Angelic Fall .. : ...

Because that would be unfair, strange, and monotonous... I have the impression that now, having ended sadness, I will only climb upward, reach higher peaks toward joy, savor the hotter passions of the delicacy that is life... After all, it is life that now besieges every cubic centimeter of my body, it is this happiness that my soul seethes with, and this passion that my whole person—I—savours.

I am climbing upwards, but since my "awareness of life" is constantly growing, when will I be fully "alive"?

Or perhaps this happiness is precisely the wandering of a blind man in Egyptian darkness, and perhaps the eyelids of the cunning, sly side of life have simply clung to my eyes. Maybe...

And then, well... Floating chaotically in euphoria, Life will suddenly pull me back down to earth and show me that it is not sweet, and yes, one could savor it, one could—but only in its bitterness.

And he will look once more at this scabbed life... measure it with a hateful gaze, and... aim with the strong hand of pessimism, an open palm, each bent finger sticking out, tense in its strength. And then the Angel loses faith in weightlessness... he understands... he understands in life that he is a fallen Angel... that this is not the end and that a dissatisfying, hateful force will strike him—now and then. That happiness is an illusion, not consciousness, but the opposite—unconsciousness... And he falls! A blow is struck aimed at the greater suffering of the individual, which will soon become the suffering of all, greater by that thousandth...

Bloody sweat breaks out on the divine brow, now a human Angel. Another blow, this one more powerful than the psyche can comprehend. He falls,…stunned like a piece of animal flesh. The Messenger twists his white, feminine lips and collapses into himself, sinking as if into anabiosis, already absent… It is an amorphous trance that now permeates the gaze of his soul's eyes, the pupils burned out… Life, after all, extinguished him before the fragment, and he no longer glows for life, but burns for death. His soul burns with the last flame of fear, the dread of pain. Oh defenseless Angel!—you fool, flee! But the deafened will not hear, and the wise will not heed heretical advice—for by what right can he flee from life, or rather from death... oh fool! Stunned, you don't see, you don't know that Life in this struggle is Death... And stunned, you also don't hear Life's final thunderous blow, the whistle of a double-edged sword, capable of separating marrow from bone and the living from the living. And there it is, cutting through the air, a still gallows-like echo and the crunch of crackling feathers, down, and a heart rattling with thoughts, and you have it... the living whole bursts into life, the grounded Angel, now bereft of wings and arched, bends his face to the Earth that will bury him, averting his blind gaze from the blazing sky that betrayed him. No, he will not be a patriot, he will not follow in his last, crawling moment of flight the clouds of his values that betrayed him, leading him to the abyss. The

fallen Angel, in a half-bow, drenches the face of the Earth with an unheavenly sadness... It alone does not blame him, does not wound him, does not pelt him with the ash of hatred that heaven has produced. For she is united with him in this ash… The sweet tears of despair of the Fallen One softened the hateful ash of the sky, and in that twinkling of an eye, new life sprouts there. Grass rises, calamus, every blade and reed raises its hands to the blazing firmament. They choked the Angel's breath and sucked out the juices of his despair—that he no longer struggles, dripping only with tears of suffering and salty trickles of true, most true blood…

And the reed feeds on the flesh of the Good One, and grows higher and faster, while he fades.

And the earth, mired in thunder, finally opened, opened, then closed its branches and froze… The earth hid the angel, covering its face with an earthy shroud…