Liber Neptuni - Chapter 70

Verses

First came a single note, distant enough to be mistaken for memory.

A second note joined it and made the first sound lonely in retrospect.

Then voices without words entered, carrying no doctrine and therefore little to argue with.

The choir did not grow louder. The listener grew less separate.

Neptune turned slowly in the dark like a blue bell nobody had struck.

Each harmony opened a door, and behind every door was less room for the one who listened.

No revelation arrived. The absence of revelation became strangely sufficient.

The final melody repeated softer, then softer again, refusing the vanity of a conclusion.

A cat asleep beside the speaker opened one eye at the highest note and closed it at the mystery.

Soon I could not tell whether the chorus continued or whether expectation had learned to sing.

Silence came without crossing a border.

I waited for meaning to rise from it and eventually noticed that waiting was the remaining noise.

When waiting stopped, nothing announced enlightenment.

The room remained a room. The dark remained dark.

Yet the song had vanished so completely that I could no longer find the listener it had addressed.