I am Peter, the rock. My existence is simple and jagged and imperfect. When faith is required of me, I sink like the stone I am.
I am that rock upon which the house of God is built. Wave after wave buffets my simple soul, bringing pain and sorrow the sense of which lies beyond my mental grasp. I have jagged edges. The waves break the dullness into sand that melts away, exposing sharpened spikes.
I am Peter, the fool. Audacious before the almighty. Demanding of favor and preference in the presence of the chosen one. Mistaking self-assuredness for faith. Losing track of the higher human focus that transcends the mirror stage. Lucifer rises. Lucifer falls.
I am the smoothened stone; the uncut diamond. In a single grain of me is indestructibility. Hell has become the companion of my soul; Saturn its judge. I am because I am not. I am the gestalt of the linguistic will. The bottom of the sea is my home. I do not walk on water; I skip upon it.
I am Peter of Rome; the hands of iron in velvet gloves – soft to the touch, unyielding to the waves. What I grasp at is mine. What I will below – so is it above; as it is willed above – so I receive below.
Amon projects himself from the River Nile and the clouds gather. The rains fall and she yields and expands, and he projects again. She is the watery grave and the womb of the gods.
The waters recede and Lucifer rises.
I am Peter. I am here to grant God His failures. I am the inversion of perfection; I hang from my feet. I am the foundation and the fall. I am the chosen fallen one. The first, the last, the first. The Omega and the Alpha; God’s mirror stage. Lucifer falls.
Pride and failure – the rise and fall of an impassioned chest. I smash the idol. I spread across the whole of the Earth. My flesh fails and falls. My spirit cannot accept defeat. I rise again to carry the cross across the underbelly of the procession, to deliver it again to the Christ.
The Morning Star rises.