24
Capitulum
Almost immediately we were in a chapel, walking down a long central nave. It was only as we approached what we thought must be the choir and altar that we realised that in their place where the ambulatories customarily led to the arms of the two transepts, there was an elliptical chamber that could be reached only through four portals.
Timidly we entered through the portal marked ‘Occidens’, emerging within what we assumed must be the sanctum sanctorum of the holiest of holies.
A round table top made from smooth black rock occupied the centre of the room. Upon it lay a boy surrounded by twelve men dressed in grey or perhaps white, for it was very dark. The twelve men circled his form, not noticing our presence as we approached, for their eyes were closed in deep meditation.
The table supported fourteen columns cut from the same rock, seven on either side. Carved on the capitals I could barely make out intricate interwoven patterns, perhaps symbolic messages representing the seven planetary spheres: sun, moon, Mars, Mercury, Venus, Jupiter, Saturn, that we had seen elsewhere in the catacombs. On the walls behind the table, so that they appeared between the planetary columns, there were seven apocalyptic seals. These I could see clearly because they were lit by torches, and I wondered if the curious odour I could smell all around me was the strange poisonous gas, but I realised that it was, rather, an unusually sweet incense that seemed to be burning from an altar nearby.
Suddenly a light bloomed from within the circle of men, tongues, serpentine curls of cold flame danced at the centre, and through the form that became golden, I could see the boy transformed, in total splendour, washed in the clear brilliant light that illuminated the room. The brothers appeared to lose their original form, melting into this shining gold that was the boy, their mouths working in tender whispers. Approaching I saw that the boy was I, or he was me, or very like me, and I was overwhelmed, dropping to my knees, tears streaming unheeded down my cheeks.
It was as I knelt this way, the world reeling around me like a turbulent ether, that I had a sudden powerful desire to be back in the warmth of the cloisters, to be back in the world of order, number, measure. But the ground seemed to fall away from me . . . what could I fasten onto? I felt as if I were hanging by the neck, suffocating with the world barely a hand’s breadth away with no way of reaching it. Words reverberated like living things in the chapel. They surrounded me like candles burning without wicks. I saw the sun descend through the boy’s head like a burning ball, and he became one with it. He became the sun and his body became the planets. Microcosm became macrocosm and a blackness engulfed me like a veil drawn over my senses. A soothing gentle darkness, poetic and beautiful, like night encroaching upon day, like the coolness of water over a flame. Then the abyss yawned and I fell into it . . .
25
Capitulum
The day has dawned a brilliant blue, and I sit once again upon my stool, witnessing the birth of the daystar, the intercourse of all plains; the above and the below, the intus et foris scriptus. And as I grasp my quill in my gnarled hands, and prepare to set down these last words, I am aware that I am a mere corpus imperfectum whose faculties can scarcely contemplate, let alone narrate the unknowable, indefinable glory of God.
Last night I had a dream. I dreamt that I was back at the abbey, listening with impudence to my master’s discourses. In this dream I experienced the briefest momentary sun on my skin and the snow on my lips and the wind on my face. I stretched out my youthful arms and embraced the panorama of nature. I shouted out at the ancient and venerable mountains and heard their reply. I was young and foolish, frightened, and filled with wonder. When I awoke I was overtaken by a most profound sorrow and a terrible loneliness. For I realized I was back in the exile of my existence, long separated from my dear master, able to see but never touch the world beyond these stone walls. It was then that I asked God to take away my spirit. To take from my feverish lips this cup, this wisdom, whose contents have for so long held my mortal carcass from the abyss of death! But Alas, he did not hear me! And as it is in all such cases, this morning I am glad, for I can begin the sanctioned journey to the end.
I must warn those of you who have followed me thus far that, in the coming pages, my words may begin to sound like so many demented ravings from the pen of an old and tired monk. A monk, who has lived too long in exile, surrounded by crumbling walls and trivialities. But truth obliges me to tell even of the most fantastic things, for truth is indivisible.
I pray then, for strength to continue this, my strange and awesome path, to narrate to you, dear unknown reader, the complexity of that brief instant where the world is hushed and still and the secrets of the ancients are made manifest to its errant, but faithful servants – an instant of the purest freedom.