Spontanéité

Calming chaos 🔹 snapshot

In an ironic sort of way, it's peaceful out here. Yes, the Airs are causing the bridges to sway and creak as they have always and will always do for eras past and to come. Yes, there are clutches of snow being thrown around by the winds and the noise of it all echoes in my ears. Yes, my fingers are barely protected from the biting cold by thin, ripped and fraying fingerless gloves, gripping thick and old ropes that don't hold steady. Yes, it is high up here above the feet of the mountains and floor of the valley, but this is how it is. This is my kind of peaceful.

It doesn't take as long as it may have once for me to cross the bridges and shuffle across the ice-slippery ledge with my back pressed against the freezing stone. And then the roar of the crashing ice-cold water is all I can hear and see.

In a few moments, the noise grows less noticeable and I lower myself to the cold and hard floor of stone, sitting cross-legged as I tug my outer cloak more tightly around myself. The way the water falls so heavily, so rapidly, appears like it's all such a chaotic mess. A calming sort of chaos, at least to watch.

It is bitingly freezing here. Anywhere outside the Citadel is and has always been for as long as I can remember; at least, anywhere on the mountains above the baseline. Still, this People is long-accustomed to the ice and snow and all the risks accompanying our settlement here.

Right now, if I focus past the falling water, I can see the Mountain, perhaps even make out the place where the Springs are. There are always a gathering of people there, even now, so early in the morning when the depths of this cavern are nothing but endless shadow and it seems like after-sun in here. I'm used to the dimness of it by now.

I know this place well, have explored its carvings and ridges and smoothed, lost edges. At the very back there are some stones marked with symbols. Letters of an old script only the Elders know now, and not all of them. Some days, after I've finished for the day, I come here and try to teach myself. I don't know much, if anything, of the script. I can't even pronounce its name, let alone write or read it. One day, maybe, I'll ask one of the Elders to help me learn, but I doubt any would teach me. I'm nowhere near becoming one myself for many season-cycles yet. And sometimes when I come here and others are already here, Elders and their Students learning the script, I'm not permitted to stay. The cavern belongs to no-one and the stones are left where they are, but still, I'm not allowed to stay for the lessons.

The only people who know I want to learn it are some of the Elders, maybe some of the Students, and my cousins. One of them is soon to be a Student himself, but we both know he can't break his word once he swears by it. Teaching me a few words would never be worth Exile. Little, if anything, is worth the risk of Exile.

Besides, the scripted stones aren't why I come here so often. I like the cold that creeps through my clothes and skin to wrap bony fingers of ice around my bones. I like the roar of the water. The silence, ironically enough. The waterfall provides calming chaos. It helps me think.

My mother doesn't know I still come here. She would only fret, and she has worried enough these past few cycles. She might be asleep still, or perhaps waking soon, purifying and preparing herself for worship. She has her more traditional ways; this is mine. I let my mind roam, my thoughts like the crashing water and just as loud, if not louder. But by the time I leave, some sort of peace has replaced the noise.

It has been eras and eras since anyone heard the voice of the Guardian-King and all we have now are the Scripts, but I think He is here. At worship too, of course, but on Rests, like today, I come here first to purify my heart and head. To sit here in the roar of silence and dwell in what I know to be His presence. Once in a while, one or some of my cousins come and join me, simply being. Simply sitting here in the dark and cold, the roar of the water and silence surrounding us while we seek the Guardian-King.

I need it. This. These. These early Rest mornings where it doesn't matter how I feel or what I'm thinking, I just need to be. Be still. Desist. Stop. Listen.

Listen.

Breathe.

As the shadows shift back and the cavern grows lighter, the water falling reflecting the growing light, I know it's time to go back. And I know that all is well despite the doubts and disappointments and upsets and the mess that is the everyday. Peace replaces the noise.

Just listen. Just breathe. Just be. 🔹