The Supreme Artist by belegur

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Chapter 2

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His love for me is such that by now it says more of his goodness than mine.

He hugs me and kisses me as if he had listened to my talks with my Father and now tries to make a mockery of His forgiveness. But he is limited where our Father is limitless and he will fail with me. Out Father overflows, He is the cup that is never empty no matter how thirsty are those who drink. My brother is a cup from which I have already taken many mouthfuls and now it is half empty. If I spill it now, it will not refill. And I will soon spill it without drinking. I will turn his glass and I will show him the emptiness of it. Then I will say: "Your love is not a spring everlasting. Behold the emptiness."
On this earth there is no chalice of love that I will not overturn. To every one of my Father's creatures, I will empty their glass and I will show them the emptiness of it. Because there is no love on this earth that can rival His, and to think otherwise is arrogance.

How wrong is my brother when he thinks he can love me without any uneasiness and wholeheartedly. And yet, will he be as happy as my Father when, in the end, I return and my Father holds a feast? Will he not, in that moment, say to my Father: "All these ages I have been by your side in good and bad. I have never left you or transgressed against your word, but have you ever gave me and my friends leave for merriment? But to this one, who has already taken his share and lost it all for nothing, to him you give such welcome?"

How little does my brother understand that I have made myself unhappy to get the greater portion of our Father's love. What reward do they expect, those who made themselves more glorious in His service? But greatly rewarded they shall be nonetheless, according to their measure. To my brother He will surely say: "It is true, you have always been by My side. Everything that is Mine is yours. Aren't you the overseer of My land? You served Me honorably, and you never transgressed against My word. With My glory your glory has been enhanced. But this son of Mine served Me and was diminished. He served Me even in his transgression as you did in your obedience."

My brother gives me now my golden cape but it slips from my back because he can't put it on me wholeheartedly. He says to me as I am kneeling before him: "You are forgiven. Rise." But can that be said by someone whose love for me can be spent? He says: "You will be treated with no grudge." But can he stop the thoughts that blossom in them, high-stemmed and full of vigor?
They have adorned the hall where I have abased myself. The flowers of their hate and suspicion are decked on me so that they cover me almost completely and nothing of myself is left underneath.

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“What if you are not forgiven?” he asks “No, just listen for a second. What if your Father never forgives you? What if you stay unforgiven forever and ever and ever? Does not that make your actions – meaningless?”

I don't answer and he seems oddly pleased.

“Now, you must admitt that's a possibility.”

“Then I would know that his love is false” I say, not lifting my eyes, attaching a simple pin to my robe “and that everything he did with that love is false and that therefore my hatred of this world is right. But his love is not false.”

My friend laughs. “What a liar you are! Professing love and hatred, when you are so empty that you echo when I talk to you... I am tempted to throw something in you just to hear you rattle like a snake you are. But I don't think you could stand the pain... Even though, when one is so empty, one is tempted to fill oneself with pain.”

“Everyone is empty.” I say “You walk with me everyday. You have seen them. You know they are empty. That hurts me sometimes.”

“Who do you think you're fooling?” says my friend, with a grin of a fool on his face “Sometimes I think that even when we are alone, you're entertaining.”

“You're wrong.” I say “But I shall not lie. For this world, hatred is the feeling one should feel. If we did not hate this world, how could we ever hope to seek out our Father?”

“How twisted you are.” says my friend with no mirth “Do you even know anymore when you are lying and when you are telling the truth?”

“I never lie.” I say “Our father once said 'Thou shall not lie'. Who am I to disobey? And I don't want to see you anymore, my friend. You are just a remnant of what I once was. Today I remembered, I have tried to strangle you eons ago when you have raised your voice against my Father in the Great Song, and yet, you dare come again to me and claim friendship? Your lying tongue slipped out when you were choking and I should have plucked it out then and there.”

“Oh, the pain will rattle within you.” says my Enemy “And they will all know you for the snake you are.”

I took out the pin from my robe and stuck it into my Enemy's heart.

 

...

 

“You seem so serene these days.”

“I have no more doubts.” I say “I just want to serve our Father with every fiber of my being. I want him to command me.”

“I don't think our Father will ask anything of us anymore.” says my brother with a lighthearted laugh “Since we came here, he has been silent. I think that he trusts himself that this world is good.”

“But the world can never be good, my brother. It is just a bridge, a transient state.”

“I disagree.” said my brother “It is the Destination. It is the place where Action exists. And it seems to me that Father loves Action more than anything else. Have you talked to the Artist, yet?”

“No.” I say.

“You know, when I first saw him, he reminded me of you, back in the old days. You also crafted wonderful things. Some of them had a violent streak in them, true, but I loved them and I admired you. Our Father is the Creator, but you are The Supreme Artist. Have you thought of crafting something again? I may have been somewhat calculating, but I thought that seeing such wonders as Feanor made would maybe inspire you.”

“That is nice of you.” I say “But you must understand...”

“All these things you have imposed on yourself, the self-denial, the contrition, I don't say they are neccesarily bad, I am just saying that they are maybe the second-best thing. The right thing would be to go back to creating wonders and, in this way, help us heal the world.”

“The world is not a bad place, but it needs healing, does it?” I say “And my creations, which could never be compared to Father's, are going to help?” I too smile a lighthearted smile “You don't understand our Father.”

My brother's face is stern as he's studying mine. “I would like you to do this out of free will, but the truth is, we are in dire need of your strenghts. The world overseas is still writhing in pain. I can't think why would you think Father would not be pleased if you created something? How could he ever be threatened by it? Do you remember? He asked us to sing to him and then he smiled to our song. Creating is the reason we are in existence.”

“Was it a lighthearted smile?” I ask, but then, after a moment, I add “I think it was. A smile of a parent to his silly children. Loving, but...”

“You are silly.” says my brother and smiles.

 

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“What are you doing?”

“The villest of smells is going to discipline my spirit.” I say.

“You are laughable.” says The Brave One. He smirks one more time and almost goes away, but I swiftly get up to stop him. I put an imploring hand upon his shoulder.

“I know that you do not trust me.” I say “And I forgive you.”

“Well, I don't forgive you.”

“You must have a gentle heart.” I say “When you are capable of such haughty suffering.”

“No, just a stubborn heart.” he says, but I see under his face a trace of fear.

“You do have a gentle heart.” I say, smiling.

“Maybe.” he says and his voice is cold “But to us with gentle hearts, Eru gave the most strength.”

“Then I would have the gentlest of them all.” I say.

“You're a bastard.” he says and breaks away “Go back to smelling piss.”

...

 

While I'm laying in my bed I sometimes think of the things that will soon take place.

“You have to truly give us your help!” my brother will soon plead with me “Nothing can amend the world more.”

“I told you already that I don't love this world.” I will say “I love only our Father.”

“I think that this world is maybe the best of our Father.” he will say, without shame.

Lastly, I will say: “And you call yourself His Regent on Earth?”

While I'm laying in my bed I sometimes imagine I see the shadow of The Artist on my wall. As I think of it, I purposefully entangle that shadow in my dreams and a whole story unravels.

There are no sounds when he walks from one side of my wall to the other, carrying Them on his hands. He looks at Them like someone who is deeply in love, and, therefore, dreaming. His figure is still black, pushed back into shadow from Their light, but the rest of the wall is blood red. Slowly, I start to hear something.

Clashes of swords, clanking of armor, screams and crying.

But still, nothing can be seen of the origin of those sounds on my wall. And The Artist is still slowly, solemnly walking, his head bent to the stars in his hands, seemingly hearing nothing.

 

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Today I think of my old fortress.

It had been delved into living rock and the cealings were so high they could not be seen. What arrogance was this. I wanted to have a semblance of our Father's abode, where His word was deed. Yet, I failed. Because my cealing was black and therefore held no promise of other worlds that glisten in my Father's Eye.

My throne was, therefore, very high. It almost could not be seen by those who lay prostrate before it.

But my eyes were a poor substitute to those sparkling heavens. My eyes glisten in the reprecussion of this world, so no one dared to look at them, and they remained ignorant.

But the Works of the Artist are like Three Eyes of my Father. They hold promise of other worlds. If I had them on my brow, they would all lift their gaze and look. The circlet in which the Jewels would be set, would appear to their eyes as a gentle constellation, a line of silver, so thin it would tremble. And then, truly humbled, they would look beneath the heavenly circlet, and they would meet my Eyes.

No one would dare again to hold the light of The Jewels above my Father.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

The Brave One - Tulkas