Radiance 28 - Proclaim Liberty

    By the time Emma finally reached the inner sanctuary, the court was already in session. Angels lined the viewing gallery, standing raised above the ground, hovering on wings upon wings. Scrolls and leather-bound volumes were strewn across marble floors and wooden tables, with parchment and paper coloured by age and long use. Candles over ten feet tall stood haphazardly around the room, shedding flickering but brilliant light and dripping golden wax. On the left, at the front of the court, an angel dressed in black stood at a lectern, consulting a dozen tomes, his face contorted deep in thought, while on the right an identical lectern was dark and empty. In the middle sat a divine being, neither angel, nor mortal, upon a chair of inlaid wood, a half-smile upon his shining face, while behind him, far at the front and wreathed in shadows, a colossal throne glittered dully, overseeing the entire court. And seated upon the throne, impossible to make out in the gloom, seemed to be something like a human figure, crowned and enthroned.
    As Emma timidly strode into the chamber, the room was bursting with song, snatches of Hebrew verse and prayer, but as she walked down the central aisle and approached the centre of the court, a hush fell on the angelic host. Myriad eyes followed her footsteps across the marble.
    How long she had been walking, Emma could not say. She had long since forgotten the taste of food, the feel of breath entering the lungs, all washed away in a haze of fire and ice. But it was the eyes that burned in her mind, all the angels she had passed with their near-unpronounceable names and roles, whose gaze had burrowed through her skin and to the very depths of herself. It seemed that she had not always been alone but could not trawl the memories from her mind. Amid the heat and the cold, something had been lost forever, and Emma could not even say what it had been.

Radiance 4 - I opened for my beloved

15th Shevat 5776
    Asher sat in Starbucks, and vaguely stirred his double shot cappuccino with a wooden spoon. He didn’t bother to drink it. It was too hot. No, more than that. It simply wasn’t fun anymore - coffee just didn’t taste right. He still drank it every morning, not to mention several times during the afternoon - it was, after all, something to do - but all the flavour had somehow left it. And so he sat here, more for a change of scenery than anything else, flicking through web pages, and stirring his coffee.
    And it wasn’t just the coffee. Mechanically, Asher found himself eating toast and jam every day for breakfast, a tuna salad for lunch, bolognese for dinner. He drank water and coffee, sometimes eating an apple around 4pm. Sitting on the sofa, letting daytime TV drift over him, cycling through Reddit, Facebook and the BBC. Somehow he was stuck in this same rhythm, following the dirge beat every day. He hadn’t spoken to any of his friends.
    It was six months ago that his father had died. Six months since Asher had that strange waking dream of devils and warriors. Sometimes he caught himself about to call his Dad for advice - he would have known what to make of the king of the demons, the symbolism of the gold and silver figures. But Dad was gone, and his mother would be no help at all.
    They had spoken just yesterday, early afternoon for him, late at night for her. His mother had shared some gossip from her synagogue in Netanya, talked about their young rabbi and repeatedly asked him if he was okay. Asher had said that he was fine, and perhaps he was.
    He sipped at the drink, scanning monotonous job sites that all promised his dream job faster, easier, cheaper. Sign up now! Asher had already signed up but it wasn’t getting him anywhere. The night of the dream he had quit his job with the Midnight Astrological Hotline. It was a student job, really, not something to do with bills to pay and a life to lead. It was time to grow up and get serious - he heard this in his mother’s voice, not exactly scolding him but still difficult to hear. He had no real experience, no plan.
    And so Asher sat in Starbucks, and stirred his coffee.
    His phone rang. Asher ignored it. It was probably his mother, checking up on him again. Asking when he would start work. It could wait.
    It stopped for a minute then rang again. A glimmer of irritation appeared.
    Asher got out the mobile but the number was unknown. Strange.
    “Hello?”
    “Do you believe in fate, Asher?” A familiar voice asked him. “Because destiny is knocking.”