Archives for posts with tag: Prince Marinsomar Zhure

Lord Akzasosan is delivering a formal account of events from history, and describes a visit of the emperor’s youngest son, Prince Marinsomar, to the distant palace of XhuShai, home to the young barbarian ruler of the Eastern Lands, the Zulor E-Tzhi…

…‘For several weeks, the emperor’s son, Prince Marinsomar, was a guest under DuzakGar. He slept in the palace of XhuShai, and he wrote to his honoured father that every night he fell asleep to the music of nightingales. E-Tzhi greeted him with due respect: each day, E-Tzhi would meet with Marinsomar, and they would discuss matters relating to the Pure Empire, and in particular to the philosophy and practice of the Way.

Marinsomar wrote to his father that the Zulor has an extremely quick intelligence, was remarkable in his growing mastery of the MidImperial tongue, and seemed curious about many aspects of the empire. For several weeks, the letters flowed from DrezDeq, and the immortal emperor was pleased with the success of the policy of the Extended Hand, and proud of his son. For several weeks, there was nothing in Marinsomar’s communications to trouble Moin-so-zhure II, or to make him doubt that the subtle Way was leading them towards a more unified realisation of itself. He smiled at the vivid description Marinsomar gave of the Zulor’s laugh, its curious pitch and the way it stopped abruptly “like a horse being struck by lightning”. For several weeks, Moin read the letters avidly, fascinated by the Zulor’s naive, cryptic remarks as reported by his son: “But is not one of my thoughts greater than the world?”, “I don’t like it when people are breathing in the same room as my Love”, and “I have a god that I keep in my head”. For several weeks, Moin II shared parts of the letters from his son with the MarZom, the Marks to whom he turned for guidance, and whom he guided. For several weeks, the Way seemed unclouded. But then the first clouds appeared. Because then, the letters stopped.’

Excerpt from Stories in the Falling Snow, Volume 3 of Dustless

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Dustless | Volume 3

…‘When Shion Dezel finally vanished behind the dunes, I felt as if the last of my world were walking away from me. Sometimes, it is hard to be alone. The rain fell around me as if it would fall forever. I had no inclination to move at all. My thoughts lay stunned within me, like fish floating to the surface of a lake after a lightning strike. Even if they moved, they were hardly my thoughts anymore. I felt broken.

There was nowhere for me to go, and I was nowhere. It struck me as ironic, but I found myself virtually in a state of classic illumination – space and time had ceased for me, and my own being had ceased: there was just the sound of the falling rain on timber, a gushing and thrumming sound.

For where is there to go when a man comes to the end of himself? One cannot even die, for there is nothing to die. But one cannot live either, for there is nothing to live. Yet, my state was not one of pure illumination, for pure illumination is a condition of infinite peace and hope; whereas my condition was one of infinite exhaustion and despair. I remembered with chaste sorrow the words of the unfortunate younger son of Emperor Moin II, Prince Marinsomar: “The Way is all… The Way is both life and death, and neither life nor death; the Way is without life and without death, the Way is lifeless, and deathless”… I felt that day, in the remote MarIsQuess, a planet away from my home, as if I understood His Highness’s words for the first time; but, in understanding them, could do no more – I could not use them to further the beautiful Way, or to aid my fellow human beings in the construction of the great TanZo, which is the purpose of our lives under pure skies. Although, intellectually, I knew it to be impossible, still, I felt that I had come to the end of the Way itself. I was desolate, and numb.

In this state, I continued to watch the rain falling.

I have no idea how much clock time passed then. It felt like hours. I kept expecting darkness to fall, though I did not care whether it did or no: but the day continued on…

Excerpt from Comb, Volume 8 of Dustless