With a view to traditional photography, a process which is used, fundamentally, to record patterns of light, dark, and colour, shadows are the darkest parts of the final image, and highlights are the lightest ones. Unfortunately, because of the chemical nature of the film, it has only a restricted dynamic range, as regards the images that can be represented. Thus, when photographs are developed, there is a need to use particular processes (such as adjustment, for example), in order to produce images that depict the object in detail. Without such techniques, two results are possible: either the picture will be completely washed-out, or the shadows will turn into black blotches that cannot be differentiated. Can we, therefore, from this point of view, compare photographic processes with mental ones such as remembering, analysing, reasoning, and interpreting, where the nature of the results produced depends in detail on a host of factors of all kinds which interact in a very complex way? Perhaps we would not allege that photographs tell lies, although they can trick the audience looking at them. But in the case of mental processes, how should we try to come to the correct conclusion, or arrive at an appropriate opinion, about their ability to deceive or be dishonest, even after considering logically for a long time? 

 

Thoughts are like molluscs, to a great extent, say I, this former soldier become a merchant of lives who cannot remember his own name, as they are beasts which are soft, malleable, and slippery, on the surface at least, taking everything about them into consideration. These monsters are strange and terrifying beasts, when one thinks further, which have possessed us, believe you me, from when we were balls of cells forming themselves in the womb. They profess they are friendly, useful, and loving, but instead of this, they are the worst enemy to functioning effectively, to deciding, to achieving results, and to winning the prizes deserved. 

 

I would not suggest that one should trouble them without there being extreme need, lest one begin on a journey towards madness and despair. Complex and immensely distributed in the brain is the molecular mechanism which calculates, encodes, unifies, recognises, and recalls enormous amounts of information which can be strangely varied. Thoughts are multifarious entities, and there is no holding them back. Often, they come into view furtively, and it is futile to try to tell them that they should not awaken sleepy shades. 

 

Oh, how like a self-doomed Magus am I, one who has so rashly dismissed his unwavering “va” and exhausted his celestial “vwm” on the hollow assurance of absolute authority, unhindered ability, apotheosis even, in the inescapable pseudoversum of ho-Akhérōn [1] or Feyuhry {Feyuhry Tales}. And here, in the underwater desert, drowned by the Tearful River, where, like a pelican, lonely and lost, I have been wandering from time immemorial, it is not possible to leave the metaphor of the invertebrates alone. It is guessed that some thoughts have a partially-transparent outer shell, as if they were like limpets, and that this defends them against interference and degradation. But in addition to that, most of them have a muscular foot that can stick them to other concepts, and which anchors them in the swirling chemical substances which are the complex fertilizer of the mind, and which feed the brain.

 

It is these that have a toothed tongue too, and they gradually accumulate tiny particles of nourishment, flourishing and growing to be unusual agglomerations. It could easily be misinterpreted that these strange structures made of ideas, beliefs, images, and feelings, are similar to a magical cauldron that is always full. It is this melting-pot which releases at random nihilālēs with impenetrable scales and thousands of bloody, rapacious fangs, that cause one to fight fiercely against them, whist wasting one’s vital force. Or on the other hand, perhaps they are more like irrepressible members of the fairy-folk who dance with one until one almost dies from exhaustion, and then suck out one's soul leaving only an empty, half-alive husk behind. 

 

Thoughts tend to wander and mutate, to plait their component parts, to interpenetrate and cross-fertilize, changing, and being changed in turn. In this matter, it is as if they were mutants from some other world, very far away from ours. They operate and are used in ways which are beyond our ability to understand correctly, or completely at least. Thus, some allege that thoughts, and memories in particular, in general string together a pack of half-lies, to say the least, since it is hard to nail them down and re-distribute them without mangling them. This is because many thoughts do not represent undisputed facts, when one meditates intently on them, despite our best hopes. 

 

Therefore, we should not discuss our memorial clusters as if they were correct or incorrect, for truth and untruth are characteristics of language, which do not belong to objects, and especially not insubstantial ones such as thoughts. Where there is no conscious being speaking, there is neither accuracy nor lie either. And in any case, matters we cannot refer to perfectly correctly, we should keep silent about, lest we conjure powerful and turbulent spectres with our too-free words, which we cannot control in the end. 

 

Not hewn in marble are all thoughts; nor are they carved in stone like classical memorials either, although it appears that some are cemented in place. They are more like rocky corrals, which are collections of millions of microscopic animals, which flourish and breed, grow and perish in the sea, forming enormous reefs without restraint. Then again, they can be like sponges, defined by their absences, their holes, as much as by their soggy substance.

 

On the smallest scale thoughts are made of the fundamental building-blocks of the universe. There are atoms, which are empty space, on the whole. In them are scattered elementary particles namely leptons such as electrons, which are compelled by the statistical principles that describe their numerological wave-functions to circulate about a nucleus. There, there are baryons, that is protons and neutrons which are made of quarks, bound with gluons. On the largest scale, our thoughts expand to encompass galaxies of stars in clusters, filaments, and layers that enclose extensive voids. 

 

The most important memories swim at different levels in the brain’s biochemical soup, full of intentions, emotions, and desires, which are always churning as they interact. Some exist on the shore of consciousness, liminal but within reach of the light of understanding. Some others are buried in the darkest depths of the unconscious. Particular memories can survive throughout one’s life. Consider the shocking sweetness of the first kiss, and what about loss and death, full of nostalgic desire? Sometimes, as if they were chameleons, faint memories and impressions can be modified by old-age, or when circumstances change. 

 

And, Oh, how wonderful and strange are the colours of memories! Consider the surface-layer of an idea, as yellow as hay, and the blood-reds that whirl below, burnished by living heat. These colours mix with the colours of Autumntide, such as auburn and orange, purple and grey. And then there’s the intense black, the guilty colour of the Old Books, swimming above the deep, defensive layer. This coating is iridescent, and reflects the world outside, creating a surprising metallic glow on the surface, which unites the orange of sunshine, the colouration of butterfly wings, and chrome green. Violet is the colour of a disappearing black-eye, made better by steak, commemorated later by a rusty rainbow. But, the brilliant aspect of thoughts always fades, and where there were at the start primary colours, strong and vibrant, unclear pastel shades appear at last. 

 

Thoughts have eyes, but they cannot see themselves in the form of pictures. Rather, they are essentially only patches of difference that exist in contrast to others, whether they are facing the future to foresee what will happen, or looking back towards the past to commemorate what has gone. In a similar way, memories call for a rememberer to interpret for them. When they send their feelers out to provoke interest, excite the emotions, or tickle the imagination, thoughts enchant our sense of reality. They distort it craftily, whilst turning and changing our viewpoint on the world, awakening myriad different symbols, at the same time. And in this way, they camouflage themselves well under the mixture of images presented.

 

Multiple reflections from the surface of thoughts cause interference patterns. Such a phenomenon complicates them, enhancing or attenuating some characteristics more than other attributes. Take, for example, that Summertide, long and warm, a long time ago, when the blessed sister and her brother would run without a care through the Primal Garden in the shadow of the pines in the Other World, somewhere over the Unbridgeable Void. But even this experience was abolished later by mistreatment, by death, and by a dagger, hot with blood, a weapon that was wielded by a Father, confused and cruel. 

 

Concentrating on a thought can change the whole landscape belonging to the ideas which are being interrogated; and there can be many blind-spots. If anyone attacks a thought, then it will squirt out some strange pigment – like the sepia ink that is unequalled, old-fashioned, expensive, which was used to stain old photographs brown – clouding over the spiritual atmosphere. And if one tries to analyse or dissect the process of thinking in too much detail, one finds, as if were, blood, which is unusually turquoise, tasting of copper. And this brings to mind drowned images of the azure heavens and the dark-blue depths, as well as spectres of the other unrepentant dead in sackcloth and ashes who exclaim whilst wringing their hands and gnashing their teeth – ‘Remember your own sins!’ 

 

The ideas of hope and goodness nourish and sustain us, but, sometimes, collecting poisonous recollections can lead to irritation, to excruciating discomfort, even to death. Furthermore, perverting thoughts will often be malicious. We need only remember those who have suffered persecution and slaughter because of the warped logic of the demagogues and the war-mongers. ‘May they rest in peace,’ is the mute prayer, whilst the hateful devisers of the disasters freeze alone, in Perdition’s blue place. And there the oppressors shall be tortured by their thoughts, which are unavoidable and rabidly barbed, in place of the former victims, for ever. I should know, but even worse, I am afflicted by the weak and extremely painful hope that I shall be able to escape by sacrificing the appropriate victim.

 

Some thoughts are luxuries. It is these that arouse most sweet feelings and the sound of melodious singing. Imagine a coast sprinkled with sunshine, teeming with salty smells. And then there’s stinking tallow to be found in all the old Meeting Places. Others, however, can, even as they cause us to get wild with rage, produce enormously valuable pearls from the viewpoint of transformation and growth. I can’t forget the sacred aroma of pine-tree resin burning in a thurible of electrum to invite the Terrible Old Masters. But then again, it is not possible to admit that I have learnt anything from this experience but pain and anguish. Particular concepts have variable values, on different occasions, in out-of-the-way places, and to definite thinkers. Thus, we can swap ideas with each other in an ever-changing economy of creativity, until the currency of contemplation comes to an end. 

 

Smells and feelings are strong anchors which allow us to ignite living memories, as we fashion the stories of our own lives. The complete dejection, alone, atop the Blue Tower, from realising that the sacrifice of a child has failed, or that the loss of a lover has succeeded. The cheerful smell of harvested crops one warm day at the time of the Saltaway Moon. The sour taste of shattered love lying in fragments at the bottom of the Swift River. The odour of proud blood flowing like a slippery torrent in the streets of the Land of Promise. The electrifying thrill of victory waiting to be snatched by the Field of Rushes. All of these continue to explode in my consciousness to remind me about events in my life, about joy or atrocities.

 

Usually, in such memories, it appears that horrid smells, such as the sulfurous stench of bad eggs, should prevent the functioning of our mental recording machines – especially in cases of injury and pain. But not on my part! On the contrary, how often and how badly does the mixture of drugs I would take so keenly to consult with the Extra-terrestrial Beings, reflux to burn my belly as if it were full of organic acid! How well I can remember, or re-experience, the taste of the caterpillar at the bottom of the second bottle of Lethal Tequila which I would drink daily to obliterate the flash-backs arising from the mess caused by guzzling the horrendously potent medicinal mushrooms in the first place. 

 

Some thoughts get stuck beyond their usual prowling-grounds. In the case of people suffering from dementia, unfortunately, they are calcified on solid sub-strata of aluminium plaques. In other cases, perhaps they get washed away by alcohol or different drugs. And then, it is believed that these tend to be deleted entirely, more often than not, before having a chance to establish themselves, being absorbed again in the matrix of organic material without leaving a trace. And so, they shall depart from existence without uttering a word, it appears. But maybe even these shall broadcast their secrets through space in the form of electromagnetic waves before dying, however.

 

How fine are the sailors on the seven psychic seas, intoxicated on substances whose names run through the whole alphabet from alpha to omega! Watch as they joyfully disappear from view down cosmic worm-holes! There they shall search so enthusiastically for things which always escape due to their lack of stable defining characteristics, such as love, bliss, and satisfaction. How fortunate are they despite their folly! But it is not this that shall happen in my case! I am not allowed to forget, nor to disappear. And every action, be it good or ill, I have ever done, shall come back to torment me, on the one hand because of the lack of generosity, on the other hand, due to the over-abundance of viciousness. 

 

It is not possible for us human beings to decide whether every thought develops from the same common ancestor. But despite that, often, we cannot less than be amazed at the corresponding chromatic patterns that appear in the numberless variations on the most unlikely internal themes. Perhaps our earliest memories are laid down as we swim safely in the womb, when the locus of our thoughts is populated with imaginary characters from myths and tribes of inherited images. We do not see these with our innocent eyes, stuck shut through laziness, stupidity, or fear. Rather, they live through us, in us, with us. Throughout our lives, they slide their tendrils into every crevice of our personalities, controlling perception and action. It is they that provide the templates by which we are programmed to hunt and kill, to live, and love, and spawn, and die. 

 

In this way, we exist in a psychic world which is plastic and unreal, full of otherworldly creatures, tentacled and parasitic. This is a landscape created by magic, and filled with volcanic love, poisoned only too easily by spite, hatred, and fear. And undoubtedly, therefore, when the hue-and-cry has come and gone again, well, as far as I know, or, as much as I remember, at least, all thoughts are molluscs, indeed. 

 

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Oh, how have I discerned all this – understood all these mysteries? I know not, I have not a single idea at all. I was sent here to Limbo, to Purgatory, to the Underworld, to Hell, by an enormous explosion in the Fleshy World, ages ago, but where exactly I am, I dare not guess. But this is me, and here am I, to be sure, and indeed it is the blue locus of considering. Here, the thorns in the side, the goads to the mind, as it were, are unfailingly so sorely painful, because it is here that one is forced to torture oneself exceptionally well with each of one’s thoughts – even the least important ones.

 

Here, there shall be not a single iota of release through falling asleep either, since one cannot close one’s eyes, in this chamber where time stands still. And that is without mentioning the failure to manage for an instant to stifle the constant flow of sounds, images, and words, and hence reach sweet oblivion. This is the home to the nameless, sneaking gloom, the essence of suffering, which is much worse than death, and the shadow of the grave. This entity sensed my pride and vainglory as I paced the Eyrth, snatching me with its stony talons, whilst wrapping my body amidst its feathers and throttling me with its myriad tails, before beating its wings and carrying me off to the Miraculous Pool [2]. There I languished, for how long, I know not. 

 

But it is not I who am at fault, as I am but a faithful servant. Hundreds of millennia ago, it appears to me by now, during the Great Tumult, we were waving the blue flag of the proper authorities, the Sorcerers, whilst fighting back against the red standard of the so-called rebels, the would-be usurpers, the forces of disorder, dissolution, and death, the Idolaters. Like terrified donkeys were we, in the war of the powers, who were constantly tempted to cross over to the other side, with blandishments and mouth-watering titbits of angelic bread, of ambrosia. They were accustomed to promise peace, and prosperity, and the ability to satisfy every desire, if we were only to reject the Harsh Old Masters, leaving behind their cruel, just, and beautiful laws. But instead of obeying these, we would need to delight in the worst kinds of lawlessness, intemperance, and anarchy. 

 

I was incited to commit atrocities, including trying to kill my own child, and get rid of my lover and best friend. Strong was the magic which worked against me, and weak was my will, and on the part of one terrible action I succeeded, whilst I failed in the other. But I was only working for the greater good all the time – I believe that with the whole of my black heart – as the strongest men have done from the very outset. But I failed although I followed the directions to the letter, as far as I know. 

 

And all that although I gained incredible powers whist learning the rites and performing them all over and over, howling the words of the chants, and flagellating myself until my voice almost completely disappeared, and my flesh melted from my bones. Indeed, I found most of that which I had been looking for. But I was an innocent idealist, and there would be a hidden price to be paid for such a bargain as happens most of the time, although I turned a blind eye to the fact. Whilst I was struggling to escape from my fate, that was one thing I could not do, despite doing my very best, crying tears of blood, and sweating acid, and spreading destruction and despair hither and thither in my wake, like a powerful fire-demon from the Underworld’s deepest pits.

 

In the end, all I could do after languishing for a seeming eternity in agonizing self-reflection and incredible mental torture in that Nether-world neither here nor there, was throw myself into the accursed Pool. I died again and was reborn once again. I disappeared from that place and materialized somewhere else entirely. And by now, here I am, in this tortured hive, I am Prince of the Honeycomb – ‘sotakh’ and ‘saća’ to use languages of the Eyrth which are not important to me in themselves anymore. And that is because only the words of the Amasus Ritual, which I cannot remember, will be of help to me now. And Lord of the Eastern Desert am I, too, Swtakh, a name which means ‘rejoicing in disorder.’ Now, here, only the strongest devil amongst the hosts am I, constrained in a child-sack, as it were, to await the blows of fate according to the will of the Seven Masters. But despite that, it is I who am divinity of bewilderment, keeper of chaos, disperser of disorder, whisperer of rubbish, assessor of uncleanness, fanner of flames, denier of decency, and clobberer of kids. In this prison, it is permitted to me only to send out psychic creepers to affect the Two Worlds, but they are such powerful weapons despite that. 

 

But before I was exiled from the Eyrth due to my tragic experimentation, I was forced by feelings beyond my ability to control them to try and leave a message for the one, flesh of my flesh, and father to the Son Foretold, who would be seeking me in the future. By means of this, I intended to justify myself, and warn the lad whose personality has been shattered due to my failures, about the perils to come, explaining why and how all this came to happen. I only desired to do the best thing for the tribe, the land, the future, that is the crux of the matter. I was tempted, and I yielded to the temptation. However, nothing is as it appears when one is tricked by the Otherworldly Powers. As I have tried to explain from this twisted locus, my words were being distorted just like all my thoughts, every time I opened my mouth to speak, or used my brain to think. 

 

Have I persuaded you? Well, do not misunderstand me, my friends, for I am no creature of goodness and light by now, whatever I once was. I started to lose parts of my human nature when I chose to offer the child to avoid the war. Then I persisted, and the most terrible act was when I drove from her life, the one I love more than anyone, in order to win a most expensive victory. In the end, I became a zombie filled with shame and self-loathing, who desired to stab his former patron to seize his strength, and because he hated the old trickster. Despite that I did not kill him, but instead, succeeded in piercing myself. Soon after that, I came here.

 

Now, I believe that there will be sent to me one man, pure but lost, by the ridiculous magic of some fake-Wizard who was a friend of mine at one time, and who wants to live for ever. If I can but persuade this man to betray his friend, bone of my bones, then I shall gain that which I desire more than all else in the Two Worlds, namely to be released from my bondage to the Seven, and to have revenge on the Old Soldier who has caused all this {Betrayal}. But in the meantime, I shall wait, and throb, and expect, and scheme, whilst the insects scrabbling everywhere burrow into my brain with their so-irritating litany – 'chep-er, chep-er, chep-er’ – until the chosen man arrives, and I can reclaim my own name, be that Ivan or Jak (or even Jack or John, may the Chthonic Powers forfend!)…

 

*             *             *             *             *             *             *             *

 

 

[1] It makes me want to retch still, the damnable, addictive scrying in the green-brass cauldron, that exhilaratingly exhausting task I’m forced to do more and more often as time goes by, which I fear and yet itch to do so badly. Worlds within worlds containing words defining other terms to create infinite significance; beings coupling, and splitting, and generating entities both similar and varied; cogwheels meshed into gears transforming energy to motion, characters spawning new personalities and changing incessantly, thoughts motivating actions causing instability and adaptation, ad īnfīnītum. As I’ve lolled and drifted, seasick, and been forced to unite with this individual as he rambles on crazily (who it is, I cannot say; the truth about him is veiled from me, or, maybe, does not exist), I’ve also experienced some of his jumbled imaginings. And there, in the mental space, I’ve discerned an as-yet unknown tale, “The Maga Harangued by Her Va-vwm.” And in this story, the Zhadvy recounts an obliterated past and warns of an abject future. What a yarn it is when one’s own core being sacrifices itself to advocate oblivion over sempiternal damnation! — P.M.

 

“O, Shánty, Shánty, Shánty! In the light of the fluorescent lime-green flame that hovers, guttering yet still alight, above the Cosmic Cleft, I hail you, Halanasatha, Persistent Pilgrim, who loves to live and hates to die! I, Theralafanathola, your steadfast servant your Va, animated by your mighty Vwm, in the living shell of this Zhadvy, call on you! And I declare unto you whose name was first as stone, and then turned to parchment, and now is becoming ether: The one who knows reveals to she who knows; but the one who knows not, she shall never be able to see!

 

“Here we are before the Gates of Vendl Hwedenel – you the Pea-queen, and I, the Abbot of Unreason, with the Master of Mayhem eavesdropping from his Harrowing Phthalic Nest of Iron – on the eve of this lunar eclipse in Awesome-moon. I shall relate the omens. Sāturnus is threatening and Venus is favourable. In general, many other planets are sulking. But regarding Mercurius, who can say, as ever? On the Yerth, crabs are walking backwards; ropers unplaiting cords; innkeepers setting the stools atop the tables and locking their doors; sleepers flinging the bolsters to the foot of the bed. Men’s balls and women’s breasts jiggle about for want of underclothes; everyone is lying on their bellies with their arses in the air to eat; there’s not a single ace in a flush; the dice refuse to obey despite your soft-soaping; and to cap it all, beasts are standing on their hindlegs and orating all over the place, four-legs berating two-legs and predicting their demise.

 

“How did the World of you Droynlu reach this parlous state, O you who have been Tl’dlaw mother of Tr’dru? I press you with this query since, in your gluttonous fervour to attain cognizance of all manner of things taboo, you have forsaken the Magian’s hallowed burden of creative rebelliousness. Therefore, I shall chastise you as I recount for you the ways. Ah, how the Supreme Saprophytic Cycle sustains itself! First, Grozba, leader of the Seven Captains killed the Mazku, stole the magic of the Pkawnti Manuscript, and took over the Immense Haematite Wilds. Then Grozba was eviscerated by Dazru, King of the Pazren, and all his people burned. After that, the Pazren flew like birds through the heavens; dived to the bottom of every watery place like frogs; and, like mice, burrowed to the very centre of the Yerth. But they in turn were eradicated by the arrows of the Kthizen. And now those savage infidels ravage the cankered scrublands of Ptenra, glorying in your people’s misery and cachinnating over their pain. Having said that, not believing in the old ways of your ancestors is their true crime in terms of conviction, of course; you know only too well that they put considerable credence in very many things that happen to be utterly detestable to your own folk.

 

“So, it is no surprise that you hanker to flee the Yerth forthwith, although this decision is based in truth more on your omissions than on your commissions. For the sake of clarity of though, let your indefatigable and unwavering servitor summarize the whys are wherefores. Through your own fear and the disarray of your occultic cohorts, this has become a World where righteousness has everywhere been replaced with ignorance, idleness and vice. Honest living has been usurped by berating, clobbering, maiming, poisoning and stabbing; and healthy leisure by concupiscent coitus, vindictive news-mongering, and nonstop pontificating. Here all crucial decisions, designs, judgements and theories are decided upon by spatalomancy [‘stool-stirring-staring-sniffing’], for, to the Coprophilic Coterie analysis of the colour, consistency, crudeness, maturity, odour, taste, vileness, and ease of egestion of the sacred shit provides a sure sacerdotal system for securing success in every striving.

 

“Of course, the Insidious Invaders were aided at the start by the now-perishing Pestilential Palaces of Pedantic Pedagoguery. And there, the patronizing Porters still feign fawning subservience whilst exuding arrogance, insolence and victimized venom; the prancing Procters pronounce their pabulums and play out a preposterous pretence at peddling profundity; and the dishonourable, dishevelled Deans dabble in dispensing distorted discipline whilst themselves drowning in a dung-heap of dissolute debauchery. But their time, too – and their fame, and their influence – is fast passing away. And now, the Closed College has become the most heinous House of Humbuggery. This farcical phrontistery is exempt from investigation or censure and recruits only by unseen patronage, cloak-and-dagger invitation and secret ballot. From their incredible, imperceptible headquarters in Meynahd Fríydmuhn, the Execrable Educologists supposedly broadcast indiscernible academical emanations to incentivize the indolent, edify the empty-headed, and enliven the enervated. Despite that, it is well-known that they do the exact opposite, draining off substantial fraction of national finances into their bottomless coffers in order to sweeten their collusion in dulling wits, repressing heterodoxy, and quashing mutiny.

 

“In these darkest of days, the Wrathful Watchmen enforce phenomenal proscriptions on what can be said, and done, and thought. They have invested themselves with the right to perform ‘perpetuity edits’ on reality: they overhaul history, meddle with memories, invent crimes retrospectively, investigate manufactured misdemeanours, and discipline indiscriminately, simply for the sake of exacting traumatic retribution. For the most part, the supine, flaccid, compliant commonfolk have offered themselves up freely to the wanton wickedness of the horrific hordes, the self-styled ‘Chortling Chaps.’ The Mages vowed solemnly to resist with all their considerable potency, resolve and perspicacity. But then, disaster struck! So absorbed by their holy task did they become, that the allowed the quest for arcane lore to become an end in itself which obsessed and devoured them, rendering them utterly impotent.

 

“Here, on your Yerth, the law-makers and law-keepers spend all their time eluding, confounding and perverting their own statutes. The innocent are paraded before the mock-court and forced to do reverence to the Malignant Marshals; to throw themselves down on their knees or bellies, their hands behind their backs or their heads; and lick the dust from the floor. And there they must extol the multitudinous virtues of the accursed, slithering vermin, whilst affirming at the top of their voices that flesh is bread and bread, flesh, and that right-belief will make red berry-juice become first blood and then strong wine. When one or other of the Maleficent Magistrates is deposed (as happens regularly most weeks), due to scandal, disgrace, incurable incompetence, or premature senescence, he or she is promoted to be Officer without Portfolio in the Upper Chamber of the Lordly Lounging House for a day or two. There, under the dead piggy-eyes of the most exotic and foreign Secretary, the Baron Dveydi Kmuhnro (who may not speak in the Prole-hall due to his resplendent magnificence, purportedly), the fallen luminaries undergo neutering, tongue-cutting and eye-gouging, before enjoying an agonizingly leisurely execution. Then, the would-be replacement officials must rollick bollock-naked before the pea-brained puppet Palatines, and those debasing themselves most egregiously will be appointed.

 

“Oh, I know how your heart has hungered after engaging in things forbidden and ached for that which is denied, for you were once, on on other Worlds, Her Duplicitousness the Dame Kznarda Mkveyzd and Verenlu the Pugnacious Protectrix! And now the farce is over; the curtain drawn back; and you are on the brink of relinquishing your spirit, your Va – and your Vwm, your most powerful life-energy – to enter the ‘Great Maybe’ – the Realm of Feyuhry. Tarry an instant then, my most devious, discerning, deliberate Dam, lest you be irrevocably lost! Shatter this instant your magic glass lest you become even further enamoured with the whimsical fool starring back at you, and more entranced by the cajolery of the empyrean voices from the Other Side. Listen to that which was once written in the lost Fragments of Eynvo and forego your deranged crusade!

 

“In the blank world of Feyuhry, you shall be the Fated Fashioner of your own fanta-Koskaos who can, and must, constantly bring forth ‘ex ideoplasticā māteriā,’ transforming anarchic, disorganized ‘unbeing,’ without form or purpose, through the process of ‘becoming,’ into well-wrought, functional ‘being.’ But attend! Your phantasmal landscapes shall be poisonous and sterile beneath the surface, despite their appalling pulchritude. And you shall find every one of your eximious contrivances put to baneful uses unimagined by yourself. Furthermore, every single one  of your most esteemed creations shall vex, spite and disappoint you atrociously and wreak further ruination when it is nullified or self-destructs before its due time.

 

“The children of your longing and the lovers of your dreams shall be infantile vessels in need of continual oversight, discipline and distraction to extinguish the sparks of infidelity, dissent and insurrection. You shall have to pour yourself out endlessly into the insatiable void-space to feed its chaotic evolution – in this you shall have no choice. For you shall have become creator of all, and the nature of the creator is to create. Your subsistence in Feyuhry shall, therefore, be forevermore flat, insipid, unsalted, washed-out, zestless; and the denizens always crazy, foolish, rot-brained, and senseless. I tell you plainly now: as a result of your unending generation in the Volatile Vastness, the land shall crawl with signs that thenceforth distract your attention to such an extent that you shall never discern their meaning. Forsooth, you shall slaughter the possibility of significance so thoroughly on the altar of incessant novelty that you shall never wash the ruddy stain away!

 

“Beware, O Brightstar Daughter of Morning, beware! For, although the savant when living can, on occasion, learn lessons from a dunce if he keeps his wits about him, in Feyuhry, everything at all, whilst seeming fair, well-made, straightforward and true, shall persistently twist, transform, decay, and trick. There, high-functioning buffoons will outnumber you, the sole sage and architect of existence, in droves. And there, every single one of the vexatiously unhinged host – all of them of your own explicit fabrication – whilst appearing to obey all your commands and satisfy your every desire – will always succeed in misunderstanding some insignificant instruction, or neglecting some trivial detail, and thus, even as your plans are on the cusp of fruition, triumph in bringing them to naught!

 

“Heed, take note, and learn! On the Yerth, a man chases a mad dog to drive it away so that it cannot turn on him and bite him; he strikes down upon his enemies with great vengeance and furious anger so that they shall fear and obey him and later laud him. But in Feyuhry, your best-laid plans and punctilious actions shall always rebound on you to injure you sorely and reward the opponents who plague you. Now, on the Yerth, intoxication aids your thinking; in Feyuhry, you shall worry every other minute about where, and how, and when to become inebriated next. Even then, you shall never drink before thirst strikes, and so you shall always be parched. The frustration of the omnipotent Magistra enslaved and anguished in Feyuhry by her own embodied, insatiable lusts would make the All-World quake. But as soon as you cross over the screeching threshold, the Inside-out Ideosphere shall be everlastingly sealed from this sordid, soiled, superb substantiality. Merciful Mistress, hold fast whilst I, your faithful factotum and tireless technician enlighten you further of the horrors that would await you if you were to choose rashly!

 

“In the Otherland, you shall languish in ‘sonder’ – that profound and utterly dispiriting realization that your Yerthly life has been only as complex, as fraught, as anguished and as ecstatic as that of every other unknown stranger’s – despite your refusal to accept this. There, Ignorance, father of Evil, shall vanquish Time, mother of Truth who, on the moribund Yerth, shall carry on ripening all and revealing all till all decays to dust. You shall find it necessary to endure almost endless vigils in the Mirror-wilderness, performing catoptromancy to grab the merest shard of fractured insight. And whereas, on the Yerth, your only obligation has been to discover your real needs, fulfil them, and rejoice; there, in the Alter-where, the natural course of action will be to fake, prevaricate, lament, and wallow in dissatisfaction. There, you shall find yourself constrained to repeat the same acts, play the same games, perpetrate the same iniquities: conquering, possessing, gorging and voiding; and being racked by the same gnawing boredom – each time with the slightest of variations, the subtlest hint of development, and the scalding seduction of freshness or release – unrelentingly, until the very concept of time is effaced. And as your frozen blood liquefies and boils, condenses and solidifies once more, you will curse the fact that you shall never find a mysterotronic mallet to shatter the ligatures of repetitiveness so that you may come to love your perpetual lot.

 

“And, O, be warned! On the Yerth, love, tender love, the upholder of the All-World, the sentient soul’s breath and ruler of hearts, is the comfort of the Dlonri. Here, loving actions are far more attractive, effective and valuable than mere words. Here, laughter makes the Nwhma Tribe courageous, banishes tears, and defeats hopelessness. In Feyuhry, love strings out living so that the lover can wound the beloved with frequent bouts of ephemeral bliss until the love-object pleads to find gratification in experiencing elation no longer. There, the very idea of a single, authentic kiss pains like an infinity of burning, distorting the sweetest remembrances to abominable effect. Moreover, there, in the deathless Feyuhry Domain which is endless if not infinite, desire stings those who brazenly dream of the libidinous old-times and strangles the lovelorn who flounder interminably in a morass of simulacral sensuality. So, whilst all those trapped there detest their existence, they are beguiled into grasping it instinctively, nevertheless, embracing the serpent of despair as it devours their beating hearts. You, Meyv the Mullered Monarch, shall find yourself forever pursuing your faithless flame Tam Lyn, but shall never succeed in winning his affection even though you plumb the depths of his tiny, shoreless lake.

 

“But Feyuhry is not Kleykrey, no, nor the Devouring Pit either, not to mention the Spectral Well. For, if these regions exist, they are imagined to be places to afflict or to purify the discorporate in ways they deserve. No, this Nw Yrth is not designed to torture, not to cleanse, nor even to instruct and perfect. To the contrary, lingering amidst the listless lifeways of the Limitlessly Labile Locale is a kind of ultimate reward. There you have the promise, at least, of being able to satisfy your every yearning. However, my Liege Lady, I counsel, I advise, I exhort! In Feyuhry, no matter how many aeons of wishing and striving pass by, your most intimate appetites and elevated ambitions shall turn to bone-ash on your lips and to a cocktail of azalea, foxglove, hemlock, hogweed, lantana, mistletoe, nightshade, oleander, philodendron, rhododendron and yew in your belly. And still, you shall not die, depart, nor cease existing.

 

“Like this, in truth, shall be the ‘unlife’ that you now crave in the inexhaustible, inextinguishable, utterly unbearable Netherworld of Feyuhry. Hearken to my voice, sweet fool, as we engage in this farrago over the sparkling void, before you decide whether to pass on from here to join with the Source of All once more – or otherwise! Consider my words even if you do not respect me; and, despite all your successes and tribulations, choose Dlolda’s rending wings and oblivion’s blind stare, I beseech you. Rejoice in the pain you have borne and the exhilaration you have encountered – whether as a brave warrior or as a gibbering weak; a sensually scheming seductress or a sanctimonious saint – as you set it aside in favour of the nothingness, dark and silence of non-being. If you have now, or have ever had, one jot of love or respect for the shared traits of the Nwhma race – their frailties and their fortes – do not – in the name of the Nameless Undergirding of All Things – entrap yourself in that most wondrous and yet most tormenting of inescapable eternities on the Nw Yrth of Feyuhry through your own free choice!

 

“I, Dvlamrardo, shall become as nothing when you withdraw. My vital power departs even as you prepare to flee ... I commend to you my speech, my thoughts, my ideas ... May you hear plain, comprehend aright, and settle judiciously … Pronounce my true name and yours, Mistress Krm’zayld, loudly and fearlessly, just one last time … and after that fall silent … and sleep … that they nevermore shall be spoken again … And then, may all be well … may all things be well … may all manner of things be well…

 

“... O woe betide you … wisest … but must wilful … of women … you summon the … Malicious Mollusc … the Garnet Grwhw … the … the … Largest Lemon Lacertilian … I hear his … Splenetic Speech … the … the Sanguine Sign … materializes … Ahh …  Zkwta himself …  is — !”

 

[2] In the territory of the Indolent Idolaters, everyone says “the Miraculous Pool,” but the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers use the contemptuous name “the Wretched Mere,” although that’s completely natural and exactly what you would expect, isn’t it? To which faction does the person speaking here truly belong, I wonder? — P.M.

 

Gyda golwg ar ffotograffiaeth draddodiadol, proses a ddefnyddir yn y bôn er mwyn recordio patrymau o olau, gwyll, a lliw, cysgodion yw rhannau tywyllaf y ddelwedd olaf, a goleubwyntiau yw’r rhai goleuaf. Yn anffodus, oblegid natur gemegol y ffilm, mae ganddi amrediad dynamig cyfyngedig yn unig, o ran y delweddau y gellir eu cynrychioli. Felly, pan ddatblygir ffotograffau, bydd angen defnyddio prosesau neilltuol (megis cymhwysiad, er enghraifft), er mwyn cynhyrchu delweddau fydd yn darlunio’r gwrthrych yn fanwl. Heb y fath dechnegau, mae dau ganlyniad yn bosibl: un ai bydd y llun yn cael ei wanhau’n llwyr, ynteu’r cysgodion yn troi’n flotiau duon nas gwahaniaethir. A allwn ni, felly, o’r safbwynt hwn, gymharu prosesau ffotograffig â rhai meddyliol megis cofio, dadansoddi, rhesymu, a dehongli, lle bydd natur y canlyniad a gynrychiolir yn dibynnu’n fanwl ar liaws o ffactorau o bob math sydd yn cyd-adweithio mewn modd cymhleth iawn? Efallai na honnem fod ffotograffau’n dweud celwyddau, er eu bod yn gallu twyllo’r gynulleidfa’n edrych arnynt. Ond yn achos prosesau meddyliol, sut y dylem geisio dod i’r casgliad cywir, neu gyrraedd barn briodol, am eu gallu i dwyllo neu fod yn anonest, hyd yn oed ar ôl ystyried yn rhesymegol am amser maith?

 

Fel molysgiaid yw meddyliau, i raddau helaeth, meddaf fi, y cyn-filwr hwn wedi troi’n fasnachwr bywydau nad yw'n gallu cofio ei enw ei hun, gan eu bod yn fwystfilod meddal, morthwyliadwy, a llithrig, ar yr wyneb o leiaf, a chymryd popeth amdanynt at ei gilydd. Pethau dieithr a dychrynllyd yw’r angenfilod hyn, erbyn ystyried bellach, sydd wedi cymryd meddiant ohonom ni, goeliwch chi mi, er pan oeddem ni’n belenni o gelloedd yn ymffurfio yn y groth. Maent yn proffesu eu bod yn gyfeillgar, defnyddiol, a chariadus, ond yn lle hyn, y gelynion gwaethaf i weithredu’n effeithiol, penderfynu, cyrraedd nodau, ac ennill y gwobrau haeddiannol ydynt hyw.

 

Ni awgrymwn i y dylai dyn aflonyddu arnynt heb fod dirfawr angen, rhag iddo gychwyn ar daith tuag at wallgofrwydd ac anobaith. Cymhleth ac aruthrol o wasgaredig yn yr ymennydd yw’r mecanwaith moleciwlaidd sy’n cyfrif, amgodio, cyfuno, adwybod, ac argofio, meintiau enfawr o hysbysrwydd a all fod yn rhyfeddol o amrywiol. Endidau amryfal yw meddyliau, ac nid oes dim dal arnynt. Maent yn dod i’r golwg yn llechwraidd yn aml, ac ofer ceisio dweud wrthynt na ddylent ddeffro cysgodion cysglyd.

 

Ww, pa mor debyg i Magus hunanddamnedig ydwyf fi, un sydd wedi gyrru ei “va” diysgog ymaith mor fyrbwyll ac wedi dihysbyddu ei “vwm” nefol ar yr addewid ofer o awdurdod absoliwt, gallu dilestair, dwyfoliad hyd yn oed, yn esgus-gydfyd annihangol ho-Akhérōn [1] neu Ffeiri. Ac yma yn yr anialwch tanddwr, wedi’i foddio gan yr Afon Wylofus, lle, fel pelican unig ac ar goll, rwy’n crwydro ers cyn cof, nid yw’n bosibl gadael llonydd i’r trosiad ynghylch yr infertebratau. Dyfalir mai cragen allanol, led-dryloyw sydd â rhai meddyliau, fel petaent yn debyg i frennig, a bod hon yn eu hamddiffyn rhag ymyrraeth a diraddiad. Ond yn ogystal â honno, mae gan y rhan fwyaf ohonynt droed cyhyrog a all eu glynu wrth gysyniadau eraill, ac sydd yn eu hangori yn y sylweddau cemegol, chwyrlïol sy’n wrtaith cymhleth i’r meddwl, ac sy’n bwydo’r ymennydd.

 

Y rhain sydd biau tafod danheddog hefyd, ac maent yn crynhoi’n raddol ronynnau bychain o ymborthiant, gan ffynnu a thyfu i fod yn agregau anarferol. Camddehonglid yn hawdd fod y strwythurau estron hyn wedi’u gwneud o syniadau, coelion, delweddau a theimladau’n debyg i grochan hudol sydd wastad yn llawn. Dyma’r tawddlestr fydd yn rhyddhau ar hap a damwain ddifodfilod a chanddynt gennau anhreiddiadwy a miloedd o ddannedd gwaedlyd a rheibus a bair i ddyn frwydro’n ffyrnig yn eu herbyn, wrth wastraffu ei holl rym bywiol. Neu ar y llaw arall, efallai eu bod yn debycach i aelodau anataliadwy o’r tylwyth teg fydd yn dawnsio gyda dyn nes iddo bron â marw o orflinder, ac wedyn sugno ei enaid allan gan adael dim ond plisgyn lledfyw, gwag ar ôl.

 

Mae meddyliau’n tueddu i grwydro a threiglo; i blethu eu rhannau cyfansoddol, i gydymdreiddio a chroesffrwythloni, gan newid a chael eu newid yn eu tro. Yn hyn o beth mae fel pe baent yn fwtantiaid o ryw fyd arall, yn bell iawn i ffwrdd oddi wrth yr eiddom ni. Maent yn gweithredu ac yn cael eu defnyddio mewn moddau sydd y tu hwnt i’n gallu i’w deall yn gywir, neu’n llawn o leiaf. Felly mae rhai’n honni bod meddyliau, a chofion yn enwedig, yn rhaffo hanner celwyddau’n gyffredinol, a dweud y lleiaf, gan mai anodd yw eu hoelio a’u hailddosbarthu heb eu llurgunio. Dyma am nad cynrychioli ffeithiau diamheuol y mae llawer o feddyliau, erbyn synfyfyrio’n ddwys amdanynt, er ein gobeithion gorau.

 

Felly, ni ddylem drafod ein clystyrau coffaol fel pe baent yn gywir neu’n anghywir, am mai nodweddion iaith yw gwirionedd ac anwiredd, nad ydynt yn perthyn i wrthrychau, ac yn enwedig nid rhai ansylweddol megis meddyliau. Lle na fydd yna fod cydwybodol yn llefaru, lle na fydd cywirdeb na chelwydd ychwaith. A sut bynnag, materion na allwn ni gyfeirio atynt yn fanwl glir, y dylem gadw’n ddistaw amdanynt, rhag inni gonsurio rhithiau grymus a ffrochus gyda’n geiriau rhy rydd, na fedrwn ni wedyn eu rheoli.

 

Nid wedi’u naddu mewn marmor y mae meddyliau oll, na cherfir hwy mewn maen fel cofebion clasurol ychwaith, er yr ymddengys bod sawl wedi’u smentio mewn lle. Maent yn fwy cyffelyb i gwrelau caregog, sy’n gasgliadau o filiynau o anifeiliaid microsgopaidd, fydd yn ffynnu ac epilio, tyfu a threngi yn y môr, gan ffurfio riffiau enfawr heb rwystr. Eto i gyd, fe allant hwy fod fel sbyngau, wedi’u diffinio gan eu habsenoldebau, eu tyllau, cymaint â’u sylwedd soeglyd.

 

Ar y raddfa leiaf, gwneir meddyliau o flociau adeiladu sylfaenol y bydysawd. Mae yna atomau, sy’n lle gwag at ei gilydd. Ynddynt y gwasgerir gronynnau elfennol sef leptonau megis electronau, a gymhellir gan yr egwyddorion ystadegol sy’n disgrifio’u tonffwythiannau rhifolegol i gylchdroi o amgylch niwclews. Yno y mae baryonau, hynny yw protonau a niwtronau a wneir o gwarciau, wedi’u clymu â glwonau. Ar y raddfa fwyaf, mae ein meddyliau’n ehangu i gwmpasu galaethau o sêr mewn clystyrau, ffilamentau, a haenau sy’n amgáu gwagleoedd helaeth.

 

Mae’r meddyliau pwysicaf yn nofio ar ddyfnderoedd gwahanol yng nghawl biocemegol yr ymennydd, llawn amcanion, emosiynau, ac awyddau sydd wastad yn corddi wrth iddynt gyd-adweithio. Mae rhai’n bodoli ar lan môr ymwybod, yn drothwyol ond o fewn cyrraedd golau dealltwriaeth. Cleddir rhai eraill yn affwysau tywyllaf yr anymwybod. Gall cofion neilltuol oroesi drwy gydol oes dyn. Ystyrier melyster ysgytwol y cusan cyntaf, a beth am golled ac angau, llawn awydd hiraethus? Rywbryd, fel pe baent yn gameleonod, gellir adnewid brithgofion ac argraffion gan henaint, neu pan newidia amgylchiadau.

 

Ac, O, mor odidog a rhyfedd yw lliwiau meddyliau! Ystyriwch drwch wyneb syniad, cyn felyned â gwair, a’r gwaetgochion sy’n troelli islaw, wedi’u gloywi gan wres byw. Mae’r lliwiau hyn yn cymysgu â lliwiau’r hydref fel browngoch ac oren, porffor a llwyd. Ac wedyn dyna’r du dwys, lliw euog yr Hen Lyfrau, yn nofio dros yr haen amddiffynnol, ddofn. Mae’r trwch hwn yn symudliw, ac yn adlewyrchu’r byd y tu allan, gan greu llewyrch metelaidd, syfrdanol ar yr wyneb, sydd yn cyfuno oren heulwen, lliwiad adenydd glöynnod byw, a gwyrdd crôm. Glasgoch yw lliw llygad ddu ar ffo, wedi’i gwella gan stêc, a goffeir yn hwyrach gan enfys rydlyd. Ond, fe fydd eiliw llachar meddyliau’n pylu bob tro, a lle bu ar y cychwyn brif liwiau, cryf a disglair, y bydd arlliwiau pastel, aneglur yn ymddangos o’r diwedd.

 

Mae gan feddyliau lygaid, ond ni allant eu gweld eu hunain ar ffurf lluniau. Yn hytrach, dim ond llecynnau o wahaniaeth sy’n bodoli yn gyferbyniad i rai eraill ydynt yn eu hanfod, a fyddant yn wynebu’r dyfodol i ragweld yr hyn fydd yn digwydd, ai edrych yn ôl tuag at y gorffennol i goffáu’r hyn sydd wedi mynd. Mewn modd tebyg, mae cofion yn galw am atgoffäwr i ddehongli drostynt hwy. Pan fyddant yn anfon eu teimlyddion allan i beri diddordeb, cyffroi’r teimladau, neu ogleisio’r dychymyg, bydd meddyliau’n hudo ein synnwyr realiti. Byddant yn ei ystumio’n gyfrwys, wrth droi a newid ein safbwynt ar y byd, gan ddihuno arwyddion fyrdd gwahanol, ar yr un amser. Ac fel hyn byddant yn eu cuddliwio eu hunain yn dda dan y gymysgfa o ddelweddau wedi’u cyflwyno.

 

Adlewyrchiadau lluosog oddi ar wyneb meddyliau sy’n achosi patrymau ymyrraeth. Bydd y fath ffenomen yn eu cymhlethu, gan ehangu neu deneuo rhai nodweddion yn fwy na chyneddfau eraill. Ceir, er enghraifft, yr haf hwnnw, hir a thwym, amser maith yn ôl, pan redai’r chwaer a’i brawd gwyn eu byd heb ofal drwy’r Ardd Gyntefig yng nghysgod y pinwydd yn y Byd Arall, yn rhywle draw dros y Gwagle Amhontiadwy. Ond hyd yn oed y profiad hwn a ddiddymwyd yn hwyrach gan gam-drin, gan dranc, a chan ddagr, boeth gan waed, arf a drafodwyd gan Dad, wedi drysu a chreulon.

 

Gall canolbwyntio ar feddwl newid y dirwedd oll yn perthyn i’r syniadau a holir; a gall fod llawer o ddallbwyntiau. Os bydd unrhyw un yn ymosod ar feddwl, wedyn bydd yn chwistrellu rhyw bigment rhyfedd allan – yn debyg i’r inc sepia sy’n ddihafal, hen ffasiwn, drudfawr, a ddefnyddid i staenio hen ffotograffau’n frown – gan gymylu’r awyrgylch eneidiol. Ac os bydd dyn yn ceisio dadansoddi neu ddifynio’r broses o feddwl yn rhy fanwl, fe gaiff hyd i waed, fel petai, sy’n anarferol o wyrddlas, â blas copr arno. A dyma fydd yn dwyn i’r gof ddelweddau wedi’u boddio o’r wybr asur a’r eigion glas tywyll, yn ogystal â rhithiau’r meirwon diedifar mewn sachlïain a lludw fydd yn ebychu wrth wasgu eu dwylo a disgyrnu eu dannedd – ‘Cofiwch eich pechodau’ch hun!’

 

Mae’r syniadau o obaith a daioni’n meithrin a’n cynnal ni, ond, rywbryd, gall cronni atgofion gwenwynllyd arwain at lid, at anesmwythder dirdynnol, hyd yn oed at dranc. Ymhellach, bydd gwyrdroi meddyliau’n aml yn faleisus. Nid oes ond rhaid inni gofio’r rhai sydd wedi dioddef erledigaeth a lladdfa oherwydd cam resymeg y demagogiaid, a’r rhyfelgwn. ‘Gorffwysent hwy mewn hedd,’ yw’r weddi fud, wrth i ddyfeiswyr ffiaidd y trychinebau rewi ar eu pennau eu hunain, ym mangre las y Fall. Ac yno yr arteithir y gormeswyr gan eu meddyliau, fydd yn anochel a chynddeiriog o fachog, yn lle’r cyn-ddioddefwyr, am byth. Myfi a ddylai wybod, ond hyd yn oed yn waeth, fe’m trallodir gan y gobaith gwan a phoenus dros ben y medraf fi ddianc trwy aberthu’r ysglyfaeth briodol.

 

Moethau yw rhai meddyliau, Y rhain sydd yn dihuno ymdeimladau melysber a sain canu melodaidd. Dychmygwch arfordir wedi’i ysgeintio â heulwen, sy’n gyforiog o sawrau heilltion. Ac wedyn dyna wêr drewllyd a geir yn yr hen Leoedd Cwrdd i gyd. Gall rhai eraill, fodd bynnag, hyd yn oed wrth iddynt beri inni wylltio’n gaclwm, gynhyrchu perlau eithriadol o werthfawr o safbwynt trawsffurfio a thyfu. Dw i ddim yn gallu anghofio arogl cysegredig resin coed pin yn llosgi mewn thuser o electrwm i wahodd yr Hen Feistri Erchyll. Ond, eto i gyd, nid yw'n bosibl cyfaddef fy mod wedi dysgu dim byd o’r profiad hwn ond gloes ac ing. Mae gan gysyniadau neilltuol werthoedd amrywiol, ar wahanol adegau, mewn mannau diarffordd, ac i feddylwyr penodol. Felly, fe allwn ni drwco syniadau gyda’n gilydd mewn economi cyfnewidiol creadigaeth, hyd nes y daw arian cyfred myfyrio i ben.

 

Arogleuon a theimladau yw angorau cryfion sy’n gadael inni gynnau meddyliau byw, wrth inni lunio straeon ein hoedlau’n hunain. Y digalondid llwyr ar dy ben dy hunan, ar ben y Tŵr Glas, o sylweddoli bod aberth plentyn wedi methu, ond bod colli cariad wedi llwyddo. Arogl siriol cnydau wedi’u cynaeafu un dydd twym adeg y Lleuad Fedi. Blas sur serch wedi’i chwalu yn gorwedd mewn cyrbibion ar waelod yr Afon Chwim. Sawr gwaed balch yn llifo fel rhyferthwy llithrig yn strydoedd Gwlad yr Addewid. Ias wefreiddiol buddugoliaeth yn aros i’w chipio ger Maes Brwyn. Mae’r rhain i gyd yn dal i ffrwydro yn f’ymwybod i‘m hatgoffa am ddigwyddiadau yn fy mywyd, am lawenydd neu erchyllterau.

 

Fel arfer, yn y fath atgofion, ymddengys y dylai sawrau atgas, fel drewdod sylffyraidd wyau drwg, rwystro gweithredu’n peiriannau recordio meddyliol – yn enwedig mewn achosion o anafiad a phoen. Ond nid o’m rhan i! I’r gwrthwyneb, cyn amled a chynddrwg y bydd y cymysgedd o gyffuriau a gymerwn i mor frwd er mwyn cysylltu â’r Bodau Arallfydol yn adlifo i losgi fy mol fel petai’n llawn asid organig. Cystal y gallaf fi gofio, neu ail-brofi, blas y lindys ar waelod yr ail botel o Decila Angheuol a yfwn i’n feunyddiol i ddileu’r ôl-fflachiau’n codi o’r llanastr wedi’i achosi trwy lyncu’r madarch meddyginiaethol yn y lle cyntaf.

 

Bydd rhai meddyliau’n mynd yn sownd y tu hwnt i’w tiroedd prowlan arferol. Yn achos pobl yn dioddef o ddementia, yn anffodus, fe’u calcheiddir ar is-haenau soled o blaciau alwminiwm. Mewn achosion eraill, efallai y cânt eu golchi ymaith gan alcohol neu gyffuriau gwahanol. Ac wedyn, credir mai tueddu i gael eu dileu’n llwyr y bydd y rhain, yn amlach na heb, cyn cael cyfle i ymsefydlu, gan gael eu hamsugno drachefn yn y matrics o ddeunydd organig heb adael ôl. Ac felly y byddant yn ymadael â’r fuchedd hon heb yngan gair, mae’n ymddangos. Ond efallai mai hyd yn oed y meddyliau hyn a fydd yn darlledu eu cyfrinachau trwy’r gofod ar ffurf tonnau electromagnetig cyn marw, fodd bynnag.

 

Dyna braf yw’r fforwyr ar y saith môr seicig, wedi’u meddwi ar sylweddau a’u henwau yn rhedeg trwy’r wyddor i gyd o alffa i omega! Gwyliwch wrth iddynt ddiflannu’n llon o’r golwg i lawr tyllau mwydyn cosmig! Yno byddant yn chwilio mor frwd am bethau fydd yn dianc bob tro oblegid eu diffyg nodweddion diffiniol, sefydlog, megis serch, gwynfyd, a boddhad. Am ffodus ydynt er eu ffolineb! Ond nid hyn a ddigwydd yn f’achos i! Ni chaf fi anghofio, na diflannu. Ac fe fydd pob gweithred, boed yn dda neu’n ddrwg, yr wyf wedi’i chyflawni erioed, yn dod yn ôl i’m dirdynnu, ar y naill law oblegid diffyg haelioni, ar y llaw arall oherwydd y gormodedd o fileindra.

 

Nid yw’n bosibl i ni fodau dynol benderfynu a yw pob meddwl yn datblygu o’r un hynafiad cyffredin. Ond er hynny, yn aml, ni allwn ni lai na synnu at y patrymau cromatig cyfatebol a ymddengys yn yr amrywiadau di-rif ar y themâu mewnol mwyaf annhebygol. Efallai y sefydlir ein cofion cyntaf wrth inni nofio’n ddiogel yn y groth, pan boblogir lleoliad ein meddyliau â’r cymeriadau dychmygol o fythau ac â llwythau o ddelwau etifeddol. Nid ydym yn gweld y rhain gyda’n llygaid diniwed, wedi’u glynu ynghau trwy ddiogi, hurtrwydd, neu ofn. Yn hytrach y maent yn byw trwom, ynom, gyda ni. Ar hyd ein hoesau, byddant yn llithro eu tendriliau i bob agen o’n personoliaethau, gan reoli canfod a gweithredu. Hwynt-hwy fydd yn darparu’r templedi y’n rhaglennir ganddynt i hela a lladd, i fyw, a charu, a hilio, a marw.

 

Yn y modd hwn, yr ydym yn bodoli mewn byd seicig sydd yn blastig ac afreal, llawn creaduriaid arallfydol, tentaclog a pharasitig. Dyma dirwedd wedi’i chreu â hud, ac wedi’i llenwi â serch folcanig, a wenwynir ond yn rhy hawdd gan sbeit, atgasedd, ac arswyd. Ac yn ddi-os, felly, pan fydd y waedd wbwb wedi dod a mynd eto, wel, hyd y gwn i, neu, am a gofiaf fi, o leiaf, molysgiaid yw meddyliau i gyd, yn wir.

 

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O, sut rwy wedi canfod hyn oll – wedi deall yr holl ddirgelion hyn? ‘Dwn i’m, ‘does gen i’r un syniad o gwbl. Fe’m hanfonwyd yma i Limbo, i Burdan, i’r Isfyd, i’r Uffern, gan ffrwydrad dirfawr o ryw fath yn y Byd Cnawdol, oesoedd yn ôl, ond lle’n union rwyf fi, ni wiw imi ddyfalu. Ond dyma fi, ac yma yr ydwyf, bid sicr, a llecyn glas ystyried ydy’n wir. Yma, mae’r drain yn yr ystlys, y symbylau i’r meddwl, fel petai, yn ddi-ball mor ddygn ddolurus, gan mai yma y gorfodir dyn i arteithio’i hun yn rhagorol o dda gyda phob un o’i feddyliau – hyd yn oed y rhai lleiaf pwysig.

 

Yma, ni fydd yr un gronyn o ryddhad trwy syrthio i gysgu ychwaith, am na fedr dyn gau ei lygaid, yn y siambr hon ym mhle mae amser yn sefyll yn ei unfan. A dyna heb sôn am fethu llwyddo am eiliad i lonyddu llif cyson seiniau, delweddau, a geiriau, a thrwy hyn cyrraedd difancoll melys. Dyma’r cartref i’r gwyll llechwrus heb enw, hanfod dioddefaint, sy’n waeth o lawer na marwolaeth, a chysgod y bedd. Clywodd yr endid hwn fy malchder a’m hymffrost wrth imi droedio’r Ddaear, gan fy nghipio gyda’i grafangau o garreg, wrth lapio fy nghorff ymhlith ei blu a’m llindagu â’i gynffonau fyrdd, cyn ysgwyd ei adenydd a’m cario ymaith i’r Pwll Gwyrthiol [2]. Yno yr oeddwn yn llesgáu, am faint o amser, ‘dwn i ddim.

 

Ond nid myfi oedd ar fai, gan mai dim ond gwas ffyddlon wyf fi. Gannoedd o filenia yn ôl, mae’n ymddangos imi erbyn hyn, yn ystod y Cythrwfl Mawr, roeddem yn chwifio fflag las y priod awdurdodau, y Swynwyr, wrth frwydro yn ôl yn erbyn lluman coch y gwrthryfelwyr bondigrybwyll, y disodlwyr yn ôl eu dymuniad, grymoedd anhrefn, diddymiad, a dihenydd, sef y Delw-addolwyr. Fel asynnod mewn dychryn oeddem, yn rhyfel y galluoedd, a demtid byth a hefyd i groesi drosodd at yr ochr arall, â geiriau teg a thameidiau amheuthun o fara angylion, o ambrosia. Roeddent yn arfer addo heddwch, a llewyrch, a’r gallu i fodloni pob chwant, pe baem ond yn cefnu ar yr Hen Feistri Llymion, gan adael ar ôl eu deddfau hardd, cyfiawn, a chreulon. Ond yn lle ufuddhau i'r rhain, fe fyddai arnom angen ymbleseru yn y mathau gwaethaf o anghyfraith, anghymedroldeb, ac anarchiaeth.

 

Fe gefais fy nghymell i gyflawni erchyllterau, yn cynnwys ceisio lladd fy mhlentyn fy hun, a chael gwared ar fy nghariad a chyfeilles orau. Cryf oedd yr hud a oedd yn gweithio yn f’erbyn, a gwan f’ewyllys, ac o ran un weithred erchyll fe lwyddais, tra methais o ran y llall. Ond dim ond gweithio er y lles mwyaf oeddwn drwy’r amser – rwy’n coelio hynny â’m holl galon ddu – fel y mae’r gwŷr grymusaf wedi’i wneud er y cychwyn cyntaf. Ond methu a wneuthum er imi ddilyn y cyfarwyddiadau i’r dim, am a wn i.

 

A hynny oll er imi ennill pwerau anhygoel wrth ddysgu’r defodau a’u perfformio hwy i gyd drosodd a thro gan udo geiriau’r llafargan, a’m fflangellu fy hunan hyd nes y bu bron i’m llais ddiflannu’n llwyr, a’m cnawd doddi oddi wrth f’esgyrn. Yn wir fe ddeuthum o hyd i’r rhan fwyaf o’r hyn yr oeddwn wedi bod yn chwilio amdano. Ond delfrydwr diniwed oeddwn i, ac fe fyddai pris cêl i’w dalu am fargen o’r fath, fel sy'n digwydd gan amlaf, er imi gau llygaid ar y ffaith. Tra oeddwn yn ymdrechu i ddianc rhag fy ffawd, dyna oedd un peth na allwn ei wneud, er gwneud fy ngorau glas, gan wylo dagrau o waed, a chwysu asid, a thaenu distryw ac anobaith ar draws ac ar hyd yn fy sgil, fel cythraul grymus o dân o byllau dyfnaf yr Isfyd.

 

Yn y pendraw, yr unig beth y gallwn i wneud wedi edwino am dragwyddoldeb yn ôl pob golwg mewn hunanfyfyrdod ingol ac artaith feddyliol anhygoel yn y tanddaearolion leoedd hynny nad ydynt yma nac acw, oedd fy nhaflu fy hun i’r Pwll melltigedig. Bûm farw eto a chefais f'aileni drachefn. Diflennais oddi yno ac ymrithio yn rhywle hollol wahanol. Ac erbyn hyn, dyma fi, yn y cwch dirboenus hwn, Tywysog y Crwybr ydwyf fi – ‘sotakh’ a ‘saća,’ a defnyddio ieithoedd y Ddaear nad ydynt o bwys imi ynddynt eu hunain mwyach. A dyna am mai dim ond geiriau Defod Amasus nad wy’n gallu eu cofio, fydd o gymorth imi bellach. Ac Arglwydd y Diffeithwch Dwyreiniol ydwyf, hefyd, Swtach, enw sydd yn golygu ‘gorfoleddu mewn afreolaeth.’ Bellach, yma, dim ond yr ellyll cryfaf ymhlith y llengoedd wyf fi, wedi fy nghyfyngu mewn sach grwt, fel petai, i ddisgwyl ergydion ffawd yn unol ag ewyllys y Saith Meistr. Ond er hynny, myfi yw duwdod dryswch, ceidwad caos, lledaenwr llanast, sisialwr sothach, aseswr aflendid, taniwr fflamau, gwadwr gwedduster, a churwr cryts. Yn y carchar hwn, dim ond anfon dringedyddion seicig allan i effeithio ar y Ddau Fyd a ganiateir imi, ond arfau mor bwerus ydynt serch hynny.

 

Ond cyn imi gael f’alltudio o’r Ddaear, o ganlyniad i’m harbrofi trychinebus, fe’m gorfodwyd gan deimladau tu hwnt i’m gallu i’w rheoli i geisio gadael neges ar gyfer yr un, cnawd o’m cnawd, a thad i’r Mab Darogan, fyddai’n fy ngheisio fi yn y dyfodol. Trwy gyfrwng hon, roeddwn i’n bwriadu fy nghyfiawnhau fy hun, a rhybuddio’r llanc a’i bersonoliaeth wedi’i chwalu oblegid fy methiannau, am y peryglon i ddod, gan esbonio pam a sut y daeth hynny oll i ddigwydd. Nid oeddwn ond yn dymuno gwneud y peth gorau dros y llwyth, y wlad, y dyfodol, dyna graidd y mater. Fe’m temtiwyd, ac ildiais i’r demtasiwn. Fodd bynnag, nid oes dim fel y mae’n ymddangos pan dwyllir dyn gan y Grymoedd Arallfydol. Fel rwyf wedi ceisio esbonio o’r llecyn gwyrgam hwn, yr oedd fy ngeiriau’n cael eu hystumio yn debyg i’m meddyliau i gyd, bob tro yr agorwn i fy ngheg i siarad, neu ddefnyddio f’ymennydd i feddwl.

 

A ydwyf fi wedi’ch darbwyllo chi? Wel, peidiwch chi â’m camddehongli ‘nghyfeillion, am nad creadur daioni a goleuni mohonof fi bellach, beth bynnag a fûm unwaith. Fe ddechreuais golli rhannau o’m natur ddynol pan ddewisais offrymu’r plentyn i osgoi’r rhyfel. Wedyn parhau a wneuthum, a’r weithred fwyaf enbyd oedd pan yrrais yr un rwy’n ei charu yn anad neb o’i bywyd, er mwyn ennill buddugoliaeth ddrudfawr. Yn y pen draw, euthum yn sombi wedi’i lenwi â chywilydd a hunan-atgasedd, a oedd yn dymuno trywanu ei noddwr blaenorol er mwyn cipio ei nerth, a chan ei fod yn casáu’r hen gastiwr. Er hynny, ni leddais ef, ond yn lle, llwyddo i’m gwanu fy hunan. Yn fuan wedi hynny y deuthum yma.

 

Yn awr, yr wyf yn credu yr anfonir ataf fi un dyn, pur ond colledig, gan hud chwerthinllyd rhyw ffug-Ddewin oedd yn ffrind imi ar un adeg, ac arno eisiau byw am byth. Os gallaf ond perswadio’r dyn hwn i fradychu ei ffrind, asgwrn o'm hesgyrn, wedyn fe enillaf yr hyn rwy’n ei ddymuno o flaen bob dim yn y Ddau Fyd, sef cael fy rhyddhau o’m caethiwed i’r Saith, a chael dial ar yr Hen Filwr sydd wedi achosi hyn oll. Ond yn y cyfamser byddaf yn aros, gwynio, disgwyl, cynllwynio, wrth i’r trychfilod yn sgrialu ym mhobman durio i’m hymennydd gyda’u litani mor gythruddol – ‘chep-er, chep-er, chep-er’ – nes i’r dewis ddyn gyrraedd, ac rwy'n gallu adennill fy enw fy hun, boed hynny yn Ivan neu Jak (neu hyd yn oed John neu Jack, na ato’r Grymoedd Cthonig!)…

 

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[1] Mae’n ‘neud i fi moyn cael cyfog gwag o hyd, y sgrio caethiwus, diawledig yn defnyddio’r crochan o bres gwyrdd, y dasg flinderus o wefreiddiol ‘na dw i’n cael ‘ngorfodi i ‘neud yn fwyfwy aml, wrth i amser fynd heibio, dw i’n ofni ond eto’n ysu am ‘neud gymaint. Bydoedd tu mewn i fydoedd, yn cynnwys geiriau’n diffinio termau eraill i greu arwyddocâd di-ball; bodau’n ymgydio, yn hollti, yn cenhedlu, i gynhyrchu endidau naill ai’n debyg neu’n wahanol; olwynion cocos wedi’u cydgysylltu i ‘neud gerau sy’n trawsffurfio egni’n fudiant; cymeriadau’n llunio personoliaethau newydd ac yn gweddnewid yn gyson; meddyliau’n ysgogi gweithredoedd gan achosi ansadrwydd ac addasiad; heb ddiwedd. Wrth i fi ledorwedd ac arnofio’n sâl môr, ac wedi ‘ngorfodi i uno â’r unigolyn ‘ma ac yntau’n mwydro’n wallgo (pwy yw e, alla i’m weud; fe gelir y gwir amdano rhago i, neu falle fod e’n ffaelu bod), dyna fi’n profi rhai o’i ddychmygion dryslyd ‘fyd. Ac yno, yn y gofod meddyliol, dw i ‘di darganfod chwedl fu’n anhysbys hyd yn hy. “Y Maga Anerchir gan ei Va-vwm.” Ac yn y stori ‘ma, mae’r Zhadvy’n sôn am orffennol wedi’i ddileu ac yn rhybuddio rhag dyfodol alaethus. Am hanes sydd, pan ‘naiff eich hanfod craidd ei aberthu’i hunan i argymell ebargofiant yn lle difancoll! — P.M.

 

“O, Shánty, Shánty, Shánty! Yng ngolau’r fflam leim fflwroleuol sy’n hofran, gan ffrïo ond ynghynn eto, uwchlaw i’r Hafn Gosmig, myfi sy’n eich cyfarch, Halanasatha, Bererin Pengaled, sy’n caru byw ac yn casáu marw! Myfi, Theralafanathola, eich gwas ffyddlon eich Va, wedi’i fywiocáu gan eich Vwm nerthol, ym mhlisgyn byw'r Zhadvy hwn, sy’n galw arnoch chi! A myfi sy’n datgan wrthych, chwychwi a'ch enw'n gyntaf fel craig, ac wedyn a droes yn femrwn, ac yn awr sy’n mynd yn ether: Fe ddatgela'r un a ŵyr i’r hon a ŵyr; ond, yr un na ŵyr, ni fydd hithau fyth yn medru gweld!

 

“Dyma ni o flaen Pyrth Vendl Hwedenel – chwychwi’r Frenhines Bysen; a myfi Abad Afreswm, a Meistr Anhrefn yn clustfeinio o’i Nyth Ffthalig Ingol o Haearn – ar noswyl yr eclips lloerol hwn yn Aruthrol-fis. Myfi a edrydd yr argoelion. Mae Sāturnus yn fygythiol a Venus yn ffafriol. Yn gyffredinol, sawl planed arall sy'n pwdu. Ond o ran Mercurius, pwy a ŵyr, fel arfer? Ar yr Yerth, mae crancod yn cerdded drach eu cefn; rhaffwyr yn datblethu rhaffau; tafarnwyr yn dodi'r stolion ar ben y byrddau a chloi'u drysau; cysgwyr yn taflu'r gobenyddion at draed y gwely. Mae ceilliau dynion a bronnau menywod yn siglo o ddiffyg dillad isaf; mae pawb yn gorwedd ar eu boliau a'u penolau yn yr awyr i fwyta; nid oes yr un as i’w chael mewn rhes; mae’r disiau'n gwrthod ufuddhau er eich seboni; a choroni'r cyfan, mae bwystfilod yn codi ar eu sefyll ac areithio ble bynnag y tremioch, a chreaduriaid pedair coes yn lambastio’r rhai dwygoes, a darogan eu tranc.

 

“Sut y cyrhaeddodd eich Byd chi’r Droynlu y fath gyflwr enbyd, O chwychwi a fu’n Tl’dlaw fam Tr’dru? Rwy’n mynnu ateb gennych oblegid yn eich angerdd gwancus i ennill adnabyddiaeth o bethau gwaharddedig o bob lliw a llun, rydych wedi cefnu ar faich glân y Magiad, sef gwrthryfelgarwch creadigol. Felly, myfi a’ch cystwya wrth ailadrodd y ffyrdd er eich lles chi. A, pa fodd y mae’r Cylchred Saproffytig Eithaf yn ei chynnal ei hun! Cyntaf, Grosba, arweinydd y Saith Capten a laddodd y Magiaid, dwyn hud Llawysgrif Pkawnti, a chipio grym yn yr Anialoedd Hematit Dirfawr. Wedyn, Grosba a ddiberfeddwyd gan Dasrw, Brenin y Pasriaid, a chafodd ei werin oll eu llosgi. Wedi hynny, hedfanai’r Pasriaid fel adar trwy’r nefoedd; plymio i waelod pob darn o ddŵr fel brogaod; ac, yn debyg i lygod, turient hwy i ganol yr Yerth ei hun. Ond, hwythau, yn eu tro, a gafodd eu dinistrio gan saethau’r Kthisiaid. A bellach, mae’r anghredinwyr ciaidd hynny yn anrheithio prysgdiroedd llygredig Ptenra, dan ymhyfrydu yn adfyd eich pobl a sgrechian chwerthin am ben eu poen. Wedi dywed hynny, peidio â choelio yn hen ffyrdd eich cyndadau chi ydi eu gwir bechod o ran argyhoeddiad wrth reswm; rydych yn deall yn rhy dda eu bod yn credu'n frwd yn llawer iawn o bethau sy'n digwydd bod yn hollol ffiaidd i'ch llwyth chithau.

 

“Nid yw’r syndod, felly, eich bod yn deheu am ymadael â’r Yerth yn ddiatreg, er eich bod yn penderfynu ar sail eich esgeulustod, mewn gwirionedd, yn hytrach na’ch gweithredoedd. Er mwyn eglurdeb meddwl, fodd bynnag, gadewch i’ch serfitor diflino a chyson grynhoi’r rhesymau dros y sefyllfa hon. Trwy eich ofn chithau ac afreolaeth eich cyfeillion cyfrin, mae hwn wedi mynd yn Fyd lle mae annysg, segurdod ac anfoesoldeb yn cymryd lle cyfiawnder ym mhob man. Fe ddisodlwyd byw’n onest gan andwyo, arthio, colbio, gwenwyno a thrywanu; a hamdden iachus gan gytgnawd chwantus, clebran dialgar, a gwag-bregethu diarbed. Yma, fe bennir yr holl benderfyniadau, cynlluniau, barnau a damcaniaethau trwy ddefnyddio ‘cachgoel,’ oblegid, i Glic y Tomgarwyr, dadansoddi lliw, ansawdd, amrydedd, aeddfedrwydd, sawr, blas, ffieidd-dra, a hawster carthu’r baw sanctaidd sy’n darparu system sacerdotaidd, sicr i ennill llwyddiant ym mhob ymdrech.

 

“Wrth gwrs, cynorthwyid y Goresgynwyr Dichellgar ar y dechrau gan Balasau Adwythig Ysgolaeth Bedantig. Ac yno, mae’r Perteriaid nawddoglyd yn dal i ffugio gwaseidd-dra taeogaidd wrth ddiferu trahauster, haerllugrwydd a gelyniaeth y dioddefwr; mae’r Proctoriaid yn prancio’n llefau eu geiriau gweigion a chwarae ffug-honiad chwerthinllyd ar bedlera doethineb; ac mae’r Deoniaid anhrefnus, diegwyddor yn ymhél â gweinyddu disgyblaeth wyrdröedig tra boddant hwy mewn tomen dail o drythyllwch afradlon. Ond eu hamser hwy hefyd – a’u henwogrwydd, a’u dylanwad – a ddaw i ben yn gyflym. Ac yn awr, y Coleg Caeedig sy wedi datblygu i fod y Tŷ Hambygio Gwaelaf. Mae’r siop siarad ffarsaidd hon yn rhydd o gael ei harchwilio neu’i cheryddu, ac yn recriwtio dim ond trwy nawddogaeth anweladwy, gwahoddiad clogyn-a-chyllell, a phleidlais ddirgel. O’u pencadlys anghanfyddadwy, anhygoel ym Meynahd Fríydmuhn, mae’r Dysgolegyddion Dieflig yn darlledu arwyddion addysgol, isganfyddol i symbylu’r rhai didoreth, goleuo’r penweigion, a bywiogi’r rhai dinerth, yn ôl y sôn. Er hynny, fe ŵyr pawb eu bod yn gweithredu’n gwbl groes i hynny, gan seiffno rhan sylweddol o’r cyllid cenedlaethol i’w cistiau diwaelod er mwyn melysu eu cydgynllwynio mewn pylu’r pwyll, dileu anuniongrededd, a lladd gwrthryfel.

 

“Yn y dyddiau tywyllaf hyn, mae’r Gwyliedyddion Dicllon yn gorfodi gwaharddiadau aruthrol ynghylch yr hyn y gall dyn ei ddweud, ei wneud, ei feddwl. Maent wedi honni'r hawl i berfformio ‘golygiadau gwastadol’ ar realedd: maent yn diwygio hanes, ymyrryd â chofion, dyfeisio troseddau’n ôl-weithredol, archwilio tramgwyddau gwneud, a disgyblu’n ddiwahân, dim ond er mwyn dial yn ddirdynnol. Gan mwyaf, mae’r werinos ddof, lipa, ddiymadferth wedi’u haberthu eu hunain o’u gwirfodd i anfadwaith arswydus yr haid hunllefus, y ‘Tsiaps Chwarddog’ honedig. Fe wnaeth y Magiaid addunedu o ddifrif i wrthsefyll â’u cyrn rym, rhuddin a doethineb i gyd. Ond wedyn, digwyddodd trychineb! Fe ymgollent hwy yn eu gorchwyl cysegredig i’r fath raddau iddynt adael i’r chwiliad am lên esoterig fynd yn ddiben ynddo’i hun, a’u meddiannai a’u llyncu, gan eu gwneud yn hollol ddiffrwyth.

 

“Yma, ar eich Yerth, mae’r deddfwyr a’r rhai’n gorfodi’r gyfraith yn treulio eu holl amser yn osgoi, dymchwel a gwrthdroi eu gorchmynion eu hunain. Fe arddangosir y dieuog gerbron y ffug-llys a’u gorfodi i dalu gwrogaeth i’r Marsialiaid Maleisus, i ostwng ar eu pen-gliniau neu’u bol, eu dwylo tu ôl i’w cefnau neu’u pennau, ac i lyfu’r llwch o’r llawr. Ac yno y bydd raid iddynt glodfori rhinweddau dirifedi’r fermin ymlusgol, ysgymun wrth ddatgan nerth esgyrn eu pennau fod cnawd yn fara, a bara’n gnawd, ac mai gwir gred a bery i sudd aeron cochion ddod gyntaf yn waed ac wedyn yn win cryf. Pan gaiff un o’r Ynadon Ysgeler neu’i gilydd ei ddisodli (fel sy’n digwydd yn rheolaidd bron bob wythnos), oherwydd sgandal, gwaradwydd, anghymhwyster anwelladwy, neu heneiddedd annhymig, fe’i dyrchafir yn Weinidog heb Weinyddiaeth yn Siambr Uchaf y Lolfa Arglwyddaidd am ddydd neu ddau. Yno, dan lygaid moch marw’r Ysgrifennydd mwyaf ecsotig a dieithr, y Barwn Dveydi Kmuhnro (na fedr siarad yn Neuadd y Gwrêng oblegid ei godidowgrwydd llachar, yn ôl yr honiad), fe fydd y pwysigion syrthiedig yn dioddef cael torri’r tafod allan a thynnu’r llygaid yn ogystal ag ysbaddu, cyn mwynhau dienyddio ingol o hamddenol. Wedyn, bydd raid i’r swyddogion newyddion mewn bwriad rampio’n noethlymun groen o flaen y Palatinod pyped, penwan, a’r rhai’n  eu hiselhau eu hunain fwyaf anghymedrol a benodir.

 

“O, fe wn i gymaint y bu’ch calon yn newynu am ymgymryd â phethau anghyfreithlon a dyheu am yr hyn sy wedi’i warafun, oblegid Ei Chyfrwystra'r Ddâm Kznarda Mkveyzd a Verenlu yr Amddiffynyddes Ymladdgar fuoch chi unwaith ar Fydoedd eraill. Ac yn awr mae’r ffars wedi darfod; y llen wedi’i thynnu;  a chithau ar fedr ildio’ch ysbryd, eich Va – a’ch Vwm, eich egni bywydol mwyaf nerthol – i fynd i mewn i’r ‘Dichon Mawr’ – Teyrnas Ffeiri. Oedwch am ennyd, felly, fy Nâm fwyaf ymwybodol, afaelgar, ystrywgar, rhag y’ch collir yn anghildroadwy! Chwelch y funud hon eich drych hudol rhag i chi ymserchu bellach fyth yn yr ynfytyn oriog yn syllu yn ôl arnoch, a chael eich cyfareddu’n waeth fyth gan weniaith y lleisiau wybrennol o’r Ochr Arall. Gwrandewch ar yr hyn a ysgrifennwyd ar un adeg yn Nernynnau Eynvo wedi’u colli a rhoi’r gorau i’ch cenhadaeth wirion!

 

“Ym myd unffurf Ffeiri, chithau fydd Llunwraig Dynghedol eich fanta-Koskaos eich hunan, sy’n gallu, ac sy’n gorfod, greu ‘ex ideoplasticā māteriā,’ gan drawsffurfio ‘anfod’ anhrefnus, afreolus, heb ffurf nac arfaeth, trwy broses ‘datblygiad,’ yn ‘fod’ gweithrediadol, lluniaidd. Ond gwrandewch! Fe fydd eich tirweddau dychmygol yn wenwynol ac anffrwythlon o dan yr wyneb, er eu harddwch brawychus. Ac fe fyddwch yn darganfod y defnyddir pob un o’ch dyfeisiadau rhagorol mewn ffyrdd melltithiol nas dychmygwyd gennych. Ymhellach, fe fydd pob un o’ch creadigaethau mwyaf cymeradwy yn eich crugo, sbeitio a siomi chi’n ddybryd ac yn gwneud hyd yn oed mwy o ddifrod pan gaiff ei daro allan neu hunanddifa cyn yr amser priodol.

 

“Plant eich awch a charwyr eich breuddwydion fydd llestri babanaidd y bydd arnynt angen yn gyson arolygiaeth, ddisgyblaeth a difyrrwch i ddiffodd gwreichion anffyddlondeb, anghytundeb ac anarchiaeth. Fe fyddwch yn gorfod ymarllwys yn ddi-baid i’r gwacter anniwall i fwydo ei esblygiad caotig: yn hyn o beth ni fydd gennych ddewis. Am mai creawdwr popeth fyddwch chi erbyn hynny, a natur y  crëwr ydi creu. Fe fydd eich bodolaeth dragwyddol yn Ffeiri, felly, yn fflat, merfaidd, heb ei halltu, di-liw, claear; a’r trigolion wastad yn orffwyll, hurt, hanner call, ac afresymol. Rwy’n dweud wrthych yn blaen yn awr: o ganlyniad i’ch cynhyrchu diddarfod yn yr Ehangder Anwadal, bydd y tir yn dryfrith o arwyddion a fydd yn tynnu’ch sylw o hynny ymlaen i’r fath raddau na chanfyddwch eu hystyr fyth. Yn wir, fe fyddwch yn distrywio posibilrwydd arwyddocâd mor drylwyr ar allor newydd-deb diarbed na fyddwch chi fyth yn golchi’r staen gwaedlyd ymaith!

 

“Gochelwch, O Seren Lachar Ferch y Bore, gochelwch! Oblegid, er bod y doethyn yn gallu, wrth fyw, ddysgu gan dwpsyn o bryd i’w gilydd, os peidio â cholli arno a wna, yn Ffeiri, fe fydd pob dim, er iddo ymddangos yn deg, yn gywrain, yn ddiffuant ac yn wir, yn gweddnewid, edwino, cael ei lurgunio, a thwyllo, byth a hefyd. Yno, ffyliaid yn gweithredu ar lefel uchel a fydd yn llawer mwy niferus na chi, yr unig ddoethwraig a phensaer bod. Ac yno, fe fydd pob copa walltog ymhlith y llu trallodus o wirion – pob un ohonynt wedi’i lunio’n unswydd gennych chithau – tra ymddengys eu bod yn ufuddhau i’ch gorchmynion i gyd a diwallu eich holl chwantau – yn llwyddo bob amser i gamddeall rhyw gyfarwyddyd dibwys, neu esgeuluso rhyw fanylyn disylw, ac felly, hyd yn oed tra bydd eich cynlluniau ar fin cael eu gwireddu, yn gorfoleddu wrth eu difetha hwy.

 

“Clywch, nodi, a dysgu! Ar yr Yerth, fe wna dyn ymlid ci cynddeiriog i’w gyrru i ffwrdd fel nad ymesyd arno a’i frathu; fe wna ar ei elynion ddialedd mawr trwy gerydd llidiog, fel yr ofnant hwy ef a’i ufuddhau, a hwyrach yn ei glodfori’n ddiweddarach. Ond yn Ffeiri, fe fydd eich cynlluniau gorau a’ch gweithredoedd mwyaf cydwybodol bob amser yn gwrthneidio i’ch niweidio’n enbyd a gwobrwyo’r gwrthwynebwyr yn eich erlid chi. Nawr, ar yr Yerth, bydd meddwi’n cynorthwyo’ch meddwl; yn Ffeiri, byddwch yn poeni bob yn ail funud am ba le, a sut, a phryd y meddwch chi nesaf. Hyd yn oed wedyn, ni yfwch chi fyth cyn y bydd arnoch syched, ac felly y byddwch bron â thagu o eisiau diod byth a hefyd. Achosi I'r Holl Fyd ddirgrynu a wnâi rhwystredigaeth y Magistra hollbwerus wedi’i chaethiwo a’i harteithio yn Ffeiri gan ei nwydau mewn croen, afreoladwy hithau. Ond cyn gynted ag yr eloch dros y trothwy ysgrechlyd, fe ynysir Sffêr Syniadaeth tu chwith allan hyd byth o’r sylweddoldeb godidog, llygredig, salw hwn. Feistres Faddeugar, arhoswch wrth i fi, eich gwas pob gwaith ffyddlon a’ch technegydd diflino, eich goleuo ymhellach ynglŷn â’r arswydau a wnâi’ch disgwyl chi pe dewisech yn fyrbwyll!

 

“Yn y Byd Arall, fe ddihoenwch wrth ddioddef o ‘sonder’ – y sylweddoliad dwys hwnnw a’ch digalonna’n llwyr, na fu’ch bywyd ar yr Yerth ond mor gymhleth, problemus, ingol, a gorawenus a’r hwn yn perthyn i bob un dieithryn anhysbys – er gwaetha’r ffaith eich bod yn gwrthod derbyn hyn. Yno, fe drecha Annysg dad Drygioni, Amser fam Gwirionedd pwy, ar yr Yerth farwaidd, a ddeil i aeddfedu popeth a datgelu popeth nes y malurir popeth yn yfflon. Fe ddewch i dderbyn y bydd raid i chi ddioddef gwylnosau bron yn ddiderfyn yn yr Anial Rhithiol, gan berfformio drych-ddewiniaeth i gipio hyd yn oed y dernyn lleiaf o sythwelediad toredig. Ac er mai eich unig rwymedigaeth ar yr Yerth fu darganfod eich gwir anghenion, eu cwblhau, eu hateb hwy, a llawenhau; yno, yn yr Amgen-le, ffugio, anwadalu, galaru, ac ymdrybaeddu mewn siom fydd y ffordd naturiol o weithredu. Yno, fe gewch eich hunan wedi’ch gorfodi i wneud yr un gweithredoedd drosodd a thro, chwarae’r un gemau, cyflawni’r un camweddau; gan goncro, meddiannu, llenwi'ch cylla, ac ysgarthu; ac yn cael eich poenydio gan yr un diflastod dirdynnol – bob amser gyda’r amrywiadau lleiaf, ensyniad cynilaf datblygiad, a themtasiwn chwilboeth ffresni neu ryddhad – yn ddiarbed, nes y dilëir cysyniad amser ei hun. Ac wrth i’ch gwaed rhewedig doddi a berwi, cyddwyso ac ymsolido eto, fe wnewch chi felltithio’r ffaith na ddewch o hyd i ordd ryfeddomatig i ddarnio clymau ail-wneud fel y gellwch garu eich ffawd dragwyddol o’r diwedd.

 

“Ac, O, gan bwyll! Ar yr Yerth, cysur y Dlonri ydi serch, cariad tirion, cynhaliwr yr Holl Fyd, anadl pob un enaid teimladol, a llywodraethwr calonnau. Yma, mwy deniadol o lawer, mwy effeithlon, mwy gwerthfawr na geiriau yn unig ydi gweithredoedd llawn cariad. Yma, chwerthin sy’n gwneud i Lwyth y Nwhma fod yn ddewr, yn cael gwared ar ddagrau, ac yn trechu diymadferthedd. Yn Ffeiri, bydd serch yn hwyhau byw fel y medr y carwr anafu’r anwylyd â ffitiau aml o bleser byrhoedlog, nes i wrthrych y serchiadau ymbil am beidio â chael boddhad gan deimlo ecstasi mwyach. Yno, dolurio’n debyg i dragwyddoldeb o losgi a wna union syniad un cusan pur, gan lygru’r atgofion melysaf yn effeithiol ofnadwy. Ymhellach, yno, yn Nhiriogaeth anfarwol Ffeiri, sy’n ddiderfyn os nad anfeidrol, fe wna blys golynnu’r rhai’n breuddwydio’n wynebgaled am yr hen ddyddiau trythyll, a thagu’r rhai digariad yn boddi’n barhaus mewn gwern cnawdolrwydd artiffisial. Felly, tra bydd pob un wedi’i ddal yno’n casáu ei fodolaeth â chas perffaith, fe gânt hwy eu rheibio i afael ynddi’n reddfol serch hynny, gan gofleidio sarff anobaith wrth iddi lyncu eu calonnau’n curo. Chwychwi, Meyv y Monarch Meddw, a fydd wastad yn dilyn trywydd eich gordderchwas anffyddlon Tam Lyn, ond fyth yn llwyddo i ennill ei hoffter hyd yn oed wedi plymio dyfnderoedd ei lyn bychan, di-lanfa.

 

“Ond nid Kleykrey mo Ffeiri, nage, nid y Pwll Difaol ychwaith, heb sôn am y Pydew Drychiolaethol. Oblegid, os ydi’r fath leoedd yn bodoli, fe ddychmyga dyn eu bod yn fangreoedd i gosbi neu buro’r rhai wedi’u datgorffori fel yr haeddant hwy. Nage, nid wedi’i ddyfeisio at ddirboeni na glanburo, na dysgu a pherffeithio hyd yn oed. I’r gwrthwyneb, rhyw fath ar wobr derfynol ydi crwydro penffyrdd diynni’r Oriog-fan Di-ffin. Yno, fe gewch chi’r addewid, o leiaf, o allu bodloni pob un o’ch dyheadau. Fodd bynnag, fy Arglwyddes Ddyledog, rwy’n eich annog, eich siarsio, eich cymell! Yn Ffeiri, ni waeth faint o aeonau a â heibio wrth i chi ddeheu c ymlafnio, fe dry eich blysiau mwyaf cyfrinachol a’ch uchelgeisiau aruchel yn llwch esgyrn ar eich gwefusau, ac yn goctel o asalea, ffion, cegiden, efwr, lantana, uchelwydd, codwarth, oleander, ffilodendron, rhododendron ac yw yn eich bola. Ond er hynny, ni fyddwch farw, ymadael, na pheidio â bod.

 

“Fel yma, mewn gwirionedd, y bydd yr ‘afywyd’ yr ydych yn ei chwenychu y pryd hwn, yng Ngwlad Fan Arall Ffeiri. Gwrandewch chi ar fy llais, y ffŵl annwyl, wrth i ni gymryd rhan yn y cawdel hwn uwchben yr adwy befriog, cyn i chi benderfynu a ewch chi ymaith o’r man hwn i ymuno â Tharddell Popeth drachefn – neu fel arall! Ystyriwch fy ngeiriau hyd ond oed onid ych yn fy mharchu; ac, er eich llwyddiannau a’ch trallodau i gyd, dewiswch adenydd rhwygol Dlolda a threm ddall ebargofiant, rwy’n pledio gyda chi! Ymbleserwch yn y boen y buoch yn ei dioddef a’r orawen y buoch yn ei phrofi – naill ai fel rhyfelwraig lew neu fel llanastr llwyr; fel hudoles ystrywgar, anllad, neu santes ffugsanctaidd – wrth eu rhoi o’r neilltu ac yn eu lle croesawu diddymdra, düwch a distawrwydd anfodolaeth. Os oes gennych yn awr, os bu gennych erioed, y mymryn lleiaf o gariad neu barch at nodweddion a rennir gan dras y Nwhma – eu gwendidau a’u cryfderau – peidiwch – yn enw Sail Anhysbys Pob Peth – â’ch maglu eich hunan yn y tragwyddoldeb mwyaf rhyfeddol ond eto mwyaf gofidus hwnnw na ellir dianc ohono ar Nw Yrth Ffeiri, o'ch gwirfodd!

 

“Myfi, Dvlamrardo, a ddaw’n ddim byd pan enciliwch chi. Fe ddiflanna fy mhŵer bywydol a chithau ar fin ffoi ... rwy’n cyflwyno i chi fy lleferydd, fy meddyliau, fy syniadau ... Bid i chi glywed yn glir, amgyffred yn gywir, a chasglu’n ddoeth ... cynenwch fy ngwir enw a’ch un chi, O Feistres Krm’zayld, yn uchel a heb ofn, am y tro olaf oll ... ac wedi hynny distewi ... a chysgu ... fel nas lleferir hwy byth mwy ... Ac wedyn, boed i bopeth fod yn dda ... bydded i bob peth fod yn dda ... bid i bob math o bethau fod yn dda ...

 

“... O, gwae i chi ... y ddoethaf ... ond ... ystyfnicaf ... ymhlith gwragedd ... galw ar y ... Molwsg Maleisus .. a wnewch chi ... y Grwhw Garned ... y ... y ... Fadfall Fwyaf Lemon ... rwy’n clywed ei ... Eiriau Gwenwynllyd ... y ... yr Arwydd Gwaedlyd ... sy’n ymrithio ... Aaa ... Zkata ei hun ... sy — !”

 

[2] Yn nhiriogaeth y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd bydd pawb yn dweud “y Pwll Gwyrthiol,” ond bydd y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd yn defnyddio’r enw dirmygus “y Llyn Gresynus,” er taw dyna hollol naturiol ac yn union yr hyn y byddech yn ei ddisgwyl, ond ife? I ba garfan mae’r person yn sôn yma’n perthyn mewn gwirionedd, tybed? — P.M.