignificant water planet-- a god beset on one hand by the most
ordinary of human emotions and on the other serving as the crux of impenetrable
mysteries. By any measure though, this Yahweh was a small figure indeed
compared to deities of higher cardinality such as the ineffably beautiful
Aleph Three god of the aboreals of Ka'a Ntg whose very name can only be
approximated by a metaphorical conjunction of the galactagrams for "starwheel",
"phoenix", and "beyond all attributes".
For
countless millennia the graceful metallocrete arch of Brother Clothren's
Order of Remembrance has lifted its motto in archaic Fa'an into the dazzling
night sky of Kletha. Etched on crystal lithium, its sinuous script reads,
"Choose as gods might choose, those few things to be honored with perpetual
remembrance."
The surprising proof
of Meinong's Conjecture in ages past had established the existence of
non-intersecting realms of deities as irrefutable fact - deities wrought
into existence solely by the collective belief and adoration of the worshipful
races.
Although Brother
Clothrens's ancient order originally strove to record the detailed history
of each such race, such aspirations proved too daunting owing to their
unexpected large numbers. As a result, an early Abbot -- the stately Haa'tan
- reluctantly issued a Standing Order limiting historical accounts to
the quintessence of each race -- namely, a detailed account of its gods.
In this, the Abbott was surely right, thought Brother Clothren recalling
one of Haa'tan's more popular quotes, "Tell me about your gods and I will
reveal the inmost secrets of your heart". Nevertheless, even Brother Clothren
in his chosen vocation of Archeotheist, sometimes murmured at preserving
such a minuscule part of the vast and glorious history of vanished races
while consigning the large measure of their past to certain oblivion.
Nevertheless, like other members of his ancient Order, each night the
meek and obedient Brother Clothren dreamed the eventless white dream of
the pure.
For the account
of the Terrene god a final page still remained. Brother Clothren continued
keying in text, "...that such a simple contingency could spell the demise
of a deity of his cardinality was not only inconceivable to his devotees
but also beyond the ken of the very deity who would himself succumb as
its victim..."
Brother Clothren
paused for a moment contemplating the deep mystery of divine existence
then continued,. . ."On April 7, 1984 (by local solar reckoning) in Estill
Fork, Alabama, a solitary sparrow alighted erratically on a redbud tree
in Otis Farnborough's side yard. Underneath, a strutting rooster in vivid
metallic hues imperiously herded three clucking hens scratching for grubs.
The sparrow had flown south from Tennessee into the mountain fastness
of the upper Paint Rock Valley in North Alabama where it had contracted
aviomycosis and was terminally ill. There on Otis Farnborough's redbud
tree its long journey ended as its eyes glazed over, its body spasmed,
and then, releasing its grip, the dead bird toppled headlong into a clutch
of startled hens. At that precise moment, the ceaseless purview of the
ever-watchful Yahweh was exceeded and he became zero in all his parts
signifying his total extinction."
©2005
Wm. J. Wilson
Originally
published in MC, A Journal of Media and Culture published by the University
of Queensland, Australia, August 2001, Volume 4, Issue 4.
Wm.
J. Wilson was raised in a totally dysfunctional family in Memphis and graduated
from Christian Brothers HS and Memphis State University. He moved to Huntsville
in 1959 to join the von Braun team as a computer jock and eventually became
a database and computer security consultant with the Sperry Univac Corporation
(later UNISYS), retiring in 1990 to pursue his lifelong interests in writing
and making mosaic art. When he was a child, his piano teacher's husband
was an occultist with the best library in Memphis. While waiting for lessons,
he learned much more about magic and divination than ever he learned about
music from his wife. She was a good teacher but he was a hopeless student
with two left hands. However, the magic arts were another matter entirely.
He was an adept by the age of ten. It worked all too well and he had to
ultimately give it up as well. However, his penchant for the gothic, which
began in those days, is still reflected in his writing and world-view. About
all this, he can only say, "As my will, so mote it be."
