The thick, moist clouds yielded. The image of the sun was a vermeil radiant halo in the annulus behind the perforated shadow of the eclipse. It lasted nine and a half hastily made revolutions of the moon on its axis before it happened. Then Luna fell onto itself, gliding heavily and otherwise motionless over the defeated angle of its deceased orbit.
He arrived very precisely, at the genesis itself of one of those grandiose, irreversible planetary moments. The agitated Earth welcomed Him with the feigned artifice of hurricanes and absurd seaquakes. The flustered wind hummed through the denuded branches of the trees. It sang its passing in strange choruses in a long-ago demised language of Aramaic tediousness.
The Pyramid –suspended by a phantasmal whirlwind of Pharisee soothsayers– flew over the inert domes of Jerusalem. Its mutilated vertex –eroded by millennia of sandstorms– pointed in the direction of Rome (plunderer of the temples that in ancient Egypt paid homage to His other form in the likeness of Amun-Ra, the truest of all his representations. This representation preceded all of the gnosis of all the cosmogonies tacked over the walls of countless pagodas and ziggurats.
This gnosis extended further, reaching the beaches that gnawed the Hellenic mediumnity of the oracles erected in Delphi and Samothrace; reaching yet beyond, to the cosmic exactness of the prophecies formulated by the magic of the hierophants –those who saw the future drawn ominously over the exquisitely sculpted constellations adorning the face of the Zodiac of Denderah–.
Above all, this gnosis generated all the power and all the promise made by the stern and divine scourge that forever marked the lightning-whipped back of the stones at Canaan.
The forgotten Buddhas did not split in half nor did the pages of the Book of Confucius set themselves aflame. There were neither ascetics nor Tibetan lamas kneeling down or stretched prone on their palms, facing the floor; nor did the Amerindians of the High Peruvian Plateau revive their tracing bonfires amongst the ruins of Sacsayhuamán that crown Cuzco or to guide the ancient landing site at Nazca.
There was no flying by Hindustani vimanas or the Anunnaki or by feathered serpents belonging to the rich pre-Columbian pantheons of Chichén Itzá and Tenochtitlán. And no dead virgins –unresurrected– moaned with dutiful thankfulness inseminated, as they were, by the grace of these surprised, disconcerted fallen angels. Fallen angels (in the ancient tongue, Nephilim) that by such actions were attempting to impregnate His arrival with resounding apotheosis throughout the four corners of the world (and succeeded in principle indeed by staging the most elaborate show of astral superstardom and galactic vedettism).
He descended when Mars and Jupiter were visible in the diffuse light of the tarnished sky. The stars of Lyra gifted the heavens with the formation of an iridescent seven-petal fleur-de-lis –like those adorning long ago the shields of Rolland and Charlemagne at the cliffs at Roncesvalles and still before graced the beautifully detailed doors of the Great Library of Alexandria –saved from the ire of Alexander of Macedonia during the siege that destroyed the Thebes of Boeotia and brought to Egypt fifty years later by royal order of the first of the Ptolemaic kings–.
There were no clamoring multitudes at this descent nor did the acquitted just walk alongside Him. Neither Veronicas nor Magdalenes offered him the comfort of their coarse shawls. And neither did thieves nor regretful panders flank with remorseful respect His entourage.
He was received by the stomped out silence overflowing the semi-ruined portico covering the dusty stone steps to an empty synagogue. The doors opened as if by magic. The lights of the menorah danced, revivified, casting a luminous glow over the ten tablets that in ancient times dictated the fallacy of another world.
He understood then for certain that neither His magnanimity nor His sentencing nor ire would yield any effect, verdict or remedy. He knew, in this mindful instant, that this minute of time torn from the impassiveness of the stars would be forever, paralyzed in the uselessness of His own solitary existence. He learned then that man, abandoned in the hour of his most fervent and harsh struggle had stopped loving, deserting all hope.
In the midst of the contractions of the dying, aborting planet, He knelt. He then cried, over the corpse of the Earth, the lateness of His arrival. Then he ascended silently, sublimed in the sadness of all absences.