Render onto God, the heart Extract of a piece.. Copyright Robert Fullarton 2016 by Robert Fullarton

Render onto God, the heart
Extract of a piece..

Copyright Robert Fullarton 2016
by Robert Fullarton

It was pride that made the boy into a man that beat his dreams of love into an iron cast system of cynicism. Pride made him mad, that made him wild; allowing him to forget his happy childlike heart, rendering it useless, he tore it off, like the infantile layers of a wild animal. Pride was the reason for his cast iron makings, cast iron brain that could not love with power, for the love that was as common as the circling birds above him. He pretended to be proud because the world was proud, and he became aware of it and the more aware of it, the more he chased its invisible rules, he ran through the murky quarters of the invisible fortress, he ran miles and miles in his racing mind each night into sleeping darkness. He went further and further, as the night is long and man is mad to follow the mechanics of the world in chaotic rumbles, as anarchy makes a cacophony in the absence of order.

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A young man sat at a dinner party, all spruced up, dashing, with a red cravat and cream coloured suit. After several conversations with his hosts and fellow guests, he learned that no speech came forth, nothing was learning or acknowledged from either side of the reticent party.

The young man had joined with the ranks of the world, where boys and girls are part of a metamorphosis, where they became cogs and circling wheels of human nature, where they go round in frivolous rancour, cementing masks in their worldly initiation, they acted out in the loudest haunts of the world, lit up lanterns, adorning the candelabra of man in illumination but where the lustre was lacking, while stone hearts chilled their bodies and a little voice whimpered out for help.

He began to think, for all the parties, for all the offers of promotion, the Games of subterfuge played out with treacherous so-called friends and societal beauties, all he had been taught since adolescence was a lie, to him something had to be unearthed or uncovered. His life's story opened up as a book before his eyes, his selfish ways, his emptiness became more apparent like a throbbing wound that would not cease in telling him that something was certainly wrong!

He stared at meals on fine mahogany tables, the haute couture of dinner parties bore the emptiness of a grave and he imagined his soul was dying as he stared almost bewitched at the spinning dancers, hearing the hollow laughter, the echoes of pretty women in these porcelain chambers, that rung out, until an image of his youth came to him and something was revealed to him. His chest hurt, a considerable agony that would not cease, until he left the party, running out like a mindful patient in the lunatic asylum, or abattoir of the soul! He desired, willfully and without restraint to escape from the company party, he did not even consider where he would go, but simply grew in pace.

He sprinted through the white Collonaded hall ways, the vulgar Romanesque parlours and ante-rooms of the mansion, over the chequered marble floors, past the stunned guests that stood on either side, as a shallow ensemble of futile existence. Some of these characters were drunk, some were laughing and some trying to restrain him with outstretched arms.

Having flown the coop, the young man ran through the heavy rain, his heart beating ferociously, brandy too had made it accelerate along with the sheer adrenaline of what was going through him. His arms moved like pistons against the wind. The rain grew heavier, he fell against the oncoming traffic, was blasted, cursed by an unseen driver, like a mysterious assailant that lives within the midnight shadows.

Like a drenched rat in a city composed of hallucinations, the man collapsed in the wooden door, which was slightly ajar, he fell down onto the floor, he knelt and prayed his first prayer since childhood, a simple prayer from a big heart. The entire world of faith and a wholesome desire for change, beckoned him to question the old life, the rituals of city life and the human race itself. He prayed in silence and out of the darkness there came a momentary peace in which he remembered his bedside prayers to God and tears began to fall just as the storm had passed outside the little church. The minister watched in silence, moved, confused and emotive, he tugged at his own vestments and cautiously decided to approach the saddened youth.