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. 

 

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 autumn, 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 summer, 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. 

 

*             *             *             *             *             *             *             *

 

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 Earth, 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 [*]. 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 Earth 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, Swtach, 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 Earth 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. 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!)…

 

*             *             *             *             *             *             *             *

 

 

[*] In the territory of the Indolent Idolaters, everyone says “the Miraculous Pool,” but the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers use the contemptuous name “the Wretched Pool,” 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.

 

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 [*]. 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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[*] 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 Pwll 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.