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As each brick pierced into place on these heads, I noticed the bricks were not all the same. Each brick was significantly weighty. While they looked like normal clay bricks, they were not.

They were made of a much heavier compound surprising for its size. Each brick was a different color, a slightly different shape, and on each brick was a word.

These words represented the nature of the chatter in the atmosphere each individual lived, worked or passed through in the journey of life. 

Out the corner of my eye, I saw a deep dark whispy figure. It was evident that this being was orchestrating the chatter. With a flickering glance my eye caught its enticing beauty. It wore the glorious crown and garments of a great prince. No quicker had my eye seen this and I was overwhelmed by a deep horrifying stalking power dripping pure darkness.

The chatter conducted by this was deep dark power of the air, was subservient to him, yet lawless in its nature. The chatter would change volume or weight at times, but was always being manipulated, crafted and present.

The only exception was when the voice of the many waterfalls spoke or when the individual had removed a brick from their head. The presence of the voice that knew the origin of all things emanated a light that acted like a forcefield.

As I leaned in and peered closer I saw towerless heads and other heads with bricks falling from their citadels and towers, and I noticed something else. On their head was growing a warrior’s helmet topped with a crown. The helmet never covered the crown. Both were seen.

I drew back in surprise. It was so obvious that once anyone saw the crown and helmet on an individual’s head, the identity of that person was clear and known. It changed immediately how the chatter encountered and interacted with them. 

They were a completely new creation to what they were when they walked with citadels and towers on their heads. They were mighty, not laden and burdened with weight and veils that disfigured them. They were now shining ones and the atmosphere around them was drenched in peace.

Yet these shining ones walked, lived and worked amidst the chatter as all others did. At times they heard the chatter and bricks tried to sit on their crowns and helmets. Some still had the odd citadel or small tower poking out through their crown. But there was a distinct impression with each glance, those citadels and towers were shrinking smaller and smaller, bricks constantly falling off.

What seemed to be their superpower was awareness. With the veil removed, they could see, hear, feel, perceive the voice of many waterfalls so much more easier. And as they looked at the voice, listened to Him, felt Him, they became skilled at capturing the bricks of chatter that came at them. 

The shining ones would see the name on the brick and respond with a no agreement. They refused to even entertain it. They saw it simply as noise.

Some bricks had the word, noema. Other bricks, logismos was etched. While on others, the word hupso appeared.

The noise coming with the noema brick of chatter always suggested a random thought like “my car is about to crash” or “such and such a person doesn’t like me because they didn’t talk to me today.”

The nature of the logismos brick projected imagined speculations like “what if I have cancer?” “What if I don’t have enough money for…?”  This chatter was characterized always by “what if’s” that preyed on fear and never suggested good things.

And just when the atmosphere was nearly full with noise, the chatter of hupso would swing in for a conquest. Elevating its pitch, volume and presence, hupso always laced the atmosphere with a lofty superior intelligence that philosophized how great, big and mighty the deep dark prince of the air was and how small, powerless and puny the voice of many waterfalls was.

Always.

Over the masses hupso could be found. In the nations this philosophical brick of chatter was clearly seen in the citadels and towers in peoples heads. There were many hupso bricks branded with colors, names, manifestos, flags, but they were always the same in nature, posing, lofty, superior and big.

Behind these sponsored adds of destruction stood the dark prince laughing. 

Turning away in haste as they became aware of the chatter going at them, the shining ones knew victory. They were not taunted and guilted by hearing the chatter, for they knew it was not themselves they heard. 

And so they walked upon the earth light and easy of foot and countenance. Their obedience to capture the chatter and cancel its noise over them disarmed and dismantled towers and citadels of darkness not only over them but their linage. Unravelling ribbons of light on the generations that followed from them. Their descendants carrying a genetic DNA that made them and the voice of many waterfalls more glorious, while the tormenting strongholds on the sea of the peoples shook brick by brick falling, exploding shards of light shredded the atmosphere.

And the earth itself sighed. The rocks cried out glory, praise to this voice of many waterfalls. And finally resting, the land restored and healed.