On Endings

I quote now from the great epic of our time, Tolkien’s Silmarillion–

But Morgoth himself the Valar thrust through the doors of night beyond the walls of the world, into the timeless void; and a guard is set forever on those walls, and Earendil keeps watch on the ramparts of the sky. Yet the lies that Melkor, the mighty and accursed, Morgoth Bauglir, the Power of Terror and of Hate, sowed in the hearts of Elves and Men are a seed that does not die and cannot be destroyed; and ever and anon it sprouts anew, and will bear dark fruit even unto the latest days.

Here ends the Silmarillion; and if it has passed from the high and the beautiful to darkness and ruin, that was of old the fate of Arda Marred; and if any change shall come and the Marring be amended, Manwë and Varda may know; but they have not revealed it, and it is not declared in the dooms of Mandos.

Or, put differently,

Are you watching closely?

Who's doing this? Who's killing us? Robbing us of light and life. Mocking us with the sight of what we might have known.

At once I hate and love as well… how? God knows! And yet I feel it now here in my heart: the whole of hell.

What we may well believe has power to cut and shape and hollow out the dark form of the world surely if wind can, if rain can. But which cannot be held never be held and is no flower but is swift and a huntress and the wind itself is in terror of it and the world cannot lose it.

We will become a chunk of history.

Aurë Entuluva?

Special thanks to all men happy and shrewd, the nine layers of hell and her majesty, their architect, and, of course, my own little falkland islands who, god willing, I will see again under more favorable auspices.