#hashytag good omens
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Shiny new postcards to aid with choosing an afternoonâs plans. I shall make some of these available as prizes at next yearâs Ineffable Con, and perhaps Iâll find a reason to give some away before then?
Pretend you donât hear Crowley in the backgroundâŠ
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No echoes tonight but the ones I choose for myself.
#good omens 2#spoilers#crowley#aziraphaleâs diaries#hashytag good omens#Wouldnât want to get into any scrapes#The Magic Circle still wonât accept me#Hashytag: From the Eastern Gate to the West End
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Popped out for a cake and found myself at St Jamesâs park. Luckily, Crowley was there to hold the fort when the Comical Film Convention ran out of postcards and miracles up some extras in a trice! If you should chance to be there tomorrow, you might find one of my trade tokens under the armrest, unless someone else finds them firstâŠ
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It was brought to my attention that I may not have shared some of our videographic exploits here on the Tumbler. My apologies if you have seen these beforeâŠ
A few years ago, I made the acquaintance of a gentleman in the employ of Sotheranâs bookshop (est. 1761; they have an owl) when his Tweetles began to be confused with my own (est. 1800; I have a demon) and I sent him a polite letter asking for a little clarification on the matter.*
The following year it came to my notice that Oliver â for such was his name â had developed a yen for some personalised bookplates.
Well, who am I to disappoint?
Crowley was kind enough to pick the bookplates up from the printers and was very impressed at my facility with internet language!
youtube
*Assiduously reported by @flameraven
https://www.tumblr.com/flameraven/637870707069648896/if-you-dont-follow-sotherans-over-on-twitter
#good omens#crowley#aziraphale#hashytag good omens#Be careful what you wish for#The centaur of attention#Youtube
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Do you and Crowley have favourite flowers?
(I may be asking for a particular reason)
Iâd be torn to choose, but I like blue irises, buttercups, dandelions and both English and Shasta daisies. Cheerful flowers that turn their faces to the sun. Crowleyâs keen on orchids (donât tell anyone, but heâs always rescuing those sad-looking supermarket specimens and nursing them back to health). He also likes lotus flowers, and dark-coloured dahlias, red and black especially.
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People often say to me âAziraphale, what exactly is Firmament?â
And by âoftenâ, I mean âtwiceâ, and they donât so much say it as send me little enquiries on the Twitters and the Tumbler, along with inexplicable demands to know whether Crowley or I go âon topâ.
Iâll get to the point in a moment, but, since youâre here, I would like to make it clear that our sleeping arrangements are nobodyâs business but our own.
In any case, we donât own a bunk bed, so the point is moot.
The subject of Firmament first came up on a clear night a few hundred years after I followed Adam and Eve out from Eden. Seth â their third child â was lying on a stone outcrop near the settlement, watching the sky, and I was sitting a little way off, keeping an eye out for scorpions.
âOl-ah-kwa*?â The boy was usually full of questions, but that night heâd been uncharacteristically quiet. âWhat are they called, the lights above?â It wasnât the first time heâd asked and he already knew the answer perfectly well, but that was his way.
âThose are stars. Has your father shown you how to find your path by them?â He shook his head, and I resolved to talk to Eve in the morning.
âHow are they there? Are they like flowers on a bush? Or spots on a lizard? How many there are.â
I wished Crowley had been there, just then. He could have explained it so much better. I did my best, although I think I left him with the impression that every star hovered high in the heavens like a hummingbird, and he took some convincing that they wouldnât eventually grow tired, having nowhere to perch, and come crashing down around us.
âBut why are they like fires? If they were made to fly up there forever, why donât they grow feathers and just be birds?â
âWell, that would rather defeat the purpose, B-qa-lyl**.â And that might have been the end of the matter, but the boy had long since learned my weakness.
âDonât you know?â
And this is what I told him:
âThey are stars, because God told them to be stars. If She ever decides that they should be birds, then birds they will become. She told your father and mother to be human, because there was a place made in the world for humanity. Your purpose in this life is to discover what it means to be human.â
âWhat about the next life?â
âWait and see.â
And this is what I didnât tell him:
In the Beginning was the Void. And God spoke into the Nothing -That-Was, and that word was the first Firmament.
Firmament exists without mass, without substance. It is the Almightyâs intent, Her design, Her love; it is a blueprint for reality, pure potential and the Universe is spun with its threads. In the hands of the Virtues, it takes on form, accretes matter â becomes Material, a mechanism turned with a key that sounds like âLET THERE BEâ.
Firmament can only be seen by the shadows that it casts. Gravity. The way that particles converse. Electromagnetism. Slood. It moves in mysterious ways and it reaches everywhere that is not Void. One day, scholars will glimpse the outer edges of âomnipresenceâ, and call it âquantum entanglementâ.
I should have found a way to explain that â while stars arenât birds â they share their firmament as all the brush stokes of a masterpiece share their canvas, as the individual notes of a melody are carried on the same breath. Everything touches everything. âLook what ye have done unto one of the least of these my brethren, the same have ye done unto me.â
Perhaps if Iâd taught Seth that all that lies between each of us and the furthest, strangest star is a triviality called âdistanceâ, which only really has meaning inside the preserve of mortal dimensions, he might have understood. I tried to explain it to his descendants, but perhaps they were too old, too certain of themselves, to listen. I was never much of a teacher.
Later, in all the confusion of Babel, rÄqÄ«a (something beaten thin to form a surface) and rakhmyn (love) went their separate ways, and whenever I encountered the subject of⊠celestial scaffolding â for want of a better word â it came in the context of the former. A shell to support the stars, to hold back the upper waters. They forgot about the âloveâ part.
Later still, Crowley got volubly drunk with a fellow named Copernicus and made some progress, but even his controversial model couldnât let go of firmament as the pastry around the universal profiterole.
Then there was Giordano Bruno⊠but we donât talk about him.
So, here I am, trying again. Hoping that Iâve explained myself better this time, because, after all, thatâs what an angel is: Firmament imbued with mind, and grace, willed into life by words of purpose unique to each one of us. Wearing atomic fancy-dress so that we can speak to you in words you can comprehend (ideally without falling down and giggling while your hair smoulders gently).
We are, at base, figments of Her imagination, which is so powerful that it was necessary that She invent free will to stop all things yielding unfailingly to Her whim. As a consequence, reality tends to become malleable in our immediate vicinity.
What is Firmament? Itâs everything. Itâs Creation. Itâs humans, and demons, and angels. Itâs stars, and itâs the walls of Eden. Itâs the bullet, and the finger pulling the trigger, the magician and the audience, and the shocked air expanding in ripples from the burning powder. Itâs the scalpel, and the flesh. And inside, beneath the dancing atoms, itâs love.
Try to remember that part, because sometimes it seems very well hidden.
Itâs love.
*Brother
**Something small
#good omens#hashytag good omens#spoilers#Yes I may have partaken of a little myrrh#Cosmological wittering#Too long for a fortune cookie#Crowley has taken over the hashytags#We are not drunk enough for this#Crowley shush#You will meet a tall dark stranger#My dear Iâve already met you#Iâm not a stranger#You are /quite/ strange
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It took some searching, but I finally unearthed the trade tokens from my old shop on the bridge. Rather the worse for wear, but still legible!
The lack of small denomination coins at that time made everyday purchases difficult. Traders took it upon themselves to issue farthing (a quarter of a penny) and half-penny tokens to fill the gap.
Shops could give these tokens as change, and would accept other tradersâ tokens. Thus, for example, Mister Finch of âThe Dogâs Headâ might come to me with twenty-four of my half-penny tokens, and redeem them for a shilling.
The practice survived for some several decades until, in 1672, a proclamation was issued by Charles II that copper farthings and halfpence stamped at the Mint would be the only permitted coinage, and the issuing of private tokens largely ceased.
You might be interested to know that the discussion of minting /legal/ small coinage was discussed by the Commonwealth Government â as beneficial to the poor â as early as 1651. Despite this, nothing was done about it. For almost thirty years.
Isnât history interesting?
#hashytag good omens#established in 1644#That nice Mister A. Ziraphale who ran the bookshop two doors along#life before Soho#Mister Finch was a hosier#so Iâm not entirely sure of the significance of a dogâs head to his trade#still he did a lovely trade in clocked silk stockings
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After some questions about my âtrueâ form and whether or not I have a thousand eyes and a veritable farmyard of creatures emerging from my collar, I have decided to show you this record of an encounter between myself and a certain writer at the latter end of the Elizabethan period. I remember the event slightly differently, but I suppose one has to make room for artistic licence.
Iâm assured that if you click âkeep readingâ, the full transcript will appear.
To assist you, Iâve added a glossary at the end.
And no, Crowley, this still doesnât count as having wheels.
âThis is an true accounting of mine own eyes, set down by mine hand this tenth night of September, in the yeare of Our Lord sixteen hundred and one. They will say I am gone mad, for such visions belong to those who dwell in Bethâlem Monastery, but I swear on all that is precious to me, this seânnight past I saw an Angel.
I was but newly set out from the towne, and some light yet remained to guide my path, when I looked to the east and saw of a sudden a second dawn. Tâwas no earthly fire; Aye, I warrant you, I am not bestraught! My father spoke, in Harryâs day, of the great conflagration of Edinburgh. He told me that Hell had claimed the sky, for all above was a fury dressâd in crimson and wretched with soot. But here was nothing of red.
I have seen it since in dreams and will, I ken enow, see it as I draw my final breath. Hasten the day.
It was akin to a man. I gleaned as much in those moments when I looked upon it, ere it saw me and my wits fled me. But also unlike a man, for where a man has but one pair of hands were there some severall, and where a man has flesh and bone was there flame. Such pale fire have I never seen but I should think it alchymy, and mine eyes were indeed ensorceled, for I saw colours without name, and things too marvellous and awful to relate. I will. I must. This labourâd span is raised to worthy work, knowing the glory that awaits. But oh, I am affraid. I pray my sins have not snatched the cup from my lips.
This fearful apparition stood upon the hill, and the white fire that was its crown was with the thin night clouds commingled. Its face â no. Of that no more, yet. I cannot. All about was compassed in armillary radiances which turned one within another, the forme entire and every hand with pearlie lustre enwheeled.
Below, the flames of Tuscalonian hue that formed a body for the Presence were so and so girded with armour: bright fragments, the whole twixt corslet and grand guard, matched with cushes; all of nacreous stuff and lapis-ensigilâd but for one place high âpon the rightmost thighpiece where the intricate device was marred and running gold in place of gore.
What can wound an Angel? I think on this and tremble as the very earth trembled where it stood, ague-shooke by a lowâring thunder.
I have held golden angels in my palm and have seen them in holy glass and in base iron gaulle, with dovesâ wings upon their shoulders. Foh, we are Godâs own fools. Its wings were the clouds pierced by stormlight, dark upon light upon dark, and where they moved was printed a world beyond my understanding, witnest through a furnace shimmer.
I saw a flock of stars draw close around it, and it seemed to dote upon them and cosset them as a hunter with his favourite hounds, and I would there have fainted all away an if I had not been fixed in terror. For they were not specks and embers laid distant upon the sky, a sailorâs comfort and guide, but each and each an inferno pluckâd from Heaven; baleful sentinels from which no secret could be hidden. Such fell lights would render trivial the earthly fires of Nebuchadnezzar.
Words are meat and drink to me, yet do I tell this so poorly I should be âshamed and nevermore lift a goose-pen. Still, âtis no matter for who shall read it? When all is said, Iâll put these lines away and think on them no more. In telling will I win myself a little peace.
Wheretofore had I been silent, so now instantly did I weep, and laugh, and cry out for Godâs mercy, and it looked upon me. Od's-me, it turned its Phoebean eyes on me and I saw its face. Above the gleaming corselet had that most blessed igenieur placed a maske of fine, unblemishâd parchment, in thâ likeness of a gentle visage, before the sainted flame. Troth, a kindely lanthorne of such boundlesse compassion that I fell upon my knees and made to crawl into the fire, sooner to know its forgiuenesse. Then did it smile, as no painted visor could, and all my knotted thoughts were ravelâd out and I was at once a babe, a foole, unfolded and sanctuarized. Under this soft and clement regard I swounded, onely to wake in my lodgings, âtired, but not tyred, my travells lost beyond recover.â
Glossary:
Bethâlem Monastery â Bishopgate hospital that would later become the notorious âBedlamâ.
seânnight â seven nights â a week
warrant â assure/promise
bestraught â mad
Harry â another name for Henry â in this case Henry VIII
ere â until
ensorceled â enchanted
commingled â mixed with
compassed â surrounded by
armillary â resembling concentric rings set at angles
pearlie lustre â a pearl-like glow
enwheeled â encircled (shush, Crowley)
Tuscalonian â pale straw-yellow
girded â armoured
twixt â between
corslet â armour covering the upper body
grand guard â armour protecting the heart and left shoulder
cushes â armour for the thighs
nacreous stuff â resembling mother-of-pearl
lapis-ensigilâd â decorated in blue
intricate device â complicated symbol
ague-shooke â shivering, as with a sickness
lowâring â threatening/ominous
golden angels â gold coins stamped with the likeness of Michael defeating Lucifer
holy glass â church windows
iron gaulle â ink
Foh â an exclamation of disgust
cosset â fuss over
an if â if
goose-pen â a quill
Wheretofore â while until now
instantly â at the same time
Od's-me â an exclamation: âGod save meâ
Phoebean â relating to Phoebus/the sun
blessed igenieur â The creator
visage â face
Troth â an exclamation: âindeedâ
lanthorne â lantern
painted visor â an immobile mask
ravelâd out â unwound
unfolded â exposed
sanctuarized â protected/sheltered
clement â forgiving
swounded â fainted
âtired, but not tyred â a pun: âtired (attired) meaning dressed, tyred meaning weary
recover â remember
Addendum:
Iâve been asked to provide a translation for the Latin community. My grasp of Elizabethan Spanish would, I fear, let me down, so this is couched in modern termsâŠ
Este es un relato verdadero de lo que vi, escrito por mi mano esta dĂ©cima noche de septiembre, en el año de Nuestro Señor mil seiscientos uno. DirĂĄn que me he vuelto loco, pues tales visiones pertenecen a los que viven en el Monasterio de Beth'lem, pero juro por todo lo que me es precioso, que la semana pasada vi a un Ăngel.
HacĂa poco que habĂa salido de la ciudad, y aĂșn quedaba algo de luz para guiar mi camino, cuando mirĂ© hacia el este y de repente vi un segundo amanecer. No era fuego terrestre; ÂĄte juro que no estoy loco! Mi padre hablaba, en tiempos de Harry, del gran incendio de Edimburgo. Me dijo que el infierno habĂa reclamado el cielo, pues todo lo alto era una furia vestida de carmesĂ y desdichada por el hollĂn. Pero aquĂ no habĂa rojo.
Desde entonces lo he visto en sueños y estoy seguro de que lo verĂ© cuando exhale mi Ășltimo aliento. OjalĂĄ sea pronto.
Era como un hombre. Me di cuenta de ello en el breve momento en que lo mirĂ©, hasta que me vio y perdĂ la razĂłn. Pero tambiĂ©n era distinto de un hombre, porque donde un hombre tiene un solo par de manos habĂa varias, y donde un hombre tiene carne y hueso habĂa llamas. Nunca he visto fuego pĂĄlido como Ă©ste, a menos que fuera hecho por alquimia, y mis ojos estaban realmente encantados, porque vi colores sin nombre, y cosas demasiado maravillosas y horribles para relatarlas. Lo harĂ©. Debo hacerlo. Esta vida dura merece la pena, sabiendo la gloria que aguarda despuĂ©s de la muerte. Pero tengo miedo. Rezo para que mis pecados no me hayan arrebatado la copa de los labios.
Esta temible apariciĂłn se alzaba sobre la colina, y el fuego blanco que la coronaba se enredaba con las delgadas nubes nocturnas. Su rostro... no. AĂșn no puedo hablar de ello. Todo estaba rodeado de ruedas de luz que giraban unas dentro de otras, y toda su forma y cada una de sus manos estaban rodeadas de un resplandor nacarado.
Debajo, las llamas de color amarillo pĂĄlido que formaban el cuerpo de la Presencia estaban cubiertas por piezas de armadura: fragmentos brillantes que, todos juntos, formaban una coraza, y una armadura para las piernas; parecĂan de nĂĄcar cubiertas de sĂmbolos azules brillantes, excepto en un lugar en lo alto del muslo derecho, donde los adornos estaban dañados y sangraban oro.
¿Qué puede herir a un ångel? Pienso en esto y tiemblo como tiembla la tierra donde estaba, sacudida por truenos ominosos.
He tenido ĂĄngeles de oro (monedas) en la palma de mi mano y los he visto en vidrio sagrado y en tinta simple, con alas de paloma sobre sus hombros. Buaj, somos los propios tontos de Dios. Sus alas eran las nubes atravesadas por la luz de la tormenta, oscuridad sobre luz sobre oscuridad, y donde se movĂan vi un mundo mĂĄs allĂĄ de mi entendimiento, presenciado a travĂ©s de un resplandor como de horno.
Vi una bandada de estrellas acercarse a su alrededor, y parecĂa adorarlas y mimarlas como un cazador a sus sabuesos favoritos, y me habrĂa desmayado si no me hubiera quedado helado de terror. Porque no eran motas y ascuas lejanas en el cielo, consuelo y guĂa de un marinero, sino cada una un infierno arrancado del Cielo; torvos centinelas a los que no se podĂa ocultar ningĂșn secreto. Luces tan terribles harĂan que los fuegos terrenales de Nabucodonosor parecieran triviales.
Las palabras son carne y bebida para mĂ, pero estoy contando esto tan mal que deberĂa avergonzarme y no volver a levantar una pluma. Aun asĂ, no importa porque ÂżquiĂ©n lo leerĂĄ? Cuando termine, guardarĂ© este escrito y no pensarĂ© en Ă©l. Contando esto me ganarĂ© un poco de paz.
HabĂa estado en silencio, pero ahora llorĂ©, y reĂ, y supliquĂ© la misericordia de Dios, y el ĂĄngel me mirĂł. mSobre la coraza reluciente El Creador habĂa colocado una mĂĄscara de pergamino fino y sin mancha que parecĂa un rostro amable, frente al fuego sagrado. De hecho, era una linterna bondadosa de una compasiĂłn tan ilimitada que caĂ de rodillas e intentĂ© arrastrarme hasta el fuego, para poder sentir su perdĂłn. Entonces sonriĂł (como nunca podrĂa hacerlo una mĂĄscara), y todos mis confusos pensamientos se desenredaron y me sentĂ simultĂĄneamente un bebĂ©, un tonto, expuesto y protegido. Bajo esta atenciĂłn suave e indulgente me desmayĂ©, sĂłlo para despertar en mi alojamiento, vestido, pero no cansado, incapaz de recordar cĂłmo habĂa llegado hasta allĂ.
#hashytag good omens#they arenât wheels theyâre parhelia#unofficial Appear Unto#Now with added Spanish
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You might already have seen this videograph elsewhere, but I was rather excited to add this particular book to my collection! One of only twenty-four copies, I feel deeply privileged to be able to share it with you all.
Not only is the story itself very special to me (and worryingly accurate in many respects), it is most gloriously and skilfully bound, and contained in a burr oak box with brass fittings, lined with hand-marbled paper of celestial blue, and illustrated by that marvel of portraiture, Mister Paul Kidby.
Within the box are an assortment of ephemera, some of which are pictured below.
(And yes, I can read the alien âpenalty noticeâ.)
#hashytag Good Omens#leave it alone Jim#Fenella Fudge reads the news#we like holding hands#donât ask about the leopard#All Hail#terry pratchett#neil gaiman#paul kidby#rob wilkins#dunmanifestin#a very nice courier named Graham#and a host of artisans including bookbinders#Lyraâs Books#paper marblers#metalworkers#printers#cabinetmakers and diuerse others#Youtube
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The tenth of September, 1601. What wounds an angel?
Another angel. But it was all a very long time ago.
#hashytag good omens#All holy water under the bridge#or possibly hellfire#Whatâs done is done is what Iâm trying to say
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âAnd the last shalle be first, and the first shalle be last. And the ones in the middle shalle there yette remayn, perchance facing the other way.â
Well, now I have one of these things. How do I find everyone?
#good omens#good omens 2#Yes itâs Enochian#I found the hashytags!#Crowley knows about the feather#đ#Ignore the banana
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1 Then was JeĆżus led aĆżide of the Spirit into the wilderneĆżs, to be tempted of the deuil.
2Â And when he had faĆżted forty days, and forty nights, he was afterward hvngry.
3Â Then came to him the tempter, and Ćżaid, If thou be the Son of God, command that theĆże Ćżtones be made bread.
4Â But he anĆżwering, Ćżaid, It is written, Man shall not live by bread only, but by euery word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.
5 And the deuil Ćżaid, That is Alle Very Well, but the bread helps.
6Â Then the deuil took him up into the holy city, and Ćżet him on a pinnacle of the Temple.
7Â And Ćżaid vnto him, If thou be the Son of God, caĆżt thyĆżelf down, for it is written, that he will give his Angels charge over thee, and with their hands they Ćżhall lift thee up, leĆżt at any time thou ĆżhouldeĆżt daĆżh thy foot againĆżt a Ćżtone.
8 And in Ćżpeaking theĆże wordes did the deuil raiĆże his voice, as if calling vnto another, though none was there preĆżent.
9Â JeĆżus Ćżaid unto him, It is written again, Thou Ćżhalt not tempt the Lord thy God.
10 Then Ćżaid the deuil, I do not knowe who is doing the writing, but verily they are Ćżtarting to get vpon mine wicke.
11Â Again the deuil took him up into an exceeding high mountain, and Ćżhewed him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them,
12 Saying, theƿe are the Iƿlands of the Tideleƿs Sea. Not a Roman to be found for ten thouƿand mīl.
13Â And, JuĆżt Ćżay the Worde, and thou couldĆżt be there, no qveĆżtions aĆżked.
14Â Then Ćżaid JeĆżus unto him, Avoid Satan: for it is written, Thou Ćżhalt worĆżhip the Lord thy God, and him only Ćżhalt thou Ćżerve.
15Â Then the deuil left him: and behold, the Angels came, and miniĆżtered vnto him.
#hashytag Bible extracts#good omens#crowley#obviously i would have caught him but with all due respect#ensuring that one human â be he ever so holy#avoids stubbing his sanctified toe#is perhaps not the best use of a busy angelâs time
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How much I NEEDED this today...
Consider yourself
People often say to me âAziraphale, what exactly is Firmament?â
And by âoftenâ, I mean âtwiceâ, and they donât so much say it as send me little enquiries on the Twitters and the Tumbler, along with inexplicable demands to know whether Crowley or I go âon topâ.
Iâll get to the point in a moment, but, since youâre here, I would like to make it clear that our sleeping arrangements are nobodyâs business but our own.
In any case, we donât own a bunk bed, so the point is moot.
The subject of Firmament first came up on a clear night a few hundred years after I followed Adam and Eve out from Eden. Seth â their third child â was lying on a stone outcrop near the settlement, watching the sky, and I was sitting a little way off, keeping an eye out for scorpions.
âOl-ah-kwa*?â The boy was usually full of questions, but that night heâd been uncharacteristically quiet. âWhat are they called, the lights above?â It wasnât the first time heâd asked and he already knew the answer perfectly well, but that was his way.
âThose are stars. Has your father shown you how to find your path by them?â He shook his head, and I resolved to talk to Eve in the morning.
âHow are they there? Are they like flowers on a bush? Or spots on a lizard? How many there are.â
I wished Crowley had been there, just then. He could have explained it so much better. I did my best, although I think I left him with the impression that every star hovered high in the heavens like a hummingbird, and he took some convincing that they wouldnât eventually grow tired, having nowhere to perch, and come crashing down around us.
âBut why are they like fires? If they were made to fly up there forever, why donât they grow feathers and just be birds?â
âWell, that would rather defeat the purpose, B-qa-lyl**.â And that might have been the end of the matter, but the boy had long since learned my weakness.
âDonât you know?â
And this is what I told him:
âThey are stars, because God told them to be stars. If She ever decides that they should be birds, then birds they will become. She told your father and mother to be human, because there was a place made in the world for humanity. Your purpose in this life is to discover what it means to be human.â
âWhat about the next life?â
âWait and see.â
And this is what I didnât tell him:
In the Beginning was the Void. And God spoke into the Nothing -That-Was, and that word was the first Firmament.
Firmament exists without mass, without substance. It is the Almightyâs intent, Her design, Her love; it is a blueprint for reality, pure potential and the Universe is spun with its threads. In the hands of the Virtues, it takes on form, accretes matter â becomes Material, a mechanism turned with a key that sounds like âLET THERE BEâ.
Firmament can only be seen by the shadows that it casts. Gravity. The way that particles converse. Electromagnetism. Slood. It moves in mysterious ways and it reaches everywhere that is not Void. One day, scholars will glimpse the outer edges of âomnipresenceâ, and call it âquantum entanglementâ.
I should have found a way to explain that â while stars arenât birds â they share their firmament as all the brush stokes of a masterpiece share their canvas, as the individual notes of a melody are carried on the same breath. Everything touches everything. âLook what ye have done unto one of the least of these my brethren, the same have ye done unto me.â
Perhaps if Iâd taught Seth that all that lies between each of us and the furthest, strangest star is a triviality called âdistanceâ, which only really has meaning inside the preserve of mortal dimensions, he might have understood. I tried to explain it to his descendants, but perhaps they were too old, too certain of themselves, to listen. I was never much of a teacher.
Later, in all the confusion of Babel, rÄqÄ«a (something beaten thin to form a surface) and rakhmyn (love) went their separate ways, and whenever I encountered the subject of⊠celestial scaffolding â for want of a better word â it came in the context of the former. A shell to support the stars, to hold back the upper waters. They forgot about the âloveâ part.
Later still, Crowley got volubly drunk with a fellow named Copernicus and made some progress, but even his controversial model couldnât let go of firmament as the pastry around the universal profiterole.
Then there was Giordano Bruno⊠but we donât talk about him.
So, here I am, trying again. Hoping that Iâve explained myself better this time, because, after all, thatâs what an angel is: Firmament imbued with mind, and grace, willed into life by words of purpose unique to each one of us. Wearing atomic fancy-dress so that we can speak to you in words you can comprehend (ideally without falling down and giggling while your hair smoulders gently).
We are, at base, figments of Her imagination, which is so powerful that it was necessary that She invent free will to stop all things yielding unfailingly to Her whim. As a consequence, reality tends to become malleable in our immediate vicinity.
What is Firmament? Itâs everything. Itâs Creation. Itâs humans, and demons, and angels. Itâs stars, and itâs the walls of Eden. Itâs the bullet, and the finger pulling the trigger, the magician and the audience, and the shocked air expanding in ripples from the burning powder. Itâs the scalpel, and the flesh. And inside, beneath the dancing atoms, itâs love.
Try to remember that part, because sometimes it seems very well hidden.
Itâs love.
*Brother
**Something small
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Just love...
Shiny new postcards to aid with choosing an afternoonâs plans. I shall make some of these available as prizes at next yearâs Ineffable Con, and perhaps Iâll find a reason to give some away before then?
Pretend you donât hear Crowley in the backgroundâŠ
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Of course the Derringer has filigree and an inlay quarts or other sort of white grip.
Oh Mr. Fell you are a marvel.
Lovely prose by the way just got a bit distracted.
No echoes tonight but the ones I choose for myself.
#good omens 2#spoilers#crowley#aziraphaleâs diaries#Hashytag: From the Eastern Gate to the West End#the marvelous Mr. Fell#Fell the marvelous#you amaze and befuddle us all#jiggery pokery#aziraphale's favourite color is yellow#crowly x aziraphale
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