[Language, Lies, Magic] The fake-Wizard is always frustrated. For many years he sets to, killing himself by indulging in a host of futile practices, like a craftsman who day after day keeps on making jewel-boxes out of beech, or beams out of ebony. He strives to set his own opinions in place of the free thoughts of the common folk, rather than letting them immerse themselves guilelessly in the ebb and flow of the ideas conjured by the Magus’s artful magic. And as he tries to force things to happen, he scores points in the game of life for a short while at least by instilling an intense sense of belief that he can’t fulfil in the end [1]. His truths are hallucinations that have forgotten that they are, and he uses ruses of the will, rhetoric, and cunning arguments that mimic logic to force the unwilling audience to accept his unpalatable lies.

 

[Comedic Chronicles] Instead of wasting time on futile reflection, it would be necessary for the faithful and pure to congregate in the Houses of Repentance to chant mantras in a brand-new language devised by the mentalists to effect direct contact with the Cosmic Power through sympathetic vibration. And in order to be pure and faithful, the folk would need to abase themselves completely before the organization, and its officials, and its ideas. No longer would images of any kind be found anywhere anymore. There would be no reciting the Strange Old Tales, or communing with spirits, angels, or demons, as in times long past. For who can depict or represent the unseen Cosmic Power? Instead of the old rituals, the EGO had established an extremely complex system, consisting of symbols, patterns, and colours, and weaving sounds, words, and gestures, with which to captivate the souls of the faithful, and send them into a rapture.

 

And in this respect, the fake-Sorcerer’s productions are coins with the front side effaced, which have value only as metal. Goodness, intelligence, beauty, morality, and logic will be pale, feeble spectres, which are good for nothing in the face of his will to persuade, and then to dominate. And worse still, in the Brave, New World without a centre, or paths, or signposts which he will create, the fake-Sorcerer will cast blame for the terrible state of existence on his enemies, accusing them of using fraudulent means to abrogate responsibility, and pervert interpretation.

 

The worshippers would have to wash from head to toe before the service, and then wear a featureless mask, and a long, plain, grey cloak like a sack, so that no-one could say who the other one was, whether woman or man, adult or a child, because every insignificant human being is merely a gnat before the Cosmic Power. Everyone, of course, except the Elect Ministers, who used to dress up in sumptuous costumes in all colours of the rainbow, light green, and purple, and flaming red, with gold embroidery and white lacework, donning very complex head-gear in the form of mythical beasts' faces. They would open and close doors, approach each other and touch each other, before floating out on clouds of incense carrying seven candles each and pronouncing foreign words faster and faster. In one of the rituals, the participants would concentrate, whilst chanting and quivering like leaves, on casting their multitudinous sins into the bodies of pigs in Ntsk'bzta, Ml'vnu, and Ndakwa on the Southern Continent (which would then run wild and enjoy themselves immensely, as it happens), as the useless penitents writhed in anguish on the floor.

 

Having acknowledged the dread truth about the meaninglessness of life, the true Wizard devotes himself to the Great Work in order not to perish forthwith, accepting with wise indifference that he is an integral part of nature, and of his time, and that experimenting, and describing, and creating is his task, not solving and explaining. He engenders a state of mind such that he shares an intense connection with the tangible world, discovering ever-changing meaning in the artistry of the clouds, science in the poetry of the winds, sophophilia in the architecture of the landscape, and medicine in the music of the sea.

 

There was to be no cremation on top of an open tower anymore, nor dissolving a corpse in sacred acid, either, on the order of the First Conference on the Aesthetics of Grief. From then on, true believers would have to give the bodies of their departed loved ones to the EGO immediately after they died. To prevent pollution of the living, and to prevent infection by evil, they said. The Church was very powerful, and the Public Voice said that their technologists had succeeded in opening a Gateway in the Heavens, and in creating a Path through Space. The Church had also found secret rituals that could send the dead to a blessed life on a New World if they had earned that by their unfailing obedience, and, more importantly, had been blessed in the Final Ritual when the Dispatching Minister would chant so intensely whilst gesturing prestigiously with her, or his, arms. (Well, maybe that’s the truth of the situation, as there’s no-one living amongst the laity who knows for sure.)

 

The true Wizard realizes that he will have to spend a long time on his own reflecting silently on the process of transformation. He knows that his understanding is but a tiny spot of light compared to the infinite darkness surrounding him. He accepts that he must embrace his intellectual limitations, his formative experiences, his unrealistic expectations, his fickle whims, and his worst fears, in order to be a true companion to the All-World in discovering meaning.

 

No one outside the EGO’s Grand Committee really knows what they do and say during the Final Ceremony. But there are some who have guessed, or dreamed, or heard high-pitched voices whispering on the breeze from afar, as follows. “Come! Ot kinada rab – alim ipsos, alay for-tision, mazash em-ases, zaza pande-monium, al-ínsen oy-sitrof – u taalk! Hear my words and obey. With these words I order you to come! Fókhyro lof Frikshn, Eydudown nab Bragga, Twhanz zab Braytstá daf Freying! Behold in my left hand this bronze sickle, Vaoz, as a sign of strength. Witness in my right hand this brass rod, Yakiyn, as a symbol of stability. Tarry! Let the Devouring Wind delete your flesh and your mind, your memory and your transgression! Let the terrifying waters of the Sea of Time wash away the past and prepare you for the future! May the Cosmic Power, having heard this intoxicating charm, carry you away and write your name among the stars! Án támámo mi-shwd! It is finished! Go, you departed spectre! Omu-groma, Epi-sayok, Sato-degony, Ep-arigon, Ga-liganon, Zo-gogen, Fe-restigon. In the secret names of the Seven Mighty Doctors, known only to us, I license you to depart for your proper place. Go! Let there be peace between you and us forever.“

 

The Wizard must find a horn of plenty to feed the creative process, and he’s always looking back to celebrate the lost discoveries of the old Magi, as well as forward to sparking revolutions {Revolution}. He doesn’t try to improve the methods of ages past, but re-uses them to create beauty, and wonder, altering them entirely on occasions. By reading, and thinking, and listening, he’ll be able to steal idioms and metaphors to feed his dreams. And then, by putting himself in the middle of the creative cauldron, he’ll change in ways he wouldn’t have imagined beforehand. Once can’t say that the true Magus’s enchantment is fake, therefore, not if he embraces the opportunity to transform.

 

That fertile and peaceful Planet across the Tear between the Worlds would be a new home for the recreated essences of those who had been the sons and daughters of the Universal Order whilst alive [2]. And there they would live again in Sheketh-arw, in tidy little houses in Kayn-lan, the Borderlands on the shores of Sasik-sivash, the Salt Lake, where the River of Tears wanders amongst the interminable fields. And there they would work with might and main on the fertile, red soil throughout the day, and sing hymns of praise at the top of their voices all night. After their toil, they would die again, at last, going to join the Cosmic Power in inhuman glory. On the other hand, they would be sent straight to an eternity of torture in the Slough of Despond where Fountain of Souls pours ceaselessly into the Bottomless Pit, if they had not won the possibility of post-mortem salvation through constant self-abasement while living, in the opinion of the Legalistic Parsons. I’m not sure about much anymore, but to me at least, the words of the Dispatching Minister don’t mean a thing, there’s no magical force in them at all, and what they, the Prelates in Purple, hope to achieve, that I can’t guess.

 

It doesn’t matter to the true Magus that his senses are crude and imperfect, he’ll hone them in order to awaken ideas from the material world with his imagination whilst dancing on the purple hills of fragrant heather, under the green flames of the cypress, and among the blazing stars. And so, he will exist in a waking trance such that every moment of his life is a mysterious ritual in which he is in instinctive contact with the physical world around him, with the sad, grey clouds, the mischievous, white foam, and the ripples on the surface of the talkative river.

 

Some courageous souls dared to claim that it was into huge cauldrons of green brass full of foul-smelling, black oil in the guts of the Houses of Repentance that the cold bodies would be cast at the beginning of their final journey. And after that, they said, in a low voice, they would become nutritious but very bad-tasting food to be distributed in the public soup-kitchens for the tens of thousands who were not totally destitute, but were unemployed, living in poverty, and often starving and sick. Others, braver or more stupid, perhaps, whispered that the Oppressive Rulers wanted to drive the country back to the era of the feudal lords, or even to destroy the weakest and least productive completely. And the rashest of all suggested that there existed a Secret Guild, whose members worked surreptitiously to frustrate the governors’ heinous plans, by continuing to follow the old magical ways, and moreover, by finding, or creating, individuals with exceptional powers in body, soul, and mind.

 

The true Magus belongs to the Father Eyrth as an integral part, sensing connections and analogies, as the All-World unfolds itself like a song, full of fields of meaning, endless series of rhythms, and chains of rhyme {Rhyme and Reason}. And then, by focusing with his whole mind on particular details, he expands his vision and his knowledge, and is able to illuminate guesses and turn them into firm conclusions. In the end, when his veins are filled with seawater, and he wears the heavens as a gown, and his head is crowned with a circlet of stars, then he shall be sole heir to the All-World.

 

Since time immemorial, they have walked the Starry Paths, these superheroes in the Guild of Secrets, moving silently through the centuries, and living many secret lives, striving to reach the last days of the Cruel World, when the few who remain will fight to the very end. No-one knew for certain that they were in our midst, up to the present day, but some would say, secretly and under their breath —

 

While the Nw Yrth’s Old Tongue is heard on our Fruitful World still,

And subversive zeal from brave, burning hearts yet doth spill,

As the Hidden Guild’s Masters conspire and strike using magical skill,

Never shall tyranny’s hideous talons the small voice of freedom kill.

 

Through the creative miracle of his magical will, the true Magus focuses on every idea and image, turning every second into a privileged instant. So, he becomes like a centaur compared with the ordinary people of the cities and towns, existing among ice-demons and fire-angels, and fitting centuries and innumerable faces in one life. He stops the World stock still whilst illuminating it with his new fictions. He doesn’t create from nothing but uses his wisdom to take the clay of his experience, and form it into structures that can last for ages or be destroyed in the blink of an eye. His Craft sees the unique details in everything ordinary, and categorizes them, and puts space between them, so that everyone who encounters the charm is captivated by sensing the eternal in the ephemeral, like the light of a galaxy twinkling in a tear. The poetry of his work goes beyond reason {Poetic Urges}, transforming understanding directly, and creating a playful World as he writes faultless symbols on the sky as his magic-staff dances.

 

But having expressed such heretical opinions aloud, let alone in public, the apostates would all tend to meet with an unexpected accident in some lonely place, which would put paid to the anti-conformers' voices forever. Officials of the PPP (the Purple Paternalistic Party) said they deserved to be wiped off the face of the Cruel Eyrth for declaring such barefaced lies, and needless to say, membership of that Party was growing sky-high at that time too, despite all the scandals surrounding matters such as institutional bribery and corruption, unethical methods of subjugating the population, and accusations of plundering the proles and letting them die in their thousands.

 

Even when Hthohla grabs him suddenly by the scruff of the neck, to snatch him to the Underworld, the Wizard will laugh at existence in that skyless place, where time falls to unfathomable depths. And that is because the Magus, who demands that the World reveal the royal secrets of its hidden objects on the clear understanding that there is no sun without shadow, has committed himself to acknowledging the darkness, certain that he can survive any fate by scorning it. As the three demons of madness dance their never-ending waltz to torture him with his choices, hopes, and failings, he vigorously resists the laughter, the reproaches, and the fury, demanding yet the freedom to live and follow his own path, and to express every aspect of himself as he sees fit, becoming a creator, a conqueror, or a slave, in the fulness of time, without hindrance.

 

All these blessings, and many more as well, they, the Prioresses and the Canons (and the People’s Representatives too, come to think of it), have obtained from a pair of strange figures from the sav-Molruku clan, namely a mother and son called Tletlu lis-Morku and Tretru bel-Molko. They had fled the villainous forces of the beastly sav-Ehlohli who were oppressing the folk in their far-flung land, apparently. They brought other delightful gifts, too, based on magical science from the distant past, such as lethal weapons in the form of fine particles of toxic, radioactive razor-string; rings of invisibility; a number of startling facts about the ebb and flow of time; the ability to go from place to place without moving, by donning expensive training-shoes of red lizard-leather with small golden wings on the heels; plans for ultra-modern war-carriages; information on how to construct a “Horror-scope” to discover secrets, uncover mysteries, confuse memories, and destroy hopes; and a recipe for preparing some thick, pitch-black, living fluid with the terrifying ability to destroy and utterly transform everything it would come into contact with.

 

The true Magus refuses to accept the illusion of an ideal World to come, nor to renounce the World as it is, whilst nevertheless admitting that there will be nothing left of his work in two thousand years (or maybe by tomorrow). And that is because he fervently believes that even the collection of all his failures will testify to his perseverance in the struggle towards self-mastery, and measure his true strength. He swears he will negate the feeling of utter insignificance, and intensify the colour of the void, whilst remembering like ancient myths the seawater sparkling in the turn of the gulf, the Summertide sun smiling on warm stones, and the lambs prancing in a meadow full of living flowers. And there, amongst the hellish darkness, he drinks deeply of the wine of the absurd, and feasts on the bread of indifference, fashioning legends containing rose petals, milestones, and wrinkles on the hands, as important as love, and desire, and gravity. His deepest thoughts are always in the process of changing, and they will not stop rebelling until his essence melts in the biting breeze.

 

How, it must be asked, could a man (or a woman, or some other kind of therianthropic chimera for that matter) fly like a giant blood-sucking bat; evaporate in a cloud of utter darkness; change his form to be a hobgoblin, a satyr, a troll, or a werewolf; or read things hidden in another man’s heart, especially a dead one, let alone send his essence across the All-World to who knows where? Well, disgusting infidel, or cowardly traitor – don’t bother your empty head about it, I beg you – or you’ll get a visit from the Chastising Angels with their electrical truncheons, sooner or later. But you should be sure that dabbling in such activities will cause lasting damage to one’s soul and one’s body, without a shadow of a doubt. And because of their clumsy pottering about, and their ceaseless interference with the forces of nature, they all – the Faithful Servants of the Nation in Government House, the Most Reverend Ministers of the EGO in the Heavenly Fortress, the Honourable Members of the Plebeian Council, and the Poor, Starving, Frightened rump of the Great Unwashed – began to feel the inevitable consequences soon enough. And so, they began sprouting horns, and hair, and hooves (figuratively for the most part, but sometimes literally), while behaving more and more like true beasts by day (definitely) [3].

 

Although, in the middle of a polar night, impenetrably cold and dark, the forces of suffocating conformity threaten to destroy his charms by trampling his figures of speech, his illustrations, and his melodies under their steel heels, and to cause his desires to abort in the trenches of obscurity, sinking him into despair, the true Wizard remains clearsighted. And so, he sketches out his own circumstances with the immaculate radiance of his intellect, and he simulates living the life he wants by throwing himself into other personalities, whose diverse aspects complement, modulate, contradict, displace, and strengthen each other. The true Magus strives to be a divinity, with the freedom to realize on this Cruel Eyrth, on this Fruitful World, eternal life. For him, there will be no other life apart from this.

 

*             *             *             *             *             *             *             *

 

[1] Trust Mamrick to pilfer my ideas so shamelessly! And publish them as his own, too! Talk about the bestial people on the Inimical South Landmass; those from the Dark Heart of the Northern Continent are much more crafty, especially as they appear half-human at least! How I regret having had to spend  even the briefest time there amongst the destitute, loveless refugees. Anyway, the “Life-Game” I have invented is a simulation of how the states of the squares on an infinite virtual grid develop through time.

 

Each square can be “live” or “dead,” and it interacts with its eight neighbours according to simple rules that are applied to all cells simultaneously. Depending on the state of the neighbours, a square can “die,” “survive,” or “resuscitate.” The system is “alive” inasmuch as it can reproduce itself and function as a universal reckoning engine (that is, it can do any computation specified precisely by a sequence of instructions). The system’s evolution through time is completely controlled by the initial state (the “seed” – which squares are “live” and which are “dead” at the beginning), but patterns can change in wonderful ways. Common patterns are “immobiles,” “movers” and “oscillators.”

It is also possible to see combinations of these three patterns, chaotic formations, and situations where disorder changes spontaneously to order. Some patterns survive for a long time before changing, whilst others are immortal and ever-changing, and “self-replicators” eventually reproduce themselves. Having said all this, the Life-Game is “undecidable.” That is, there is no instruction-list that can decide whether pattern B will develop from seed A. I am on the verge of perfecting the technology to use the Game to solve critical problems of all kinds in the fields of bio-ergo-mancy, logophilia, merchantry, natural sophology and numerology.

 

This will enable me (I hope) to predict the adaptations of organisms under particular conditions, to model how societies grow and die, to reproduce and improve on Thorlin consciousness using mechanical devices, and to create artificial life. Not for my own benefit am I slaving over this task of course, but to release the Piteous Planet from its self-made manacles, giving the inhabitants the ability to overcome their limitations and transcend themselves – in one way or another. — D.B.P.

 

[2] This psychophysical location (whatever that means!) is popularly called the “Nyiw Yerth.” According to the EGO, the temporary but highly-extended state of existence there is “Hvene-hnevé” (that is, “hve(ni)-(e)ne-hnevé,” or “{sky-blissful}-undeserved”), commonly rendered as “Heaven.” This is contrasted with the state of unending torture in “Heli-hrelí” (“torment-eternal”), commonly called “Hell” (from Heladic “ho-hēliastéys” – “judge-and-jury,” possibly). — P.M.

 

[3] This was prefigured in literature in the person of Man·toru or Nanathuru (that is, the Bull-man), in the Tale of the Princess and the Lout, set on the Harsh Planet. And in our own pitiful history, I would mention Sister Fox-Eyes, who led the Justified Revolt (or the Devious Rout) after the murder of the children during the Continental Conflict. She began to develop vulpine characteristics and become very crafty when she came into contact with mutagenic substances (released by one side or the other) whilst performing the Triple Goddess’s burial rites over the bodies (according, at least, to the EGO’s Martial High-Commissioner, who doesn’t know the half of it, or is telling a barefaced lie). — P.M.

[Iaith, Celwyddau, Hudoliaeth] Bydd y ffug-Swynwr bob amser yn rhwystredig. Am flynyddoedd maith bydd e’n mynd ati i’w ladd ei hun drwy ymroi i liaws o arferiadau ofer, fel crefftwr sy ddydd ar ôl dydd yn dal i wneud bylchau gemau o ffawydd, neu drawstiau o eboni. Bydd e’n gweithio i amnewid ei farnau yntau am feddyliau rhydd y werin a’r miloedd, yn hytrach na gadael iddyn nhw ymdrochi’n ddieuog yn llanw a thrai’r syniadau wedi’u consurio gan hud celfydd y Dewin. Ac wrth iddo geisio gorfodi pethau i ddigwydd, bydd yn sgorio pwyntiau yng ngêm bywyd yn ystod cyfnod byr o leiaf, drwy godi synnwyr dwys cred na fydd yn medru’i wireddu yn y pen draw [1]. Mae’i wirioneddau’n rhithiau sy wedi anghofio eu bod, a bydd e’n defnyddio ystrywiau’r ewyllys, rhethreg, a dadleuon cyfrwys sy’n dynwared rhesymeg i orfodi’r gynulleidfa anfodlon i dderbyn ei gelwyddau annymunol.

 

[Croniclau Cellweirus] Yn lle gwastraffu amser ar synfyfyrio’n ofer, byddai’n rhaid i’r rhai ffyddlon a glân gasglu at ei gilydd yn y Tai Ediferwch i siantio mantras mewn iaith newydd sbon a ddyfeisiwyd gan y meddyliaethwyr i beri cysylltiad uniongyrchol â’r Pŵer Cosmig trwy ddirgryniad cyseiniol. Ac er mwyn bod yn lân ac yn ffyddlon, fe fyddai’r werin angen darostwng eu hunain yn llwyr i’r sefydliad, a’i swyddogion, a’i syniadau. Ni fyddai delweddau o unrhyw fath i’w gweld yn unman rhagor. Ni fyddai adrodd yr Hen Hanesion Hynod, na chyfathrebu ag ysbrydion, angylion na chythreuliaid fel yn y dyddiau a fu. Oherwydd pwy all ddarlunio neu gynrychioli’r Pŵer Cosmig anweledig? Yn lle’r hen ddefodau, sefydlasai’r EFE system eithriadol o gymhleth, yn cynnwys symbolau, patrymau, a lliwiau, ac yn gwau seiniau, geiriau, ac ystumiau, i hudo eneidiau’r ffyddloniaid â hi, a’u hanfon nhw i berlewyg.

 

Ac yn hyn o beth, darnau arian â’r ochr flaen wedi’i dileu yw cynyrchiadau’r ffug-Swynwr, sydd â gwerth dim ond fel metel. Bydd daioni, deallusrwydd, harddwch, moesoldeb, a rhesymeg yn rhithiau llesg, gwelw, sy’n dda-i-ddim yn wyneb ei ewyllys i berswadio, ac wedyn i ddominyddu. Ac yn waeth byth, yn y Byd Newydd, Braf heb ganol, na llwybrau, na mynegbyst fydd e’n ei greu, bwrw’r bai am gyflwr gwael bodolaeth ar ei elynion a wnaiff y ffug-Swynwr, gan eu cyhuddo o ddefnyddio dulliau twyllodrus i ddiddymu cyfrifoldeb, a gwyro dehongli.

 

Fe fyddai’r addolwyr yn gorfod ymolchi o ben i sawdl cyn y gwasanaeth, ac wedyn gwisgo mwgwd dinodwedd, a chlogyn hir, llwyd, plaen yn debyg i sach, fel na allai’r un ddweud pwy oedd yr un arall, yn wraig na’n ŵr, yn oedolyn na’n blentyn, am mai fel gwybedyn ydy pob bod dynol tila o flaen y Pŵer Cosmig. Pawb ac eithrio’r Gweinidogion Etholedig, wrth reswm, oedd yn arfer gwisgo lan mewn gwisgoedd moethus ym mhob lliw’r enfys, yn wyrdd golau, a phorffor, a choch tanbaid, gyda brodwaith aur a gwaith les gwyn, gan roi masgiau cymhleth iawn am eu pennau ar ffurf bwystfilod chwedlonol. Fe fydden nhw’n agor a chau drysau, nesu at ei gilydd a chyffwrdd â’i gilydd, cyn arnofio allan ar gymylau o arogldarth gan gario saith cannwyll yr un ac ynganu geiriau estron yn gyflymach, gyflymach. Mewn un o’r defodau, canolbwyntiai’r cyfranogwyr, wrth siantio a chrynu fel dail, ar fwrw’u pechodau niferus i gyrff moch yn Ntsk'bzta, Ml'vnu, a Ndakwa ar y Cyfandir Deheuol (a fyddai wedyn yn rhedeg yn wyllt gan fwynhau’u hunain yn fawr, fel mae’n digwydd), wrth i’r penydwyr diwerth wingo mewn loes ar lawr.

 

Wedi cydnabod y gwirionedd aethus ynghylch distadledd bywyd, mae’r gwir Ddewin yn ymgysegru i’r Gwaith Mawr i beidio â marw ar ei union, gan dderbyn â difaterwch call ei fod yn rhan annatod o natur, ac o’i amser, ac mai arbrofi, a disgrifio, a chreu yw’i dasg, ddim datrys nac esbonio. Mae e’n magu cyflwr meddwl fel mae'n rhannu cysylltiad dwys gyda’r byd diriaethol, gan ddarganfod ystyr cyfnewidiol yng nghelfyddyd y cymylau, gwyddoniaeth ym marddoniaeth y gwyntoedd, athroniaeth yn saernïaeth y dirwedd, a moddion yng ngherddoriaeth y môr.

 

Doedd dim amlosgi ar ben tŵr agored i fod rhagor, na hydoddi celain mewn asid sanctaidd, chwaith, ar orchymyn y Gynhadledd Gyntaf ar Estheteg Galar. O hynny ‘mlaen fe fyddai’n rhaid i wir gredinwyr roi cyrff eu hanwyliaid ymadawedig i’r EFE yn syth ar ôl iddyn nhw farw. Er mwyn rhwystro llygru’r rhai byw, ac atal heintio gan ddrygioni, medden nhw. Roedd yr Eglwys yn rymus iawn, a dwedodd y Llais Cyhoeddus i’w technolegwyr lwyddo i agor Porth yn y Nefoedd, a chreu Llwybr drwy’r Gofod. Roedd yr Eglwys hefyd wedi cael hyd i ddefodau cyfrin allai anfon y meirwon i fywyd dedwydd ar Fyd Newydd os o’n nhw wedi ennill ‘ny trwy eu hufudd-dod di-lyth ac, yr un mor bwysig, wedi cael eu bendithio yn y Ddefod Derfynol pan fyddai’r Gweinidog Anfonwr yn siantio mor ddwys wrth ystumio’n urddasol â’i breichiau hi, neu’i freichiau ef (Wel, falle taw dyna wir y sefyllfa, gan nad oes neb byw ymhlith y lleygwyr yn gwybod i sicrwydd.)

 

Mae’r gwir Ddewin sylweddoli bydd rhaid iddo hala amser hir ar ei ben ei hun yn myfyrio’n fud uwchben proses gweddnewid. Mae’n gwybod mai dim ond smotyn bychan o olau yw ei ddealltwriaeth o’i chymharu â’r tywyllwch annherfynol yn ei gwmpasu. Mae’n derbyn bod rhaid iddo gofleidio’i gyfyngiadau deallusol, ei brofiadau sylfaenol, ei ddisgwyliadau afrealistig, ei fympwyon chwit-chwat, a’i ofnau gwaetha, er mwyn bod yn wir gydymaith i’r Holl Fyd wrth ddarganfod ystyr.

 

Does neb halogedig y tu allan i Bwyllgor Mawreddog yr EFE yn gwybod mewn gwirionedd beth maen nhw’n wneud na’n ddweud yn ystod y Seremoni Olaf. Ond mae ‘na rai sy wedi dyfalu, neu freuddwydio, neu glywed lleisiau main yn sibrwd ar yr awel o bell, fel a ganlyn. “Dewch! Ot kinada rab – alim ipsos, alay for-tision, mazash em-ases, zaza pande-monium, al-ínsen oy-sitrof – u taalk! Clywch fy ngeiriau ac ufuddhau. Gyda’r geiriau hyn rwy’n gorchymyn i chwi ddod! Fókhyro lof Frikshn, Eydudown nab Bragga, Twhanz zab Braytstá daf Freying! Wele yn fy llaw chwith y cryman efydd hwn, Vaoz, yn arwydd o gryfder. Wele yn fy llaw dde’r rhoden bres hon, Yakiyn, yn symbol o sadrwydd. Arhoswch! Boed i’r Gwynt Ysol ddileu’ch cnawd a’ch meddwl, eich cof a’ch camwedd! Boed i ddyfroedd dychrynllyd Môr Amser olchi’r gorffennol ymaith a’ch paratoi at y dyfodol! Boed i’r Pŵer Cosmig, wedi clywed y swyngan feddwol hon, eich cario ymaith ac ysgrifennu’ch enw ymhlith y sêr! Án támámo mi-shwd! Gorffennwyd! Ewch chi rith ymadawedig! Omu-groma, Epi-sayok, Sato-degony, Ep-arigon, Ga-liganon, Zo-gogen, Fe-restigon. Yn enwau cyfrin y Saith Ddoethur Cadarn, nas adwaenir gan neb ond ni, rwy’n caniatáu i chi ei chychwyn hi am eich lle priodol. Cerwch! Bydded heddwch rhyngoch chwithau a ninnau hyd byth.”

 

Rhaid i’r Dewin gael hyd i gorn llawnder i fwydo’r broses greadigol, ac mae wastad yn edrych yn ôl i ddathlu darganfyddiadau colledig yr hen Ddewiniaid, yn ogystal ag ymlaen i danio chwildroadau. Dyw e ddim yn trio gwellhau dulliau oesoedd a fu, ond yn eu hail-ddefnyddio i greu harddwch, a rhyfeddwch, wrth eu cyfnewid yn llwyr o bryd i'w gilydd. Trwy ddarllen, a meddwl, a gwrando, bydd e’n gallu dwyn priod-ddulliau a throsiadau i fwydo’i freuddwydion. Ac wedyn, drwy roi’i hunan yng nghanol y crochan creadigol, fe fydd e’n newid mewn ffyrdd fyddech chi ddim wedi dychmygu o flaen llaw. Dyw dyn ddim yn gallu dweud taw ffug yw lledrith y gwir Ddewin, felly, ddim os yw’n cofleidio’r cyfle i weddnewid.

 

Y Blaned ffrwythlon a heddychlon honno ar draws yr Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd fyddai’n gartref newydd i hanfodion wedi’u hail-greu’r rhai oedd wedi bod yn feibion a merched i’r Drefn Gyfanfydol wrth fyw [2]. Ac yno fe fydden nhw’n byw drachefn yn Sheketh-arw mewn tai bach twt yn Kayn-lan, y Ffindiroedd ar lannau Sasik-sivash, y Llyn Hallt, ble mae Afon Dagrau’n crwydro ymhlith y caeau di-ben-draw. Ac yno fe fydden nhw’n gweithio fel lladd nadredd ar y pridd coch, ffrwythlon trwy’r dydd gwyn, a chanu emynau o fawl nerth esgyrn eu pennau drwy gydol y nos. Ar ôl eu llafur, fe fydden nhw farw drachefn, o’r diwedd, gan fynd i ymuno â’r Pŵer Cosmig mewn gogoniant annaearol. Ar y llaw arall, fe’u danfonid nhw ar ru hunion i dragwyddoldeb o artaith yng Nghors Anobaith ble mae Ffynnon Eneidiau’n tywallt yn ddi-ball i’r Pwll Diwaelod, os nad o’n nhw wedi ennill posibilrwydd o waredigaeth wedi marwolaeth trwy hunanddarostyngiad parhaol wrth fyw, yn nhyb y Personiaid Deddfol. Dw i’m yn siŵr am lawer mwyach, ond i fi o leia, dyw geiriau’r Gweinidog Anfonwr yn golygu dim byd, does dim grym hudol ynddyn nhw o gwbl, a beth maen nhw, y Preladiaid mewn Porffor, yn gobeithio’i gyflawni, na alla i’i ddyfalu.

 

Sdim ots i’r gwir Ddewin fod ei synhwyrau’n amrwd ac amherffaith, bydd e’n eu hogi nhw er mwyn dihuno syniadau o’r byd materol â’i ddychymyg wrth ddawnsio ar y bryniau porffor yn llawn grug pêr, dan fflamau gwyrdd y cypreswydd, ac ymhlith y sêr gwenfflam. Bydd e’n bodoli felly mewn llesmair effro fel bod pob eiliad o’i fywyd yn ddefod ddirgel ac yntau mewn cysylltiad greddfol â’r byd corfforol o’i gwmpas, â’r cymylau llwyd, trist, yr ewyn gwyn, direidus, a’r crychau ar wyneb yr afon siaradus.

 

Roedd rhai eneidiau dewr yn meiddio honni taw i mewn i grochanau enfawr o bres gwyrdd yn llawn olew du, drycsawrus yng nghrombil Tai Edifeirwch, y teflid y cyrff oer ar gychwyn eu taith derfynol. Ac wedi hynny, medden nhw mewn llais isel, fe aen nhw’n fwyd maethol ond drwg iawn ei flas i’w ddosbarthu yn y ceginau cawl cyhoeddus i’r degau o filoedd nad o’n nhw ar y clwt, ond yn ddi-waith, yn byw mewn tlodi, ac yn aml yn llwglyd a sâl. Roedd eraill, yn ddewrach neu’n fwy twp, falle, yn sibrwd taw’r Rheolwyr Gormesol oedd eisiau gyrru’r wlad yn ôl at oes y penaethiaid ffiwdal, neu hyd yn oed difodi’r rhai gwannaf a lleiaf cynhyrchiol yn llwyr. A’r rhai mwyaf byrbwyll oll awgrymai fod Urdd Ddiogel yn bodoli a’i haelodau’n gweithio’n lladradaidd i rwystro cynlluniau anfad y llywodraethwyr, trwy ddal ati i ddilyn yr hen ffyrdd hudol, a heblaw hynny, trwy ffeindio, neu greu, unigolion a chanddynt bwerau eithriadol o ran corff, enaid, a meddwl.

 

Mae’r gwir Ddewin yn perthyn i’n Tad y Ddaear fel rhan annatod, gan glywed cysylltiadau a chyffelybiaethau, wrth i’r Holl Fyd ymagor fel cân yn llawn meysydd ystyr, cyfresi di-ben-draw rhythmau, a chadwyni odlau. Ac wedyn, trwy ffocysu â’i holl feddwl ar fanylion neilltuol, bydd e’n ehangu’i welediad a’i wybodaeth, a chael goleuo’i ddyfaliadau a’u troi nhw’n gasgliadau cadarn. Yn y pen draw, pan fydd ei wythiennau wedi’u llenwi â dŵr y môr, ac yntau’n gwisgo gŵn y nefoedd, ac am ei ben goron o sêr, wedyn fe etifedda’r Holl Fyd yn unig aer.

 

Ers oes oesoedd, maen nhw’n rhodio Llwybrau’r Sêr, yr uwch-arwyr ‘ma yn Urdd Cyfrinachau, gan symud yn dawel drwy’r canrifoedd, a byw llawer o fywydau cêl, gan ymdrechu i gyrraedd dyddiau olaf y Byd Creulon, pan fydd yr ychydig rai sy’n aros yn brwydro hyd y diwedd un. Doedd neb yn gwybod yn bendant eu bod yn ein plith ni, hyd at heddiw, ond byddai ‘na rai yn dweud yn gyfrinachol a than eu gwynt —

 

Tra bo Hen Iaith y Nw Yrth yn dal i’w chlywed ar ein Ffrwythlon Fyd,

Ac ysbryd gwrthryfel yn llosgi mewn calonnau dewr o hyd,

Wrth i Feistri Urdd Cyfrinachau gynllwyno a bwrw hud 

Ni fydd llais rhyddid rhag gormes erchyll fyth yn fud.

 

Drwy wyrth greadigol ei ewyllys hud, mae’r gwir Ddewin yn canolbwyntio ar bob syniad a delwedd, gan droi bob eiliad yn foment freintiedig. Felly mae’n dod fel dynfarch o’i gymharu â phobl gyffredin y dinasoedd a’r trefi, yn bodoli ymhlith diafoliaid iâ ac angylion tân, a ffitio canrifoedd ac wynebau afrifed mewn un bywyd. Mae’n stopio’r Byd yn stond wrth ei oleuo â’i ffugiadau newydd. Fydd e ddim yn creu o ddim ond yn defnyddio’i ddoethineb i gymryd clai ei brofiad, a’i ffurfio yn strwythurau all barhau am oesoedd neu gael eu dileu mewn amrantiad. Mae’i Grefft yn gweld y manylion unigryw ym mhob peth cyffredinol, a’u dosbarthu nhw, a gosod lle rhyngddyn nhw, fel bod pawb sy’n dod i gysylltiad â’r swyn yn cael ei gyfareddu o glywed y tragwyddol yn y darfodedig, fel golau galaeth yn tywynnu mewn deigryn. Mae barddoniaeth ei waith yn mynd y tu hwnt i reswm, gan drawsffurfio deall yn uniongyrchol, a chreu Byd chwareus wrth iddo ysgrifennu symbolau di-fai ar yr awyr a’i hudlath yn dawnsio.

 

Ond wedi mynegi’r fath barnau hereticaidd yn uchel, heb sôn am ar goedd, fe fyddai’r gwrthgilwyr i gyd yn tueddu i gael damwain annisgwyl mewn rhyw le unig, fyddai’n rhoi taw ar leisiau'r gwrth-gydffurfwyr am byth. Fe ddwedai swyddogion y BBB (y Blaid Baternalistig Biws) eu bod nhw’n haeddu cael eu dileu oddi ar wyneb y Ddaear Greulon am ddatgan y fath gelwyddau noeth, ac ni raid dweud, roedd aelodaeth o’r Blaid ‘na’n codi i’r entrychion bryd ‘ny ‘fyd, er gwaetha’r holl sgandalau ynghylch materion fel llwgrwobrwyo a llygru sefydliadol, dulliau anfoesegol ar orthrymu’r boblogaeth, a chyhuddiadau o ysbeilio’r gwerinos a gadael iddyn nhw farw wrth y miloedd.

 

Hyd yn oed pan fydd Hthohla yn gafael ynddo’n ddisymwth gerfydd ei wddw, i’w gipio i’r Isfyd, bydd y Dewin yn chwerthin am ben bodolaeth yn y lle hwnnw heb wybren, ble mae amser yn cwympo i ddyfnderoedd nas plymiwyd. A dyna am fod y Dewin, sy’n hawlio i’r Byd ddatgelu cyfrinachau brenhinol ei wrthrychau cêl ar yr amod clir nad oes haul heb gysgod, wedi ymrwymo i gydnabod y düwch, yn sicr y gall oroesi unrhyw ffawd drwy ei gwatwar. Wrth i dri chythraul gwallgofrwydd ddawnsio’u hwalts ddiderfyn i’w arteithio gyda’i ddewisiadau, ei obeithion, a’i aflwyddiannau, mae’n chwyrn wrthsefyll y chwerthin, y danodiadau, a’r llid, gan fynnu eto’r rhyddid i fyw a ddilyn ei lwybr yntau, ac i fynegi pob agwedd arno’i hun fel y gweliff orau, gan ddod yn greawdwr, yn goncwerwr, neu’n gaethwas gyda threigl amser, heb rwystr.

 

Y bendithion oll ‘ma, a llawer mwy ar ben ‘ny, maen nhw, y Prioresau a’r Canoniaid (a Chynrychiolydd y Werin ‘fyd, erbyn meddwl), wedi’u cael gan bâr o ffigyrau rhyfedd o dylwyth y sav-Molruku, sef mam a mab o’r enw Tletlu lis-Morku a Tretru bel-Molko. Ro’n nhw wedi ffoi rhag lluoedd anfad y sav-Ehlohli bwystfilaidd oedd yn gormesu’r werin yn eu gwlad anghysbell, yn ôl pob sôn. Daethon nhw ag anrhegion hyfryd eraill hefyd, yn seiliedig ar wyddoniaeth hudol o’r gorffennol pell, fel arfau angheuol ar ffurf gronynnau mân o linyn rasel ymbelydrol, gwenwynig; modrwyau anweledigrwydd; ambell ffaith syfrdanol ynglŷn â llanw a thrai amser; y gallu i fynd o le i le heb symud, trwy wisgo treinars drudfawr o ledr madfall, coch ac ar y sodlau adain bychain o aur; cynlluniau ar gyfer cerbydau rhyfel tra modern; gwybodaeth am sut i lunio “Arswyd-sgôp” i ddarganfod cyfrinachau, datgelu dirgelion, drysu cofion, a dinistrio gobeithion; a rysáit ar gyfer paratoi rhyw hylif byw, pygddu, trwchus ac iddo’r gallu brawychus i ddinistrio a thrawsffurfio popeth y byddai’n cyffwrdd â fe’n gyfan gwbl.

 

Mae’r gwir Ddewin yn gwrthod derbyn rhith Byd delfrydol i ddod, nac ymwadu â’r Byd sydd ohoni, wrth gyfaddef serch hynny fydd dim byd ar ôl o’i waith mewn dwy fil o flynyddoedd (neu falle erbyn ‘fory). A dyna em ei fod yn credu o waelod ei galon mai hyd yn oed y casgliad o’i fethiannau oll fydd yn tystio i’w ddyfalbarhad yn yr ymdrech tuag at hunanreolaeth, ac yn mesuro’i wir gryfder. Mae’n tyngu bydd e’n negyddu teimlad diddymdra, a dwysáu lliw’r gwagle, wrth gofio fel mythau hynafol ddŵr y môr yn pefrio yn nhroad y gwlff, haul yr haf yn gwenu ar gerrig twym, a’r ŵyn yn prancio mewn dôl yn llawn blodau byw. Ac yno, ymhlith y tywyllwch uffernol, mae’n drachtio gwin y gwrthun, a gwledda ar fara difaterwch, gan lunio chwedlau ac ynddynt betalau rhosod, cerrig milltir, a chrychau ar y dwylo, mor bwysig â serch, a chwant, a disgyrchiant. Mae’i feddyliau dyfnaf bob amser wrthi’n cyfnewid, ac ni pheidian nhw â gwrthryfel tan i’w hanfod doddi ar yr awel fain.

 

Sut, raid gofyn, y gallai dyn (neu fenyw, neu ryw fath arall ar gimera therianthropig o ran hynny) hedfan fel ystlum sugno gwaed enfawr; anweddu mewn cwmwl o dywyllwch llwyr; newid ei ffurf i fod yn afrddyn, bwgan, ellyll, neu fleidd-ddyn; neu ddarllen pethau wedi’u celu yng nghalon dyn arall, yn enwedig un marw, heb sôn am anfon ei hanfod dros yr Holl Fyd i bwy a ŵyr ble? Wel, anghredinwr ffiaidd, neu fradwr llwfr – peidiwch â mwydro’ch pen gwag ynglŷn â’r peth, dw i’n ymbil arnoch – neu fe fyddwch chi’n cael ymweliad gan yr Angylion Cystwyol â’u pastynau trydanol, yn hwyr neu’n hwyrach. Ond yn siŵr i chi, fe fydd ymhél a’r fath weithgareddau’n peri difrod parhaol i enaid ac i gorff dyn, heb os nac oni bai. Ac oherwydd eu cyboli anhylaw, a’u hymyrryd di-ball â grymoedd natur, fe ddechreuon nhw oll –Gweision Teyrngar y Genedl yn Nhŷ’r Llywodraeth, Gweinidogion Parchedicaf yr EFE yn y Cadarnle Nefol, Aelodau Anrhydeddus y Cyngor Gwerinol, a’r Gwehilion Gwangalon, Llwglyd, Tlawd –teimlo’r canlyniadau anorfod yn ddigon buan. A dyna lle’r o’n nhw’n tyfu cyrn, a blew, a charnau (yn ffigurol gan amla, ond weithiau yn llythrennol), wrth fihafio’n fwyfwy tebyg i wir fwystfilod fesul dydd (yn bendant) [3].

 

Er bod, yng nghanol nos begynol, yn anhreiddiadwy o oer a thywyll, grymoedd cydymffurfiad myglyd yn bygwth dinistrio’i swynion trwy sathru’i ffigurau ymadrodd, ei ddarluniau, a’i alawon dan eu sodlau dur, ac yn achosi i’w ddymuniadau erthylu yn ffosydd aneglurder, gan ei suddo i anobaith, mae’r gwir Ddewin yn aros yn glirweledol. Dyna fe’n amlinellu’i amgylchiadau yntau â llewyrch difrycheulyd ei ddeallusrwydd, wrth efelychu byw’r bywyd mae’i eisiau drwy daflu’i hun i bersonoliaethau eraill, a’r amryfal agweddau’n ategu, cyweirio, croesddweud, disodli, a chryfhau’i gilydd. Mae’r gwir Ddewin yn ymdrechu i fod yn dduwdod, ac iddo’r rhyddid i sylweddoli ar y Ddaear Greulon hon, ar y Byd Ffrwythlon hwn, fywyd tragwyddol. Iddo fe, fydd dim bywyd arall ar wahân i hwn.

 

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[1] Fe fyddai Mamrick yn dwyn fy syniadau mor ddigywilydd! A’u cyhoeddi fel ei rai ei hun, hefyd! A sôn am y bobl fwystfilaidd ar y r Ehangdir Deheuol Anghroesawgar mae’r rheiny o Galon Dywyll y Cyfandir Gogleddol yn ddichellgar o lawer yn enwedig am eu bod yn ymddangos yn hanner dynol o leiaf! Cymaint rwy’n gofidio ynghylch gorfod treulio hyd yn oed y mymryn lleiaf o amser yno ymhlith y ffoaduriaid digariad, amddifad. Beth bynnag, mae “Gêm Bywyd” rwy wedi’i dyfeisio yn efelychu sut y datblyga cyflwr y sgwariau ar grid rhithiol anfeidrol.

 

Mae pob sgwâr yn gallu bod yn “fyw” neu’n “farw,” ac yn rhyngweithio â’i hwyth cymydog yn unol â rheolau syml a weithredir ar bob cell yn gydamserol. Yn dibynnu ar gyflwr y cymdogion, gall sgwâr “farw,” “goroesi,” neu “aileni.” Mae’r system yn “fyw” yn gymaint ag y gall ei hatgynhyrchu ei hun a gweithredu fel “injan gyfrifiadurol gyffredinol” (hynny ydy, gall wneud unrhyw gyfrifiad wedi’i ddisgrifio’n fanwl gywir gan ddilyniant o gyfarwyddiadau). Rheolir esblygiad y system drwy amser yn llwyr gan y cyflwr cychwynnol (yr “hedyn” -- pa sgwariau sy’n “fyw” a pha rai sy’n “marw” i ddechrau), ond gall patrymau newid mewn ffyrdd rhyfeddol. Patrymau cyffredin ydy “disymudwyr,” “symudwyr” ac “osgiliaduron.” 

Mae hefyd yn bosibl gweld cyfuniadau o’r tri phatrwm hwn, ffurfiannau caotig, a sefyllfaoedd ble mae anhrefn yn newid yn ddigymell yn drefn. Mae rhai patrymau’n goroesi am amser hir cyn newid, tra mae eraill yn anfeidrol a chyfnewidiol, a “hunan-ddyblygwyr” yn eu hatgynhyrchu eu hun o’r diwedd. Wedi dweud hyn oll, mae Gêm Bywyd yn “amhenderfynadwy.” Hynny yw, nid oes restr o gyfarwyddiadau a all benderfynu a fydd patrwm B yn datblygu o hedyn A. Rwy ar fin llwyddo i berffeithio’r dechnoleg i ddefnyddio’r Gêm i ddatrys problemau tra phwysig o bob math ym meysydd athroniaeth, bio-ergo-swyngyfaredd, masnach, penderfynu, rhifoleg a soffoleg naturiol.

 

Fe’m galluoga hyn (gobeithio) i ragfynegi ymaddasiadau organebau byw dan amodau neilltuol, i fodelu sut y bydd cymdeithasau’n tyfu a marw, i atgynhyrchu a gwella ymwybod y Thorlin gan ddefnyddio dyfeisiadau mecanyddol, ac i greu bywyd artiffisial. Nid er fy lles fy hun rwy’n ymboeni ynghylch y gorchwyl hwn wrth reswm, ond i ryddhau’r Blaned Resynus o’i gefynnau hunangreedig, gan roddi i’r trigolion y gallu i oresgyn eu cyfyngiadau a’u trosesgynnu eu hun -- mewn rhyw ffordd neu’i gilydd. — D.B.P.

 

[2] Y “Neweirtho” (“gwasgaru o’r newydd”) yw’r enw poblogaidd ar y safle siecogorfforol ‘ma (beth bynnag yw ystyr hynny!). Yn ôl yr EFE, “Hvene-hnevé” (hynny yw, “hve(ni)-(e)ne-hnevé,” neu “{awyr-fendigedig}-anhaeddiannol”) yw’r enw ar gyflwr bodolaeth yno sy’n dra hir ond dros dro er hynny. Mae pobl yn gweud “Nef” fel arfer. Cyferbynnir hwn â stad poenedigaeth ddi-ball yn “Heli-hrelí” (“artaith-dragwyddol”), a adwaenir yn gyffredin fel “Heli-rhewllyd,” neu jyst “Hel.” — P.M

 

[3] Rhagddangoswyd hyn mewn llenyddiaeth ym mherson Man·toru neu Nanathuru (hynny yw, y Dyn-darw), yn Hanes y Dywysoges a'r Llabwst wedi'i leoli ar y Blaned Yrth. Ac yn ein hanes truenus ni, fe grybwyllwn i Chwaer Lygad Cadno, a arweiniodd y Gwrthryfel Haeddiannol (neu'r Grasfa Dwyllodrus) ar ôl llofruddiaeth y plant yn ystod y Gynnen Gyfandirol. Dechreuodd hi ddatblygu nodweddion llwynogaidd, a dod yn dra dichellddrwg trwy ddod i gysylltiad â sylweddau mwtagenig (wedi'u rhyddhau gan y naill ochr neu'r llall) wrth berfformio defodau claddu'r Dduwies Driphlyg dros y cyrff (yn ôl Uwch-Lywodraethwr Milwrol yr EFE o leiaf, na ŵyr mo'i hanner hi, neu sy'n dweud celwydd noeth). — P.M.