/lit/ - Literature

>>22475454
The man shifts his gaze, becoming aware of myriad other motes floating in the air. He begins to chant now, low, barely audible. The cant begins rhythmically, repetitively. As the man sings, the dust motes begin to shift, as if moved by a new wind. They are shepherded together as if by an invisible hand, grouped into an oblong sphere that rotates upon its axis.

The cant continues unbroken, repetitive. Yet the repetition is not stagnant. It begins to evolve, building upon itself, generating ever more complex patterns as it progresses. As the cant unfolds, smaller segments of melody come to reflect the overall structure, creating an overarching unity and harmony, even as the cant begins to continually shift and change. Always it is changing, yet always it is self-similar.

Likewise, the shining motes begin to form into a pattern, clustering into sets of threes, tiny glittering triangles rotating in the air. As the cant continues, the triangles link into ever more complex chains. Yet these chains are themselves made up of smaller triangles, creating a fractal pattern of glimmering light. These chains continue to revolve around the axis of the original sphere, the aggregate never losing its original shape.

The man’s voice rises and then falls, creating an ebb and flow whose self-similar pattern blends into the arcane muttering. The motes, while maintaining their geometric patterns, now begin to resolve into a larger picture. A man’s face comes into view, then his body. Next his outstretched arm, holding a candle lit at both ends. The chant rises in intensity, then ebs as the patterns of dust form into a table in the foreground of the man. Upon the table, a sword, a cup, a pentacle, and a rod begin to take shape.

The Magician. The man sighs, recognizing the Major Arcana. Suddenly he shifts his tone. The cant continues to follow the original pattern, but takes on a new direction. New harmonies and complex rhythms emerge from the mix of rhyme, the setting of syllables against one another, and the rising and falling of the man’s voice.

The outline of a nude woman emerges from the frantic, fractal patterns of gleaming dust. Clockwise around her form the heads of a man, an eagle, a lion, and an ox— the four faces of the Cherubim. This then was the World arcana.

The man changes the cant again, introducing new resonances, new deeper tones he had not used before. Now the dust rearranges itself more rapidly. A man blowing a trumpet blooms out of the gleaming vortex, great billowing wings extending from his back. Below naked people look up in a mix of awe and terror as flood waters build around them. Judgment.

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Realizing you really do lose something without the italics lol.