Hic Sunt Deos

Here Be Gods

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The Soma Posts

September 20, 2020 / / 0 Comments

The God Of The Gaps – Short story

September 2, 2020 / / 0 Comments

“Hello.”

I opened my eyes for the first time. I saw for the first time. I saw him looking at me. He was standing there, motionless. We were surrounded by mists.

I opened my… mouth, and spoke for the first time, “Hello.”

He stared at me, with no expression and no expectation. I turned my… head and looked around. There were only him and… me. I looked down at myself. I looked much like him.

He spoke again, “Do you know what you are?”

I thought, and knew that I did, “I am a god.”

He nodded, his face still and passive. He did not seem surprised. I was not surprised. I wondered why. Looking at that calm face, I asked, “Are you also a god?”

“Yes. We are all gods here.”

“Here?” As I said it, I began to see where we were. It was all mist, but the mists had shape, and purpose, and they took the form of what was needed, when it was needed. We were standing in the mists, but there were others there as well, hidden for the moment, in shapes yet unknown to me, their place and purpose shrouded beyond my sight.

He spoke to me again, “Do you know who you are?”

I opened my mouth, but could not answer. I did not know this. Not yet.

He nodded at my silence and said, “This is natural. No god knows themself, not at first. All will become clear when it needs to be clear.”

He turned to leave, and was walking away into the mists before I thought to speak again, calling out to him as he became less defined in my sight, “Wait!” I cried, “Can I walk with you?”

He stopped and turned toward me, his face now solemn, “No one can walk with me. That is my nature. I walk alone.” He did not turn away with these words and I wondered why. He spoke again, “No one can walk with me, but… you can walk where I walk.”

So I followed him. I knew nothing yet, except him, and I wanted to know more. I wanted to know everything. Perhaps that was who I was, the one who wanted to know things. I did not know for sure. It would do for now. As he walked alone and I walked in his footsteps, the mists that were before him parted and lifted, and there were now chambers and hallways formed from them, running in every direction that was, and in every direction that was not. There were others, but they did not look like him. They all looked like themselves, and like each other. There were small gods and large gods, there were gods with many heads and faces and gods with none. There were dark gods who were shrouded in shadow and bright gods who blazed and shone, and both were difficult to look at. Some of the gods looked busy and were hurrying about from one path to another, in and out of chambers. Other gods seemed to have no purpose, and were standing there, silent, still, and serene.

Looking around at all of these gods, I asked him, “Who are they?”

“They are gods, like you.”

“Like me. Like you?”

“There are no gods like me.”

“But you are like you.”

“Yes, I am like me.”

“But… who are they?”

“Who are you?”

I did not know this yet, and asked no more then, thinking on his question.

He walked on, on and on, down many hallways, always moving, never hesitating. He seemed to have a purpose. I did not know if I had a purpose. I wanted a purpose. Perhaps he knew. I followed him. We entered a great chamber, larger than all the others before it, larger than anything. There were countless gods in the chamber, and I looked at every one of them in turn. They were all unique, yet they were all the same. None looked like me, yet all of them did.

This made me wonder, and I asked him as I followed him deep into the chamber, “Why are there so many of us?”

“Each god was created to serve a purpose.”

“What is that purpose?”

“To be created.”

“We exist to exist?”

“Gods exist when they need to exist.”

“How long have you existed?”

He stopped and thought before answering, “I have always existed.”

“You have always needed to exist?”

“Yes.”

“Did you create us?”

He shook his head, but did not laugh, “No, we do not create gods. We are gods.”

“What do we create?”

“We create nothing. We are created.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We do nothing. We are gods.”

“But if we do nothing, we must have no purpose.”

He shook his head and started walking again, saying as he strode onward, “Each of us has a purpose. Each of us has our own purpose, and they are all the same purpose. This is natural.”

I did not understand. Not yet. So I followed once more. We passed by many gods of strange and fearful description, we passed by many gods who did not appear as anything at all, but were still there. Some of these gods towered above all the others, and when they moved, the mists took new forms around them. When they stretched their limbs in any direction, the chamber and the hallways changed in turn. I saw one of these gods step on a lesser god, and when he stepped away, I could no longer see the smaller. I asked him about this, wondering where the missing god had gone, but he only shook his head and walked on.

He left the great chamber and walked on, on and on he walked, the steps he took were measureless and the mists billowed all around. He entered a chamber, a small chamber much like where I first opened my eyes, and I followed. There was no one in this chamber, only him and only me. He stopped and he waited, and I stopped and I waited. I knew there was no time, not for gods, but we waited.

At last he spoke, and his word was, “Hello,” and there was another in the chamber with him and with me.

This new god opened their eyes for the first time and spoke for the first time and their first word was an answer, “Hello.”

He asked the new god, “Do you know what you are?”

The new god spoke truth, “I am a god.”

He nodded, his face still and passive. The new god did not ask any questions.

He spoke to them again, “Do you know who you are?”

“I am that I am.”

He nodded and the new god left the chamber and walked away. He left the chamber and walked a different way. I followed him.

I wondered, and I asked, “They knew what they were.”

“Yes. This is natural.”

“I do not.”

“Yes. This is natural.” I did not understand. So I followed. He walked endlessly then entered another chamber. I entered the chamber. There was another god here. This was an old god. This was a very old god. They looked up at him and said, “I am not ready.”

He stood there, motionless, surrounded by mists.

“I do not want to die.”

“We do not die.”

“I can feel myself fading. I do not want to go.”

“You will not go. You will not die. We do not die.”

“What is happening to me?”

“You are. Soon, you will not be.”

“So I will die.”

“No. Once you were not. Now you are. Soon, you will no longer be. This is natural.”

They did not look pleased with this answer. They trembled and they shook. Then they were no more. I was alone in the chamber with him.

I looked at him, him who had been there when first I saw. He was a little smaller than before. I asked him, “Who were they?”

“They were a god.”

“If they were a god, why did they cease to be?”

“Because they were a god. They served their purpose, then they had no purpose, then they were no more. This is natural.”

“What was their purpose?”

“To be a god.”

Before he could turn to leave, I wondered, and I asked him, “What is your purpose?”

“My purpose is my own.” He would say no more. He left the chamber and I left the chamber and the chamber was no more. The mists had a purpose, and they took the form of that purpose. When that purpose ceased to be, the mists took a new purpose.

He walked forever, and I followed and I did not understand. Everywhere he went, new gods appeared, just as I had. Some were small, some were large. All the new gods knew what they were at first, but all knew their purpose, and just as I did not. Everywhere he went, old gods ceased to be, and everywhere he went, the old gods that were no more were forgotten. Only he seemed to remember the old gods that no longer were. Some appeared as new gods, only to become old gods and cease to be before they knew who they were. Every time an old god ceased to be, he was a little bit smaller.

I wondered, and I asked, “Why are there new gods when there are so many old gods? Why do old gods cease to be?”

“New gods serve new purposes. New gods serve old purposes. They are all unique purposes and they are all the same. All gods are created to answer a question. When that question is answered, they no longer need to be. This is natural.”

“You have always been here, but other gods come and other gods go. Will you ever cease to be?”

He shook his head and answered, “No, I will always have a purpose.”

“What is that purpose?”

“I am the god of the unasked questions, I am the god of the unanswered and the unknown, I am the god of the gaps, and I will always be.”

He was standing there, motionless. I saw him looking at me. We were surrounded by mists. I understood. I knew my purpose. I looked at the god of the unquestioned questions with understanding and then I was not.

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Again! Again!

March 25, 2020 / / 1 Comment

“Again! Again!”

I smiled down at my little boy, “I’ve already told this story three times tonight.”

His eyes shone with glee as he simply repeated himself, “Again! Again!”

The sun had set, and the light outside was but moon and stars. My son was not at all tired yet, and neither was I. Stroking his blond hair I said, “Oh, alright, I will tell it again.”

“A long time ago, long before I was born, they told the story of a mischievous spirit called a pooka. Wherever the pooka went, it played pranks on people, but these were usually harmless. It found humans funny, and they, in turn, found its japes amusing. The pooka could take the form of whatever it wanted, and would often play among the human children, laughing and running about. One day, it was playing hide and seek with the children of a small village, and it really wanted to win. It took the form of a moss covered rock, knowing the children would never find it. Oh how it laughed to itself in glee, thinking of all the humans worrying about the child they could not find, lost all alone, in the woods, as night approached. But no one was looking for the pooka. The children had forgotten there was another playmate that day. They had forgotten the strange little child that none of them knew, and they had finished their little game and gone home for supper.

“When midnight came, and still no one looked for it, the pooka changed into an owl and went looking for the humans, wondering where they all were. There were no humans about, there were no torches lit, no search parties for the lost little child who had not been found. It searched all night for any sign that they had worried, and found none. As daylight broke upon the little village, the pooka had become angry, and vengeful. A dangerous thing is a pooka if you ignore its tricks.

“At first, it played the mean pranks it often played when it felt slighted. Milk soured, animals strayed, chairs broke, and food went missing. Still, the humans showed no sign of remorse. No offerings to the magical spirit were offered to soothe its rage. The pooka grew spiteful, and its pranks became dangerous. The baker broke his leg falling off a ladder, the local shepherd almost drowned crossing a river, and the village well dried up. One by one, the humans grew fearful, and they whispered among themselves, wondering what was causing their misfortunes. They imagined ghosts and ghouls, witches and wights, fairies and fuaths. They blamed one creature after another, but not once did they think of pookas, and this made the pooka very angry indeed.

“No longer was it thinking of simple pranks or jests, no longer did it want the people of the village to fear it. No, now it wanted the people of the village to suffer. So it called upon its kind, and from far and wide did the pookas come, each delighted at the grand caper the angry pooka proposed. One by one, the pookas tempted every child of the village away from the watchful eyes of the adults and the other children, and one by one, they stole the child away, putting one of their number in its place, until there was but one human child left in the village. One small, lone child, a little blond boy, just like you, who never ventured from his house, who preferred to play by himself indoors with his books and toys. And it was this little boy that the angry pooka chose to take the place of.

“It approached the house of the little blond boy one afternoon when his parents were still off at work, and taking the form of a puppy, it yipped and yapped, and scratched at the door of the house, trying to lure the child outside. But the child, who looked out at the frantic little animal jumping and prancing about outside his window, did not trust strange animals, just like you, and he turned away from the window and went back to his toys.

“The pooka returned the next day and took the form of a little old lady, frail and kindly, holding a basket of sweet things to entice the child outside. But the child was not fond of sweet things, just like you, and refused to answer the door for the stranger, and went back to his books. This upset the pooka, but what could it do? Even magical creatures have rules they must obey, and the pooka could not enter the house except in the form of the little boy. So once again, it had to go away, and the boy was safe another day.

“Day after day, the pooka returned, and it took form after form, each more irresistible than the last, but nothing it did could coax the little boy out of his house and into danger, for the boy was obedient, and his parents had told him never to go outside when they were away, and never to talk to strangers. Day after day, the pooka tried, and day after day it was frustrated, and the lone little boy who preferred books to all the silly little things other children found so fun remained safe in his house.”

My child beamed up at me and asked excitedly, “Did the pooka ever get him?”

“Never. Not as long as the boy remained inside, like a good little boy should, like you do, my child.” I kissed the top of his head as I finished my cautionary tale once more.

“Again! Again!”

I smiled down at my little boy and laughed, “You have heard this story four times tonight.”

He just smiled at me in that way every child smiles at their parent when they do not want to let the story end, “Again! Again!”

An owl hooted as the deep of the night settled in. My son was still not tired, and neither was I. Stroking his brown hair I said, “Oh, alright, I will tell it again.”

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