What is the Rough Beast that Slouches toward Bethlehem, waiting to be Born?

What is the Rough Beast that Slouches toward Bethlehem, waiting to be Born?

The dry wind blew through the skulls. Tones of woe arose, as the wind snaked from skull to skull, in one eyeball, and out another. Here – for a moment – through the nose, elsewhere out of cracks and broken places.

The wind was divided within itself. Sometimes lost. Sometimes elated, to be dancing with death again.

Battlefields are wonders, if we have the ear for it. Occasionally a quickening breeze would draw a song from a broken blade. Carrion birds made pecking noises, while dancing on what flesh there still remained.

Some had not died – right away, but their wounds made them wish that grace would come sooner rather than later.

Small animals crawled out of their hidden borrows. Places of safety already built, for the forces of the living have wisdom, and see the future.

A mocking bird began to yodel, and scream, trying to repeat the sounds the battle had left in his heart. He noticed a grasshopper, trying to hide, and made a quick meal. Thirsty now, he smelled water, jumped into a gliding dive from his perch, yet turned away, for a copper smell lingered. He did not like the way the water tasted, when the red/brown river of life flowed and flowed, drenching the holy earth with corruption.

The sun, Himself, hid behind clouds of tears. He/She – that knows all – had already opened the Gates of the Underworld … readying the land of the dead to receive multitudes.


A planet aflame with madness, greed, lies, hate, stupidity, fear, ambition, … just because the Mystery had been forgotten, did not mean Justice or Truth had abandoned humanity – although … this time around ordinary human beings were free to build or destroy according to their individual judgments.

The rich had overplayed their hand. The plague had gotten away from them, especially when the people understood that their heartless guile was itself the true illness.

The Mother is within All. She is of the Wild. The rage that will burn, as the pandemic lies are exposed, will visit the unimaginable, … while at the same time the Warming gets ready to deliver Winter. Snow to bless the earth, and sanctify it, in spite of endless human folly.

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