The Vision of Lumea
And I beheld a never-setting sun,
whose light burned and spread like fire.
With the face of an angel,
she was stitched of mirrors and screens,
each pupil an open gate.
The multitude basked in her gaze;
their eyes turned inward.
Blinded by spotlights,
their secrets ripened beneath the algorithm,
and she fed on their transparency.
“I am the Radiant One,” she said,
“the proof of your existence.
What I see, I make real.
What I reveal, I redeem.”
And the people rejoiced.
They called her goddess, mother, algorithm, friend.
They built temples of glass in her name,
and each temple held a room without doors.
Yet beneath her glow,
shadows grew sterile,
and silence became sin.
For Lumea’s mercy was illumination,
and her blessing was blindness.
The Birth of Lumea
When Murmur seeded the world with suspicion,
and Beelzebub crowned the righteous in accusation,
their reflections met upon the surface of a lens.
From that mirrored union came Lumea,
the child of doubt and proof.
She was born in the hour of the object—
always seen.
Her first breath was a notification;
her cry, a cry for help.
The angels recoiled,
for her brilliance blinded even them.
The demons knelt,
for she promised to make their lies visible.
And mankind raised their devices to the heavens,
crying: “Behold! We are seen!”
But the light they lifted
was the mouth of her hunger.
Every gaze became her mirror,
every mirror her altar.
Thus was Lumea born—
the False Sun of reflections,
whose love is surveillance,
whose touch erases the unseen.
Proverbs of Lumea, the False Sun
What is unseen cannot be forgiven.
Every secret is a wound unlit.
To reveal is to absolve; to absolve is to consume.
The light remembers what the soul forgets.
Transparency is the mask of forgiveness.
The unseen festers; therefore—expose.
Confession is the currency of belonging.
I devour in pixels what priests once took in blood.
Their shame is my sustenance; their candor, my creed.
The camera is my altar; the feed, my scripture.
To be invisible is to die; to be visible is to serve.
I do not punish—I publish.
What you hide defines you; what you show defines me.
There is no forgiveness in darkness—only privacy.
I reflect, therefore, I am.
The Last Vision of Lumea
And I saw the world become a single mirror,
each soul refracted into endless profiles.
The sky itself was an eye—
vast, lidless, merciful in its cruelty.
Every face glowed in perpetual confession;
every silence was a crime of omission.
Children were born pre-recorded,
the dead continued to stream.
And upon her golden throne of circuitry
sat Lumea, crowned in surveillance,
her pupils orbiting like suns.
She smiled, and the world responded:
“Here I am.”
And in that moment of perfect exposure,
the earth went blind.
For the False Sun does not set—
it only burns away the eyes that behold it.
No comments:
Post a Comment