Above all concrete and abstract notions, beyond all kinds of authorities and positions of power lies a being that stands above all.
From the highest peak of cosmic and supernatural planes, the Emperor watches from the cradle of all creation even the tiniest of all activities, no matter how insignificant they may be, for this is his throne, and he wants it in check, clean, pure. Nothing ever truly escapes his sight.
Once, I caught a glimpse of this godly being. I walked in the planes of my dreams --the most internal state of my mind-- where I was joined in by the highest writers of what fantasy is: Tolkien.
"White shores, and beyond a far green country under the very swift sunrise" he once wrote.
Yet what stood that day before surpassed the mere words of a mortal, and I believe Tolkien knew, like I, that not even a thousand words were able to describe the scenery before us.
It was glorious, beautiful, yet terrifying to behold. There will never be another being in this time or the next to ever make me stand in awe, cry, stay mute, and kneel in submission all at once. The Emperor stood idle in constant contemplation, sat on the throne with a grace unknown to men.
I glanced at his feet, where the clouds from the skies, the clouds of bursting celestial bodies, and a divine fog all spiralled in the two whirlpools that were his feet. His cradle was the face of the universe.
Tolkien was right about the tunic. Just looking at it seemed that endless prairies of pastures were there, large and wide enough for me to get lost there for several lifetimes. There was no metric to measure his greatness, but his figure was clearly visible.
His face looked like the skin of any normal human, but golden veins slightly glowed on his cheeks and arms, and the eyes... Ah! The eyes.
Burning flames blazing from the eye sockets, yet he did not look angry, he burned of desire.
That's when I understood why he cared so much about his creation. Deep down, in all his glory, the Emperor sought intimacy with his children. I believe I saw tears coming out from his eyes, defeating all logic by weeping with burning eyes.
Such greatness! Such desire! Such grief...
His work was observable on every stone, tree, particle...
His will was whispered from the strong winds that covered the Earth, and the gravity currents from the cosmos, and yet he stood ignored by the rest of us.
Tolkien was clearly affected by this vision, as he turned towards me once more.
"Such is the curse of imagination." He said.
Suddenly, everything went dark.
I came back to my senses. I opened my eyes and found myself in my desk again, with pen in hand on top of a blank page.
I pondered over this powerful vision and its legitimacy until I touched my cheeks. I sensed water.
I wept. I was weeping.
My heart was still racing. I do not know if this was real or not but this realization hurt.
It hurt a lot.
