It could be said that histories are the shadows of truth, shadows that will be recited, and read, and watched still, when the original facts on which they are based have long turned to dust and ashes. It is the insubstantial concepts, archetypes, and plot-lines that survive and flourish without possessing a physical form. It is interesting to note that despite being distorted with the flow of time, the most important stories will always go back to their original forms in the end. In this respect, therefore, there is no need for things to exist, in some sense of the word, to be considered real or true. For one thing, this demonstrates the ability of the imagination to overcome reality in one respect. But we need to remember that whilst fashioning our art, our productions will be forming us at the same time. The work can undo us even, too, if, or when, our dreams come true, take on life, and begin to affect the world. What therefore is the cost of telling the Great Tale? It is hard to say, but pouring yourself, mind and soul, into such work, can freeze the blood, and cause you to become very isolated, so that you feel that your life is happening to someone else. Often, unfortunately, the artist sees only the valuable prize at the end of the creative process that he works with all his strength to win. But under circumstances of this kind, when he finds that which he desired so much, he realizes that he possesses something he coveted to start with, but which by then has become nothing but a pile of rust, and shavings, and rags. Despite that, the story-teller will have been completely consumed during the delirious conjuration. It appears that many inventors fail to understand the exceptional price of the dream of immortality. One can but hope that the work will persist for a long while after the authors disappear, in order to pay back their shadows for their exceptional efforts, as it were. 

 

From morn’s first light I fell, through dewy Summertide day until, with setting sun, from heavens’ summit tumbled like a shooting star … And I – Sedaravanthí – Stharafan –Steffan – Satharāfanu – fell down and down, as the chorus of voices competing inside me wove a turbulent and magnificent symphony to teach me and mock me, whilst all around me entire worlds of images grew up and died at the same time. And one of the voices was laughingly chanting: You live on a still isle of ignorance amidst infinite black seas; it was not intended that you travel far. Those who have wider understanding know that there is no clear difference between that which is real, and that which is not real. Yield, therefore, your thoughts, your senses, and your emotions in order to find strength and beauty by embracing pain. And I was drowning in Swtakh’s cauldron. 

 

[Scrying Screen] Here I am sitting still, longing for the lost past every time I hear a lullaby flowing like golden syrup full of poison from that old music-box on the dusty dresser. Those are the two things that remind me of Mother, amidst the sea of chaos that surrounds me. Here, symbols and images of the past conspire to scourge my troubled mind. There is the rent gown, and the mortar-board I shall never be allowed to wear. And on a table in the corner, covered with webs and dead spiders, there is a holy bell, a book full of incantations, a blood-red candle, and an enormous snuff-box in the form of a ziggurat containing a stash of priceless stupefying spice.

 

[Female Voices] “So, memories hold beliefs we can know only through a shadow-play in the mind. Here, distorted images of things in a reality too terrible to be described express themselves through strange symbols in the subconscious. Despite that, the dreams, the slip-ups, the nightmares, and the ticks are extremely powerful. The subjective experience of these shadows which are always lurking in the background, is much longer-lasting and influential than an objective description of the actual events, whether they be fearful or wondrous. These memory-traces, and what lies buried below them, forever out of view, are what create our personalities and motivate our behaviour.” 

 

[Scrying Screen] All of these objects remind me of the source of all my woes, my uncle, the Old Soldier. indeed, I spit on the floor every time I think of him, cursing him. I am not able, however, to convince myself to put the place in order, not any longer. And as I never throw anything away, there are piles of all kind – old newspapers and the scores of musicals, tin cans and milk-bottles, volumes of sophophilia – growing around me. But I am not at fault of course. I never was. 

 

[Female Voices] “Perhaps all that’s true. Fair enough. But as a result, the situation sounds hopeless, doesn’t it? So, what in the World’s your purpose in life then? What options are available? Give up your identity and melt in the sea of sameness? Or believe that heroism exists, and make yourself into a champion who fights even when the outcome’s been preordained? That’s funny, right? But so what? There’s only one path open to you. Listen to the choir of foreign voices living in you. Consider what it’d be like if you took up the lance of the knight, who chooses strife and disappointment, fully knowing that his life story’s been written out by a disdainful scrivener. You’d have to develop, and grow, and fail over and over, and you’d run, and fall, and crawl, and curse, and burn in the heat of the Sun whilst aiming for the City of Light. But it’d be possible to reveal your heart to a lover, and then descend into the depths of the Serpentine Lake and rise up once again. By doing this you could cut through the rocks of doubt, and overcome the bonds created by monotonous processes, established behaviour, and repetitive patterns, and bring hidden knowledge back to the World.”

 

[Scrying Screen] I do not move much from my chair these days to tell the truth because of the raw, hot, inflamed, gnawing, excruciating, burning, clawing, devilish gout, I’ve been suffering from for, Ooh, some thirty years by now. The length of an ancient war is that, thirty years, what they used to call a lifetime. But even though I battle against life every second of every day, I am no soldier, not by a long chalk. Having said that, when I haul myself to the lavatory or the kitchen, several times a day, scarcely can I stumble through the mess spread everywhere, as if I were one of the soldiers being bombarded by the attacks of the Other Side's Mechanical Mentalists in the muddy trenches (near Beu-lénifeu, Ros-anulus, and Vad-rovya) in the Heart of the Northern Continent during the Great Tribulation. 

 

[Female Voices] “How could all that be possible? Think now. People talk these days about the space-time continuum and similar things. They’ll be throwing technical terms about like the Big Bang and Cosmic Heat-death. And it’ll appear as if the history of the universe is a linear flow of events with a start, middle, and end. We’ve already been talking about past, present, and future, too, of course. But that’s only how it feels if you’re forced to live in four dimensions. All the problems arise because we can’t understand the true nature of existence. That’s it. We’re three-dimensional creatures, and we can’t see right.” 

 

[Scrying Screen] Then again, it’s not possible for me to go out very often at all and because of that I am house-bound in a manner of speaking, like a prisoner in the death-cell, or like a patient on his death-bed. Why should that be? Well, I fear more than anything else the local lads, the hateful beasts, who congregate at the corner of the street to swear, and spit, and insult me. They are all like members of some demonic congregation. “Look at that old fart, my friend, the stinking old reprobate,” they shout, (together with the rest of their empty exclamations). And I shake with hatred towards those devils with their darting eyes, black hearts, shrill, coarse voices, fat, muscular bodies, and thieving hands, whilst I drag my shattered frame past them in silence once a month, more or less.

 

[Female Voices] “The take-home message is this, then. Time doesn’t flow like a river, from the past, through the present, to the future. It’s something more like a three-dimensional object like a sphere, say. Haven’t you heard of ‘Flatland’? Human beings don’t see the sphere itself. We can’t go around it as it were, or inside it, either. Instead of that we can perceive only the shadow of the sphere, cast on a wall. And that’s like trying to experience depth when we’ve closed one eye, or hugging someone without using your arms. Taking everything into account, though, we can conclude that information about every phenomenon in the three-dimensional World is encoded on a two-dimensional boundary – on the sphere’s surface – like in a holographic image. And so, in some sense, the true nature of the World’s like the pages in a comic strip. 

 

[Scrying Screen] Although I could not fulfil my potential throughout my life by succeeding to work for the True Church because of my sins, I have done nothing but try to give succour to lads of that kind – saving their hearts and their minds, as it were – whilst hiding my true nature from them. And I have always been rejected and reviled by them. It is not I, however, who is the beast of iniquity, but every one of them. Lately I have been compelled to begin using the accursed international electronic network to arrange conveyance of the necessary supplies {Technology Advances}. (I have become quite fond of loading down – to use the proper technical term – films, and many other essential resources, using my antiquated reckoning engine, also. But only for the purpose of edification and research). 

 

[Female Voices] “You’re really fond of graphic novels, aren’t you? Well, in comics we love seeing things full of tension, excitement, and magic, to make our lives interesting, give us ideas, and entertain us. It’s us who play the Divinities over the heroes and villains alike. Well, mull on this. What about the life of every one of us, today? Perhaps there’s beings on some Nw Yrth that overlaps with our Eyrth somehow. Amongst them there could be a cabal of crafty Sorcerers, devising a version of extra-terrestrial comics, using our lives. And then the audience of tentacled beasties – the Adorers who go silly for the Images – will rejoice in the exploits, commiserate on the tribulations – and feast on the source of stupendous psychic energy, which keeps them alive. Imagine that this is true. By realizing this, and accepting it completely, you’ll be able to turn an oppressive situation into a priceless gain.”

 

[Scrying Screen] However, my mind still works, even if my fleshy sack does not function correctly, a thing which causes me more pain. Most of the time, I doze in front of the gas fire (which does not work as it should, to my great disappointment, although not to my surprise) inside my magical castle, ha ha! But then my anguish melts like an ice-cube on a fine Summertide day. Then I shall escape to an extremely high place, beyond the clouds above the round Eyrth, where blackbirds fly towards the unforgettable sunset. But then, Oh, then, I must awake, and then I come back to the so-called real world, where living is lonely, unfulfilling, brutal, unpleasant, and much, much too long. 

 

[Female Voices] “These ideas’ll completely change how we think about who we are, and what is the relationship between us and the rest of the World (or the Two Worlds). We’ve just been talking about us, the Eyrthlets, and the Yrthians, for the sake of example. But we can’t see the true situation if we keep on thinking about us and them, right? The correct answer is that everyone and everything is connected together. The All-World is one, strange super-organism. It’s like a massive mollusc, according to the enlightened sage who’s been initiated into the mysteries in the Kathmandu Conversion. Unthinking the creature developed, which has trillions of cells today, from the chemicals floating in the primordial ocean. But now, with perfect surety, we say to you that, very slowly, but without a doubt, it is becoming more and more complex and self-aware. This entity which we cannot define with our symbols nor depict without images unites sameness and otherness in itself. It is the essence of fake-reality, and utterly terrifying. And it is on the verge of extending its tentacles to interfere in the lives of everyone on the Eyrth.” 

 

[Scrying Screen] It is difficult to say that this spot was my only refuge, this place which has become a prison, chamber of horrors, and sacrificial locus by now. Here, I would regularly escape after my Father beat me almost to death – before the old fool ran away from home of course, to set up home with some nurse, I believe. How much I hate him, especially since years ago, his daughter, the lost sister I had never known, as it were, arrived without a word of warning, to destroy my world. Indeed, it was the one whom I had been expecting for so long, who stole everything remaining to me, and I was exiled by her from my familiar and fitting home to this meagre cottage in perpetuity.

 

[Female Voices] “Well, we know that there’s so much stuff to digest here. But from the bottom of our heart we want you to understand that you have the talent to channel the strongest magic, which originates in the depths of the Cosmos. Be brave, brother, son, grandson, because it’ll be necessary to fail often to succeed in the long term. The force is strong in you. It’ll flow through you, we promise, if you throw yourself into the creative void, to fill it by pouring your whole soul into it. So, go on to fashion stories, write words, and make pictures. That’s how you’ll stop time’s flux, stride the gaps between the instants, and satisfy your desires. You’ll need to work as hard as possible, and more, to create the emotions in detail. Then, once you’ve learned how to govern the hordes of images baying for release, you’ll arrange the appropriate words to follow and support them. So, you’ll become a master of summoning and commanding, who’ll build his own life. 

 

[Scrying Screen] And here I was living whilst tending to Mother as she died slowly of dementia. Here you shall find me, even now as I reach the last day of my life, awaiting the end of an empty existence. Like a spider in its web am I, who waits and watches, and feeds on its bitter memories. I shall never be able to leave despite how hard I struggle, as the old feelings are too strong, since the weight of history is too heavy, because there are stories to be recited to the wind still. And there’s the voice of the Exotic Enchantress whispering the Threefold Charm from the Nw Yrth ‘With salt, I summon you; with hair, I compel you; with blood, I bind you.’ Ah, how painful it is. 

 

[Female Voices] “In terms of the time-sphere, these days, this day, as the cosmic mollusc evolves, time is coiling towards its own centre, where it will fail and come to an end at last. It’s like the Bull-Man retreating to his lair in the midst of the Paths of Wickedness to die. You’ve begun to live so late, and here’s the World about to cease. But we’re telling you not to give up. You must avoid going into the light, where everything finishes, because you don’t want to fight anymore. Get into the darkness, into the battle once again, because it’s there that you’ll find meaning whether you live or die, if you fight bravely.”

 

[Scrying Screen] And this is where my life shall come to an end at last, although not soon enough. And after that? Well, cruel is fate. I have discerned through some recurrent vision that it shall not be permitted to me to go into the light in the Next World. I shall live here forever, therefore, in the form of a restless spirit, as far as I know. Welcome to my home, then, my gentle, tender friends. Welcome to the chilly wasteland of the No-man’s Land between the Worlds, from where even Swtakh, Lord of Unrule, has fled. Roll up, and come to see the man tortured by his own memories, who does not live, but who cannot die either. Somewhere, over the rainbow, where dreams come true, there you will be able to be free, those of you who have chosen wisely as it is said in that song. Why, Oh why, can’t I? 

 

[Female Voices] “Because you began so late, you’ll have to go forward really quickly now to have experiences, and make mistakes to learn, change, and grow. But by working hard you’ll be able to reach the period in your life when the fears of the young become shadows that mature people dream about. But to succeed, you need to get rid of the insistent but hateful idea that human life in general, and your life in particular, isn’t worth living. It’ll be dead painful to start, but by opening your heart to other people, you’ll start to see that they’re not just machines, but living beings who think, and feel, and love, and suffer. And then you’ll make friends, even!” 

 

“So, m’boy, you’ve heard my voice telling your fortune. But the two of us are very similar to each other. I’ve been suffering with you all the time, as I, Swtakh, do no not steep a single wink here in the blue room. All my clothes burn me, and the thoughts in my head, and the air I breathe – what painful pleasure! And all that, Steffan, my young apprentice, because I am your Father!” 

 

Bitterly cold was the sour, caustic atmosphere as I fell through the Cleft between the Worlds, and as white as lambs’ wool was my face. I was gobsmacked.

 

[Female Voices] “Now then. Here’s something interesting for you. What’d you think if we tell you that members of the human race are like amphibians, after a fashion? Hmm, well, we can hear the cogs turning. But what we mean is this. We live in Two Worlds at the same time, don’t we, right? There’s the apparent world containing physical stuff, matter, on the one hand, and the insubstantial, magical world, made of thoughts and ideas on the other hand. Now come to think of it, you should see that this imaginary kingdom is immense and incredibly complex. Let us tempt you to go in there. You’ll be able to do anything you want. Don’t you worry, the concepts won’t hurt you, and you’ll manage to learn lots even when things go wrong.” 

 

And suddenly, Oh, I understood the whole thing, that is, that no entity called time exists in itself. Time is a process, not a thing. It’s only us who are conscious of all the changes going on constantly around us who can discern the orderly flow in our lives, whilst events arise, follow their course, ebbs and flows, extend and retreat. We are time, the most powerfully frightening element, which lives with us, in us, through is. And inside ourselves we can learn to control time, in a way. 

 

[Female Voices] “To be honest, it’ll feel for a while like you’ve made an enormous jump when you cross over between the Two Worlds. Perhaps it’ll make you feel sick. But with time you’ll get used to the process, and in the end, you’ll cackle with laughter when you realize that you’ve escaped from the trap once and for all. You’ll look forward so keenly to leaving behind the muddy water that fills the material world, and feel so pleased to land on solid ground in the world of ideas and imagination. This is the Vale of the Yellow King and his mocking bird, where statues washed with poets’ blood become living beings at night-time to jump through the Scrying Glass to the Other World. And there you’ll see, and feel, and believe that you’re not wasting your life, in your own eyes anyway, by doing things for yourself, in your own way. You’ll have come through the failure, and the mess, and the drudgery, and the bother, to find an expansive way to die in due course. But you’ll have lived life to the limits in the meantime, at least.

 

“Come, lad, be a true son to Swtakh. Understand this, that one soul came into this blue place, and that but one soul can leave once again. And you have seen the life of despair and misery that will be awaiting you from here on if you were to return. Unite with me, then, in the blue chamber, amongst the waterfalls of brimstone. And then I shall take your place, and go back to the Eyrth to complete the Great Work and defeat my ancient enemy the Old Soldier, whilst you steer the dreams and desires of everyone in the Two Worlds from within this secure cell. Only one thing is needed. One thing which I am prohibited from doing. Through one death, we shall both be born again! There shall be but need for you to sacrifice one man. Look at the screen! Concentrate! See your arch-enemy, your brother, who is also flesh of my flesh! Now throw him into the bonfire of pines – it is only you who can do it – burn him!” 

 

Then, before me, I saw Daa·hweeth, David, Daud, Dai fighting against some fire-demon, although I’d closed my eyes tight. I’d know the old stinky mongrel anywhere. But this time, my heart was hammering in my chest, as the same foreign word split my ears over and over again – ‘ithlon, ithlon, ithlon, ithlon’ – ‘bhréhtēr, brōþēr, brōþor, brother’ – a word at the heart of an invented language that had not changed throughout its history. I realized that Dai was my half-brother, and that Swtakh, Ivan, Jack, John was Dad to us both. And indeed, that was the best day, because, for the first time, I made a choice, hard and wise, without hesitating for a second. Oblivion tempted me. The floor of the blue room opened up ready to swallow me – and there in the despairing depths there was a river of blood and fire rushing, as a tiny figure flew over it. 

 

“…Come, drink the nectar, eat of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil and you shall live. Join me, your companion in self-hatred…” 

 

It was as if the Watchful Warders had declared that there was a colony of cheeky monkeys running a freaky-fungus farm under the Glass Mountain. Or perhaps the Social Conscience Society had announced that gobbling moon-cheese would help people to understand the hidden meanings of the Old Books. Or then again, the Masters of the Black Arts could’ve said it was possible to turn back time by shouting some odd words whilst hopping about on your left leg in a burning building. 

 

“…We shall raise up a palace wherein shall be rivers of tears, ivory towers, caves full of obsidian spiders, and a bejewelled forest!...” 

 

And there was the voice whispering to me, from the depths of space, less noisily than a hoarse mollusc – “Mate! It’s me here, bro! You’re safe! Jump!”

 

“…There together we shall experience every pleasure, indulge every whim!” 

 

And although I couldn’t tell the difference between a bluebird and a paper-clip by then, I’d accepted that I’d got free at last. Now, don’t get all confused, matie. I’m not saying’ I was considering everything in detail like a dignified numerologist poring over the sacred relics in the Corundum Catacomb to weigh up the likely outcomes of a plan in the pipeline for the One True Church. No indeed, for once, for the first time, probably, I was behaving on instinct. 

 

What happened? I dunno. I didn’t understand what was going on at the time, I don’t know what was happening by now. But I do know that I wouldn’t give in to the empty threats and the ridiculous promises from a figment of my own imagination. Anyway, how often had I rehearsed the same old scenario before? It was as if I’d written the script! I wasn’t going to put up with any more of the hateful bullying from the old surly weasel! And, on the other hand, the women’s voices weren’t half tempting in a strange way. I really fancied the idea of being an artistic wizard, that would be ace! 

 

After the event, when I'd come back to reality, or to my senses at least, all the clichés were running through my mind. I was between Isheth and his slimy tentacles. I made the best of a bad job. Chose the lesser of two evils. Jumped before being pushed. Out of the frying-pan into the fire. Embraced my feminine side. Accepted terrifying possibilities rather than oppressive safety. Acknowledged unity and the strength of the group as well as independence and loneliness. Enough said that in that darkest hour, my head exploded when I perceived I’d been loving all the time, but purely, without expecting to get anything back. 

 

I was sick to the stomach of running and hiding. If that was dying, I’d prefer to live in defiance of the other-worldly powers. I’d be a brave hero wearing his scars and his pain like a permanent badge of honour. And from somewhere, I found some new strength in body and spirit. It was as if creative magic words were singing themselves through me, although I had no clue what they meant, as they kept on forming and re-forming themselves like white-hot scarabs hissing against the fierce, purple sky – “O’r i el-ser afim; E o’po te-sta; Za-ti za-ta; Ga la-tim, Ga la-tah!”

 

And as I stole Swtakh’s words form his very mouth, the witty man’s wiry body melted as would a ritual effigy of tallow they’d use in the unholy rituals of the Independent Tabernacles, under the cleansing heat of the Sun. But without delay, there arose in his place an enormous ball of raw flesh in the form of a mutated mollusc, its thousands of sharp tentacles grabbing and slicing, its hundreds of blue eyes burning, and its numberless beaks howling curses in every language and none from having its magic annulled – for the time being, at least. 

 

Then without the burden of remorse – before the spiny, muscular arms managed to tear me to pieces – I leapt – from the bank of the tempestuous burning waters – like Ithru, son of Thethalu, flying off on his fake wings – to embrace an unexpected saviour. That was when I decided to create, and fight, and suffer, and love, and lose, and laugh, and change – and, at last, to die.

Byddid yn gallu dweud mai cysgodion gwirionedd yw hanesion, cysgodion a fydd yn cael eu hadrodd a’u darllen a’u gwylio o hyd, pan fydd y ffeithiau gwreiddiol y seilir arnynt wedi hen droi’n lluwch ac ulw. Y cysyniadau, yr archdeipiau, a’r cynlluniau ansylweddol sydd yn goroesi a ffynnu heb feddu ar ffurf gorfforol. Diddorol sylw mai er gwaethaf cael eu hystumio gyda threigl amser, y bydd y straeon pwysicaf wastad yn mynd yn ôl i’w ffurfiau cysefin yn y pen draw. Yn hyn o beth, felly, nid oes raid i bethau fodoli, ar ryw ystyr y gair, i gael eu hystyried yn real neu wir. Yn un peth, mae hyn yn dangos gallu’r dychymyg i drechu realiti ar un agwedd. Ond bydd rhaid inni gofio mai wrth ffurfio’n celf, bydd ein cynnyrch yn ein llunio ni ar yr un pryd. Gall y gwaith ein dileu ni hyd yn oed hefyd os, ynteu pan, fydd ein breuddwydion yn dod yn wir, cymryd bywyd, a dechrau effeithio ar y byd. Faint felly fydd y gost o ddweud y Chwedl Fawr? Anodd dweud, ond gall arllwys eich hunan, yn feddwl ac enaid, i’r fath waith rewi’r gwaed, a pheri ichi fynd yn ynysig iawn, nes y byddwch yn teimlo bod eich bywyd yn digwydd i rywun arall. Yn aml yn anffodus, bydd yr artist yn gweld dim ond y wobr ddrudfawr ar ben y broses greadigol, y bydd yn gweithio fel lladd nadredd i’w hennill. Ond, dan amgylchiadau o’r fath, pan gaiff hyd i’r hyn yr oedd yn ei ddymuno cymaint, bydd yn sylweddoli’i fod yn meddu ar rywbeth yr oedd yn farus amdano i ddechrau, ond sydd erbyn hynny wedi mynd yn ddim mwy na thomen o rwd, a naddion, a rhacs. Serch hynny, bydd y chwedleuwr wedi’i ysu’n llwyr yn ystod y consurio gorffwyll. Ymddengys bod llawer o ddyfeiswyr yn methu deall pris eithriadol breuddwyd anfarwoldeb. Ni all dyn ond gobeithio y bydd y gwaith yn parhau am amser maith ar ôl i’r awduron ddiflannu, er mwyn talu’u cysgodion yn ôl am eu hymdrechion rhagorol fel petai.

 

O fore gwyn tan nos y cwympais i, drwy wlithog ddydd o haf, hyd nes, ar fachlud haul, o'r anterth y disgynnais megis seren wib ... A dyna o'n i – Sedaravanthí – Stharafan – Steffan – Satharāfanu – yn syrthio i lawr ac i lawr, wrth i'r corws o leisiau'n cystadlu tu mewn i fi wau'u symffoni gythryblus a rhagorol i 'nysgu a 'ngwawdio fi, tra tyfodd a bu farw o 'nghwmpas i fydoedd llwyr o ddelweddau ar yr un pryd. Ac roedd un o’r lleisiau’n chwerthin llafarganu: Yr wyt yn byw ar ynys lonydd o anwybodaeth ymysg moroedd anfeidrol duon; nis bwriadwyd iti deithio'n bell. Gŵyr y rhai sydd â deall ehangach nad oes gwahaniaeth clir rhwng yr hyn sy'n real a'r hyn nad yw'n real. Ildia di felly dy feddyliau, dy synhwyrau, a'th emosiynau er mwyn dod o hyd i nerth a harddwch trwy gofleidio poen. A dyna o'n i'n boddi ym mhair Swtach.

 

[Sgrin Sgrio] A dyma fi’n eistedd yn llonydd dan hiraethu am y gorffennol colledig bob tro y clywaf suo-gân yn llifo fel triagl melyn llawn gwenwyn o’r hen flwch cerdd ar y seld lychlyd. Y ddau beth sydd yn fy nghofio am Fam ydy’r rhain, ymhlith y môr o anrhefn sy’n f’amgáu. Yma mae symbolau a delweddau o’r gorffennol yn cynllwynio i fflangellu fy meddwl cythryblus. Dyma‘r gŵn rhwygedig, a’r cap academaidd na adewir i fi’u gwisgo byth. Ac ar fwrdd yn y gornel, wedi’i orchuddio â gweoedd a chorynnod marw, dyna gloch gysegredig, llyfr llawn swyn-ganeuon, cannwyll waedrudd, a blwch snisin enfawr ar ffurf sigwrat yn cynnwys clec o sbeis syfrdanol, drudfawr.

 

[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Felly, mae cofion yn dal credau allwn ni'u gwybod dim ond drwy sioe gysgodion yn y meddwl. Yma mae delweddau wedi'u hystumio o bethau mewn realiti rhy arswydus i'w ddisgrifio'n mynegi 'u hunain trwy symbolau rhyfedd yn yr isymwybod. Serch 'ny, nerthol iawn yw'r breuddwydion, y llithriadau, yr hunllefau, a'r gwingiadau. Mae'r profiad goddrychol o'r cysgodion 'ma, sy wastad yn llechu yn y cefndir, yn llawer mwy hirhoedlog ac arwyddocaol na disgrifiad gwrthrychol o'r digwyddiadau, p'un ai'n frawychus neu'n rhyfeddol. Yr olion 'ma yn y co', a be' sy'n gorwedd is eu llaw, wedi'u claddu o'r golwg am byth, sy'n creu'n personoliaethau, ac ysgogi'n hymddygiad.”

 

[Sgrin Sgrio] Bydd y gwrthrychau hyn i gyd yn f’atgoffa am darddiad fy helyntion oll, f’ewythr, yr Hen Filwr. Yn wir, fe fyddaf yn poeri ar y llawr bob tro y meddyliaf amdano, gan fwrw melltith arno. Ni fedraf, sut bynnag, ddarbwyllo fy hun i roi trefn ar y lle, nid mwyaf. A chan nad wyf yn lluchio dim byd erioed, mae pentyrrau o bob math – hen bapurau newydd a sgorau sioe gerdd, caniau tun a photeli llaeth, cyfrolau o athroniaeth – yn tyfu o’m hamgylch. Ond nid arnaf fi y mae’r bai wrth reswm. Ni fu arnaf fi erioed.

 

[Lleisiau Benywaidd] "Falle bod 'ny oll yn wir. Chwarae teg. Ond o ganlyniad mae'r sefyllfa'n swnio'n anobeithiol, on'd ydy? 'Lly, be' yn y Byd yw dy bwrpas ym mywyd te? Beth yw'r opsiynau ar gael? Ymwrthod â'th hunaniaeth, a thoddi ym môr unffurfiaeth? Neu goelio bod gwroniaeth yn bodoli, a 'neud dy hunan yn arwr fydd yn brwydro hyd yn oed pan fydd y canlyniad wedi’i ragordeinio? Dyna ddoniol, reit? Ond be' yw'r ots? Dim ond un llwybr sy ar gael i ti. Gwranda ar y côr o leisiau estron sy'n byw ynot ti. Ystyria di sut fyddai 'set ti'n dwyn gwaywffon y marchog, sy'n dewis cynnen a siom, wrth lawn cydnabod bod hane ei fywyd wedi'i 'sgrifennu gan sgriblwr diystyrllyd. Fe fyddai'n rhaid i ti ddatblygu, a thyfu, a methu drosodd a throsodd, ac fe fyddet ti'n rhedeg, a syrthio, a chropian, a melltithio, a llosgi yng ngwres yr Haul wrth i ti anelu at Ddinas Golau. Ond fe fyddai'n bosib datgelu dy galon i gariad ac wedyn disgyn i ddyfnderoedd Llyn Nadredd a chodi unwaith 'to. Drwy 'neud hyn fe allet ti dorri drwy greigiau amheuaeth, a goresgyn rhwymau grëwyd gan brosesau undonog, ymddygiad sefydlog, a phatrymau ailadroddus, a dod â gwybodaeth gêl yn ôl i'r Byd."

 

[Sgrin Sgrio] Nid wyf yn symud llawer o’m cadair y dyddiau hyn a dweud y gwir oherwydd y bawdwst, y bors, y glinwst, y clwyf traed, y llaw-wst, y podagr, y gwst mawr, y gymalwst, y gowt rwy’n dioddef ohono ers, Ww, rhyw ddeng mlynedd ar hugain erbyn hyn. Hyd rhyfel hynafol yw hwnnw, tri deg o flynyddoedd, yr hyn yr oeddent yn arfer ei alw’n einioes. Ond er gwaethaf y ffaith fy mod yn brwydro yn erbyn bywyd bob eilied o bob dydd, nid sowldiwr mohonof fi, nid o bell ffordd. Wedi deud hynny, pan ymlusgaf fi i’r tŷ bach ynteu’r gegin, sawl gwaith y dydd, o'r braidd y medraf faglu drwy’r llanastr wedi’i thaenu ym mhob man, fel petawn yn un o'r milwr yn cael ei fombardio gan ymosodiadau Meddyliaethwyr Mecanyddol yr Ochr Arall yn y ffosydd lleidiog yng Nghalon y Cyfandir Gogleddol (ar bwys Beu-lénifeu, Ros-anulus, a Vad-rovya) yn ystod y Cythrwfl Mawr.

 

[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Sut allai 'ny oll fod yn bosib? Meddylia nawr. Mae pobl yn sôn y dyddiau ‘ma am y continwwm gofod-amser a phethau tebyg. Fe fyddan nhw’n taflu termau technegol o gwmpas, fel y Glec Fawr a Gwastadrwydd Gwres y Cosmos. Ac fe fydd yn ymddangos fel ‘sai hanes y bydysawd yn llif llinellol o ddigwyddiadau sydd â dechrau, canol, a diwedd. Dyn ni eisoes 'di bod yn sôn am orffennol, presennol, a dyfodol, 'fyd, wrth reswm. Ond dyna ddim ond sut mae'n teimlo os byddwch chi’n cael eich gorfodi i fyw mewn pedwar dimensiwn. Mae’r holl broblemau’n codi achos dyn ni’m yn deall gwir natur bodolaeth. Dyna fe. Creaduriaid tri dimensiwn ydyn ni, a dyn ni’m yn gallu gweld yn iawn.”

 

[Sgrin Sgrio] Eto i gyd nid yw’n bosibl i fi fynd allan yn aml iawn o gwbl ac am hynny rwy’n rhwym i’r tŷ mewn ffordd o siarad, fel carcharor mewn cell y grog, ynteu fel claf ar ei wely angau. Pam y dylai hynny fod? Wel, ofnaf yn fwy na dim byd arall y llanciau lleol, y bwystfilod ffiaidd, sy’n dod ynghyd ar gornel y stryd i regi, a phoeri, a chega arnaf fi. Fel aelodau o ryw fath o gynulleidfa gythreulig ydynt i gyd. “Wele’r hen rechwr hwnnw, gyfaill, yr hen gono drewllyd,” gweddant hwy (ynghyd â’r gweddill o’u hebychiadau gweigion). Ac rwy’n ysgwyd gan gasineb at y diawliaid hynny sydd â llygaid gwibiog, colonau duon, lleisiau breision, meinion, cyrff cyhyrog, tewion, a dwylo blewog, tra llusgaf fy ffrâm ddrylliedig heibio iddynt yn ddistaw unwaith y mis, mwy neu lai.

 

[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Y neges bwysig yw hon, ‘lly. Dyw amser ddim yn llifo fel afon, o’r gorffennol, trwy’r presennol, i‘r dyfodol. Mae’n rhywbeth yn fwy tebyg i wrthrych tri dimensiwn fel sffêr, ddywed. Dwt ti’m wedi clywed am y ‘Wlad Wastad’? Weliff bodau dynol mo’r sffêr ei hun. Allwn ni’m mynd o’i chwmpas fel petai, na’r tu mewn iddi, ‘chwaith. Yn lle ‘ny fe fedrwn ni ganfod dim ond cysgod y sffêr wedi’i daflu ar wal. A dyna fel trio profi dyfnder pan fyddwn ni ‘di cau un llygad, neu gwtsio rhywun heb ddefnyddio’n breichiau. O ystyried popeth at ei gilydd, fodd bynnag, mae'n bosib dod i’r casgliad bod gwybodaeth ynglŷn â phob ffenomen yn y Byd tri dimensiwn yn cael ei chodio ar ffin ddau ddimensiwn – ar arwyneb y sffêr – fel mewn delwedd holograffig. Ac felly ar ryw ystyr, mae natur o iawn y Byd fel y tudalennau mewn llyfr comics.”

 

[Sgrin Sgrio] Er na fedrwn i gyflawni fy mhotensial trwy gydol fy oes trwy lwyddo i weithio i’r Eglwys Gywir oherwydd fy mhechodau, nid wyf wedi gwneud dim ond ceisio estyn cymorth i lanciau o’r fath – gan achub eu calonnau a’u meddyliau, fel petai – wrth guddio fy ngwir natur rhagddynt. Ac rwy wastad wedi cael fy ngwrthod a’m difrïo ganddynt. Nid myfi sut bynnag sydd anghenfil drygionus, ond pob un ohonynt hwy. Yn ddiweddar fe orfu i fi ddechrau defnyddio’r rhwyd electronig ryngwladol felltigaid er mwyn hwylio cludo’r nwyddau angenrheidiol. (Rwy wedi dod yn eithaf hoff o lwytho i lawr – a defnyddio’r term technegol priodol – ffilmiau, a llawer o adnoddau hanfodol eraill, gan ddefnyddio fy injan gyfrifo hynafol, hefyd. Ond dim ond at bwrpas goleuad ac ymchwil).

 

[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Rwyt ti’n hoff iawn o nofelau graffig, on’d wyt ti? Wel, mewn comics dyn ni’n dwlu ar weld pethau llawn tyndra, cyffro, a hud, i 'neud ein bywydau'n ddiddorol, rhoi syniadau i ni, a'n difyrru ni. Ni sy’n chwarae Duwdodau dros y dihirod a’r arwyr fel ei gilydd. Wel, meddylia di dros hyn. Be’ am fywyd pob un ohonon ni yma, heddi’? Falle fod ‘na fodau ar ryw Nw Yrth sy’n gorgyffwrdd â’n Ddaear ni, rywsut. Yn eu mysg nhw fe allai fod cabál o Swynwyr ystrywgar yn dyfeisio fersiwn o gomics arallfydol, gan ddefnyddio’n bywydau ni. A chwedyn fe fydd y gynulleidfa o fwystfilod tentaclog – yr Addolwyr sy’n dwlu ar y Delwau – yn llawenhau yn y gorchestion, cydymdeimlo am y trallodion – a gwledda ar y ffynhonnell egni seicig, syfrdanol, fydd yn eu cadw nhw’ n fyw. O sylweddoli hyn, a’i dderbyn yn llwyr, fe fedri di droi sefyllfa ormesol yn elw na ellir ei orbrisio.”

 

[Sgrin Sgrio] Fodd bynnag, mae fy meddwl yn dal i weithio, hyd yn oed os nad yw fy sach gnawdol yn gweithredu’n gywir, peth sy’n achosi i fi ragor o loes. Y rhan fwyaf o’r amser, byddaf yn pendwmpian o flaen y tân nwy (nad yw’n gweithio fel y dylai, er fy mawr siom, er nad fy syndod) y tu mewn i’m castell swynol, ha, ha! Ond yna y bydd f’ing yn toddi fel ciwb iâ ar ddydd braf o haf. Y pryd hynny y dihangaf i fangre uchel dros ben, y tu hwnt i’r cymylau uwchben y Ddaear gron, lle mae adar gleision yn hedfan tuag at fachlud haul bythgofiadwy. Ond wedyn, O, wedyn, bydd yn rhaid i fi ddihuno, ac wedyn y dof fi yn ôl i’r byd go iawn, bondigrybwyll, ym mha le mae byw’n unig, anfoddhaol, ciaidd, annymunol, ac yn rhy hir o lawer yn wir.

 

[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Bydd y syniadau ‘ma’n newid yn llwyr sut dyn ni’n meddwl am pwy ydyn ni, a beth yw’r berthynas rhyngon ni â gweddill y Byd (neu’r Ddau Fyd). Dyn ni newydd fod yn sôn amdanom ni’r Daearolion a’r Yrthiaid, er mwyn esbonio. Ond allwn ni’m gweld y gwir sefyllfa os byddwn yn dal i feddwl yn nhermau ni a nhw, reit? Yr ateb cywir yw fod pawb a phopeth wedi’i gysylltu â’i gilydd. Un oruwchorganeb ryfedd yw’r Holl Fyd. Mae'n debyg i folwsg anferthol, yn ôl y gŵr doeth goleuedig sy wedi’i ynydu i’r dirgelion yn y Cyfnewid Kathmandu. Yn ddifeddwl fe ddatblygodd y creadur ac ynddo driliynau o gelloedd heddi’, o gemegion yn arnofio yn y cawl cychwynnol. Ond bellach, gyda sicrwydd perffaith, dyn ni’n gweud wrthot ti taw, yn ara' deg, ond heb os, mae'n dod yn fwyfwy cymhleth, a hunangydwybodol. Mae’r endid ‘ma dyn ni’m yn gallu’i ddiffinio gyda’n symbolau na’i ddarlunio gyda’n delweddau’n uno hunaniaeth ac arwahanrwydd ynddo’i hunan. Hanfod ffug-realiti ydy, sy’n hollol frawychus. Ac mae ar fedr ymestyn ei dentaclau i ymyrryd ym mywyd pawb ar y Ddaear.”

 

[Sgrin Sgrio] Anodd dweud mai f’unig loches oedd y llecyn hwn, y lle hwn sydd wedi mynd yn garchar, siambr arswyd, a mangre aberth bellach. Yma, byddwn i’n dianc yn rheolaidd ar ôl i’r Tad roi curfa i fi bron hyd at angau – cyn i’r hen ffŵl redeg ymaith oddi cartref wrth gwrs, i gychwyn byw gyda rhyw nyrs, rwy’n credu. Cymaint rwy’n ei gasáu, yn enwedig gan mai flynyddoedd yn ôl, ei ferch yntau, y chwaer golledig nad oeddwn i wedi’i hadnabod erioed, fel petai, gyrhaeddodd heb air o rybudd, i ddifetha fy myd. Yn wir, yr un rwy wedi bod yn disgwyl amdani cyhyd, a dygodd bopeth oedd ar ôl i fi, a’m halltudiwyd ganddi o’m cartref cyfarwydd a gweddus i’r bwthyn tlawd hwn yn barhaol.

 

[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Wel, fe wyddwn ni fod ‘na cymaint o stwff i’w dreulio ‘ma. Ond o waelod ein calon dyn ni eisiau i ti ddeall taw ti sy biau’r medr i sianelu’r hud cryfa’, sy’n tarddu o bellafoedd y Cosmos. Bydd yn ddewr, frawd, fab, ŵyr, achos bydd yn rhaid ffaelu’n aml wrth ddysgu i lwyddo yn y tymor hir. Mae’r nerth yn gryf ynot ti. Fe fydd yn llifo drwot ti, dyn ni’n addo, os tafli di dy hunan i’r gwagle creadigol, i’w lenwi drwy arllwys dy enaid oll iddo. Dere di ‘mlaen ‘lly i lunio straeon, ‘sgrifennu geiriau, a thynnu lluniau. Dyma sut alli di atal treigl amser, rhodio’r bylchau rhwng yr eiliadau, a boddloni dy chwantau. Fe fyddi di angen gweithio mor galed â bydd yn bosib, ac yn fwy, i greu’r emosiynau’n fanwl. Wedyn, unwaith fod di wedi dysgu sut i reoli’r bagad o ddelweddau’n cyfarth am ryddhad, fe fyddi di’n trefnu’r geiriau priodol i’w canlyn a’u cynnal nhw. Fel hyn fe ddoi di’n feistr dros gonsurio a gorchymyn, fydd yn adeiladu’i fywyd ei hunan.”

 

[Sgrin Sgrio] Ac yma roeddwn i’n byw wrth dendio ar y Fam wrth iddi farw’n araf o ddementia. Yma y dewch o hyd i fi, hyd yn oed yn awr wrth i fi gyrraedd diwrnod olaf f’oes, gan ddisgwyl diwedd einioes wag. Fel corryn yn ei we wyf fi, sydd yn aros ac yn gwylio, ac yn bwydo ar ei gofion chwerwon. Ni allaf adael byth er gwaethaf mor galed y stryffagliaf, gan fod yr hen deimladau’n rhy gryf, am mai rhy drwm yw pwysau hanes, achos bod straeon i’w hadrodd i’r gwynt o hyd. A dyna lais y Rheibes Ryfeddol yn sibrwd y Swyn Triphlyg o’r Nw Yrth: 'Â halen mi rwy'n eich gwysio chi; â gwallt mi rwy'n eich cymell chi; â gwaed mi rwy'n eich rhwymo chi.' A, am boenus ydy.

 

[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Yn nhermau’r sffêr amser, y dyddiau 'ma, y dydd ‘ma, wrth i'r molwsg cosmig esblygu, mae amser yn amdroi tuag at i'w ganol ei hun, ble bydd yn methu a dod i ben o’r diwedd. Mae fel y Dyn-darw'n encilio i'w ffau ymhlith Llwybrau Drygioni i farw. Rwyt ti 'di dechrau byw mor hwyr, a dyma'r Byd ar fin pallu. Ond dyn ni’n gweud wrthot ti am beidio rhoi’r gorau iddi. Rwyt ti’n gorfod osgoi mynd i mewn i’r golau, ble bydd popeth yn gorffen, achos fyddi di’m eisiau brwydro mwyach. Cer di i'r tywyllwch, i’r gad unwaith ‘to, achos taw yno fe ddoi di o hyd i ystyr a fyddi di’n byw ai’n marw cyhyd ag y byddi di’n ymdrechu yn ddewr."

 

[Sgrin Sgrio] A dyma lle mai dod i ben a wna fy mywyd yn y pen draw, er nad yn ddigon buan. Ac ar ôl hynny? Wel, creulon yw ffawd. Rwy wedi dirnad gan ryw weledigaeth fynych na fyddir yn gadael i fi fynd i mewn i’r golau yn y Byd Nesaf. Fe fyddaf yn byw yma am byth, felly, ar ffurf ysbryd aflonydd, am wn i. Croeso i'm cartref, felly, fy nghyfeillion tyner, mwyn. Croeso i anialdir rhewllyd y Tir Neb rhwng y Bydoedd, o ble mae Swtach, Arglwydd Anhrefn, hyd yn oed, wedi ffoi. Dewch yn llu i weld y gŵr wedi’i arteithio gan ei gofion ei hunan, nad yw’n byw, ond nad yw’n gallu marw ychwaith. Yn rhywle, draw dros yr enfys, lle daw breuddwydion yn wir, yno y gellwch chithau fod yn rhydd, y rhai ohonoch sydd wedi dewis yn ddoeth, fel y dywedir yn y gân honno. Pam, O pam, na allaf fi?

 

[Lleisiau Benywaidd] "Am i ti ddechrau mor hwyr, fe fydd yn rhaid i ti fynd yn dy flaen yn gyflym gyflym bellach i gael profiadau, a ‘neud camgymeriadau i ddysgu, newid, a thyfu. Ond trwy weithio’n galed fe alli di gyrraedd y cyfnod yn dy fywyd lle taw gofidiau'r ifainc fydd wedi dod yn gysgodion mae’r aeddfed yn breuddwydio amdanyn nhw. Ond i lwyddo, bydd arnat ti angen cael gwared ar y syniad taer ond cas ‘na taw bywyd dynol yn gyffredinol, a’th fywyd di’n enwedig dw’m yn werth ei fyw. Fe fydd yn boenus iawn i ddechrau, ond drwy agor dy galon di i bobl eraill, fe fyddi di’n dechrau gweld dyn nhw ddim ond yn beiriannau, ond yn fodau byw sy’n meddwl, a theimlo, a charu, a diodde’. Ac wedyn fe fyddi di’n ‘neud ffrindiau hyd yn oed!”

 

“Felly, ‘machgen, rwyt ti ‘di clywed fy llais yn dweud dy ffortiwn di. Ond mae’r ddau ohonon ni’n debyg iawn i’n gilydd. Rwy wedi bod yn diodde’ gyda ti drwy’r amser, gan mai fi, Swtach, na chwsg yr un winc yma yn yr ystafell glas. Fe’m llosga fy nillad i gyd, a’r meddyliau yn fy mhen, a’r awyr rwy’n ei hanadlu – am bleser mor boenus! A hynny oll, Steffan, fy hyfforddai ifanc, gan mai fi yw dy Dad d!”

 

Ysgethrin o oer oedd yr awyrgylch ysol, sur wrth i fi syrthio drwy’r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd, a chyn wynned â gwlân oen f’wyneb. Cegrwth o’n i.

 

[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Nawr ‘te. Dyma rywbeth diddorol i ti. Be’ fyddet ti’n feddwl os byddwn ni’n dweud wrthot ti taw tebyg i amffibiaidd yw aelodau o’r hil ddynol, mewn ffordd o siarad? Hmm, wel, dyn ni’n gallu clywed y cocos yn troi. Ond be’ dyn ni’n olygu yw hyn. Dyn ni’n byw mewn Dau Fyd ar yr un pryd, on’d dyn ni, reit? Dyna’r byd hysbys yn cynnwys stwff corfforol, mater ar y naill law, a’r byd hudol, ansylweddol, wedi’i ‘neud o feddyliau a syniadau ar y llaw arall. Nawr erbyn meddwl, fe ddylet ti weld taw dirfawr ac anhygoel o gymhleth yw’r deyrnas ddychmygol ‘ma. Gad i ni dy demtio di i fynd i mewn yno. Fe fyddi di’n gallu ‘neud unrhyw be’ ti eisiau. Paid â phoeni, fydd y cysyniadau ddim yn dy frifo di, ac fe fyddi di’n llwyddo i ddysgu llawer hyd yn oed pan fydd pethau wedi mynd o chwith.”

 

Ac yn sydyn, O, ro’n i’n dirnad yr holl beth, hynny yw ‘does dim endid o’r enw amser yn bodoli ynddo’i hunan. Mae amser yn broses, nage peth. Dim ond ni sy’n ymwybodol o’r newidiadau oll yn mynd yn eu blaenau’n gyson o’n cwmpas ni all ganfod y llif trefnus yn ein bywydau, wth i ddigwyddiadau codi, dilyn eu cwrs, llanw a threio, ymestyn a chilio. Ni yw amser, yr elfen fwya’ nerthol o frawychus, sy’n byw wrthon ni, ynon ni, drwyddon ni. A'r tu mewn i ni’n hunain fe fedrwn ni ddysgu rheoli amser, mewn ffordd.

 

[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “A bod yn onest, fe fydd yn teimlo am sbel fel ‘set ti ‘di ‘neud naid enfawr pan fyddi di’n croesi drosodd rhwng y Ddau Fyd. Falle bydd yn codi pwys arnat ti. Ond gydag amser fe ddoi di i arfer â’r broses, ac yn y pen draw, fe fyddi di’n gogor chwerthin o sylweddoli fod di wedi dianc o'r fagl unwaith ac am byth. Fe fyddi di’n edrych ‘mlaen mor frwd at adael ar ôl y dŵr lleidiog sy’n llenwi byd mater, a theimlo mor falch o lanio ar ddaear gadarn ym myd syniadau a dychymyg. Bro'r Brenin Melyn a'i aderyn gwatwar yw hon, ble bydd cerfluniau wedi'u golchi â gwaed beirdd yn dod yn fodau byw gyda'r nos i neidio drwy’r Drych Sgrio i'r Byd Arall. Ac yno fyddi di’n gweld, a theimlo, a chredu dwyt ti’m yn gwastraffu dy fywyd di, yn dy lygaid dy hunan ta be', drwy ‘neud pethau drosot ti dy hun, yn dy ffordd dy hunan. Ti fydd wedi dod drwy'r methiant, a'r llanast’, a'r slafdod, a'r helbul, i gael hyd i ffordd helaeth i farw maes o law. Ond fe fyddi di wedi byw bywyd i’r eitha’ yn y cyfamser, o leia'.”

 

“Dere, lanc, bydd wir fab i Swtach. Deall di hyn, mai un enaid a ddaeth i mewn i’r lle glas hwn, ac mai dim ond un enaid all adael unwaith eto. Ac rwyt ti wedi gweld y bywyd o anobaith a diflastod fydd yn aros amdanat o hyn ymlaen pe byddet yn dychwelyd. Una di â fi, felly, yn y siambr las, ymhlith y rhaeadrau o frwmstan. Ac wedyn fe fedraf fi gymryd dy le di, a mynd yn ôl i’r Ddaear i gyflawni’r Gwaith Mawr a threchu fy ngelyn hynafol yr Hen Filwr, wrth i ti lywio breuddwydion a dyheadau pawb yn y Ddau Fyd oddi mewn i’r gell ddiogel hon. Dim ond un peth y mae’i angen. Un peth y gwaherddir fi rhag ei wneud. Trwy un farwolaeth, fe gawn ni'n dau’n geni drachefn! Fe fydd ond yn rhaid i ti aberthu un dyn. Edrycha ar y sgrin! Canolbwyntia! Gwêl di d’archelyn, dy frawd, sydd hefyd yn gnawd o’m gnawd! Nawr bwria fe i mewn i’r goelcerth o binwydd – dim ond ti all ‘neud e – llosga fe!”

 

Yna, o’m blaen i, fe welais i Daa·hweeth, David, Daud, Dai’n brwydro yn erbyn rhyw gythraul o dân, er mod i ‘di cau’n llygaid yn dynn. Fe fyddai’n nabod yr hen fwngrel, drewllyd ym mhig y frân. Ond y tro ‘ma, roedd ‘nghalon yn dychlamu yn ‘mrest, wrth i’r un gair estron hollti ‘nghlustiau droeon – ‘ithlon, ithlon, ithlon, ithlon’ – ‘bhrehtēr, brātīr, brawdr, brawd’ – gair yng nghalon iaith wedi’i dyfeisio nad oedd wedi newid trwy gydol ei hanes. Fe sylweddolais i taw hanner-frawd i fi oedd Dai, a taw Swtach, Ivan, Jack, John oedd ein Dad ni'n dau. Ac yn wir, y diwrnod gorau oedd hwnnw, achos taw, am y tro cynta’, fe ‘nes i ddewis, yn galed a chall, heb oedi am eiliad. Ebargofiant oedd yn ‘nhemtio fi. Agorodd llawr y ‘stafell las yn barod i’n llyncu fi – ac yno yng nghors anobaith roedd ‘na afon o waed a thân yn rhuthro, wrth i ffigur bychan hedfan drosti hi.

 

“… Dere, yfa’r neithdar, bwyta ffrwyth pren gwybodaeth da a drwg ac fe fyddi fyw. Ymuna â fi, dy gymar mewn hunangasineb…”

 

Roedd fel 'sai'r Gwarchodwyr Gwyliadwrus wedi datgan bod 'na wladfa o fwncïod ewn yn rhedeg fferm ffwng ffrîci o dan y Mynydd Gwydr. Neu falle fod Cymdeithas Cydwybod Cyhoeddus wedi cyhoeddi taw llawcio caws lleuad fyddai'n helpu pobl i ddeall ystyron cêl yr Hen Lyfrau. Neu eto i gyd, y Meistri yn y Celfyddydau Duon allai fod wedi dweud fod e’n bosibl troi amser yn ôl trwy weiddi rhai geiriau od wrth hopian o gwmpas ar eich coes chwith mewn adeilad ar dân.

 

“…Codwn ni balas lle y bydd afonydd o ddagrau, tyrau ifori, ogofâu’n llawn corynnod gwydrfaen, a choedwig emog…”

 

A dyna oedd llais yn sibrwd wrtha i, o bellafoedd y gwagle, yn llai swnllyd na molwsg cryg – “‘Achan! Fi sy ‘ma frawd! Ti’n saff! Neidia! Neidia!”

 

“…Yno gyda’n gilydd y profwn bob mwynhad, boddiwn bob gwŷd!”

 

Ac er na allwn i weud y gwahaniaeth rhwng aderyn glas a chlip papurau erbyn ‘ny, ro’n i ‘di derbyn i fi gael ‘nhraed yn rhydd o'r diwedd. Nawr, paid ffwndro ‘na, ‘achan. Sa i’n gweud mod i’n ystyried popeth yn fanwl yno, ble bynnag o’n i. Do’n i’m yn cyfri’ fel rhifolegwr urddasol yn crafu ar y creiriau cysegredig yn y Gladdgell o Gorwndwm i bwyso a mesur canlyniadau tebygol cynllun ar y gweill gan yr Un Wir Eglwys. Nage’n wir, am unwaith, am y tro cynta’, siŵr o fod, ro’n i’n bihafio’n reddfol.

 

Be’ ddigwyddodd? Sa i’n gwybod. Do’n i’m yn deall be’ oedd yn mynd ‘mlaen ar y pryd, ni wn i be’ oedd yn digwydd bellach. Ond gwybod a wna i, na fyddwn i’n ildio i’r bygythiadau gwag na’r addewidion chwerthinllyd gan ffrwyth ‘nychymyg ‘yn hunan. Ta be’, pa mor aml o’n i ‘di ailadrodd yr un hen senario o’r blaen? Roedd fel ‘swn i ‘di ‘sgrifennu’r sgript! Do’n i’m yn mynd i ddygymod â dim rhagor o’r bwlian ffiaidd gan yr hen wenci surbwch. Ar y llaw arall, on'd oedd llesiaiu’r menywod ‘na’n rhyfeddol o deniadol! Ro’n i’n ffansïo’n fawr iawn y syniad o fod yn ddewin artistig, dyna fyddai’n wych.

 

Ar ôl y digwyddiad, pan o'n i 'di dod yn ôl i realiti, neu at 'yn hunan o leia', roedd yr ystrydebau oll yn rhedeg trwy'n meddwl. Ro'n i rhwng Isheth a'i dentaclau seimllyd. 'Nes i'r gorau o'r gwaetha'. Dewis y lleia' o ddau ddrwg. Neidio cyn cael 'ngwthio. O'r ffrimpan i'r tân. Cofleidio'n ochr fenywaidd. Derbyn posibiliadau brawychus mwy na diogelwch llethol. Arddel undeb a nerth y grŵp yn ogystal ag annibyniaeth ac unigrwydd. Digon dweud taw yn yr awr fwya’ tywyll ‘na, ‘naeth ‘mhen ffrwydro o ganfod mod i ‘di bod yn caru drwy’r amser, ond yn bur, heb ddisgwyl cael dim byd yn ôl.

 

Ro’n i ‘di cael llond bol ar redeg a chuddio. Os dyna oedd marw, fe fyddai’n well ‘da fi fyw yng ngwaetha’ dannedd y pwerau arallfydol. Ac fe fyddwn i’n arwr dewr yn gwisgo’i greithiau a’i boen fel bathodyn anrhydedd parhaol. Ac o rywle, fe ges i hyd i ryw nerth newydd o ran corff ac enaid. Roedd fel ‘sai geiriau hud creadigol yn eu canu’u hunain drwyddo i, er doedd dim clem ‘da fi be’ o’n nhw’n olygu, wrth iddyn nhw ddal i’w ffurfio a’u hail-ffurfio’u hunain fel sgarabau gwynias yn hisian yn erbyn yr awyr borffor, ffyrnig – “O’r i el-ser afim; E o’po te-sta; Za-ti za-ta; Ga la-tim, Ga la-tah!”

 

Ac wrth i fi ddwyn geiriau Swtach o’i geg ei hunan, dyna oedd corff gwydn y dyn arabus yn toddi fel byddai delw ddefodol o wêr fydden nhw’n defnyddio yng nghyfarfodydd anfad y Tabernaclau Annibynnol dan wres glanhaol yr Haul. Ond heb oedi, fe gododd yn ei le pelen enfawr o gnawd cignoeth ar ffurf molwsg wedi’i fwtanu, a’i filoedd o dentaclau llymion yn gafael a thorri, a’i gannoedd o lygaid gleision yn llosgi, a’i bigau di-rif yn udo melltithion mewn pob iaith a dim o gael diddymu’i hud – am y tro, o leia’.

 

Wedyn, heb faich edifeirwch – cyn i’r breichiau cyhyrog, pigog lwyddo i’n llarpio i – fe lamais i – o lan y dyfroedd tymhestlog ar dân – fel Ithru, mab Thethalu, yn hedfan i ffwrdd ar ei adenydd ffug – i gofleidiad gwaredwr annisgwyl. Dyna pan ‘nes i benderfynu byw, a chreu, a brwydro, a diodde’, a charu, a cholli, a chwerthin, a newid – ac, o’r diwedd, marw.