No far expanses, no colour, no music of the night for this infantile aberration, but a fixed gaze, without change.
Only movement measures this deformity’s experience, movement without a name, never the same, never unflickering, until…
Figures are the movements, “i caecus cum essem modo video”.
Figures, with speech they talk, twisting their tongues in all manner of word work.
Figures, who force the being off its immovable course.
Now the creature has expanses, colour, music of the day, “yo estaba ciego, pero ahora veo”.
Contempt befalls this being, whose desire is a return, a return to the shadows, to the cave.
But it cannot go back, it cannot unsee, a tree cannot shrink without the fire that destroys it.
Further it goes, when figures, different from its own, take it without question from the protective clutches of its carers.
It slithers in a snake’s belly over the wall-less floor, to the end, to doom, to death and the eternity of blinding cures.
Now there is no protection, now there is no guide, no cold wrists, no light, except the blinding one, which shows the way.
But the light creeps in by an avenue, unseen, unheard, untouched, but known.
This person is now at the end, the end of further light, “i ignorais, mais maintenant je sais”.
It jumps into the deep, drowning, but not by its lungs.
The hero follows its past, vengeful, judicial, forgiving.
And so ends the allegory of one, through the phrasing of another.
