Dedication:

For my "Bonnie Lass,"
Without your sweet breath of life
This work would never have come this far

Though alone I cross
Silver'd fields of Dream
Know
Oh, know, my love
That you are there
Always
As shadow'd muse
At shimmering vision's edge

June, 1995

I am alone in a dark place. This does not disturb me... I have always lived in darkness of a sort. I am feeling my way along some sort of passageway, my fingers sliding over walls of damp earth and stone. Passages appear occasionally to the sides, belching hot air and strange odors at me. I step carefully, for in the floor there exist bottomless rifts which abruptly expel roiling clouds of steam.

The passage twists and turns, and I feel sure at times that I have gone in circles; yet I keep moving, searching for-- what? I shrug. I will know when I find it. I smile recklessly and wish someone were here to see it. Around another bend I see a dim light; a cool draft chills my sweaty skin.

As I approach the light, I see the dim outlines of a cavernous opening, teeth of stone against a moonlit sky. A feeling of certainty, elation overtakes me. I know that this is what I have been looking for, this place. I dash for the opening, stopping just in time to keep from diving over the abrupt, yawning precipice.

I am looking out over a broad valley, lit by a vast moon. The valley floor is heavily forested, with a small river winding down its center, delicately reflecting the moonlight. It is beautiful and I am ecstatic.

Something black moves below me. At first I think it is a bird, perhaps an owl; but as I watch it a chill begins to creep over me. The thing is not just predatory, it is entirely malignant. Every movement, the way it glides, its wings flap lazily, is profane. I know it flies with its back to the heavens because God would not tolerate its face.

A shrieking sound draws my eyes upward just as something bright flashes past me, passing inches from my face. It drops out of sight for a second, then massive, feathered wings of silver open and catch the air. I recoil from the sudden brilliance of it. I know what is coming, and I am afraid.

A sword appears in the angel's hand, and in that same instant the blade crashes down upon the dark creature. An angry growl climbs to me from below as the dark one folds a black wing-shroud about itself. It plummets downward as a wren from a hawk, the angel matching its velocity and movements with awesome precision. Suddenly, the great leathered wings open and catch the air again, beating hard, straining to stop its descent. The angel screams past the dark one and disappears into the trees below. Branches shatter before its momentum.

Now the hellish thing climbs toward me and I want to run, but I stand transfixed, unable to tear my gaze away. A dull reddish glow burns within the eyes it fixes upon me. It grins blackly.

I have but one second to comprehend my fate, then it slams into me and crushes me to its chest. There is a rushing sound, air whooshes past my left ear. In my right I can hear mighty lungs pumping air, in, out, in, out; and in my eyes there is only shadow, then none, shadow, then none, in time to the beating of the beast's powerful pinions.

Then in my ears another sound, a scream of rage and pain. The grip on me loosens and it wheels, and I am almost lost to the wind, but now its hands hold me back-to-chest against its frame, and I can see the treetops far below, and just a hint of the white angel's cloak as it spins about us, slashing.

I scream as steel bites hard into the flesh of my shoulder. I call out to the angel to spare me, but he does not seem to hear -- or care. We are descending now, toward something red and bright on the horizon. The devil that carries me calls something guttural from between clenched teeth, and there is a resounding reply from the angel. I understand neither, but I know that the battle is over, yet I feel the white angel behind us still.

I stare into the red abyss, feel its heat sear my eyes, watch solid rock, shorn of its form and gone mad, boil like water. Horrendous jaws rise to meet me. I want to scream but cannot, for the flesh has been burned from my bones and I have no voice.

Contents of this Web page © Robert Johnson,1989, 1995, All Rights Reserved.

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