JOHN THE APOSTLE

Drunk? Your hair is wet with sweat: here, take this towel. O now you’re feverish. But why are you wearing your sword?

And now you are an exile: your face is pale, your eyes are blind with visions, you have left this world and lost it, that you may travel the nether realms and bring back with you crazy words. But what is this silver crown on your head?—this diamond-encrusted staff in your hand?—this gold-handled dagger on your hip? I know you’ve come to assassinate the eyes that sit all about you, looking at you, taking in your image throughout the long vigil of your nights. The eye of the sun no longer burns your skin—the eyes of the devils that come at night are much worse. You sit locked in the inner rooms—you are constantly entombed in darkness—a candle is the only light you can stand—but your eyes see a brilliance in that darkness as you travel deep into the nest of the soul, and brave its waters with nothing to keep you from madness and sea rocks. Unsheathed!

And they march—you see an army—these are perhaps ants that have invaded your kitchen—but they are large, their footsteps are sure, not a strap on their thongs is loose, not a tunic untidily worn, not a man out of step—and they come toward you, thousands, hundreds of thousands—the mere sound of their feet is like an avalanche, the mere sound of their breath is like thunder—and they march on, leaving nothing living behind them, not a man, not a child, not a beast—they bring death with them, and death is their ruler—there is no weapon that can kill even one of them—they stand tall, each a giant, each able to kill off an entire city of men—and yet there are thousands, hundreds of thousands—O who can fight them, who can resist?

What was that terrible boom? Where does all this mad machinery of the soul get its fuel? What is this crazed fish in the washbasin?—these eels in the well?—these serpents overtaking the inner rooms? Snakes and creeping things have invaded the holy of holies, wildness has overtaken the temples, men are turned into asses and goats—this is all something like a dream. Here we are, fragmented into a thousand shards, our hearts trembling, our minds weak and frightened, we have turned in rout, our souls cannot bear the images in these thousand mirrors, everything is distorted and mad—we flee. We cannot bear to see ourselves—we cannot bear to know ourselves—we are blind and deaf to what we are—we cannot hear the sound of our voices—we are overrun with our own terrors, with the terrors of the dark crevice, deep underwater, hiding a thousand terrible creatures, hiding sea monsters and poisonous devils—but this is your torturous home, my sweet prophet.

And now you’ve taken a drink from the well; I hope you’re feeling better. Now your fever has died down and your mind is calm and your heart no longer races—now sleep—now dream, my love, you need rest and healthy sleep—and the visions that come to you will be calming ones, the dreams that come to you will be sweet and lovely, you shall see only angels, you shall dream only dreams of cherubim.

I saw a city, a great city extending from horizon to horizon, a place of tall stone towers, great arches, large stores of grain and meat. And I heard something like a thunderclap, and animals invaded this city, wild beasts overran its people—asses kicked down doors, gorillas tore up books, lions hunted men, elephants destroyed armies. There was one man who saw all this and saw that the beasts had taken back the land; he went to the leaders of the beasts and convinced them to make him king, and this man ruled over the beasts. He wore a crown of gold and sat on a throne—and ruled over this land of wildness and chaos.

And I saw another land, full of wild animals of every kind—there were lions, snakes, bears, alligators, wild creatures of everywhere from horizon to horizon. And then men invaded this land—they slaughtered the animals and overtook the land—they swarmed out in great armies and took no prisoners—the bears retreated far up into the hills, the lions trembled, the snakes hid in their holes. These men erected great towers and paved roadways, they made this land into a city of steel and wood and brick, and the wild beasts were driven off into the remote corners of the land. And I saw one wild animal, the eagle—he convinced these men to make him king, and ruled over this land—and so the eagle ruled over the kingdom of men, and a single man ruled over the kingdom of the beasts.

And I saw a war between these nations—gorillas stormed trenches, great armies of wild bulls charged lines of men, elephants stormed strongholds, men went up against lions and serpents went up against men—and I saw this war continue on and on until the vision left my eyes, and I trembled, having seen many terrors, not knowing what any of them meant.

Take it all, you thief. And the terrible fever has returned—you burn on. This is all very fine and well—but where did you get such water?—why, it’s sweet like honey. Come and roll about in broken glass with me—we shall howl into the whirlwinds and be taken on into the firmament naked and unashamed—we shall find ourselves lost in a maze of mirrors and crazed screams—we shall turn inward and see ourselves as wild and pure and mean and perfect. Now you’ve taken your gold and diamonds, now you’ve broken the Virgin’s purity, now you’ve clothed yourself in bloody rags, now you are hairy and you cannot speak. Here is your cup, full of bitter liquid. Here are your intestines, filled with insects and worms. Here is your brain, woven upon the demon substance, and here is your heart, burning like your candles—and nothing can put out those flames, it is the abode of fire God cannot rescue you from, you are broken, you suffer, you cannot stand your heart, your brain sprouts a thousand blasphemies, your soul sprouts out wildflowers and weeds, you are lost and ashamed, wandering and filled with deep water and bizarre monsters. It is the springtime—your soul is filled with tangled undergrowth—you wander the jungles of your being—wild creatures are on every side. This is your mean dream, this is your bitter cup, this is your expansive heart, this is your wildness and these are your sharp teeth. Where did you get such hair?—where did you get such jaws?—the water flows from your mouth like a river—the blood flows from your chest like a fountain. You are tormented by hooks and sharp things, by fangs and knives. A mist has settled all about your head, and you cannot see a thing—dream, my love—have your nightmares and write your crazy words—you have seen a kingdom, a glorious kingdom, you have seen gardens with rivers and cities filled with light—your angels have come, your demons have had their hour—now dream, my love, bring me back a bit of your terror and bliss.

And this is all filling me like the blood of the dawn! This is all falling from the sky and rising from the depths!

A broken tooth; a stabbed hymen; now you’ve crossed that barrier into the land where everything is crazy and wild; now you’ve come to your end while still in the flesh, crossed into death while still alive, seen the glory of God and his terrors, seen the double nature of the holy, seen the two faces staring at you with each with a thousand eyes. These creatures have eyes all over their bodies, and eat nothing but the eyes of beasts and men: they come from under the earth, and fall from the heavens, doing nothing but knowing: they are knowing machines, thinking machines: they see all, they dream of sweetness and glory; but their faces are a terrible white, their manes are of flame. They are I. THIS IS THE ABODE OF FIRE, AND THE GARDEN WITH RIVERS FLOWING BENEATH. Glory and agony are one for you: you are swallowed up in flame, and given a cup with the water of life. You have died. There is no peace in death.

Now sleep—now dream—you are a sweet man, a gentle man—you cannot stand these visions anymore—they will break you—they will break your soul into a thousand pieces—O where will you find peace?—O when will this exile end?—now sleep, now dream, my love, refresh yourself with sleep and prepare yourself for daylight—the glory of the daylight cannot be a long time away. Perhaps the daylight can heal the fragments of your soul, my love. Or perhaps you will find wholeness out of the fever that plagues you.