There were seven stars which kept company with one another over Marsden Hill. Each night they hung low early in the evening, whispering together the secret matters of stars. They spoke low words in confidence, with absolute trust between them, and as the night progressed their thoughts and deliberations would unfold, becoming more and more evident to the occupants of the Hill and culminating at the darkest dark of night in one brilliant figure bold in the frozen firmament. This great figure was their Truth, hidden to none. It held fast for but a moment; the stars held it so. Then, blushing at their own transparency of revelation, the bareness of their thought, they would shift once more into their downward, dawnward repose. For they knew that the Hill was properly possessed by the Great Star, which tread across it during those hours known as “Day.”
For centuries and long ages of men, the Truth of these seven stars lay hidden, unnoticed by the men of Marsden Hill. The men strove and laboured upon the mighty hill, working the earth (the stuff of which they themselves were made) for shelter, food, and clothing. They toiled each day by the light of the Great Star, for, as they believed, by its Light they saw all things. And when the Great Star would retire, withdrawing into his resting room, pulling his rose-coloured bedcurtains closed, the men, too, would retire, believing they had seen the fulness of that Day. They did not realise the Truth which hung above them every night…
thegreatknock 