Haruspex

The innocent heart wrested from its sanctum. The belly laid waste, and for what, save love of gore? Here, we look down on the altar to see the heathen’s crooked hopes, as well as his hubris. As though prophecy arranged itself in flesh and blood for him to see!

The theme of this figure is savagery. This is sacrifice, indeed, but not holy sacrifice—the One offered in consideration of the many. No, this is barbarism: the dumb brute slaughtered for the supposed wisdom contained in its viscera. The curving black forks—splinters of clavicle, scapula, rib—offer mute testimony to those who shiver for want of grace. To the over-reacher, the omen-monger, sky-watcher, shabby “priest.” (Ha!) The wavering, parallel inscriptions are empty repetition, epitaphs for illiterates.

Wrong questions lead to wrong answers.

Fallacy

The eye of a storm, a whirlpool that drags men under, the ring of fire. These circular motifs are bearers of tragedy. Beware those who liken life itself unto a circle.

The falsity of the metaphor is apparent, and the figure underscores this conclusion. The cycle—with its endless repetition of anthropocentric stages and achievements—bears no resemblance to the true nature of existence. Redemption is a destination, not a way-station. The circle admits no endpoint, hence, no final reward. Time, like grace, is an arrow, and it points only one way. It is bestowed, not merely experienced. The past might be prologue; regardless, it will ever remain past. The only wheel with the power presumed by this figure is the wheel upon which the disbeliever’s body was broken that his soul might be mended.

Hell is a circle. Salvation is a lifeline.

Messenger

The soul’s journey to its ultimate post-life? An enticement to embrace a pan-naturism? Answers prove elusive as the Wander continues. We strain to hear echoes of the Word.

It is as though a guide has led a reluctant protagonist through realms both inherent and elemental—witness the water and flame forms, repeated as a rebuke of nihilism. At last the quest denied is taken up! At last, action is initiated! The messenger—communer with the Outer and the Inner—is the spark, the instigation of motion: O, Impetus! Seen in this light, the entire figure takes on the appearance not of aura, formless energy, but instead of a compass rose, that which orients.

We are never alone who listen for the Voice.