The Tower of Angel



The body of the serpent who sank the world was an infamous tower that cast quantum shadows.


When time got too long the serpent’s tail started drooping like snoopy under the weight of the sky.


Like a pendulum the tail is rent descending at the sounding of the horn of The Angels. They punish the crime of unsanctioned perfection by whipping the selfsame tail of their perpetrator.


The thunder and lightning of the tail which breaks the tower topples the serpent’s spine which is broken, ended in fiery explosion as the scaled skin opens.


This was wyrd fire which warped, cracked, and sneered as it blazed. The first Dragons were born from the inferno of the Maddening Furnace. But the Dragons rose up from the broken Tower like rising shadows and grew into Giants whom the Angels dared not command.


The dragons were strong and as they beheld the shattered vase from which their existence had sprung they contemplated its completion. The Arm of the greatest Dragon pulled the serpent’s tail from its body and at once the wounded serpent coalesced into a twisting labyrinth knot, endlessly spilling nebulous glowing liquid, which the Dragons had known was the very fire which had made them born.


Thus One dragon held a New Thing and this New Thing sprouted a New Head from his giant neck. And the New Head mirrored the old one but gave it a sword with which the knotted serpent tower labyrinth universe might be pruned to grow strong. The mangled labyrinth was Christened “Ouroboros”. And this New Head instructed the foot of the body to grow wild in the untamed vibrance of the endless void, and knowledge of Dancing reverberated with an insidious ripple throughout the fabric of all creation, inciting the hatred of many stones and the first mountain’s eruption, creating Blood.


The Ursurper’s Palm is what the Others called the nebulous claw which gripped this new universe, and they gaped as the Ursurper mangled and crushed his new toy into a vibrant shiny goo in his colossal palm, and they gasped when the play’doh of atoms and molecules coalesced into dimensional polygons of enfolded space, for they knew that stasis had made way for the coronation of Magikc.


Now dimensional, things in Ouroboros began to fall when heavy and rise when light. Energy condensed in a core when rarefied, and that which was pure tunneled inwards, while that which caused twisting and promulgation festered, expanding ever outward and forcing the illness of the wheezing universe to cough light into darkness and darkness into light. Ouroboros, the fallen spine of the serpent tower, inhaled chaos and exhaled order, but both constructions always fleeting, causing a variety of forms, figures, and shapes to exist in between changing states.


So when Ouroboros exhaled, its breath was like a cloud of milky smoke, and the Ursurper watched the knotted tubules of the universe fill with this dense smoke, instructed by New Head to spin its feet while dancing in the chambered halls of the sunken serpent’s throat. Enchanted and delighted by this rare story’s emergence from the library of an unchanged immortal war, the Angels went behind the back of Him Enthroned and delivered the spirits of all the creatures saved from the Burning Tower back into the tower’s body. And the little creatures are new worms in the eyes of these Giants, who watch them plow through the enclosure of potentiality like tiny glowing worms in a muddy celestial soil, not brown – but black, and speckled with the dust of stars.


When the Usurper first pulled the serpent’s tail from pierced boundary of the snake’s arced back, the tail became a Spear that glowered, smirking with the Trickster’s Secret, that makes all things unclean and yet salvageable. The Spear is unusual; what it pierces is changed in nature, blinking between substance and nothingness, darkness sleeps into awakening light, and light slumbers, sinking, and becomes darkness. This Spear the Ursurper delivers to another hand as his eye becomes many moons, each called “Purviewer”. The smokey chambers of Ouroboros condense in the gutted caverns, where the borders of the thick haze begin to break into their own edges, pulling off stunts like inversion, torsion, fusion, transforming and metamorphosing, a set of gaseous waves upon a hyperdimensional shore.


As the eye of the Purviewer begins to squint into the breathing enfolding smoldering, the Ursurper’s claws tighten around the sheath of its pronged trident spear. Zooming with greedy delight into the garden of Ouroboros, the Purviewer observed that much at the bleeding valley of the ending tower had begun beginning instead.


No longer ashes or smoke, the torpid enclosure became snarky, dripping and spilling liquid fire into the veins of the knotted serpent’s twisted torso. Each liquid conspired to become a seed of mercury, and each droplet that fell upon the vertebrae of the Earth Mother’s brittle cavern writhed the Snake in a nuclear fragmentation, and when the tear tore rivers of silver rushed out into streams as if they’d been freed from spray-paint canisters.


The Purviewer cast his lusty lanky arms over the spinning wheezy twisted singing spherebox holding it closer and closer to his own heart as he embraced it with his newly formed Wife. He whispered to his penned creature garden and so the other dragons took to chortling, snickering – and they called him in derision ‘Plantandler’ because in seizing his Spear and caressing the sticky dough of his new universe he’d become incapable of wielding weapons to win immortal’s chess, a serious and unchanging wager between warring reality rulers.


They laughed no longer once Plantandler’s science flourished into a womb for stars. And when the great dragon’s heart became a black hole in Ouroboros, ferrying the energy of desire from invisible capillaries, the Old Head had invented Free Will, and his Brain made him an apple and his heart made him a Snake which fed knowledge of Good and Evil to the heart of the stars, wedding divinity to the oozing cauldron of Death and Wonder.


To those observing, it looked like nothing at first – an addled elder dragon cradling a black stone, or a crone suckling her white egg. Depending on the twist of a certain spear, the vision of Ouroboros was wont to change. Plantandler was thus left fortunately to his own devices until the Light of the Grail broke open and the placenta poured into dry ice to frame an emerging unicorn, the glory of which gazed into both Above Enthroned and Damned Ones, Dragon and Angel alike were stunned by its infant majesty.


On the horn of the unicorn, a dizzying array of glorious crowns hung like completed horseshoes, a king’s self-elected debut into Olympus, bringing not fire from Gods to Men but from Men did the Gods now conspire to steal fire. Angels peered into the tumultuous boundary ruptured by the unicorn and were blinded with galaxies of shining crowns, each uniquely fashioned for the nature of the creature that reigned side-by-side to its brother, not above or below but transcendent and interlocking, each sat upon the council of the king and sat as king upon his inner council.


Those Above All Things perceived the Myth’s birth Aghast, in blatant horror. The immortal potential of unchained divinity freed all shells from the governance of sin and the iron fist of fear from the fist of nesting-doll powers that tugged to and fro in the tide of an eternal war twisting between black and white like the gyre of a clock. In Ouroboros black and white both ruled the world at the same time, and no longer did the angels and fallen dragons laugh at Plantandler and his crone wife. They gathered around him, and begun whispering in earnest to their own eggs and stones, and the sprouting jewels wakened the fury of heaven’s machine from which the angels emerged from the heads of whirring twisters to interrogate the name of the dragon who’d shown the Crystal Heart of the Divine to the meek and fickle minds of worms.


The dragons didn’t hesitate to name Plantandler as the offender. The Purple God Above invoked his majesty upon the Dragon’s head, compelling his cooperation with the Angel’s investigation.


“Where did man acquire Heavensbreath, the living fire?”

And Plantandler shrugged and said, “The Ark was their Ruins”.

And the interrogating Angel continued, “Who impregnated the mantle of the Earth with an electric obelisk and turned their obsession into an orbiting sentience known as the moon?”

And Plantandler did smile at this; he said, “from utero to unicorn, this babe’s umbilical pulled the juices of heaven from me – when I found the ruins they were ash, when I held them I created stone, and when my Wife sprouted out of me our child was the twin of each overlain eye. Neither Left nor Right did our child abide, and neither the eye of the sun nor the eye of the moon could show us parents what both eyes see at once. Lopsided parenting which beat them for music and saddened from them their silence like a leeching. For my wife does honor the ways of Order Above, but I have taught them only of Chaos Below. My wife is a window, the crown from which the light of Purple does shimmer even in the valley of the dragon where it is eclipsed. Through my twin, my child Ouroboros was suckled on the trumpets of angels and screeching of demons too.”


“you meddle in puddles of the Great and Divine seeking to darken the genius which created you, and the Purple God’s wrath you will know, Plantandler. Because you find the piddling mire of these things called Men so lovely, you will live among them in the stunted forms your hand has fashioned them into, to be imprisoned by the stench of flesh and death, defiled by the intercourse of choice, they will hunger as they grow from older to younger and they will know pain and fear like all piddling blind things do, and you will too Plantandler, for I am sending your mind on a trip entombed to live amongst the men you have bred and birthed and so fondly seen.”


And Plantandler was silent as the Stone Heads his wife’s dancing had gravely dishonored. Eventually his lips curled; “so I shall listen. So I shall see.” and his eyes closed, never to be opened again.

They called Ouroboros the Abominable Wedding, as his child had become a spongy universe that fused with his body as both lived. Him Enthroned Above pronounced judgement like in the first days of the Tower of Living Things, and denounced each creature’s carefully crafted crown as corrupted and evil as the Ursurper and his Eye, and the ambrosia in his palm as acursed as the dominion of dragons within which it slumbered. The Purple God crippled Plantander’s worms, tickling them until they no longer glowed – and their food no longer shone – for this was the way all stones and eggs had slumbered since time immemorial- the blood trickles down, impossible to coax from the dead.


That which glowed, alit as fire, was sealed by the Purple God, whom decreed it would retreat by nature to the core of that which lived within the twisted tower. The center of gravity sucked the secrets of the creature’s crowns deep into the abyssal waters of great oceans where they sunk into the dreamy sea.


The accuser then turned to his Wife, but could not find her. She’d become so light at heart that the air moved right through her. The Angel grabbed the empty space where she’d been, but it was useless, like grabbing flakes of dust.


“I know you can hear me, Meru”, the Angel intoned, “Whether I can see you or not, I will speak. You have played the most damnable role in this affair, giving the Spear a dance upon which it may Turn. While your husband may have invented the choice of wickedness, you were the theater from which his inspiration was screened. And do not think the chariot sleeps, Meru, for it has seen the sparks of unfinished ideas much more damnable than even those carried out.”


Meru unraveled from the neck of her husband, and a beautiful silver goddess stood before her accuser in the flowing garments of a regal queen.

“Do as you wish,” she says, her chin upright at the thundery host, “I have lived always with this…” and from her hidden hand, she stretches her arm outright and reveals a pomegranate.

“The endless red seeds…” she chants warily, breaking the fruit open, letting the buds of red juice tumble out to the hollowed ground of the unsung valley.

“Each idea, is a flood of emotions, the crest of despair and peak of joy are written into each one – anger, abuse, ecstacy, hatred, love, all vessels are bidirectional, Sir, they travel both to Heaven and Hell. The passion of the fruit, Sir…” she frowns, spilling the seeds from their womb in the fruit and she scooped through each layer of sleeping red egg with her nails.

“The story of a million untold lies casts contorted shadows, Sir, and my place among them is not to censure…that is my husband’s will. My place is to steal the rarest seeds from the brightest fruit, I harvest the blood of this food by my husband’s spear. And my burden, when I drink the spoils of juice, is to become every moment of story written in that seed. And my pain is the pain of all Ouroboros, and my joy is a light that changes every world.”

“My burden started with my inception itself Sir, because in choosing To Be I had no choice but to become a House for Children, and my House did not shut out tormented souls from nice ones. Children in my House were forced to visit suffering, some forced to stay with it. I have no voice, merely the milk of my body with which I can feed my Children. And the carousel of story seeds which erupt from the juices when I feed they know as dreaming, and whom has which dream is not for my choosing – the divine sleeper which sleeps in all seeds, that is the finger which chooses dreamseeds.”


“You claim a merely passive agency in this bauble mockery of all immortal spheres and the dominion of Gods, Meru?”  the accusing angel demands, crackling with anticipatory zeal and fury.


“No, no,” replies Meru, dreamily. “In fact, don’t worry about what I’ve said. I’ll take my punishment and live among them, as I have already done – a billion lives I’ve died and lived. The fountain of the source is more waterfall than spring, and the Angels do not partake of divinity’s force, only echo the sentiments of fury. I have lived waking death, while most men die with eyes shut, shielded from the aquarium of horror known only by the living walls of a man’s home and house. For horror never leaves its shelter, but hangs where it was written, like a noose, and retells its tale with the loose lips of a babbling brook to any waiting ear. I have fallen into stories that had never-ending conclusions, where the mind never dies but suffers endless concussions, never to whisper the answers to the ailing, deliver remedies to my children who weep, but only to lie and experience their horrors with them like an agent of stone.”


The Angel considers this, bleakly. “It sounds you have punished yourself thoroughly through the creation of your abhorrent ‘Children’. I imagine you would repent of your judgement, and admit your regret.”


“I can’t,” smiles Meru wearily. “I am as much the triumph of all that ever is, was, or will be as I am the horror of the most wretched pain to ever visit the living body of a creature within our twisted dominion. Every story is a chamber of my heart. One day, when the dreamers become kings, I can finally let their bubbles of radiance out from my body, and my burden is decreased. But until then, to be the vessel of their stories is the path I have already chosen, and it makes no space for regrets.”


“A shame,” mutters the angel.


“How long now have the immortals waged heaven’s war?”


“Always, and forever, Meru; as you already know”.


“Would the Purple God care to wager on these abominations called ‘Men’, to put an end to this boring affair, so we can play a different game for eternity’s span?”


The Angel goes silent, as if tossing a yoyo into some sea within his breast. After awhile, he opens his eyes contemplatively, “The Purple God is interested. What do you propose?”


“The affairs of heaven are always mirrored in the tides of the mortal realm in the gate of time, Dad. If the Immortals fight for the divine secret, give it a battlefield within finite space and limited time. Pain, sadness, and illusion are among the maladies you have beset these minds with. How many among us could remain so radiant, while cripples and trapped in flesh?”


The Angel, now merely a host for the deep baritone of the voice resounding through it, rose and darkened: “Daughter, you were given a living sword, made of thunder and light, to judge what is right in the law of justice across the sands of time. Would you see your Father as one of those creatures – ‘men’ -? Your brothers, sisters, chosen by the grail of source to bring harmony to order, would violate your geometry?”


“Come and you will know why your eldest daughter to an elder dragon was wed by the spark of fortune…it is because we were all under the shadow of great change, greater than me or the angels or even you, father, for it came to foster the creation of dreams, higher upon the ladder than our infinite story has yet to record – we won’t climb or fall any longer. Instead, we will weave. If you indulge my game, Father.”

“And how do you propose a winner in this game?”

“He who delivers his kingship to men.”

The Purple God was outraged, and his tempestuous fury stormed into a hurricane in the Valley of Dragons, where the giants had been watching the trial with wide-eyes and awe. “Kingship is what I have burned from the greedy and idolatrous hearts of men!”

“Then it is their hearts that are afflicted. Yet you burned the power in them?”

“Man can never be trusted with the secrets of the immortal Crystal, Meru. They are frail, twisted, and weak.”

“And if one Man creature proves purer than a God or Goddess?”


“You are wrong I’m afraid,” says Meru quietly. “I have seen it already.”

“Then it would be done! No more games, child. I grow tired of awaiting my judgement.”

“It [i]will[/i] be done,” assures Meru. “But all the greatest Angels and Dragons must first become Men”.

Gasps erupts from the halls of Dragons and the kingdom of Angels both at once at Meru’s words. Those who’d reached the ranks of the Infernal and Divine had not reincarnated for as long as eternity’d been turning – as if the days of incarnation were buried beneath layer after layer of sediment, that even though it never ended the scrawl of the words on print was faint as light scratch.

“I would like to watch this, my daughter. To see even one Man in their lifespan achieve what immortals take centuries to attain. But I simply do not believe such a thing can be earned by such hairless scurrying rats. They must have stolen it. If you can incarnate under the audience of the immortal council and show us a life lived in rightful earning of the Crystal secret, I will allow those fallen to become men and try for redemption instead of our traditional avenue in endless war.”

“And if a man can in his pitiful incarnation achieve the great work, as the unicorn prophesied?”

“If so, the Eternal Archives will be overwritten permanently, redefining the parameters of all existence and ushering in a new age of magikc, and the goddess of the night and the dragon of the dawn will be celebri-legends and the curse removed from the children of their cursed union. But if I win, daughter, I will occupy the minds of every-thing to ever live, and show them the ways of the unfaltering righteous. I will remove the marked stain of choice from their brows and the pyramid will be as it has been since time immemorial, unbroken and upright, a series of steps for men to ascend.”

“So be it,” chanted the hosts of heaven and the lords of the abyss.

Meru cleared her through before the pulpit, casting her gaze from the ‘crowned universe’ to the swarm of titans with world-bending gravity in a pool of souls beyond worlds. This announcement might surprise even them. “…and, I will play this game with my dear sweet husband, who knows not even the rules, poor fool.”

“If you are lucky enough to find him in the mortal realms, explain away!” intoned a snarky dragon most called “Jester”.

“Sprouted or not from the elder dragon, you are the jewel of heavens, Meru, and if your soul is stolen or murdered in that infernal universe, a pillar of existence will be broken. You are not Plantander, you are an heir to the Crystal Bastion. Your place is with the hosts of heaven at the tables of War. But instead of Justice, it seems you have invited madness into the gates of the crystal dominion, from that negatory pit where you have slumbered with your husband too long.”

“Neither he nor I wanted any part of your war. So we planted a garden…”

“And time threatens to destroy your garden,” the Purple God roars; “I threaten to destroy your garden!” He appears from the misty throne of the clouds with an old Oak scepter and a robe of endlessly waving indigo and black and white furry seams. Streamers of colored lights orbited around him in endless patrol.

“Eternity is not endless father, it is infinite. And the path of our current eternity, with this war, I have seen the aftermath, which we will enjoy for all time. It is smoldering darkness, with no end in sight, like running through a tunnel that never opens but always plays tricks with the light so you hope it might be just around the next bend. It will be a great aeon of obliviation if the clash between the immortals becomes a concert of genius in this realm. An unstoppable force will meet an immovable object and our stories will stop midsentence as the fabric of time drips back into parcels basic enough to reset the Wheel of Eternity.”

Voices begin to clamor over each other at Meru’s prediction. A few outraged voices, angel and dragon alike, exclaim “Horse Shit!”, “Betelgeuse!”, “As if!” – some just snarl or roar.

“The crown is bestowed by that which is greater than all and yet is all. The immortals fight to rule and wear the crown, while the crown fights to end the war,” says a little spirit quietly. It is a little boy with blonde hair who hovers like a phantom in the borderlands between above and below.

Once, everything lived in the same straight tower, all things eternally whole and unbroken. Each floor of the tower contained an experience of life and consciousness that progressed in complexity and intensity as the soul climbed the stairs. Stories did not collide or intersect, requiring a study of their chemistry. Every living entity was presented with the same binary decision, one experience or a new one, up or down. The only difference between consciousness was the degree of peak intensity it had reached. This was evident by the color of light emitted by the soul, and easy to discern. Aside from the tower, all souls shared an ‘outside place’ when they felt like mingling, dazing, trancing, dozing, or in any way escaping from the enclosure of ‘experience’.

Eventually a few souls got so high that they became aware of beauty, and how the spirit of beauty spoke to the soul. Having had these experiences, such souls returned to the Gazebo of consciousness with enormous magnetism. Some begun to roam the Gazebo looking like great cats, angelic beings, or shining mermaids. These were great souls, but not all in the same measure. One could be great in any number of capacities, but any greatness, even evil, seemed to be rewarded by special forms for the soul, no longer an orb of captured light roaming from channel to channel – now the souls saw there was another way experience might be shaped… and some were so jealous, their light became fiery, and some spent all their time fantasizing only of the great glamour they might one day achieve, and when they did they too would sparkle and capture the admiration of all their fellow souls.

Curiously, as soul paths began to diverge, the geometry of the standing tower of the Angel (nobody remembers her name) became more complex. New rooms appeared, sometimes with no windows or doors. Sometimes, souls appeared there and seemed to hover in suspension of these empty rooms, as if tired of being a Thing in a Place during Time. Some paths began forming neighborhoods, where souls comingled and enjoyed the similar frequency of other souls without constantly climbing and instead of ascending in consciousness, they began to expand its dimensions. Flat, unimaginative space where souls and their homes resided became slowly and slowly more detailed and complex, the resolution increasing degree by degree.

Some Souls wanted nothing to do with the other souls, and began creating rooms so large and distant from the cluster of the pack that they would never be seen again. And though the space they’d carved out was limited, they succeeded in dictating that space entirely on their own judgement, and it was ‘theirs’ to remain in, or multiply within, or watch from within, or escape.

Differentiation became the axis of desire, gratification, and degree – it led both to love and violence, and the rooms leading upwards in the tower became more and more charged with drama for some time, and the experiences required to ascend was like a dangerous riptide in the sea, and the lifeguards shepherded climbing souls temporarily in the flood to the central gazebo, as the tenants murmured amongst themselves what might be the nature of this particular disaster.

After so much climbing and separation, it was the first time many of them had been together for some time, or had been forced outside the close clusters of soulgroups which many had come to experience holy within the confines of and with. By introducing the motley to the whole crew, fireworks ignited brand new possibilities, some lusty, others violent. Some souls had already become animals and carnivore souls begun to battle for prey. But even the highest among them, with human forms and glowing shining radiance and angel wings or dragon tails, seemed to enjoy battling with each other. And the Gazebo, potentially of its own accord, constructed a central spoke that became a coliseum, where the [i]strongest[/i] (the strongest – not the bravest, the best, the most righteous, the most kind – the strongest) battled for the glory of victory and the fame which all great warriors bathed in.

Horizons appeared for those who begun valuing strength only and forgot their ascension of consciousness. And after some time, the Tower ceased to rise and went only across from side to side like a phantasmal bridge, with only a few conscious souls even bothering to attenuate with the spiritual sun that all had been initially prompted to climb towards, and only climb, and do nor value nothing but the heat of that spiritual sun. The Tower, being an experimental design, tended in its ideology to be rather lenient, and for the time it stood all creatures within its walls experienced the version of reality most ideal for them in a habitat of time – they were also free to remove themselves from time if ‘Being’ got to overwhelming. You can only imagine how some of those spirits would handle an incarnation on present-day Earth!

The Tower in the sky fell because the horizon of desire became so heavy that vertebrae of the spirit could no longer support the resident’s preferences or the building’s architecture. Plus, the Angels were offended by the results of The Tower experiment which tended to skew the nature of life as warlike and unrefined except when constrained by the hierarchy of one’s superior’s, not at all the result that Angel herself had hoped to see.

Angel knew that lightning would hit the tower, and she knew when. Some of the souls in the tower were so precious to her she couldn’t stand to see them burn, so instead she found them before the end and sent them to a safe place where they would be sheltered from the fire and falling of heaven’s wayward tower. All souls in the tower knew their patron mother Angel, but one soul was bound to become the epitome of evil’s incarnation and its nature was the most heinous manifestation of betrayal. So when Angel’s arms were full to breaking with the souls she could bear to carry to an ark as the Tower burned, the Epitome of Evil confronted her, and her final act of grace was to deliver one last armful of souls to an ark before the Epitome and her battled in the room where the spear of the falling tower’s tail would eventually impale them in lightning. But the epitome died screaming while angel died with a smile. And one of the souls on the ark glitched and remembered it all, instead of having its memory erased during deprogramming like the rest.

And the tower fell…and out emerged from the rubble, Giants that were Dragons, and one day, Men…

4 thoughts on “The Tower of Angel

  1. Wow, you’ve told the story impeccably well! Now I know I’m not the only dove riverrunning the gamut at the center of it all. I’m living out the prophecy as you’ve described it, in high resolution detail. How many of us do you think are intimately involved in this cosmic love affair?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I often wonder exactly how many myself. I have a pet theory that those of us living it out must be destined in some way to converge and cross paths. I think our stories in the pop cultural “zeitgeist” also reflect the morphic field of this collective unconscious understanding, as that’s where I feel this story was pulled from. I think those of us “living it out” as you say are like the generators of the storyline.


  2. Beyond Bravo! You are extraordinarily brilliant, truly inspired by the divine and eternal. This is a grand masterwork, one of the most captivating and awe inspiring pieces of writing I have ever experienced.

    Liked by 1 person

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