From, “Love, Loss, Coleoptera”

 

There's something important you should know before we set off. I'm a man pulled in every direction by the daemon voices conspiring inside to give me a fillip so I'll fall over the edge of the cliff without even a pair of makeshift wings on me back. But I have to speak, the yammering whirlpool's too strong to resist. There we are. I've 'fessed up. Up to you if you forgive me or not. Anyway, let's get going. Come on then, follow me! The journey begins here...

 

This world called the Cruel Eyrth hasn’t got any wild forests in it anymore. These days, several dead influential and oppressive groups (I can’t say who here) are going around trying to manage the landscape (which now refuses to create a place for strong, new things to flourish), and killing newborn ideas. As a result, it seems to me that most people aren’t really here, that they’re all characters, living in some kind of novel or film. 

 

They can’t tell whether the lovers, the parents, the debts, the worries, the diseases, or the elation are real. Who knows, at the end of the day, whether there’s any depth to them, or whether everything’s painted on the surface, and they’re images reflected in a mirror, or spectres in each other’s dreams? And so, they get strangled by dead clichés, and forced to be valuable customers in the marketplace, and loyal worshippers in the Services of Repentance, and faithful servants to the State, and you really might as well die as try to rebel and be different. Ooh, how much I despise their stories, and their poison, their rules, and their hatred. But I can’t stop thinking about them, and hearing the Public Voice in me ‘ead all the time —

 

 

From “The Endless History of the Holiest World-Wide Church”

 

This is the Great, Mystical Tale. In the very beginning, there was the Invisible Spirit, the Great Unknowable Divinity, the Cosmic Power. It contained everything that is, everything that has been, and everything that will be, but in a way, it was freezing cold, and completely dark. “I am what I am,” it thought. The thoughts of the Cosmic Power were like a Luminous Cloud that created itself. There was no time or space until the imaginations of the Cosmic Power exploded, in a way of speaking, creating order and releasing chaos, spreading out space, and starting the ceaseless clock of time. The Emanations went out to fill space, forming Nithe-liví, the Fullness of the All-World. But as they travelled, and moved away from the Cosmic Power, the Emanations changed constantly, and unpredictably, singing “Do not touch us. Do not behold us. Do not consider our perfection. Do not. As no one who sees the Emanations of the Cosmic Power shall live.” And so fell one of them, Za-vía, which had been imperfectly created in the first place (or, which was, perhaps too perfect), and which did not know about the Fullness (or, chose not to make contact with it). “I am who I am,“ she said to herself, “I will make a World in my image, in accordance with my form.”

 

But I’ve decided that I will tell my own story before someone else does it. After all, life is the core of every story, not words, but life. I’m fed up with staying a toddler in the safe, pretty garden, where the adults grow flowers and vegetables, where you need to follow the rules, stick to the path, close the gates, be careful in the greenhouse so you don’t hurt yourself [1]. You mustn’t plant things outside until they are strong enough to survive, and everything must look neat all the time.

 

And so Za-vía went around creating Vana-zala, the Region of Chaos on her own initiative, catching sparks of the Cosmic Power to form a plethora of powerful beings, the Ví-azalim. From her right hand and her left hand came Lasven the Aeon and Kaslas the Archangel; from her right foot and her left foot came Nekvas the Illumination and Saksal the Firmament; and from her heart came the Dominion Vensak. From her fiery face sprang the Idiot Salkas, and from her frozen blood arose the Rebel Nevlas. When all the Ví-azalim came to be, Za-vía was overcome and disappeared immediately. And some dare to mention now that she still exists in the form of Ví-aza, in an immense polymorphous polyhedron, in Muze-mara, at the far end of the All-World, which is also its heart, full of strange machines containing trillions of chains, levers, and pipes, and wheels and cogs turning, and circuits and switches humming whilst calculating the trials and tribulations of the All-World, and on its walls are innumerable, ever-changing glyphs. And there, where the rainbow-coloured light flashes all the time as if diffracted through a myriad of prisms, Ví-aza scribbles the unknown history of the Cruel Eyrth in which we live today. And once the Mistress of Sorrows has written a chapter, she moves on without a pause. And this is a poem full of death, written in ultraviolet ink on pages that are wiped clean as soon as she reaches the bottom, and in it even the names of the most magnificent appear and disappear without being acknowledged or remembered. Oh, would that this were not true!

 

I will not satisfy their desires, or get used to achieve their goals. I must get away from all the structures that want to hold me back. I’m going to grow a forest for myself, to play in. I need to build the road, make the map, plan the landscape, set my own destination. I want to wander off the straight and narrow path they’re trying to drive me along, and get deep into the wild wood, along the winding road, where new forms of life whisper strange tunes to charm the soul and trap the mind. I need to meander, and double back, and zig-zag, on land where nothing’s direct or firm. This forest is full of potential, inhabited by all sorts of chimeras, and no-one can predict what will come to pass there.

 

Now, the Ví-azalim could not create on their own, only by using, and rearranging, and moulding what already existed. And that is what they did. And Nevlas and Salkas brought forth an egg, Yoth-nunu, in the form of a round disc in the middle of the void, containing a sea of fresh water surrounded by a river of salty water, saying, “We are who we are.“ And that is why the Cruel Eyrth that has come to exist now is deceptive and disastrous, because it was created, and it is ruled, by Seven Beings who believe they have created themselves, but who are telling bare-faced lies in claiming this.

 

Representative of a bygone age am I, one which has been despoiled by foul monsters, their mandibles bleeding the gore of hatred {Monster Love}. I’ve been watching impotently as they overcome society, ripping flesh and breaking bones with their poisonous, clawed limbs, and taking considerable time to devour it with their steel teeth. Although I’m not very experienced, I’m not a baby, and I can’t pretend I’m innocent. So, I’m trying to take responsibility and learn wizardry so I can use it to create a World for myself. But I can’t trust anyone that’s the problem. The best are thick as a brush, and the worst want to steal my ideas as they can’t invent anything for themselves. Members of the Guild of Secrets I mean, of course, those so-called fake-Wizards, with their ceremonies, and their manuscripts, and their handshakes, and their secret knowledge, and their mysterious signs. But they don’t understand anything.

 

When the egg hatched at last, Salvas and Neklas appeared, and went to live on Yoth-nunu, the round disc in the middle of the waters. Salvas was the wild mother of nature, who used to run, and jump, and hunt; while Neklas was the disciplined father of civilization, who used to sit still meditating intensely. And from time to time, they would have to eat and sleep. But they were not satisfied living like this, both in accordance with their nature, and Salvas roared, “Thiamath is my name, and I am the Great Woman,” while Neklas whispered, “Amzu am I, the Wise Man.” After that, they fought all the time because they were so different, with Thiamath wanting to hunt and kill, and Amzu desiring to consider thorny problems. But then, once they had fought, they would always make love. And fight and caress they did, and fondle and bicker, birthing a multitude of monster-children, the Thialas, as a by-product, when the forces of nature mixed Yoth-nunu’s raw materials by means of earthquakes, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, and storms.

 

I’ve learned that magic is no science, in the hands of the real Wizard at least, but an art that works for its own sake as it appears to achieve the maker’s ends. It is more like alchemy, trying to turn thoughts and wishes into reality, and the importance of magic is the Great Work itself, as much as the consequences. You must let yourself create a flock of images that are beautiful even if meaningless to start with, balancing actuality and fantasy, before looking for sense and truth.

 

But the parents, Thiamath the Great Woman and Amzu the Wise Man, were so busy with their own business that the children went without care and were running wild. Eventually the Thialas got very strong and overcome Amzu and killed him as he sat in the fresh-water sea reflecting. They threw the corpse into the middle of the large space above the disk, forming Mithe-rethí, the Blue World, and ascended there to live. Thiamath ran off to stroll amongst the stars, and while doing this she cried many bitter tears, and from these arose an army of horrible chimeras, the Sammath, under the unseen influence of the Cosmic Power. After considerable time Thiamath was fired up to get revenge on the usurping children, and she decided to return to destroy them, encouraged by the Cosmic Power, without her knowledge.

 

We the true Wizards write history in that big book called reality, caught between heartbreak and laughter. The history of our life I mean here, we can always look at it, but without understanding how to fashion the charms until we discern the language, and create the symbols, and spell the words. Before we do that, we’re wandering aimlessly, inside a dark labyrinth. And this is our motto: “On a foundation of wisdom a house is built; with understanding, it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with valuable and satisfying riches of all kinds.” We therefore listen carefully to remarkable stories, and shed tears, opening our mouths to speak but infrequently, asking how it is possible to nurture true wisdom in a heart that sings so strangely? Because we realize that woe comes to the mighty at last, and that pain is a lifetime’s end, and thus that we must treasure the wonderful dream despite the great fear.

 

When Thiamath visited the Blue World of Mithe-rethí, the young Thialas were unable to overcome the chaotic strength of their Mother and the Sammath, and they very nearly perished. But one of the Thialas called Nilroth came forward. He was a shepherd’s boy, and always completely on his own, as if he were locked in a crystal chamber, and he could have worn down the mountains with his tears, so great was his grief about the past, and his distress about the future (which is its sister). It likely that the Cosmic Power spoke to him in the form of Rev-zilé from the heart of a burning bush, giving him the gift of tongues, so that he became a master of language. And so Nilroth shouted at the Thialas, “Come and fight, we need the best, the most independent, not followers!” And after the best of the Thialas came to him, he donned a cloak full of eyes so that he could see everything around him, and created order from disorder with the three thousand three hundred and one magic words like cicadas, which he tamed before writing them on the Tablet of Destiny.

 

I live in a land of memories that fly around me, unseen, inaudible, and impalpable, until I reach out to catch them, and embrace them, my heart like a deep sea that is always raging regardless of how much I want it to calm down. I sense the essence of places, and people, and events, and the connections between them and me, like threads in the fabric of the All-World. But pulling thoughts like this is so inexact, you see whatever you want to believe unless the feelings are really intense, and you are very strong, too.

 

So Nilroth was able to command the wind and use it to blow Thiamath into a huge net and trap her there, although they could not kill her. But nevertheless, his brothers and sisters among the Thialas managed to throw her down so hard that she fell into the middle of the Blue World creating Heli-hrelí, the Underworld. And then they killed most of Thiamath’s demons, the Sammath, using their bodies to re-create the Blue World (which had been destroyed in the massacre) in the form of Vith-sathí, the Cruel Eyrth [2]. As it happens, in the very middle of the Cruel Eyrth, there was the Garden of Eyrthly Delights, and in the very middle of the Garden was a thick Forest of toxic razor-thorns, and in the very middle of the Forest was a huge pomegranate tree, and a pitch-black pond which had at its bottom a path zig-zagging to Heli-hrelí. Nilroth became king over the rest, and from the blood of Mathya, the chief of the devils, and the red soil of the Blue World, and iron from a meteor, he fashioned the ancestor of Mankind, Dvaldí, to serve the Thialas, and put him in the Garden of Eyrthly Delights, in Ethna-zala, in the middle of the Cruel Eyrth. And that is why people were able to tell lies and kill each other from the very beginning, as they were full of evil, although each contained a stolen spark of the image of the Cosmic Power. In this Garden, as in all others, there were fruit and vegetables of all kinds, some that would kill you straight away upon eating them, and others that would cause you to become like the Thialas.

 

Having said all that, I must confess I can’t be disciplined or limit myself when working, unlike the Masters in the Guild. I follow the trail of colours, or smells, or shadows, or tunes, darting here and there, guzzling down topics. But as I aim for the heart of the forest, I’ll also visit other gardens full of startlingly attractive ideas, and I don’t mind in the slightest borrowing this or that. Later, alone in the mute darkness, I’ll digest the information, toiling to transform the raw materials into a new charm, which exists in and of itself, in some abstract kingdom. I get tempted by the pattern of the magic as I sing it, and this is what steers the flow of the enchantment. Maybe one thing will happen, and then another thing follow, who knows in advance what the order will be, or what meaning will appear, but the pattern wins every time, if the spell is to be elegant.

 

Dvaldí was huge as an old oak, and stupid as a sheep, and strong as a giant. Without language, he was engrossed in his tasks, sharing in the garden’s sensual pleasures directly, without a word or thought, other than the constant humming of his bliss. And in the beginning Dvaldí would always worship mindlessly and serve mechanically, preparing a lot of food but devouring it before offering it. It was only the fruit of the mandrake that he would eat, however, and by some luck, this was not toxic, but, instead, nutritional. Whenever one of the Thialas ordered him to do some new task, as they often did, he would split in half in order to complete it, and so the number of Dvaldimil increased. But while their number increased, their dissatisfaction increased also. For, every time they split, each one of them lost some bit of the joy enchanting them, or, binding them.

 

So it was. The time of the Harvest Moon, I’d left two rag-dolls in the middle of the pentagram daubed in blood and red paint, hoping that they would come alive and turn into bogeys to realize all my desires. But once again I was disappointed, and ended up crying like a baby, worrying that magic had died forever on this Cruel Eyrth where everything is a show, and everything is a lie. I almost did myself in on the spot, but, with my heart freezing in my chest, I decided that I would have to do the most perilous thing ever. But, well, I had no choice. I couldn’t go back. I was swimming in a sea of blood, and I had to go on. The scars on my skin were aching terribly. And everywhere I went, I could hear the abominable beetles bleating their blundering objections: “chep-er, chep-er, chep-er.”

 

And in the end, when their number reached one hundred and forty-four thousand (roughly speaking; in fact, one hundred and thirty-one thousand and seventy-two, that is two to the power of seventeen, was the number), one of them went to Nilroth when he went to stroll in the Garden, and said, “Great Father, we have grown, and matured, and changed, without your knowledge. And now we look at ourselves and see that we are all the same. And despite that, we are lonely, and exhausted after doing all the work. We will not move a muscle until you reduce the burden, or create companions for us, to help us and cherish us. The other Thialas went wild when they heard this, saying that they should kill Dvaldí and his myriad of brothers. They combined all their powers and worked as hard as possible to try and destroy the turbulent host. But, much to their horror, they realized that they could not kill the beings they have created in the first place. And in their rabid rage, they went to it, and poured fire and brimstone on the heads of the Dvaldimil in the Garden, turning it into a wasteland at the same time. (There were other unexpected consequences, too, and all the earthquakes and volcanic eruptions released huge amounts of fast-acting mutagens, which would turn the brothers into completely different creatures in due course.)

 

Before the Big, Free Party under the Pines, when I would appear on the stage like a mock-hero, I withdrew from society to reflect upon the miseries of the Cruel Eyrth and find myself. I was sure that everyone could see that I behaved like one person at one time, and someone else, on other occasions, although both looked the same from the outside. I was always asking myself: ”What will bring this great sorrow to an end?” and I would always get the same answer, “Only the months, the years, the decades!” But unlike the EGO’s [3] teaching about the Cosmic Power, the creation of Vith-sathí, the Cruel Eyrth, and the irredeemable nature of the Thorlin, that is, Humanity, which is fundamentally wrong, I’d convinced myself, in my case, probably, that there were two completely different essences co-existing inside me: a raging, bloody, beast, and a shining, innocent kid, and they were fighting all the time to get the upper hand. Usually, the good part wins, but sometimes, infrequently and randomly, the bad one would break through, causing chaos. An indolent Idolater, and a seraphic Sorcerer. If I could only learn how to manage them, to call them, and use them, then I would be able to start taking responsibility and choosing for myself.

 

Nilroth, the wise king, however, paused before answering (probably under the invisible influence of the Cosmic Power): “I see that the parents must learn hard lessons from their spawn, before sorting them out once again. So, let us give to our stubborn and rebellious children what they imagine they want, although they do not understand what will happen. And then we’ll see.” Next, he took trees, and water, and air, and, reciting magic words from the Tablet of Destinies, he formed another being, and placed it in front of Dvaldí saying, ”Behold Hlevné, who is so different from you. She will be a companion to you, and assist you, and cherish you. But you will have to earn her respect and deserve her praise. You will all work as hard as possible, before feeding each other with the fruit of the mandrake as usual, but never eat anything else that belongs to us, as we are jealous divinities. Take care, because having your own way can lead to disaster!”

 

*             *             *             *             *             *             *             *

 

[1] The Domjo accidental red-tape machine is to blame for this, probably. — P.M.

 

[2] That was not the end of the story of the Sammath, however, according to no-Mansho. Fourteen amongst the thousands of malformed children escaped, with the hidden help of the Impersonal Intelligence in the form of a burning but unconsumed pomegranate tree (for this is a magical number, which is twice seven, with two and seven being prime numbers). As they fled for their lives, they happened to fall head-over-heels through a Living Fissure in the fabric of the All-World, fighting each other madly and changing constantly in the process. In the end, after flying through indescribable twisting dimensions of all kinds, seven of them had monstrous characteristics, and appeared then like Mortal Dragons (or like one Deadly Dragon), which wished to destroy everything good, and pure, and ordered wherever they came across it. (Maybe, I dare to say, they represent the restless zest of disordered creativity.) On the other hand, seven others who had been purified by their travails had heavenly but terrifying attributes, and in their hands were flaming swords. (Perhaps these denote the intoxicating but stifling force of societal order.) These Fallen She-Angels laboured from then on, wrestling ceaselessly with the others in order to frustrate the plans of the Deathly Dragons. The strife between the two factions was felt as the forces of nature – in the tidal-wave, the hurricane, and the volcanic eruption; in the thunder and lightning; and in the flames of passion and the freezing talons of hatred. These could be controlled and used to his own ends by the wise and brave warlock, according to the Black Doctor ("Atrōx Doctor," that is, Iancu Āter) and his disciples. — P.M.

 

 

O, “Cariad, Colled, Chwilod”

 

Mae rhywbeth pwysig ddylech chi wybod cyn i ni gychwyn. Dyn dw i’n cael ei dynnu i bob cyfeiriad gan leisiau’r awenau’n cynllwyno oddi mewn i roi hwb i fi fel mod i’n syrthio dros ymyl y diben heb bâr o adenydd dros dro ar ‘y nghefn, hyd yn oed. Ond rhaid i fi siarad, mae’r corbwll yn crochlefain yn rhy gry i’w wrthsefyll. Dyna ni. Dw i wedi cyffesu. Lan i chi os dych chi’n maddau i fi neu beidio. Ta be, gadewch i ni fynd ati. Dewch ‘mlaen te. Dilynwch fi! Mae’r daith yn dechrau yma...

 

Dyw’r byd ‘ma o’r enw’r Ddaear Greulon ddim yn cynnwys fforestydd gwyllt rhagor. Y dyddiau ‘ma mae sawl carfan dra dylanwadol a gormesol (dw i’m yn gallu dweud pwy ‘ma) yn mynd o gwmpas gan drio rheoli’r dirwedd (sy bellach yn gwrthod creu lle i bethau newydd, cryf, ffynnu), a lladd syniadau newydd-anedig. O ganlyniad mae’n ymddangos i fi dyw’r rhan fwya o bobl ddim yma mewn gwirionedd, taw cymeriadau ydyn nhw i gyd, yn byw mewn rhyw fath o nofel neu ffilm. 

 

Dyn nhw ddim yn gallu dweud a yw’r cariadon, y rhieni, y dyledion, y gofidiau, yr heintiau, neu'r gorfoledd yn wir. Pwy a ŵyr yn y pen draw oes unrhyw ddyfnder iddyn nhw, neu yw popeth wedi’i baentio ar yr wyneb, a nhwthau’n ddelweddau wedi’u hadlewyrchu mewn drych, neu rithiau ym mreuddwydion ei gilydd? Ac felly maen nhw’n cael eu tagu gan ystrydebau marw, a’u gorfodi i fod yn gwsmeriaid gwerthfawr yn y farchnadfa, ac addolwyr ffyddlon yn y Gwasanaethau Ediferwch, a gweision teyrngar i’r Wladwriaeth, a man a man a mwnci melyn i chi farw na cheisio gwrthwynebu a bod yn wahanol. Ww, mor fawr dw i’n dirmygu’u storïau, a’u gwenwyn, eu rheolau, a’u casineb. Ond dw i’m yn gallu peidio meddwl amdanyn nhw, a chlywed y Llais Cyhoeddus yn ‘mhen i drwy’r amser —

 

 

O “Hanes Diderfyn yr Eglwys Fyd-Eang Gysegr-lân”

 

Dyma’r Stori Fawr, Gyfriniol. Yn y cychwyn cyntaf, yr oedd yr Ysbryd Anweledig, y Duwdod Mawr Anwybodadwy, y Pŵer Cosmig. Roedd yn cynnwys popeth sydd, popeth fu, a phopeth fydd ar ffurf pwy a ŵyr beth, ond mewn ffordd roedd yn rhewi o oer, ac yn gyfan gwbl dywyll. “Ydwyf yr hwn ydwyf,” meddyliai fe. Roedd meddyliau’r Pŵer Cosmig fel Cwmwl Goleuol a’i creodd ei hun. Doedd nac amser na gofod nes i ddychmygion y Pŵer Cosmig ffrwydro, mewn ffordd o siarad, gan greu trefn a gollwng anrhefn, lledu’r gwagle, a chychwyn cloc amser diderfyn. Aeth y Ffrydiau allan i lenwi’r gofod gan lunio Nithe-liví, sef Cyflawnder yr Holl Fyd. Ond wrth iddyn nhw deithio, a phellhau oddi wrth y Pŵer Cosmig, newidiai’r Ffrydiau’n gyson, ac yn anrhagweladwy, gan ganu “Na chyffwrddwch â ni. Nac edrychwch arnom. Nac ystyriwch ein perffeithrwydd. Peidiwch chi. Gan na fydd neb a wêl Ffrydiau’r Pŵer Cosmig fyw.” Ac felly syrthiodd un ohonyn nhw, Za-vía, oedd wedi’i greu’n amherffaith yn y lle cyntaf (neu, a oedd yn rhy berffaith, efallai), ac na wyddai am y Cyflawnder (neu, a ddewisai beidio â chysylltu â fe). “Wyf yr hyn wyf” ebe hi wrthi’i hun, “gwnaf Fyd ar fy nelw, yn ôl fy llun i.”

 

Ond dw i di penderfynu taw fi fydd yn dweud ‘yn hanes innau cyn i rywun arall neud hynny. Wedi’r cwbl, bywyd yw craidd pob stori, nage geiriau, ond bywyd. Dw i wedi cael llond bol ar aros yn blentyn bach yn yr ardd bert, saff, ble mae’r oedolion yn tyfu blodau a llysiau, ble dych chi angen dilyn y rheolau, cadw at y llwybr, cau’r gatiau, bod yn ofalus yn y tŷ gwydr rhag i chi niweidio’ch hunan [1]. Rhaid i chi beidio plannu pethau tu fa’s nes eu bod yn ddigon cryf i oroesi, a rhaid i bopeth edrych yn daclus drwy’r amser.

 

A dyna lle’r oedd Za-vía yn mynd o gwmpas yn creu Vana-zala, Bro Caos ar ei liwt ei hun, gan ddal gwreichion o’r Pŵer Cosmig i ffurfio lliaws o fodau nerthol, y Ví-azalim. O’i llaw dde a’i llaw chwith daeth Lasven yr Aeon a Kaslas yr Archangel; o’i throed dde a’i throed chwith daeth Nekvas y Lleufer a Saksal y Ffurfafen; ac o’i chalon daeth Vensak yr Arglwyddiaeth. O’i hwyneb tanbaid y tarddodd yr Hurtyn Salkas, ac o’i gwaed rhewllyd y cododd y Gwrthryfelwr Nevlas. Pan ddaethai’r Ví-azalim oll i fod, gorlwythwyd Za-vía a diflannodd yn syth. Ac mae rhai’n beiddio sôn yn awr ei bod hithau’n bodoli o hyd ar ffurf Ví-aza, mewn polyhedron amryffurf, dirfawr, ym Muze-mara, ym mhen pellaf yr Holl Fyd, sydd ei galon hefyd, yn llawn peiriannau rhyfedd yn cynnwys triliynau o gadwyni, liferi, a phibellau, ac olwynion a chocos yn am-droi, a chylchedau a switshis yn hymian wrth gyfrif hynt a helynt yr Holl Fyd, ac ar ei waliau glyffiau cyfnewidiol aneirif. Ac yno, ble mae’r golau’n seithliw’r enfys yn fflachio drwy’r amser fel petai wedi’i ddiffreithio drwy brismau fyrdd, mae Ví-aza yn sgriblan hanes anhysbys y Ddaear Greulon rydym yn byw ynddi heddiw. Ac unwaith i Feistres y Gofidiau ysgrifennu pennod, mae hi’n symud ymlaen heb saib. A dyna gerdd yn llawn tranc, wedi’i hysgrifennu mewn inc uwchfioled ar dudalennau a aiff yn lân cyn gynted ag y cyrhaeddodd y gwaelod, ac ynddi hyd yn oed enwau’r rhai godidocaf yn ymddangos a diflannu heb eu harddel na’u cofio. O na bai hyn ddim yn wir!,

 

Fydda i ddim yn bodloni i’w dymuniadau nhw, wrth gael ‘y nefnyddio i gyflawni’u nodau nhwthau. Rhaid i fi ddianc rhag y strwythurau oll sy’n moyn ‘yn rhwystro. Dw i’n mynd i dyfu coedwig i fi’n hunan, i chwarae ynddi. Fi sy angen adeiladu’r ffordd, llunio’r map, cynllunio’r dirwedd, pennu ‘nghyrchfan ‘yn hunan. Dw i eisiau crwydro oddi ar y llwybr cul maen nhw’n trio ‘ngyrru i arno, a threiddio i’r goedwig wyllt, ar hyd y ffordd droellog, ble mae ffurfiau newydd ar fywyd yn sibrwd alawon rhyfedd i swyno’r enaid a dal y meddwl. Dw i angen gwyro, a dyblu’n ôl, ac igam-ogamu, ar dir ble does dim byd yn syth na’n sad. Mae’r fforest ‘ma’n llawn posibiliadau, a phob math o anghenfil, fe all unrhyw beth ddigwydd yno.

 

Nawr, allai’r Ví-azalim ddim creu ar eu pennau eu hunain, dim ond trwy ddefnyddio, ac aildrefnu, a moldio’r hyn oedd yn bodoli’n barod. A dyna a naethon nhw. A Nevlas a Salkas a esgorodd ar wy, Yoth-nunu, ar ffurf disg crwn yng nghanol y gofod, yn cynnwys môr o ddŵr croyw wedi’i amgylchu gan afon o ddŵr hallt, gan ddweud, “Y ni yw’r rhai ydyn ni.” A dyna pam mae’r Ddaear Greulon sydd wedi dod i fodoli bellach yn dwyllodrus ac yn drychinebus, am iddi gael ei greu, a’i bod yn cael ei rheoli, gan Saith Fod sy’n credu’u bod wedi’u creu’u hunain, ond yn dweud celwyddau noeth wrth honni hyn.

 

Cynrychiolydd oes bur a fu dw i, un sy wedi’i rheibio gan angenfilod ffiaidd a’u mandyllau’n gwaedu crawn casineb. Dw i di bod yn gwylio’n analluog wrth iddyn nhw oresgyn cymdeithas, gan rwygo cnawd a thorri esgyrn â’u haelodau crafangog, gwenwynig, a chymryd cryn amser i’w hysu gyda’u dannedd dur. Er dw i’m yn brofiadol iawn, ddim babi dw i, a dw i’m yn gallu cymryd arna i mod i’n ddiniwed. Felly dw i di trio cymryd cyfrifoldeb a dysgu dewiniaeth fel mod i’n gallu ei defnyddio i greu Byd i fi’n hunan. Ond dw i’m yn gallu ymddiried yn neb dyna’r broblem. Mae’r gorau fel brwsh, a’r gwaetha eisiau dwyn ‘yn syniadau am na allan nhw ddyfeisio dim byd drostyn nhw’u hunain. Aelodau Urdd Cyfrinachau dw i’n eu golygu, wrth gwrs, y ffug-Ddewiniaid bondigrybwyll ‘na, gyda’u seremonïau, a’u llawysgrifau, a’u sigladau llaw, a’u gwybodaeth gêl, a’u harwyddion dirgel. Ond dyn nhw ddim yn deall dim byd.

 

Pan naeth yr wy ddeor o’r diwedd, ymddangosodd Salvas a Neklas, a mynd i fyw ar Yoth-nunu, y disg crwn yng nghanol y dyfroedd. Mam wyllt natur oedd Savlas, oedd yn arfer rhedeg, a neidio, a hela; tra mai tad disgybledig gwarediad oedd Neklas, a arferai eistedd yn llonydd gan fyfyrio’n ddwys. Ac o bryd i’w gilydd, fe fyddai’n rhaid iddyn nhw fwyta a chysgu. Ond do’n nhw ddim yn fodlon ar fyw fel hyn, y ddau yn unol â’u natur, ac fe ruodd Savlas, “Thiamath yw f’enw i, a’r Wraig Fawr dw i,” tra sibrydodd Neklas, “Amzu dw i, y Gŵr Hysbys.” Ar ôl hynny ro’n nhw’n ffraeo drwy’r amser achos mor wahanol o’n nhw, a Thiamath yn moyn hela a lladd, ac Amzu yn dymuno ystyried problemau dyrys. Ond wedyn, ar ôl iddyn nhw frwydro, fe fydden nhw bob amser yn caru. A ffraeo a charu a wnaen nhw, a charu a ffraeo, gan esgor ar liaws o blant bwystfilaidd, y Thialas, yn isgynnyrch, pan gymysgai grymoedd natur ddeunyddiau crai Yoth-nunu drwy gyfrwng daeargrynfeydd, tswnamïau, echdoriadau folcanig, a thymhestloedd.

 

Dw i di dysgu taw nage gwyddoniaeth yw hud, yn nwylo’r Dewin go iawn o leia, ond yn gelfydd sy’n gweithio er ei mwyn ei hun wrth iddo ymddangos ei fod yn cyflawni dibenion y gwneuthurwr. Mae’n fwy tebyg i alcemeg, yn ceisio troi meddyliau a dymuniadau’n realiti, a phwysigrwydd hudoliaeth yw’r Gwaith Mawr ei hun, cymaint â’r canlyniadau. Rhaid i chi adael i’ch hunan greu haid o ddelweddau sy’n hardd hyd yn oed os yn ddiystyr ar y dechrau, wrth gydbwyso dirwedd a ffantasi, cyn chwilio am synnwyr a gwirionedd.

 

Ond roedd y rhieni, Thiamath y Wraig Fawr ac Amzu y Gŵr Hysbys, mor brysur gyda’u pethau bod y plant heb ofal ac yn rhedeg yn wyllt. Yn y diwedd aeth y Thialas yn gryf iawn a goresgyn Amzu a’i ladd wrth iddo eistedd yn y môr croyw yn synfyfyrio. Fe daflon nhw’r gelain i ganol y gofod mawr uwchben y ddisg gan ffurfio Mithe-rethí, y Byd Glas, ac esgyn yno i fyw. Rhedodd Thiamath bant i rodio ymhlith y sêr, ac wrth neud hyn roedd hi’n beichio wylo, ac o’i dagrau cododd byddin o gimerâu erchyll, y Sammath, dan ddylanwad anweledig y Pŵer Cosmig. Ar ôl cryn amser cafodd Thiamath ei chynhyrfu i ddial ar y plant trawsfeddiannol, ac fe benderfynodd hithau ddychwelyd i’w distrywio, wedi’i hannog gan y Pŵer Cosmig, heb yn wybod iddi.

 

Dyn ni’r gwir Ddewiniaid yn sgrifennu hanes yn y llyfr mawr ‘na o’r enw realiti, wedi’n dal rhwng tor calon a chwerthin. Hanes ein bywyd ni dw i’n feddwl ‘ma, dyn ni bob amser yn gallu edrych arno, ond heb ddeall sut i ffurfio’r swynganeuon nes i ni ddirnad yr iaith, a chreu’r symbolau, a sillafu’r geiriau. Cyn i ni neud hynny, dyn ni’n crwydro’n wysg ein trwyn tu fewn i labyrinth tywyll. A dyma’n arwyddair: “Ar sail doethineb yr adeiledir tŷ; gyda dealltwriaeth y sefydlir ef; trwy wybodaeth y llenwir ei ystafelloedd gan olud gwerthfawr a boddhaus o bob math.” Dyn ni’n gwrando’n astud felly ar hanesion hynod, a cholli dagrau, gan agor ein ceg i siarad ond yn anfynych i ofyn sut mae’n bosib magu gwir ddoethineb mewn calon sy’n canu mor rhyfedd? Achos ein bod ni’n sylweddoli bod trallod a ddaw i’r cedyrn o’r diwedd, a taw dolur yw diwedd einioes, ac felly bod rhaid i ni gostrelu’r freuddwyd fendigedig er gwaetha’r dychryn mawr.

 

Pan ymwelodd Thiamath â Byd Glas Mithe-rethí, doedd y Thialas ifanc ddim yn gallu goresgyn nerth caotig eu Mam a’r Sammath, ac ro’n nhw o fewn dim i drengi. Ond un o’r Thialas o’r enw Nilroth ddaeth yn ei flaen. Gwas i fugail oedd e, a bob amser ar ei ben ei hun bach, fel petai wedi’i gloi mewn siambr o grisial, ac fe allai fod wedi treulio’r mynyddoedd gyda’i ddagrau, cymaint oedd ei alaeth am y gorffennol, a’i ofid am y dyfodol (sydd yn chwaer iddo). Mae’n debyg mai’r Pŵer Cosmig a siaradai â fe ar ffurf Rev-zilé o galon perth yn llosgi, gan roi iddo ddawn ymadrodd, fel y daeth yn feistr ar iaith. A dyna lle’r oedd Nilroth yn gweiddi ar y Thialas, “Dewch i ymladd, mae arnom ni angen y gorau, y rhai mwyaf annibynnol, nid dilynwyr!” Ac ar ôl i’r gorau o’r Thialas ddod ato, fe wisgodd amdano glogyn yn llawn llygaid fel y gallai weld popeth o’i gwmpas, a chreodd drefn o anrhefn gyda’r tair mil tri chant ac un o eiriau hud yn debyg i grics mawr, a ddofodd cyn eu hysgrifennu ar Dabled Tynged.

 

Dw i’n byw mewn gwlad cofion sy’n hedfan o ‘nghwmpas yn anweledig, yn anhyglyw, ac yn annheimladwy nes i fi ymestyn i’w dal nhw, a’u cofleidio nhw, a ‘nghalon fel môr dwfn sy wastad yn brochi er cymaint dw i eisiau iddo dawelu. Dw i’n clywed hanfodion lleoedd, a phobl, a digwyddiadau, a’r cysylltiadau rhyngddyn nhw a finnau, fel edefynnau yn ffabrig yr Holl Fyd. Ond mae tynnu meddyliau fel hyn mor anfanwl, byddwch chi’n gweld beth bynnag chi eisiau'i gredu oni bai fod y teimladau’n dra dwys, a’ch bod chithau’n dra chryf.

 

Felly roedd Nilroth yn gallu gorchymyn y gwynt, a’i ddefnyddio i chwythu Thiamath i mewn i rwyd enfawr a’i dal hi yno, er nad o’n nhw’n gallu’i lladd hi. Ond er hynny, fe lwyddodd ei frodyr a’i chwiorydd ymhlith y Thialas i’w thaflu mor gryf i lawr nes iddi gwympo i ganol y Byd Glas gan greu Heli-hrelí, yr Isfyd. Ac yna naethon nhw ladd y rhan fwyaf o gythreuliaid Thiamath, y Sammath, gan ddefnyddio’u cyrff i ail-greu’r Byd Glas (oedd wedi’i ddinistrio yn yr alanas) ar ffurf Vith-sathí, y Ddaear Greulon. Fel mae’n digwydd, yng nghanol union y Ddaear Greulon, yr oedd Gardd y Pleserau Daearol, ac yng nghanol union yr Ardd roedd Goedwig drwchus o ddrain rasel gwenwynig, ac yng nghanol union y Goedwig, roedd coeden bomgranad enfawr, a phwll purddu ac yn ei waelod, lwybr yn arwain yn igam-ogam i Heli-hrelí. Fe ddaeth Nilroth yn frenin ar y gweddill, ac o waed Mathya, pennaeth y cythreuliaid, a phridd coch y Byd Glas, a haearn o wibfaen, fe luniodd e gyndad y Ddynolryw, Dvaldí, i weini ar y Thialas, a’i roi yng Ngardd y Pleserau Daearol, yn Ethna-zala, yng nghanol y Ddaear Greulon. A dyna pam roedd pobl yn medru dweud celwyddau a lladd ei gilydd o’r dechrau un, gan eu bod yn llawn drygioni, er bod pob un yn cynnwys gwreichionen o ddelw’r Pŵer Cosmig wedi’i dwyn. Yn yr Ardd hon, fel mewn pob un arall, yr oedd ffrwythau a llysiau o bob math, rhai fyddai’n eich lladd chi’n syth o’i fwyta nhw, ac eraill fyddai’n peri i chi ddod yn debyg i’r Thialas.

 

Wedi dweud hynny oll, rhaid i fi gyffesu dw i’m yn gallu bod yn ddisgybledig na chyfyngu’n hunan wrth weithio, yn wahanol i’r Meistri yn yr Urdd. Dw i’n dilyn trywydd lliwiau, neu arogleuon, neu gysgodion, neu alawon, gan wibio yma a thraw, wrth lyncu pynciau. Ond wrth i fi anelu at galon y fforest, bydda i’n ymweld hefyd â gerddi eraill yn llawn syniadau rhyfeddol o ddeniadol, a sdim ots da fi o gwbl am gael benthyg hyn neu’r llall. Yn nes ymlaen, ar ‘mhen ‘yn hunan yn y tywyllwch mud, bydda i’n treulio’r wybodaeth, gan lafurio i drawsffurfio’r elfennau crai’n swyn newydd, sy’n bodoli ynddo’i hunan mewn rhyw deyrnas haniaethol. Dw i’n cael ‘y nenu gan batrwm yr hudoliaeth wrth i fi’i chanu, ac fe fydd hyn yn llywio llif y rhaib. Falle bydd un peth yn digwydd, ac wedyn peth arall yn dilyn, pwy a ŵyr o flaen llaw beth fydd y drefn, neu ba ystyr fydd yn ymddangos, ond y patrwm fydd yn ennill bob tro, os bydd y gyfaredd i fod yn gain.

 

Roedd Dvaldí yn enfawr fel hen dderwen, ac yn dwp fel dafad, ac yn gryf fel cawr. Heb iaith, roedd e wedi ymgladdu yn ei dasgau, gan rannu ym mhleserau synhwyrol yr Ardd yn uniongyrchol, heb air, na meddwl ac eithrio hwmian parhaol ei wynfyd. Ac ar y dechrau fe fyddai Dvaldí bob dydd yn addoli’n ddifeddwl ac yn gwasanaethu’n beiriannol, yn paratoi llawer o fwyd ond yn ei lyncu cyn ei offrymu. Dim ond ffrwyth y mandrag fwytai e, fodd bynnag, a thrwy ryw lwc, doedd hwn ddim yn wenwynig, ond yn hytrach yn faethol. Pryd bynnag byddai un o’r Thialas yn gorchymyn iddo wneud rhyw dasg newydd, fel y gwnaen nhw yn fynych, fe fyddai’n hollti yn ei hanner er mwyn ei chyflawni, ac felly cynyddai nifer y Dvaldimil. Ond tra oedd eu nifer yn cynyddu, yr oedd eu hanfodlonrwydd yn ehangu hefyd. Oblegid bob tro’r hollten nhw, fe gollai pob un ohonyn nhw ryw damaid o’r llawenydd yn eu swyno nhw, neu, yn eu rhwymo nhw.

 

Felly y bu. Amser Lleuad Gwŷr Iâl, ro’n i di gadael dwy ddoli glwt yng nghanol y pentagram wedi’i baentio mewn gwaed a phaent coch, gan obeithio bydden nhw’n dod yn fyw a throi’n fwganod i gyflawni ‘nymuniadau oll. Ond unwaith eto fe ges i’n siomi, a mynd i wylo fel baban wrth boeni bod hud wedi marw am byth ar y Ddaear Greulon ‘ma ble mae popeth yn sioe, a phopeth yn gelwydd. Bu bron i fi neud amdana i’n hunan yn y fan a’r lle, ond, a ‘nghalon yn rhewi yn ‘mrest i, nes i benderfynu byddai’n rhaid i fi neud y peth enbyta ‘rioed. Ond, wel, doedd dim dewis da fi. Do’n i ddim yn gallu mynd yn ôl. Ro’n i’n nofio mewn môr o waed, ac roedd yn rhaid i fi fynd ‘mlaen. Roedd y creithiau ar ‘nghroen yn gwynio’n ofnadw. Ac ym mhob man yr elen i, fe glywn i’r chwilod cythreulig yn chwibanu’u cwynion chwithig: “chep-er, chep-er, chep-er.”

 

Ac yn y pen draw, pan naeth eu nifer gyrraedd pedair mil a saith ugeinmil (a sôn yn fras; mewn gwirionedd, un cant a thri deg un mil saith deg dau, hynny yw dau i bŵer dau ar bymtheg, oedd y y nifer), aeth un ohonyn nhw at Nilroth pan aeth e i rodio yn yr Ardd, a dweud, “Dad Mawr, dyn ni wedi tyfu, ac aeddfedu, a newid, heb yn wybod i chi. A bellach dyn ni’n edrych arnon ni’n hunain ac yn gweld ein bod ni i gyd yr un fath. Ac er gwaetha ‘ny, unig ydyn ni, ac wedi blino’n lân ar ôl gwneud yr holl waith. Fyddwn ni ddim yn symud cyhyr nes i chi leihau’r baich, neu greu cymdeithion i ni, i’n cynorthwyo ni a’n hymgeleddu ni. Aeth y Thialas eraill yn wyllt gacwn o glywed hyn, gan ddweud y dylen nhw ladd Dvaldí a’i frodyr fyrdd. Fe gyfunon nhw eu grymoedd i gyd a gweithio nerth braich ac ysgwydd i geisio dinistrio’r lliaws ffrochus. Ond, er mawr arswyd iddyn nhw, fe sylweddolon nhw do’n nhw ddim yn gallu lladd y bodau maen nhw wedi’u creu yn y lle cyntaf. Ac yn eu ffyrnigrwydd cynddeiriog, fe aethon nhw ati i arllwys tân a brwmstan am bennau’r Dvaldimil yn yr Ardd, gan ei throi’n dir diffaith ar yr un pryd. (Roedd canlyniadau annisgwyl eraill, hefyd, ac fe ryddhaodd yr holl ddaeargrynfeydd a ffrwydradau folcanig feintiau enfawr o fwtagenau cyflym, fyddai’n trodd y brodyr yn greaduriaid cwbl wahanol maes o law.)

 

 

Cyn y Parti Mawr, Rhydd dan y Pinwydd, pan fyddwn i’n ymddangos ar y llwyfan fel congrinero, encilies i o gymdeithas i synfyfyrio uwchben trallodau’r Ddaear Greulon a dod o hyd i’n hunan. Ro’n i siŵr bod pawb yn gallu gweld mod i’n bihafio fel un person ar un adeg, a rhywun arall, dro arall, er bod y ddau’n edrych yr un o’r tu fa’s. Ro’n i’n gofyn i’n hunan drwy’r amser, “Beth ddaw â’r prudd-der mawr ‘ma i ben?” ac yn cael yr un ateb bob tro, “Dim ond y misoedd, y blynyddoedd, y degawdau!” Ond yn wahanol i ddysgedigaeth yr EFE [3] ynghylch y Pŵer Cosmig, creadigaeth Vith-sathí, y Ddaear Greulon, a natur anesgor y Thorlin, hynny yw, y Ddynol-ryw, sy’n anghywir yn y bôn, ro’n i wedi’n argyhoeddi'n hunan, yn ‘yn achos i, siŵr o fod, taw dau hanfod hollol wahanol oedd yn cyd-fyw tu fewn i fi: bwystfil gwaedlyd, cynddeiriog, a chrwt diniwed, llachar, a’u bod nhw’n brwydro drwy’r amser i gael y llaw drecha. Fel arfer fe fyddai’r rhan dda’n ennill, ond rywbryd, yn anfynych ac ar hap, yr un ddrwg fyddai’n torri drwodd gan beri helynt. Delw-addolwr dioglyd a Swynwr seraffaidd. ‘Swn i ond yn gallu dysgu sut i’w rheoli nhw, i’w galw nhw, a’u defnyddio nhw, wedyn byddwn i’n gallu dechrau cymryd cyfrifoldeb a dewis drosta i’n hunain.

 

Oedodd Nilroth, y brenin doeth, fodd bynnag, (dan ddylanwad anweledig y Pŵer Cosmig, siŵr o fod), cyn ateb “Rwy’n gweld bod rhaid i’r rhieni ddysgu gwersi caled gan y cryts, cyn cael trefn arnyn nhw unwaith eto. Gadawn i ni felly roi i’n plant ystyfnig a gwrthryfelgar ni beth maen nhw’n dychmygu eu bod yn ddymuno, er dyn nhw ddim yn deall beth fydd yn digwydd. Ac wedyn fe welwn ni.” Cymerodd e nesaf goed, a dŵr, ac awyr, ac wrth adrodd geiriau hud o Dabled Tynghedau, fe ffurfiodd fod arall, a’i osod o flaen Dvaldí gan ddweud, “Wele Hlevné, sydd mor wahanol i chi. Fe fydd hi’n gydymaith i chi, a’ch cynorthwyo chi a’ch ymgeleddu chi. Ond bydd yn rhaid i chi ennill ei pharch a haeddu’i chlod. Fe fyddwch chi oll i weithio mor galed â phosib, cyn bwydo’ch gilydd â ffrwythau’r mandrag yn ôl eich arfer, ond peidiwch byth â bwyta dim byd arall sy’n perthyn i ni, gan mai duwdodau eiddigeddus ydym ni. Gofalwch, gan fod cael eich ffordd eich hun yn gallu dirwyn at drychineb!”

 

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[1] Peiriant tâp coch damweiniol Domjo sydd ar fai am hyn, siŵr o fod. — P.M.

 

[2] Nid diwedd hanes y Sammath oedd hwnnw, fodd bynnag, yn ôl no-Mansho. Fe ddihangodd pedwar ar ddeg ymhlith y miloedd o blant afluniaidd, gyda chymorth cuddiedig y Deallusrwydd Amhersonol ar ffurf coeden bomgranad yn llosgi heb ei difa (gan fod rhif hudol yw hwn, sydd yn ddwywaith saith, a dau a saith yn rhifau cysefin). Wrth iddynt ffoi am eu bywyd, fe ddigwyddodd iddynt syrthio’n bendramwnwgl trwy Rwyg Byw yn neunydd yr Holl Fyd, gan frwydro’n wyllt â’i gilydd a newid eu gweddau’n gyson yn y broses. Yn y pen draw, ar ôl hedfan trwy ddimensiynau troellog o bob math na ellir eu disgrifio, yr oedd gan saith ohonynt nodweddion angenfilaidd, ac ymddangosent wedyn megis Dreigiau Marwol (neu fel un Ddraig Farwol), a ddymunai ddinistrio popeth da, a glân, a threfnus ble bynnag y deuent o'i draws. (Efallai, feiddiaf ddweud, y cynrychiolant anesmwyth hoen creadigrwydd anhrefnus.) Ar y llaw arall, yr oedd gan saith arall a burasid gan eu hymdrechion briodoleddau nefol ond brawychus, ac yn eu dwylo cleddyfau tanllyd. (Dichon fod y rhain yn dynodi nerth meddwol ond llethol trefn gymdeithasol.) Fe lafuriai’r Angylesau Syrthiedig hyn o hynny ymlaen, gan ymgodymu â’r lleill heb ball er mwyn rhwystro cynlluniau’r Dreigiau Marwol. Y gynnen rhwng y ddwy garfan a deimlid fel grymoedd natur – yn y don lanw, y corwynt, a’r ffrwydrad folcanig; yn y mellt a’r daran; ac yn fflamau nwyd a chrafangau rhewllyd casineb. Fe ellid rheoli’r rhain a’u defnyddio at ei ddibenion ei hun gan y rheibiwr call a gwrol, yn ôl y Doethur Du ("Atrōx Doctor," hynny yw, Ieuan Ddu) a’i disgyblion. — P.M.