The Voice before the Void: Arcana, Story, Poetry

Exploring emptiness in the Canadian prairie, with adventure, and melancholy, and rhapsody; cemeteries of Norwegian and Icelandic immigrants; goats and a threatening dog; the lost town of Snowflake, Manitoba; and commentary on agriculture, agribusiness, memory, decay, and the whole of rurality.

⁓The Voice before the Void

Find “A Ghost Town Bike Tour” and other works by Celeste Inez Mathilda at ofcourseyoucandistro.com and ofcourseyoucan.etsy.com

Walpurgis Night Special:

Have a Happy Walpurgisnacht

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Deserted”

Madison Cawein

The old house leans upon a tree

Like some old man upon a staff:

The night wind in its ancient porch

Sounds like a hollow laugh.

The heaven is wrapped in flying clouds

As grandeur cloaks itself in gray:

The starlight flitting in and out,

Glints like a lanthorn ray.

The dark is full of whispers. Now

A fox-hound howls: and through the night,

Like some old ghost from out its grave,

The moon comes misty white.

Walpurgis Night Special:

It’s Walpurgisnacht, and everybody enjoys a werewolf story.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“The Gray Wolf”

George MacDonald

One evening-twilight in spring, a young English student, who had wandered northwards as far as the outlying fragments of Scotland called the Orkney and Shetland Islands, found himself on a small island of the latter group, caught in a storm of wind and hail, which had come on suddenly. It was in vain to look about for any shelter; for not only did the storm entirely obscure the landscape, but there was nothing around him save a desert moss.

At length, however, as he walked on for mere walking’s sake, he found himself on the verge of a cliff, and saw, over the brow of it, a few feet below him, a ledge of rock, where he might find some shelter from the blast, which blew from behind. Letting himself down by his hands, he alighted upon something that crunched beneath his tread, and found the bones of many small animals scattered about in front of a little cave in the rock, offering the refuge he sought. He went in, and sat upon a stone. The storm increased in violence, and as the darkness grew he became uneasy, for he did not relish the thought of spending the night in the cave. He had parted from his companions on the opposite side of the island, and it added to his uneasiness that they must be full of apprehension about him. At last there came a lull in the storm, and the same instant he heard a footfall, stealthy and light as that of a wild beast, upon the bones at the mouth of the cave. He started up in some fear, though the least thought might have satisfied him that there could be no very dangerous animals upon the island. Before he had time to think, however, the face of a woman appeared in the opening. Eagerly the wanderer spoke. She started at the sound of his voice. He could not see her well, because she was turned towards the darkness of the cave.

“Will you tell me how to find my way across the moor to Shielness?” he asked.

“You cannot find it to-night,” she answered, in a sweet tone, and with a smile that bewitched him, revealing the whitest of teeth.

“What am I to do, then?”

“My mother will give you shelter, but that is all she has to offer.”

“And that is far more than I expected a minute ago,” he replied. “I shall be most grateful.”

She turned in silence and left the cave. The youth followed.

She was barefooted, and her pretty brown feet went catlike over the sharp stones, as she led the way down a rocky path to the shore. Her garments were scanty and torn, and her hair blew tangled in the wind. She seemed about five and twenty, lithe and small. Her long fingers kept clutching and pulling nervously at her skirts as she went. Her face was very gray in complexion, and very worn, but delicately formed, and smooth-skinned. Her thin nostrils were tremulous as eyelids, and her lips, whose curves were faultless, had no colour to give sign of indwelling blood. What her eyes were like he could not see, for she had never lifted the delicate films of her eyelids.

At the foot of the cliff, they came upon a little hut leaning against it, and having for its inner apartment a natural hollow within. Smoke was spreading over the face of the rock, and the grateful odour of food gave hope to the hungry student. His guide opened the door of the cottage; he followed her in, and saw a woman bending over a fire in the middle of the floor. On the fire lay a large fish broiling. The daughter spoke a few words, and the mother turned and welcomed the stranger. She had an old and very wrinkled, but honest face, and looked troubled. She dusted the only chair in the cottage, and placed it for him by the side of the fire, opposite the one window, whence he saw a little patch of yellow sand over which the spent wav...

ANZAC Day Special:

In commemoration of World War I

All the truth and the bleakness.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“There Will Come Soft Rains”

Sara Teasdale

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,

And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pool singing at night,

And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire,

Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one

Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,

If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself when she woke at dawn

Would scarcely know that we were gone.

Easter Special:

The omissions–support the impoverished, honor thy children, don’t commit slavery, don’t commit warfare–are glaring, and the inclusions–don’t create any representative art, don’t swear, don’t do any work every seventh day, don’t commit adultery–are baffling. Basing a civilization’s ethics upon such nonsense would likely lead to immense human suffering. / Interesting about Chapter 20 of Exodus are the forgotten commandments that follow the primary ten, to wit: 11) that you shall make a dirt altar to your god and upon it sacrifice your sheep and oxen to him; 12) if you use rock to make an altar, don’t work the rock; and 13) don’t have any steps leading up to the altar, because when you climb steps, dudes behind you can look right up your skirt and see your junk.

⁓The Voice before the Void

The Ten Commandments: Chapter 20 of the Book of Exodus

from the King James Bible (Authorized King James Version, standard text of 1769, Cambridge edition)

And God spake all these words, saying,

I am the LORD thy God, which have brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.

Thou shalt have no other gods before me.

Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth:

Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the LORD thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me;

And shewing mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my commandments.

Thou shalt not take the name of the LORD thy God in vain; for the LORD will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.

Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy.

Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work:

But the seventh day is the sabbath of the LORD thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates:

For in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, and rested the seventh day: wherefore the LORD blessed the sabbath day, and hallowed it.

Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee.

Thou shalt not kill.

Thou shalt not commit adultery.

Thou shalt not steal.

Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour.

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbour’s.

And all the people saw the thunderings, and the lightnings, and the noise of the trumpet, and the mountain smoking: and when the people saw it, they removed, and stood afar off.

And they said unto Moses, Speak thou with us, and we will hear: but let not God speak with us, lest we die.

And Moses said unto the people, Fear not: for God is come to prove you, and that his fear may be before your faces, that ye sin not.

And the people stood afar off, and Moses drew near unto the thick darkness where God was.

And the LORD said unto Moses, Thus thou shalt say unto the children of Israel, Ye have seen that I have talked with you from heaven.

Ye shall not make with me gods of silver, neither shall ye make unto you gods of gold.

An altar of earth thou shalt make unto me, and shalt sacrifice thereon thy burnt offerings, and thy peace offerings, thy sheep, and thine oxen: in all places where I record my name I will come unto thee, and I will bless thee.

And if thou wilt make me an altar of stone, thou shalt not build it of hewn stone: for if t...

Easter Special:

Angelic incest, repercussive masturbation, and mutant demons: a bizarre secret mythos meant to be revealed only to adepts, complete with an injunctive ancient curse… straight from the lips of Jesus Christ.

⁓The Voice before the Void

The Secret Book of John

Wikipedia

The Secret Book of John, or the Apocryphon of John, is a 2nd-century CE Sethian Gnostic Christian text of secret teachings. Since it was known to the church father Irenaeus, it must have been written before approximately 180 CE. It describes Jesus Christ appearing and giving secret knowledge (gnosis) to the apostle John. The author describes this having occurred after Jesus “has gone back to the place from which he came.”

Many Christians in the 2nd century CE hoped to receive a transcendent personal revelation such as Paul was able to report to the church at Corinth or that John experienced on the isle of Patmos, which inspired his Revelation. As the Book of Acts narrates what happened after the time Jesus ascended to heaven, so the Apocryphon of John begins at the same point but relates how Christ reappeared to John.

The opening words of The Secret Book of John are: “The teaching of the Savior, and the revelation of the mysteries and the things hidden in silence, even these things which he taught John, his disciple.” The book is a vision of spiritual realms and of the prior history of spiritual humanity.

A book called the Apocryphon of John was referred to by Irenaeus in Adversus Haereses, written about 185 CE, among the writings that teachers in 2nd-century Christian communities were producing, “an indescribable number of secret and illegitimate writings, which they themselves have forged, to bewilder the minds of foolish people, who are ignorant of the true scriptures” — scriptures which Irenaeus himself was establishing as no more and no less than four, the “Fourfold gospel” that his authority helped to make the canonical four. The writings he quotes from, in order to expose and refute them, include the Gospel of Truth, the Gospel of Judas, and this secret book of John.

There are four separate surviving manuscripts of The Secret Book of John. Three of these were found in the Nag Hammadi codices in 1945, while the fourth, identified as the Berlin Gnostic Codex, was found independently fifty years earlier at another site in Egypt. All four versions date to the 4th century.

Although the different versions of the texts have minor variants, all texts generally agree that the main revealing entity was Jesus Christ.

As one of the principal texts of the Nag Hammadi library, the Apocryphon of John is an essential text of study for anyone interested in Gnosticism; in fact, it has become the central text for studying the Gnostic tradition of antiquity. The Apocryphon, set in the framing device of a revelation delivered by the resurrected Christ to John the son of Zebedee, contains some of the most extensive detailing of classic dualistic Gnostic mythology that has survived. The creation mythology it details has been the subject of study of such writers as Carl Jung and Eric Voegelin.

The following summary of the Apocryphon is derived from Frederick Wisse’s translation.

The text begins with John describing his own state of grief and bewilderment after Christ’s crucifixion. The Savior then appears, takes various forms, and after banishing John’s fears, provides the following cosmological narrative.

The highest divine principle is the Monad. The Monad is described as a “monarchy with nothing above it.” He is supreme, absolute, eternal, infinite, perfect, holy, and self-sufficient. The Monad’s transcendent ineffability is also emphasized. He is neither quantifiable nor can his qualities ever truly be described. The Monad exists in inconceivable perfection.

The void, versus all.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Lazarus”

Leonid Andreyev

translated from the Russian by Abraham Yarmolinsky

part 3

V

And now it came to pass that the great, deified Augustus himself summoned Lazarus. The imperial messengers dressed him gorgeously, in solemn nuptial clothes, as if Time had legalized them, and he was to remain until his very death the bridegroom of an unknown bride. It was as though an old, rotting coffin had been gilt and furnished with new, gay tassels. And men, all in trim and bright attire, rode after him, as if in bridal procession indeed, and those foremost trumpeted loudly, bidding people to clear the way for the emperor’s messengers. But Lazarus’ way was deserted: his native land cursed the hateful name of him who had miraculously risen from the dead, and people scattered at the very news of his appalling approach. The solitary voice of the brass trumpets sounded in the motionless air, and the wilderness alone responded with its languid echo.

Then Lazarus went by sea. And his was the most magnificently arrayed and the most mournful ship that ever mirrored itself in the azure waves of the Mediterranean Sea. Many were the travelers aboard, but like a tomb was the ship, all silence and stillness, and the despairing water sobbed at the steep, proudly curved prow. All alone sat Lazarus exposing his head to the blaze of the sun, silently listening to the murmur and splash of the wavelets, and afar seamen and messengers were sitting, a vague group of weary shadows. Had the thunder burst and the wind attacked the red sails, the ships would probably have perished, for none of those aboard had either the will or the strength to struggle for life. With a supreme effort some mariners would reach the board and eagerly scan the blue, transparent deep, hoping to see a naiad’s pink shoulder flash in the hollow of an azure wave, or a drunken gay centaur dash along and in frenzy splash the wave with his hoof. But the sea was like a wilderness, and the deep was dumb and deserted.

With utter indifference did Lazarus set his feet on the street of the eternal city. As though all her wealth, all the magnificence of her palaces built by giants, all the resplendence, beauty, and music of her refined life were but the echo of the wind in the wilderness, the reflection of the desert quicksand. Chariots were dashing, and along the streets were moving crowds of strong, fair, proud builders of the eternal city and haughty participants in her life; a song sounded; fountains and women laughed a pearly laughter; drunken philosophers harangued, and the sober listened to them with a smile; hoofs struck the stone pavements. And surrounded by cheerful noise, a stout, heavy man was moving, a cold spot of silence and despair, and on his way he sowed disgust, anger, and vague, gnawing weariness. Who dares to be sad in Rome, wondered indignantly the citizens, and frowned. In two days the entire city already knew all about him who had miraculously risen from the dead, and shunned him shyly.

But some daring people there were, who wanted to test their strength, and Lazarus obeyed their imprudent summons. Kept busy by state affairs, the emperor constantly delayed the reception, and seven days did he who had risen from the dead go about visiting others.

And Lazarus came to a cheerful Epicurean, and the host met him with laughter on his lips:

“Drink, Lazarus, drink!”—shouted he. “Would not Augustus laugh to see thee drunk!”

And half-naked drunken women laughed, and rose petals fell on Lazarus’ blue hands. But then the Epicurean looked into Lazarus’ eyes, and his gaiety ended forever. Drunkard remained he for the rest of his life; never did he drink, yet forever was he drunk. But instead of the gay reverie which wine brings with it, frightful dreams began to haunt him,

And all that there is about art.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Lazarus”

Leonid Andreyev

translated from the Russian by Abraham Yarmolinsky

part 2

IV

At that time there lived in Rome a renowned sculptor. In clay, marble, and bronze he wrought bodies of gods and men, and such was their beauty, that people called them immortal. But he himself was discontented and asserted that there was something even more beautiful, that he could not embody either in marble or in bronze. “I have not yet gathered the glimmers of the moon, nor have I my fill of sunshine,” he was wont to say, “and there is no soul in my marble, no life in my beautiful bronze.” And when on moonlight nights he slowly walked along the road, crossing the black shadows of cypresses, his white tunic glittering in the moonshine, those who met him would laugh in a friendly way and say:

“Art thou going to gather moonshine, Aurelius? Why then didst thou not fetch baskets?”

And he would answer, laughing and pointing to his eyes:

“Here are the baskets wherein I gather the sheen of the moon and the glimmer of the sun.”

And so it was: the moon glimmered in his eyes and the sun sparkled therein. But he could not translate them into marble and therein lay the serene tragedy of his life.

He was descended from an ancient patrician line, had a good wife and children, and suffered from no want.

When the obscure rumor about Lazarus reached him, he consulted his wife and friends and undertook the far journey to Judea to see him who had miraculously risen from the dead. He was somewhat weary in those days and he hoped that the road would sharpen his blunted senses. What was said of Lazarus did not frighten him: he had pondered much over Death, did not like it, but he disliked also those who confused it with life.

“In this life,—life and beauty;

beyond,—Death, the enigmatical”—

thought he, and there is no better thing for a man to do than to delight in life and in the beauty of all things living. He had even a vainglorious desire to convince Lazarus of the truth of his own view and restore his soul to life, as his body had been restored. This seemed so much easier because the rumors, shy and strange, did not render the whole truth about Lazarus and but vaguely warned against something frightful.

Lazarus had just risen from the stone in order to follow the sun which was setting in the desert, when a rich Roman attended by an armed slave, approached him and addressed him in a sonorous tone of voice:

“Lazarus!”

And Lazarus beheld a superb face, lit with glory, and arrayed in fine clothes, and precious stones sparkling in the sun. The red light lent to the Roman’s face and head the appearance of gleaming bronze—that also Lazarus noticed. He resumed obediently his place and lowered his weary eyes.

“Yes, thou art ugly, my poor Lazarus,”—quietly said the Roman, playing with his golden chain; “thou art even horrible, my poor friend; and Death was not lazy that day when thou didst fall so heedlessly into his hands. But thou art stout, and, as the great Cæsar used to say, fat people are not ill-tempered; to tell the truth, I don’t understand why men fear thee. Permit me to spend the night in thy house; the hour is late, and I have no shelter.”

Never had anyone asked Lazarus’ hospitality.

“I have no bed,” said he.

“I am somewhat of a soldier and I can sleep sitting,” the Roman answered. “We shall build a fire.”

“I have no fire.”

“Then we shall have our talk in the darkness, like two friends. I think thou wilt find a bottle of wine.”

“I have no wine.”

The Roman laughed.

“Now I see why thou art so somber and dislikest thy s...

Easter Special:

One of the greatest and darkest of all short stories.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Lazarus”

Leonid Andreyev

translated from the Russian by Abraham Yarmolinsky

part 1

I

When Lazarus left the grave, where, for three days and three nights he had been under the enigmatical sway of death, and returned alive to his dwelling, for a long time no one noticed in him those sinister oddities, which, as time went on, made his very name a terror. Gladdened unspeakably by the sight of him who had been returned to life, those near to him caressed him unceasingly, and satiated their burning desire to serve him, in solicitude for his food and drink and garments. And they dressed him gorgeously, in bright colors of hope and laughter, and when, like to a bridegroom in his bridal vestures, he sat again among them at the table, and again ate and drank, they wept, overwhelmed with tenderness. And they summoned the neighbors to look at him who had risen miraculously from the dead. These came and shared the serene joy of the hosts. Strangers from far-off towns and hamlets came and adored the miracle in tempestuous words. Like to a beehive was the house of Mary and Martha.

Whatever was found new in Lazarus’ face and gestures was thought to be some trace of a grave illness and of the shocks recently experienced. Evidently, the destruction wrought by death on the corpse was only arrested by the miraculous power, but its effects were still apparent; and what death had succeeded in doing with Lazarus’ face and body, was like an artist’s unfinished sketch seen under thin glass. On Lazarus’ temples, under his eyes, and in the hollows of his cheeks, lay a deep and cadaverous blueness; cadaverously blue also were his long fingers, and around his fingernails, grown long in the grave, the blue had become purple and dark. On his lips the skin, swollen in the grave, had burst in places, and thin, reddish cracks were formed, shining as though covered with transparent mica. And he had grown stout. His body, puffed up in the grave, retained its monstrous size and showed those frightful swellings, in which one sensed the presence of the rank liquid of decomposition. But the heavy corpse-like odor which penetrated Lazarus’ graveclothes and, it seemed, his very body, soon entirely disappeared, the blue spots on his face and hands grew paler, and the reddish cracks closed up, although they never disappeared altogether. That is how Lazarus looked when he appeared before people, in his second life, but his face looked natural to those who had seen him in the coffin.

In addition to the changes in his appearance, Lazarus’ temper seemed to have undergone a transformation, but this circumstance startled no one and attracted no attention. Before his death Lazarus had always been cheerful and carefree, fond of laughter and a merry joke. It was because of this brightness and cheerfulness, with not a touch of malice and darkness, that the Master had grown so fond of him. But now Lazarus had grown grave and taciturn, he never jested, himself, nor responded with laughter to other people’s jokes; and the words which he uttered, very infrequently, were the plainest, most ordinary, and necessary words, as deprived of depth and significance, as those sounds with which animals express pain and pleasure, thirst and hunger. They were the words that one can say all one’s life, and yet they give no indication of what pains and gladdens the depths of the soul.

Thus, with the face of a corpse which for three days had been under the heavy sway of death, dark and taciturn, already appallingly transformed, but still unrecognized by anyone in his new self, he was sitting at the feasting table, among friends and relatives, and his gorgeous nuptial garments glittered with yellow gold and bloody scarlet. Broad waves of jubilation, now soft,

Easter Special:

True-to-life Lovecraftian horror. / Any good analogy seems obvious in retrospect. / “Well, why don’t you write a story that a few million people will love and a few hundred million people will hate?” – “I can do that.” / The Greatest Story Ever Told.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“The Cult of the Monstrous Man-God”

The Voice before the Void

“It is tonight, Larsen.”

Alexandrov was picking through coils of rope stacked on a shelf. With his right hand, he hoisted one coil off the shelf and upward into the florescent light glare from overhead, eyed it, then, pursing his lips in apparent satisfaction, stuffed the rope into the rucksack in his left hand.

“What, exactly, is tonight?”

Alexandrov’s summons to the clubhouse that morning had been peremptory and irrefusable; it was the culmination of many months of outlandish research and surreptitious inquiry.

“I have information – don’t ask me how I got it – of a secret ritual taking place this very night, Larsen. It is a ritual of a most bizarre and enshadowed cult.” Alexandrov had moved from one storeroom into another, with me trailing behind. He was ranging his eyes evaluatingly over a stock of knives. “A cult that many otherwise worldly and learned men refuse to believe actually exists – for the actual existence of such a cult and its beliefs would be too horrifying to accept. But I have acquired near-proof that this cult does exist, Larsen – that, in fact, there is a contingent in this very region.” Alexandrov paused, rolled his eyes upward thoughtfully, and added, “Which, I suppose, is not so very surprising.” Glancing back at the knives arranged on the shelves, Alexandrov set upon the concrete floor the rucksack in his left hand, took the second rucksack off his shoulder and set it next to the first, then threw a sheath knife into each ruck. He straightened up and looked at me significantly. “And this ritual to be enacted tonight in remoteness and secrecy, Larsen, is perhaps their most sacred – and disturbing – ritual. I trust you’re with me?”

I picked one of the rucksacks off the floor and shouldered it. “Since that business on the Ridge, Alexandrov, you know that I am ever with you.”

Alexandrov smiled warmly and clapped my shoulder. “Good, good, Larsen.” He turned to the other side of the storeroom. “In the last half-year, Larsen, I have seen fragments of their books – ancient tomes, forbidden things – filled with wonders and horrors that strain sanity.” Alexandrov was surveying the firearms. “The legends they tell, the mysteries they reveal, the horrors they exult… Such books ought not to exist.” Alexandrov picked from a rack two 20-gauge shotguns with the barrels shorn off quite short: effective for close-in work and not much else. “I don’t want to tell you the effort and resources it took to locate and gain access to such things. These are books that but few people in this world have ever seen, and that none can encounter and remain unchanged by the mere horrible knowledge that such books exist.”

“I thought you looked aged,” I interjected with a grim grin.

“The worry is upon me, Larsen,” Alexandrov replied somberly. “The main cause for such is the realization of the terrifying influence that such books can have upon diseased or evil minds.” He held out to me one of the shotguns.

I squinted my eyes at Alexandrov and, after a pause, accepted the weapon. Alexandrov turned to an ammunition locker. I pulled back the slide of the shotgun, opening the chamber.

“Do you really think we will need the armament?” I asked, peering into the chamber of the shotgun.

Two bandoliers in his hand, Alexandrov turned to face me and intoned solemnly, weirdly:

“It is written that men will rise from the dead.”

* * *