please note - this is not the final copy

I stood back and looked awefully at what I had created. Once such harmony had befallen the entire world I could call my own. That was such a time. A time where love and compassion reigned. For it was not Adam who gave quarrel a name. Such a time was not now. I would look now at my people and see in them the ubiquitous burning desires of man. But in the covert hearts of few I saw something sparkle. I would take that spark and create from it a burning passion to set me free. A passion to release upon this world, a world that in my eyes was once ‘very good’, that which was once lost. A love that once made the 10 horned, 7 headed red dragon shiver in cowardice. I gazed over at the work I was doing in such a man’s heart.

An almost silent prayer could be heard faintly through the ventilation system of the new apartment block, coming from a room that had been recently purchased by what some were calling bigger than Hugh Heifner.

“Om Asatoma Sad Gamaya
Tamasoma Jyoti Gamaya
Myrityoma Amritam Gamaya”

Due to the whispering of the voice and the soft fluttering of the ventilation fan the words were impossible to make out. Maybe by visiting his new neighbours could he satisfy the curiosity newly aroused in him. After thinking through possible consequences, whilst watching the news about Middle Eastern terrorists threatening to kill thousands in pro-American countries, he decided against it. Another day he though. Another day.

Sayyid was notorious in his last place of residence for his hard barginings, his indifference for human decency and his founding of a hugely successful sex industry. The girls he forced to work lived neither an enjoyable nor a happy life. However despite his acquired success he was forced to leave and start else where. Because of nothing he had done, nor perceived would ever happen. He had been exiled because of his son’s ‘wastrel’ attitude toward life. His numinous stories and dreams of which he so affably spoke of were initially thought to be but a sojourn in his path toward true manhood. But alas his phases were not such a vicissitude as they used to be. Sayyid had grown to abhor such discourses with his son. The worst of it however was Sayyid had actually developed an enmity towards his son so powerful that had a sudden anarchy breakout he would hunt his own flesh and blood and leave nothing but the desecrated remains of what would become of his son. He had tried so hard to force his son to conform to the wickedly seductive empire he had created. But to no avail. An empire so great it had changed the world. How many men had not succumbed to the coercive libido aroused within? How many women had not been made labourers in his fields? Yet his own son ostricised himself from it all. Sayyid was ashamed of such a son. He thought to himself of the last possible action. The disownment of his son.

Abd-Al-Rahman finished his prayer in contentment. He had read aloud the prayer as a joke one evening after finding it on a screwed up piece of paper at the bottom of a closet in one of the many spare rooms in his father’s self-titled palace. It was, he thought at the time, the visitor’s last hope of redemption. The question he asked himself now however was whether the visitor was truly of this earth. For was it kismet that his life had been so drastically changed or was it just coincidence? Abd-Al-Rahman had intended to inherit his father’s ‘business’ and make it even greater than his father could even dream of. But that evening after reading aloud the words;

“Om Asatoma Sad Gamaya
Tamasoma Jyoti Gamaya
Myrityoma Amritam Gamaya”

He never forgot those words. They were forever embedded in his soul, never easing his thoughts. It reminded him of the greed he saw in others around him, those he had alienated himself from. Although this constant reminder was one he cradled, it was a beautiful indescribable feeling. That night his rest was so uneasy. Dreams he saw which frightened him so intensely that when waking he found blood pouring from his nose. His dreams were not his own, someone had given them to him. The stranger? He saw in his dream a love so great, so divine, locked up. Buried under the foundations of his father’s kingdom. But the time was drawing near, the chains were swiftly broken and in an upsurge of power the kingdom above fell upon flames. All those within were vexed with burns, diseases, and curses until they, in such misery and anguish, threw themselves into the pit in which Love was previously entrapped. He then saw himself standing in the midst of it all. On one side of him was his father, surrounded by mosquitoes and leeches, beckoning him to stand hither. For the first time in his life Abd-Al-Rahman looked upon his father and saw the evil inside of him. The rotting and decay, the darkness, the burning. He looked into his father’s eyes and found it hard to distinguish the man he had once looked up to from the infectious slugs around him. He then looked to his other side of where he stood. He was fearful of what he saw. Love had stopped its cleansing of filth and turned towards him, offering unto him his hand. Such beauty Abd-Al-Rahman saw in Love’s eyes. Freedom, purity, happiness, salvation. Whom was he to follow? Love was ever so patient and Abd-Al-Rahman was not ignorant of which path was best to trod on, nor was he indifferent of which path he would take. The dreaming had been ephemeral. He did not dream of such things again for many months. Looking back Abd-Al-Rahman was delighted of the choice he had made that evening. His prayer had come alive. For now he lived in light, away from the darkness his father had brought upon him. The truculent castigations he had suffered from those around him were well worth the cost of following the Greatest Love. He had given up his old life, thrown it away.

I heard a man once say

“Sour grapes eaten by parents leave a sour taste in the mouths of their children”

But by looking at the father and the son I tell you now that this child never received that sour taste and nor do any others. The son I look at is truly a son of mine. For wherever I lead he will follow. Even as some kick at him he stays faithful to his master. He would guide blind women over busy streets and eagerly wait at the door for his master to return and feed his soul with truth. I have blessed the son by answering his prayer.

From delusion I led him to truth
from his darkness I led him to light
and from his death I led him to eternal life

But the father is not of this same manner. A brilliant flower would cripple in his presence. He slivers subtly the wicked lies of sin in through the ears of any who dare stop and listen. Moths and Robbers await eagerly for his rotting insides to show. I do not know the father and he chooses not to know me.

Please note: name meanings; ABD-AL-RAHMAN: servant of the merciful

SAYYID: Master

Written by Andrew Wilson ©