[From “Principles of Mentalist Poetry” by Professor Jelena Pekar] Through my own experience whilst living an unrooted and peripatetic life, I have come to acknowledge that wonder is at the heart of all truth and beauty in the World. Everything, from toads and emperors to economic principles and stars, is connected with everything else, so that one thing influences another in an endless cycle. And in the middle of this incredibly complex web, the Z-People have just appeared, who harbour souls much stronger than the common herd, although it is often alleged that they are suffering from mental illnesses of all kinds, or are possessed by devils. And who, then, can say in what direction the axis of the Eyrth’s magnetic field will be pointing from day to day, when it changes with such regularity under all these unseen influences? It is these Indigo Children who shall transform the World, and raise the lost Atha-lanthé, and open pathways to the Southern Reach at last, although this shall not happen in our lifetime, perhaps.

 

*           *           *           *           *           *           *

 

[From “Poetry-making and Living” by Professor Jelena Pekar] How did wonder begin to possess my soul for the first time, then? Well, when I was a lass of twelve, perhaps, far away in the Heart of the Continent over the Hallowed Gulf, I got a part in a pantomime in the hall of the local Independent Tabernacle. I was playing the part of a huntsman’s assistant (as in most pantomimes, women play the men’s parts, and vice-versa). The whole thing was very exciting, what with the rehearsals, learning the lines, making the costumes (well, that was a job for poor old Mother, and I got a leather waistcoat, knee-breeches, long white socks, and shiny shoes with big gold buckles), and everything else. Having said all that, I had only one line (I can’t remember what now – “Ho, ho, ho!” I think).

 

Our performance was more like slapstick comedy that a tragedy by Shake-a-Shaft, you could say. I had to follow on the heels of the huntsman himself. I was six foot tall, more or less (man, the growing pains had been torture), and a lot taller than the older man, if truth be told. And every time he turned, pretending to look carefully for me and expectorating, “Where are you, boy?” I would turn as well to be behind him, and at just that moment, the audience would shout, “He’s behind you!” Half an hour later, they were still laughing, believe you me! As a result, I’ve always been fascinated by this kind of play, usually performed round the period of Endless Mourning, which is full of farce, music, traditional characters, and current jokes (the panto, not the Horrible Fortnight – “Febrile-moon, short on days, long on misery” as they say).

 

Well, when I landed here on the desolate and depressing shores of Pretany, a couple of years ago (although it feels like a lifetime), I was so lucky when I became a junior assistant lecturer in Kimbria. Shortly thereafter, I was asked to produce something for the unruly little super-heroes in the nursery of the Kimbric Training Centre for Alternative Youth. Now, like everyone else in this Inexplicable World, I am in love with the work of the “Fickle Fol-de-Rols” and all the one-woman shows. I would like to add here that, although no-one has seen the word-famous experimental mentalist Helen Grossmann and myself in the same room at the same time, you need not worry about that piffling fact.

 

So, I began to write this piece for the kiddies. and have had a lot of fun fashioning the story, and then seeing them massacre it on the stage. I hope you’ll smile a little too, reading it here. In addition to the literary work, the editor of this volume has asked me to give permission to publish excerpts from my long, popular academic essay on language. I have agreed, of course, so that I might present once again some relevant questions at this most perturbing time in the history of our existence. What on this Mysterious Planet he will do with these texts, I do not know. But, as my genius of a poor, lost, and terribly foolish brother Daud Pekar would say all the time (and from him, I must admit with a heavy heart, sprang several of the ideas in the following) – “I live in hope.” {Benedictions, Bewitching Badboy!}

 

*           *           *           *           *           *           *

 

[From “Mysterotronic Musings and Fictive Foolishness”

by J Pekar (G Llwynlesg, ed.)]

 

“Nothing traps us more in our folly than our perceived wisdom.”

 

In order to communicate with each other within society, we have invented a plethora of symbols. Written alphabets represent spoken language; pictures summarize complex situations; music awakens feelings; the words and sentences of our languages enable us to create ideas and summarize meanings. And, having devised them, we cannot do without them. With language we fashion fiction and deal in facts, sometimes telling the truth, but often telling les. We must start by asking, therefore: what is “fact”? Well, we can say that a fact is a piece of information, expressed in words most often, which is conveyed as if it were objectively true. On the contrary, compared with facts, “lies” are purposeful untruths, created with the intention of frightening, deceiving, or manipulating other people. Surely facts and truth should win out in a society that is free, open, developed, and sophisticated?

 

Once, a very long time ago, in the Land of Truth and Beauty, incredibly far from here, a King and Queen lived very happily in an enormous castle made of chalk and cheese, where could be found all mundane delights, and every heavenly virtue. The old place had every mod-con, including flushing cisterns in the bathrooms, and the moat had a central-heating system too. But beware! That castle was constantly changing its aspect, like a leopard changing its spots in the old tales. One day in Wintertide, the Queen was sewing, sitting by the window-sill which was made of wood as black as ebony (or perhaps it was ebony, who knows, it was so long ago, and so far away). The window was open as the room was hot, and the sill was covered with snow. The royal, extremely well-respected woman was singing sadly, because she was not mother to even one child (and that was the expectation of society at the time for a fulfilled life overflowing with joy). And while doing this, she pricked her finger with the needle. One drop of blood fell on the snow that was collecting tidily there. And that caused some smidgeon of magic to begin to play with hearts and minds.

 

In the present day, we create our entire shared reality by means of symbols and the contexts where they are used. How do we decide what is truth, therefore, amongst the mélange of raw information?  Well, in  a court of law, for example, “alternative facts” which could potentially be true, are adduced by the two sides, and the jury must come to a conclusion regarding which ones are correct on the basis of evidence from defendants, victims, witnesses, and experts. Furthermore, scientists use experiments to choose between competing theories and find the one which corresponds best with the observations. Thus, a sense of truthfulness is alive still, at a first glance, in these specialized, restricted situations at least. On this basis, we hope that in everyday life, too, it would be possible for us to follow the same principle: we must judge different claims by comparing them with the best evidence.

 

As it happens, then, at that time, all the men who lived in the conurbation of hovels near the castle fell in love with a maid named Hlanhalan, and her long yellow hair. She worked in a mill which had slanting floors on top of the hill where her brother’s house was. “We want to marry you, are you willing?” they said, but, “Not on your nelly, while I’m alive and kicking,” she replied, pouting, so fussy was she. But I’m glad to say that she enjoyed the chocolate mountains and rivers of fizzy wine despite that. When she had had a gutful of all that old nonsense, she decided to escape, and imagined that she would flee beyond the rainbow, to the furthest corners of the Eyrth, in search of dwarfs, and phoenixes, and sphinxes. And run away she did, as fast as her whopping feet would carry her, dressed in a red riding-hood. When they saw this most of the men complained: “She knows her own mind, then, more’s the pity. We’d better go down the pub to drown our sorrows.” And that’s what they did, the stupid old devils, apart from one of them called Thavoh (that is, “Son of the Sun”), who went off got an advanced diploma of impractical expertise from the Experiential School in "Current Comparative Methods of Animal Welfare, Creature-care, and Bestial Druggistry." However, it's no surprise that, under the prevailing social conditions, he was unemployed and up to his armpits in debt. He'd borrowed a load of dosh from the disreputable but stinking-rich loan-shark Twinklin Lwkr. When Lwkr claimed back his loan with interest, Thavoh couldn't pay.  So, Twinklin cursed the lad to be a deadly lover, and a suitor of the deceased – that would teach him! Thavoh ran off in despair.

 

Well, in an Ideal World, of course, that would be true. But the inescapable dominance of Crass Consumerism promoted by the Purple Paternalistic Party rules the world today, conspiring against this possibility. Within this system, the things produced, and the services provided are separated from those making them or providing them. Arbitrary prices are put on things which do not correspond to their practical utility, nor to the cost of production. Culture is re-defined in terms of industry whilst urbanization separates human beings from the living world. The people who work the hardest and do the dirtiest and most dangerous jobs earn the lowest wages. Strong groups flourish in society through the exercise of monetary might, based often on fame or popularity, or gained through luck, or by deceit, or by exploiting others. As a result of this, people are alienated from other people and from the world of which they are parts. This is not an environment in which truth can blossom, as will be explained below.

 

Back in the wily castle, when the Queen saw the three colours – black, red, and white – just the same ones as on the kingdom’s dignified flag – she was enchanted. “Oh, I would love to have a girl with hair as black as the crow in the graveyard, with skin as white as snow on the tomb, and with lips as red as the blood of dismembered Lushfé,” she thought to herself. The Invisible Spirit was listening to her (in a metaphorical way of speaking, of course, as it does not have ears), and soon after that, the Queen brought forth a little girl. But the Devious Spirit Vísha had heard too, in her enormous palace in Mashmalo, at the furthest end of the All-World which is its heart as well, and she ensured that the sainted mother died the same time that the baby entered the World. “Women are as strong as steel, the firmament their winged abode; May you live, and bloom, and love!”, were her last words to the child. May she rest in peace: her time shall not be seen again.

 

In the courts and the laboratories, cases and tests are carefully regulated, and the professional practitioners need to use technical language with great precision. Outside these places, though, we tend to use extremely perplexing language, and regularly misuse conventional communication, in these exceptional times. We have “mis-speaking,” for instance, which actually means “telling ties” but without using the problematic word. And what about those who surrender themselves to using “veracious exaggeration” all the time? This is, apparently, nothing but harmless misrepresentation – in their view, at least. But, on the contrary, it works all too well to promote the interests of those in power who use it very effectively at the expense of the large segment of the population which is disaffected and alienated from society – the poor, the week, the uneducated, and the vulnerable – because people who have been disenfranchised want to believe in exceptional things. All of the media contribute to this problem by selling needless goods, ideas, and hopes, as if they were essential. Because of this, in ordinary walks of life, therefore, we find another kind of “alternative facts,” namely “information based chiefly on opinion,” taking the place of veracity. Words mean what the news-merchants want them to mean. The truth is dead! Long live the new truth!

 

By the way, on her travels that enterprising and ambitious girl named Hlanhalan failed to meet a single unicorn, or leprechaun, or griffin, although she went from pillar to post, up hill and down dale, hither and thither, upland and lowland. But, in the end, she came across a perfect, athletic lad, who was suntanned, and had with ardent, fawn-like eyes. His hair was like long, fair, curly waves over his shoulders, and his lips sported a delightful smile. He was wearing a golden coronet on his head, and on his back grew a small a pair of wings. In his right hand he had a fishing rod, and he was hellish talkative, and most forward with his flattery, full of witty sayings such as, “You tell the truth always, I am sure, to shame the powers of darkness, Oh most pure heavenly angel!” He explained how the miller could fulfil her heart’s desire, simply by heeding his every word, and obeying faithfully. (True wisdom comes from the realisation of how little we know of life, ourselves, and the world about us, they say. But little indeed did Hlanhalan know that this was Avatha the mythological beast who would appear in the form of a white dragon, or a steel serpent, or an enormous yellow lizard, at the end of a squandered life, to drag a sinner off to the depths of Heli-hrelí.)

 

Today, terms of media-savvy experts battle to define and control our exceptionally complex world, built with white-hot technology, overflowing with facts, and overloaded with information. We are drowning in knowledge. Who forces us to eat the tasty sound-bites, those barbed commentaries? That’s the broadcasters. Who is it that digests and regurgitates the plurality of multi-media productions? Those are the professional commentators. Who is it that analyses the myriad of devilishly complex details? That’s the pundits, those wise-men who’ve been steeped in the mysteries. And every one of these has spent a great deal of money gaining the appropriate qualifications. They’ve all devoted a considerable part of their life to accumulating the skills. Delving more and more deeply into trenches which have become more and more narrow is what they do. They defend their territory and their revelations with the ferocity of zealots. Now, experts have become personalities; and “celebs” are always ready with their opinions on everything under the sun. And then again, you have the Elevated Lords and Incomprehensible Ladies in the Plebeian Council, mashing air all day on our televisual screens over burning topics like the girth, weight, and flavour of the slugs in the Lord President’s curry, and how much filthy lucre our Incomparable Leader can claim for having to share in the trials of the proles.

 

There would be no problem at all (according to Avatha, who was pretending that he was Thavutha, the Resplendent Sun, and having great fun saying that she was Elnela, the Fickle Moon). She would just have to make a magic mirror from black metal and holy water, to capture myriad shattered dreams; and collect a large number of noxious herbs; and train a pair of wild birds so they might be eyes and ears for her; and sell her soul, and so on, and so forth. The girl agreed enthusiastically, and with one drop of cold, blue blood in a goblet of hot buttermilk, the powers of Darkness had claimed her for themselves. Flash of ultraviolet light. Crazy belly-laughing. Sharp, acrid stink of ozone. From then on, her visage cast a long shadow over all in her presence. And, were it not for her melodious voice, her magic words, and the enchantment of her loquacious mirror, she would have been seen in the form of an enormous she-wolf with humping great paws, with all its skin on fire, and its long yellow fur full of flour-dust.

 

And here’s another problem. Anyone can debate about the past, dreaming up beautifully abstruse theories which are explanatory to some degree. Despite that, there are no tests which can verify them. We talk about learning lessons from history, but we learn nothing. (“The dog gobbles its vomit, whist the fool chokes on his folly,” says “The Wisdom of Ví-aza” – excuse me for the references to the Old Books!) What about speculations regarding the future? Well, from the sorry experience of humanity to date, it appears, in any system as complex as society, that not a single prediction of things to come will be worthwhile in the long-term. There are armies of prophets and futurologists. But, while they work exceptionally hard to earn their crust, they actually worsen the situation, for the majority of disenfranchised people, at least, with their prognostications. The conceptions of the masses become more confused than ever. (“For no true omen shall ever come from human mouths,” in the words of “Sayings of the Lusty Listener” – apologies again!) And then they are more malleable and easier to mislead. So, the experts make the circumstances better for the authorities of the status-quo. After all these efforts, the question asked millennia ago still remains: what is truth?

 

However, back in the castle of bone and sinew in the capital, the new baby in the royal family was most beautiful. Her hair was as black as the crow, her skin as white as snow, and her lips as red as blood, and so the Beautiful Princess was called Helhen (that is, “Whitesnow”). Why she was not “Hwaykoth” (or “Redblood”), or “Korvaldí” (“Ebonycrow”), no-one will ever know. The whole Kingdom celebrated, but they simultaneously grieved (well, those who had not died of starvation by then). Although the King was very sad, he married a new woman straight away. She was a confoundedly handsome noblewoman who had fallen on hard times, named Hlíha (or "Star-daughter," although she was really Hlanhalan, of course). She had arrived at the castle at the time of the funeral, and was selling snake oil, doses of nightshade and quicksilver for the pox, and elixirs of youth. But despite the very substantial sheepskin sandals, a she-wolf’s paws sprouted from the comely ankles. A very evil witch was Hlíha (or Hlanhalan) too, no two ways about it, and that’s how she beguiled the grieving Monarch – the silly old fool.

 

Now, in place of the preachers ranting and raving, the cantors intoning canticles, and the public confessors declaring our multitudinous sins, it’s the metaphorical spin-doctors, who like  profane priests or silver-tongued snakes, exaggerate and praise to the heavens, but who don’t tell the truth. Spokespersons for political parties present a deliberately skewed view on every event, person, and policy to the mass media. And in truth, they proffer prejudiced interpretations, select favourable facts, bury bad news, deny things without ever saying “no,” and apologise for mistakes without saying that they feel any sorrow, in order to beguile and bewilder.

 

And Hlanhalan built a magic mirror, according to the detailed instructions with which she had been supplied. Then, when she chanted the summoning spell from the “Book of the Damned” for the first time, she got a stunning shock. There before her, materializing from the thick, black liquid swimming on the surface of the hateful object, was a female figure. Nine feet in height at least was she, her skin dark green, wearing a formal suit of sky-blue twill, and on her head was a crown of thorns. “Prostrate yourself before me, O faithful maidservant,” declared the fearful woman, who was standing in the middle of the Resplendent Sun as if in a pool of consuming fire. And she went on: “I am aware that you crave unlimited power. Come, eat these life-bringing seeds, and experience the grief, as you share the pain of all living things. Sacrifice yourself!” And to Hlanhalan’s great horror, she understood that this was Mamothí (and Drumbulé, and Lilitha), the Triple Goddess, and she had no choice but to obey.

 

Let us consider next, then, what happens when language goes to war. This is, when harmless and pleasant phrases take the place of terms which are offensive, debatable, or harsh, but which would convey more truthfully what is meant. Of course, language, and languages, are blameless in themselves. It’s the propagandists in the Ministries of Peace (on all sides) who utilise euphemisms or fair words (and isn’t “fair words” itself a euphemism?), who are at fault. Be that as it may, these days, the “spotless leaders of the free world” go forth to “wage humanitarian war” against “hostile regimes” on the "Axis of Evil” which possess “weapons of mass destruction” – probably.

 

From then on and forever, Krondí (that is, “Blackheart”) was her true name, because she appeared good, but her soul was as dark as a moonless, star-free night. To tell the truth, she would use her magic, and get more and more pretty from day to day by perpetrating truly evil deeds – like eating puppy-dogs (she’d been bitten as a kid after kicking the miller’s pooch, and was determined to eradicate the species from the face of the Eyrth), untuning the strings of every lute and harp (she was tone-deaf and so hated music), and frustrating sweethearts (she was so lonely, and wanted revenge on the Cruel World). Every day, Krondí (that is, Hlanhalan), would ask the same question to her magic mirror when she would enquire of it: “O mirror mystic raise your voice: state beauty mine’s the wide world’s choice!” And every day the mirror, now appearing in the form and aspect of Refshishlí, emissary of the Unseen Spirit, would answer in the same fashion: “My Lady, one thing I can say unto you: your beauty’s the greatest the whole world doth view.” This dialogue went on without fail –  in the early hours, after she got up, at midday, in the evening, and before she went to bed – and Helhen’s stepmother was most pleased. However, the young Beautiful Princess was becoming fairer every day too, and without using magic either, and when she turned eighteen, everything changed.

 

During “aerial campaigns,” “targeted destruction” is used to “destroy enemy assets” within “pockets of resistance.” There are “surgical strikes” which “neutralize targets” and “terrorist cells are deleted” by “smart bombs.” Sometimes, unfortunately, the “friendly fire” and “collateral damage” increases the “body count” whilst creating the “atmosphere of shock and awe” which is all-important in such conflicts. But by doing this (so we are told) the “powers of light” guard territories far and wide against enemies who are “cruel, dictatorial and oppressive,” by “purifying and refashioning” the Eyrth in their own righteous image, wherever they may be.

 

On Helhen’s birthday the Queen Krondí, like a cuckoo in the nest, went to ask her question as usual. But this time the mirror answered: “O Lady, it’s clear that indeed you’re most fair; but Helhen’s the cutest, I doubtless declare.” Then Krondí became frightfully angry, and promised herself that she would kill her stepdaughter as soon as possible after having her beauty treatment (she would bathe in an enormous cauldron of green brass, containing gallons of boiling, steamy pigs’ blood for hours on end every day, as that is what was commanded in the “Book of the Damned,” and she was pre-eminently cautious, and a stickler for self-discipline if ever there was one.) The witch’s anger was terrifying indeed, but she could not herself kill the young Princess, because her the strong magic of her departed mama’s love was protecting her. So, the wicked stepmother commanded a self-employed huntsman called Thavoh, who was doing the rounds looking for work, with very good references, to do the evil deed. She told him to take the Princess to the Grove of Valashé near the castle of skin and muscle, and there, she insisted he should tear out her heart with a sharp knife of black stone, and then straightaway bring the heart back to her. Of course, he took the Most Beautiful Princess to the forest. However, he was a noble man (although an itinerant, penniless, and a bit of a fool), so he could not kill her, and told her to run off and hide herself. She did as she was bidden, running like a doe until she could run no more. He fell into a deathly slumber, dreaming of the girl who was most fair, but whom he could not love as she was living and breathing. As luck would have it, Thavoh awoke with a love-stricken boar licking his face tenderly, and when he looked into its misty eyes, the creature exploded (I am terribly sorry to say),  leaving its still-beating heart behind.

 

Now, the battlefield, which is a “theatre of war” in the Pretanic metaphor, has become a literal theatre. “Overseas oppressors” must be vilified in order to promote the ends of the “mission towards enduring peace.” This is done by producers of news media placed in the middle of the conflict. Here, correspondents implanted in military units receive continuous reports direct from the both the generals and from the hidden snipers. These non-combatants are often in the line of fire – how exciting – until they feel the bullet bite! And that’s better than ever.

 

The huntsman brought the boar’s heart back to the castle of nail and horn, where the atrocious Queen ate it, rejoicing. Despite this, she did not celebrate for long, because when she went to ask the usual question to the magic mirror, it answered impudently: “O Lady: most fair are you, woman so neat; but less so than Helhen whose heart still doth beat.” Then Krondí became terribly angry, her face went green with jealousy, and her heart as black as a thunder-cloud. “The wench will regret the day she was born,” she swore, “and assuredly she shall die now by my own hand!” And the villainous stepmother went off in a huff to boil her green brass cauldron and cast her spells. And, good gracious – that brave but brainless huntsman, Thavoh, has had it coming now, without a doubt – he was in for it, and he’d get it, in the fullness of time (whatever “it” might be)!

 

What, then, can be said of the Second Disaster in the Heart of the Continent, caused by the EGO and the Coalition of Holy Forces, which has been called by some cultural theorists a “bloodbath pretending to be a tiff”? There were only a few injuries and deaths in the ranks of the Coalition, Not a lot is known about the true number of injured amongst the vile hordes of the unfaithful (about a million, perhaps – children, women, elders, and soldiers – so lethal were the other side’s weapons). The Allies often used overpowering air power, rather than fighting directly on the ground. They also perfected the use of exceptionally powerful mentalist technology. Pictures were constantly broadcast across the Cruel World in real time, from the middle of the fighting, together with re-broadcasts, commentary, interviews, and analyses. Because of all this it is alleged that viewers could not differentiate between real events and manufactured propaganda.

 

In the meantime, Helhen wandered in the dark and perilous woods until she was totally exhausted. In the end, she found a small blue cottage in the middle of the trees, and stumbled in. There was nobody there, and she ate a morsel of food before she fell to the floor, swooning. And then she slept soundly, through the day and through the night, until the inhabitants returned home. (The place was certainly full of strange, ancient energies.) And they were seven wandering poets of the lowest class, who were permitted to perform comedy as well as singing dirges for payment. In fact, these were the Seven Strolling Songsters, and famous, renowned individuals they were, too. They were a loose coalition, formed from two tribes called Aserusu and Onilithé. There was Vohlerola and his partner Vihlisí; Ithiria and her lover Vlahaha; Tohathí; Vlathista; and Theylí. They were brothers and sisters in the true faith of the Thorlin: a creed that embraced and celebrated, respected and appreciated, the similarity, variety, and difference – between men and women, between the elders and youngsters, between the stinking rich nobs and the impoverished plebs – from the viewpoint of sophophilia, culture, society, and economics. (It was Vlathista who did the dirty job of helping his idealistic but hapless creative comrades to manage their investments, under the alias "Twinklin Lwkr.") 

 

However, perhaps the news, and the media in general, have become victims of their own success. Factions in society are succeeding to use and manipulate the sources of information to overcome their foes and allies alike by producing and broadcasting their own pervasive ideological messages. Government officials can threaten and bully media producers, manipulate facts, and leave meetings without answering a single question. Of course, in Government House, according to the Rules of Dignity, one of the People’s Representatives cannot allege that another one has wandered from the truth, and there, barefaced lies are called “terminological inexactitude.”

 

When the Minstrels came into the cottage, the girl awoke forthwith. “What’re you doing in our house?” was the question on everyone’s lips. “My merciful lords, there is no deceit in me, I’m fleeing from my stepmother who wants to kill me,” she answered, falling in a heap on the sumptuous carpet from the Sand Palace of Etneksha, as if unconscious. She was so beautiful despite being all over the place, and her mangled words moved the Minstrels to tears. So, they put her in bed, and cared for her until she awoke again. When this happened, they brought her a bowl of soup suitable for vegetarians (just in case she had any special requirements), and asked her to tell her whole story to them. She did this, and when she had finished, the Seven Strolling Songsters extended their deepest sympathies. “You must say here with us,” they said, “we’ll look after you, and you can care for us.” Helhen agreed without a shadow of a doubt. But, unfortunately, they couldn’t live happily ever after, as the foul Queen was planning to do evil, and the plot was thickening, while the baby-blood, imp-tears, and wolf-milk congealed in her cauldron.

 

After the sweeping but terrible success  in the Heart of the Continent, however, a bomb exploded under that venerable locus in the Big, Bad City, and its abstruse and ridiculous practices, when a news programme published a dossier of secret and sensitive documents written by hundreds of unelected advisers. (Some would say that the EGO was behind this terrible and far-reaching treachery.) These had been of the greatest importance in justifying the Horrific Assault on the Blue Zone made by the Government of Pretany. The Chief Minister and Father of the Nation went wild, and the government and the media went to war. As a result, multiple bigwigs in the televisual and civil services lost their jobs, whilst others were promoted, almost to godhead; a lawful public enquiry was stymied; institutional corruption in the heart of the government was revealed; and extensive rioting occurred, which was quashed amidst rivers of blood by special platoons of shock-troops. From here on, “Land of the Repugnant Knaves” would be the name for Pretany on the lips of the rest of the Cruel World.

 

Now, an expert on mythical, rare, exotic, special, and dead animals was that Thavoh, who had stridden out from the decrepit town by the everchanging castle ages ago, leaving hundreds of uncles, and nephews, and cousins behind, in order to get on in the Big, Bad World. And a very clever lad was he, too (according to his Aunty Vlothweth, at least). He could have turned his hand to anything, and had a go at working in several zoos. However, he didn’t have an iota of luck for this very odd reason. Well, all the animals wanted to kiss and cuddle him like crazy. But, when they stared into the whites of his eyes, in an instant, every one of them would disappear in a blinding flash, as if through some vile curse caused by a Horror-scope, leaving behind only a whirling vortex of jet-black feathers, or a bloody pile of fur and bones. And every time a voice could be heard, singing angelically: “Life’s full of joy, though it soon ends; One time you live, enjoy all it sends!” In the end, full of disappointment and grief, after an unprofitable spell working as a humane huntsman (no need to do any hunting!), he succeeded in an interview with the Amazing Actors of Alanthé. After all, he had an impeccable reference from Queen Hlíha – too perfect, or even enchanted, maybe – but the pompous members of this challenging and renowned company were far too busy to bother about things like that. And so, although he had not a soupçon of relevant experience regarding treading the boards, the Charming Prince would Thavoh be from then onwards (as well as being the expert in black arts and pyrotechnics), in the all-year-round instructional and moralistic pantomimes performed throughout the Land of Truth and Goodness and beyond.

 

Another thing is the recent phenomenon named “fake news” which is to be found more and more often on the international electronic net, and particularly on so-called “social media” — “Roll up, roll up! Come and see the show! Lo, Leskov, the Lord President, slays a lunatic lion in Xatlaltvazsu’s Glade!” The e-sites appear as if they were legitimate, but political propaganda is their heinous aim most of the time. These stories are like real reportage, but while most of them are totally fake, some are partly true. They possess a strange quality of credibility, and so, it’s very hard to see the difference between correct articles, fake stories, and advertising. The e-surfers are too busy or too lazy (amongst other things), and irony, humour, and negligence help to obscure the differences.

 

The witch sent a black dove named Sethrilé and a white raven named Athuthel from the castle to the woods as spies, to collect thoughts and memories, and when they came back, they showed her where the Princess was living then. “The wench is yet alive, but soon she’ll surely perish,” declaimed the villainous old imposter, cackling fit to burst, but the disaffected birds merely croaked, “Futile is life, dead flesh us doth sate; Everyone’s doomed, we bring their fate.” Thrice the abominable woman concealed her true identity with the strongest magic, and tried to kill Helhen while the Minstrels were not at home. The first time, in the form of the Washer at the Ford, she took a lacy bodice, and tried to persuade her stepdaughter to use it, so she could squeeze her to death like a mouldy pomegranate. But her faithful friends came back in time at the very last minute to save her. The second time, in the guise of the Beneficent Beautician, she took a comb with snake venom on it, and tried to poison Helhen, but her comrades returned at the eleventh hour once again, and managed to rescue her. Each time, the Queen sent her spies to discover what had happened after she departed, and every time they gave the same answer: “It’s futile!” When the magic mirror uttered the exact same answer as well, the evil woman went even more berserk than before.

 

There were lots of fake stories afoot before the recent Presidential Election in Pretany (following the abolition of the offices of the Yarlen and the ceremonial melting down of the High Seat) {Utility}, and in truth, a load of e-sites supporting Leskov. There again, perhaps Battered-Bonce was too busy disparaging popular televisual programmes, and cavorting about playing the fool, to pay attention. He doesn’t govern through the official channels, after all, but through personal diktat and ceaseless unofficial ejaculations in the media. It was alleged that his investiture ceremony attracted the greatest ever audience to witness an occasion of this sort. “Incorrect information” which is a “provable untruth,” said the newscasters. “Alternative facts,” answered the Lord President’s unelected advisers, who accused the correspondents of sowing discord, by making reports which were intentionally untrue [*]. Is this a serious attack on the free media, or, on the political system itself? Should this be resisted, and by whom?

 

The third time the Hellish Lady cast powerful magic, and created an enchanted apple which was tasty and deathly in equal amounts, putting into it all her strength {Riddle}. She took the apple to the cottage in the woods, dressed as an old maid, blind and lonely, who’d lost her sweetheart, namely the Warlike Foster-mother, and there tempted Helhen to eat it. The young woman had not had a bite to eat all day, so busy had she been doing good deeds free, gratis, and for nothing, and she grabbed it greedily. As soon as her beautiful pearly whites gnashed down on it, she fell to the floor. And this time the Seven Strolling Songsters couldn’t help her by the time they returned, as they could not discover the poison. The beautiful girl seemed to be asleep, so they placed her in a crystal coffin, so that all could gaze upon her, their hearts full of love and mourning, lest they forget her.

 

A “Wasteland” was the description of the Cruel World at the end of the First Great Tribulation, that is, a void, full of devastation and inhumanity, which was awaiting judgement. We were wandering for such a long time in the desolation of inertia and wallowing in the silent slough of despond. And then in the wake of the destruction, the Second Scientific Revolution happened, which released the world-shattering power of the Black Gold to spark the Transformation of Humanity. My own considered opinion is that the horror of war and the miracles of technology have doubtless spawned a World which is the “best of the worst.”

 

Years later, the whole Kingdom had gone to seed since half the population had gone to stare at the Princess and had turned into living statues in their grief. By then Thavoh really was a handsome but heartless Prince, having made his fortune and stacks of money by entertaining the common folk and selling them futile hopes and empty dreams. (Some, in fact, would say he was a slimy toad, due to his abject failure in finding a girlfriend with warm skin and a beating heart, and his disastrous stints as a hunter and zookeeper). One day he went to make representations to the Minstrels (who were the only competitors to the Amazing Actors of Alanthé on the national and international stage), demanding total submission on pain of extermination (his lack of love made him most cruel). And there, in the little blue cottage in the woods, as he acted, and blustered, and displayed several different emotions, he chanced to get an eyeful of the Princess who was sleeping soundly in the crystal coffin, as if she were truly as dead as dead could be. Thavoh knew that the paths of glory lead unto the grave, and that it’s he who goes far who prospers, but he always just wanted to run wild and have fun – the stupid loveless bachelor. And yet he fell irreparably in love with the dead (or sleeping) girl immediately and on the spot, as if he'd never seen her before. Most insistently did he beseech the Minstrels to open the coffin, promising freedom and glory (and not a little gold), and when they did thus, he bent over to kiss her. The Minstrels went mental on seeing such political incorrectness happening, which could have been tantamount to assault. In order to prevent this insult to decency, they set upon him, bumping against the coffin during the scrum. Thanks to the Unexpected Order of the Two Worlds, the piece of poisoned apple was released from Helhen's throat, and she awoke at once, as fit as a fiddle and as happy as the day is long.

 

In this Unreal World, stereotypes ran amok. It’s not that symbols had taken the place of truth; it’s that they were reality, or, rather, “alter-reality.” Meaning had become meaningless. The real truth had died. Nothing at all was left, not from the viewpoint of understanding, nor society, nor morality. We were living in an age where the all-important, paradoxical concept named “black-white” held sway. Opponents of a particular political system or social order had to tell slanderous lies about their enemies, in effect constantly alleging that black was white. On the other hand, those who faithfully supported the regime would have to know that white is black without a shadow of a doubt – believing was not good enough – whilst incessantly re-envisioning the past.

 

Needless to say, the Prince and the Princess got married without delay (after going through each other’s personal profile in uncommon detail). But, not before the young pair made a nuptial contract that was copper-bottomed and watertight. And they lived happily ever after thenceforth, having adopted their seven faithful friends, and the two unruly birds. (Thavoh had to wear sunglasses day and night from then on, to avoid unfortunate accidents.) And what of the evil stepmother? When she heard about the wedding she smashed her magic mirror to smithereens, so angry was she, but this destroyed all her magic, and she shrivelled up, and was swept away by a flock of shadows to the imaginary land of Vikluth, to live amongst the “Fair Tribe” (so called, as they were so ugly), and cause havoc under the name of Harumimlí. In the end nothing at all of her was left save her voice, lamenting: “How strange is love, cool peace I need; I’m flying off, now where’s my mead?”

 

So, we must ask: where are we now? And what will happen next? With the recent establishment of the Chapels of Non-Denominational Enquiry, may we dare to hope that the former aeon of shattering and insecurity is starting to dissipate, that a “Brave, New World” is on the verge of arriving, and that this will be a time of rebuilding and reforming institutions and long-standing practices? After all, all over the place we see organized and industrious individuals who are coming together to form factions that are small in size but loud in voice. And then, they are starting to demand the right to decide for themselves. Locally, and on certain, specific topics, they are campaigning, and the localities and the causes change all the time as required. They are beginning to resist the most powerful of today’s forces, namely the treachery of the mass media, the lies of politics and consumerism, and the grasp of EGO. And often they do this by taking advantage of, and misusing, the new technology.

 

Having said all that, it's Krondí who had introduced industrial milling to the capital, and started the First Scientific Revolution as a result, and her intensely effective folk medicines were of immense value to the international pharmaceutical companies which were to come in due course. (The “Book of the Damned” by Tletlu a Tretru Molruku was full of tempting, terrifying, and profitable ideas indeed, for those ready to sacrifice conscience and embrace unfettered progress.) The old King went to live in the Bad-Tempered Brothers’ commune in the Back of Beyond (some would say Vihlirtha), where he was known Sihuho. There, he earned his crust selling dirty sand mixed with slag from the factories, and the works, and the foundries which would appear very soon, to the recalcitrant inhabitants of the Eastern Desert who caused such grief to the Archimandrites of the Supreme Father-Church. They didn’t bother about that at all, and went on using the impure substance in their unholy ceremonies. He also bought large quantities of addictive spice from them, and established a thriving black market with the help of certain self-employed musicians.

 

Who knows, perhaps we’ll see courses in the brand spanking-new Education Centres before long on topics such as Technological Miracles and Magical Meta-communication, for people old and young alike. We have voices, and our voices shall be heard! (And what with me chairing the United Independent Educational Institutions of Aberdydd and the Region Committee, this will happen sooner rather than later, for sure.)  And then, shall we choose a future in Kayn-lan on the shores of Sasik-sivash, or in the Bottomless Pit (I speak figuratively, of course)? Will we create a utopian land which is autonomous, flourishing, harmonious, and multilingual, or rather a dystopian region, that’s monolingual, lacking identity, and full of violence? Independent Kimbria, or Western Pretany? Who can solve this puzzle? I for one don’t know. Science-fiction and satire can illuminate the choices, but, needless to say, they can promote propaganda at the same time, in the wrong hands!

 

At the same time, the situation in the Fractured World was so quickly deteriorating due to climate change, global warming, ozone depletion, melting ice-caps, and rising sea-levels. And maybe it’s because of all this that the Land of Truth and Goodness fell on evil times, with the population going astray and taking up bad habits of all kinds. And soon they had all adopted the wicked stepmother’s ways, and the place was awash with immorality, and corruption, and drugs, and violence. (It was almost as bad, even, as the sexual impropriety and the intellectual and moral bankruptcy to be seen in Government House in our land these days.) Presiding over the mayhem was a cadre of seven unelected and very powerful advisers under the command of Vothun and his talkative birds (or maybe Lwkí Stáz was in charge, it wasn't totally clear half the time). They used to be instrumental and vocal performers, but were now considered divinities, because of the Charming Prince’s and Most Beautiful Princess’s criminal negligence (how heinous is infatuation!). And that’s the end of the Tale of Helhen and Thavoh, Harumimlí and Sihuho, and the Seven Strolling Songsters ... until the next chapter begins, of course.

 

Perhaps, the most important choices, those which will make the tiniest bit of difference in the end, are not between two such polarities. Maybe, we cannot endure too much bliss, and a future living in a state ruled by mad artificial minds will be our end. However, for my part, I hope from the heart that this will not happen. So, let each one of us pray (once again, I apologise for my florid diction!) that, with the help of the methods of Mentalist Poetry I have presented in great detail elsewhere, we can all reclaim power from the pundits, the politicos, and the parsons. And they we’ll overcome the oppression of the televisual wizards, the selfish, egocentric, and self–seeking demagogues, and the self-righteous and hypocritical soul-savers, by repossessing our words, and becoming authors of our own histories. But don’t obey me slavishly: think, and act, for yourselves! After all, since no single human being can tell the truth all the time, a spreader of barefaced lies, and white ones, just like all the others, is what I am – from time to time, at least. Am I not? Are we all not? But by taking responsibility, and being self-aware, we’ll be able to succeed in making the World a better place, despite that.

 

*           *           *           *           *           *           *

 

[PMP] Whence come their frightening powers? Well, to answer this question, one must accept that symbols are a magical tool on the hands of a skilled practitioner. Furthermore, one must recognize that consciousness contains millions of detachable selves, wrapped around each other like the myriad layers of an onion, which usually cooperate, but which can function independently under the correct conditions. In the magical, or religious, or mentalist – or poetic – ceremony, the costumes, the masks, the motions, and the words create the appropriate context to transform the performer so that he becomes a conductor of consciousness who can mould porous and permeable personalities. He must use active imagination to separate the liminal, sacred space of the “mundus imāginālis” from the mundane world. Like the “sòrkavrànda” (“gleaming healer”), he must learn to recite the “kùnshyíkhòw” (“profound foundation”) to master fear before embarking on his Great Work. Through the chanting and motioning, the performer will experience real psycho-physiological effects, and acknowledge the truth of the magic, as his flesh transforms into a spirit body.

 

The sacred space will then be full to bursting with enchantment which abolishes the Cruel Eyrth for a while, as the All-World resounds, opening a door to the jubilation and atrocity of the Nw Yrth, where everything is upside-down. During the rite, the usual rules of logic and causation, and the laws of nature, cease to apply. Space melts, the flow of time reverses, and the landscape changes entirely. There’s no controlling symbols or meaning, and the place is filled with tempting and terrifying images. Objects and participants will be filled with power emanating from the Two Worlds, and the practices will succeed in their aim because of this. Thus will binary oppositions disappear, and the workers achieve a highly-suggestible altered state of consciousness, losing control of their thinking, sense of time, and body-image. They will notice changes in their emotions, their perceptions, and the purport of their thoughts, and experience ineffable feelings whilst being rejuvenated.

 

To start with, the personalities of the group will fragment, shattering like splinters of some nightmarish mirror. One person will become another. Then, everyone will meld together. Children become adults; men appear like women; women turn into pine-trees, does, owls, and flowers; men become wild boars, wolves, deer, eagles; and the young suffer and rejoice instead of the old. And then, like the “jyoka” (“burning bud”) dancing wildly, they’ll sense light-fibres sprouting from their mouths and their fingers. These will create entities that do not exist beyond the sacred space, but which are totally real whilst one is considering them, and which function to achieve a particular end, giving advice, solving problems, healing, and revenging. At the end of the ceremony, it is essential that these powerful spectres be dismissed. The master of ceremonies can use a bell-jar as a spiritual battery to collect residual energy.

 

To conclude, I have one very important warning for you regarding my modern versions of these ancient methods which are so powerful and far-reaching, but also so hard to control. Those present during the performance must be exceptionally careful, lest they are changed forever in ways that no-one can predict. That is the burning danger and the thrilling delight of this most alluring artistry.

 

*           *           *           *           *           *           *

 

[*] It is interesting to note that the following happened in the Ceremony of Sanctification of the Surest Stewardship of Kyning Kalkevork the Canny due to several small problems with the arrangements. One must remember that the first act of the Most Sublime and Illustrious Figurehead had been to dismiss (or have exiled, or killed) every one of the former Yarlen’s retinue with no warning, leaving no-one behind. So, it is no surprise to see that things were out of place here and there in the Gallery of Ultimate Justice at the top of the Palace of Federal Splendour’s highest purple tower. It is the Monarch of Pretany the Great and Defender of the One True Faith who is speaking officially here during his first appearance in this most important public role:

 

“Ah, we cannot abide these bloody occasions, where we must mingle with the stinking crowd. And Oh, by the Unmentionable Power, how much we hate fountain-pens and everything to do with them! They are devils’ tools, which are so unreliable, always leaking ink everywhere, leaping to stab us, and forcing us to write incorrect dates and forget our own name! Come, serving-man, hurry, have you not noticed the royal hand gesturing to you for an endless age almost? Take the decorated quill-holder made of solid gold away immediately. Throw it in the refuse, since it obstructed us as we attempted to sign our regnal name, form our mystical sigil, and set our sacred seal correctly on this virgin parchment.

 

“Thus, we have decided as follows, here in the very moment. It is we who decree and affirm that there shall not be any necessity for the Kyning or the Kwén, nor for our heirs and successors, to read nor to write one single jot in any form at all, from now until eternity. But instead of that, every majestic word proceeding from our mouth shall function as if it were carved permanently in the most expensive and finest marble! Listen, all of you faithful vassals, and obey, for we your Kyning and Lord have spoken!”

 

It was at this time that the Lord President of the Paramount Consistory Tribunal Leskov Börslavr Pfpfelyuk jon-Stanlíy realized that he had indeed bitten off more than he could chew and created an intractable archfiend – from his viewpoint at least. Having said that, the Kyning and Kwén succeeded exceptionally well in extending their aristocratic tribe of unprincipled, incestuous, and rapacious criminals. As civilization went to the dogs, they would degenerate (if that is the correct word) in the fullness of time, and disseminate their seeds over the remaining habitable areas of the Screaming Spheroid (called “The Midworld”), becoming chiefs of bickering tribes, local warlords, tinpot dictators, sadistic, bullying tyrants, and immensely rich drug-barons.

 

All of this would deal a deadly blow to Leskov’s desire to become Civilizer and Unifier of the Hopeless Terrains of the Southern Continent to his enormous disappointment (and his temper-tantrums were legendary as a result). What, I wonder, would have become of the former Chief Minister and Father of the Nation’s craving to become World-king then (or sire to World-kings at least, failing that), were it not for the fact that he had spawned, unknown to him, a scattered dynasty of daughters and sons who would create a new society, and destroy it as well? But this would all happen in the very far future – both Leskov’s feverish dreams and the icy nightmares of the serpentine aristocratic families. Not, however, without cooperation from a certain rogue Kimbric sorcerer of Illuric stock, assistance from an inhuman and eldritch mother and son (from the Southern Continent, allegedly), and service from seven wandering musicians who were members of an underground criminal fraternity on the sly. And that is the tale of “Massacre in the Midworld.” — P.M.

 

[O “Egwyddorion Barddoniaeth Feddyliaethol” gan yr Athrawes Jelena Pekar] Trwy fy mhrofiad fy hun wrth fyw bywyd heb wreiddiau a theithiol, rwy wedi dod i gydnabod mai rhyfeddod yw craidd yr holl wirionedd a harddwch yn y Byd. Mae popeth, yn frogaod, ymerawdwyr, gwyddorion economaidd, a sêr, wedi’u cysylltu â phopeth arall, fel bod y naill beth yn dylanwadu ar y llall mewn cylch di-dor. Ac yng nghanol y we dra chymhleth hon, mae’r Bobl Sed newydd ddod i’r golwg, sydd yn ymgorffori eneidiau trech o lawer na’r werinos, er yr honnir yn aml eu bod yn dioddef o salwch meddyliol o bob math, neu wedi’u meddiannu gan gythreuliaid. A phwy, felly, all ddweud i ba gyfeiriad y bydd echelin maes magnetig y Byd yn pwyntio o ddydd i ddydd, pan fo’n newid mor gyson o dan yr holl ddylanwadau anweledig hyn? Y Plant Indigo hyn a fydd yn trawsffurfio’r Byd, a chodi Atha-lanthé golledig, ac agor llwybrau i’r Hyd Deheuol o’r diwedd, er nad yn ein heinioes y digwydd hyn, efallai

 

*           *           *           *           *           *           *

 

[O “Barddoni a Byw” gan yr Athrawes Jelena Pekar] Sut y cychwynnodd rhyfeddod feddiannu ar f’enaid am y tro cyntaf, felly? Wel, pan o’n i’n grotes yn ddeuddeg oed, falle, yn bell i ffwrdd yng Nghalon y Cyfandir dros y Llŷr Glân, fe gefais i ran mewn pantomeim yn neuadd y Tabernacl Annerbyniol lleol. Ro’n i’n chwarae rhan gwas heliwr (fel yn y rhan fwya o bantomeimiau, menywod sy’n chwarae rhannau dynion, ac i’r gwrthwyneb). Roedd yr holl beth yn gyffrous iawn, rhwng yr ymarfer, dysgu’r llinellau, gwneud y gwisgoedd (wel, tasg i Mam druan oedd hynny, a chefais i wasgod ledr, clos pen-glin, ‘sanau hir gwyn, a sgidiau sgleiniog ac arnynt fyclau mawr o aur), a phopeth arall. Wedi dweud hynny oll, ches i ddim ond yr un llinell (sa i’n gallu cofio beth, erbyn hyn – “Ho, ho, ho!” dw i’n credu!).

 

Yn fyw tebyg i gomedi golbio oedd ein perfformiad, nag i drasiedi gan Chwifiwr-gwaywffon, gallech chi ddweud. Roedd rhaid i fi ddilyn wrth sodlau’r heliwr ei hun. Chwe throedfedd o’n i, fwy neu lai (bois bach, fe fu’r gwyniau tyfiant yn arteithiol), ac yn llawer talach na’r dyn hŷn a dweud y gwir. A bob tro y trôi fe, gan gymryd arno chwilio amdana i’n astud dan ebychu, “Ble wyt ti, was?”, fe drown i hefyd i fod y tu ôl iddo, ac ar y gair, byddai’r gynulleidfa’n gweiddi, “Ma’ e tu ôl i chi!” Hanner awr yn ddiweddarach, fe fuon nhw’n dal i chwerthin, gredwch chi fi! O ganlyniad, rwy wastad wedi bod dan gyfaredd y math hwn o ddrama, a gaiff ei pherfformio fel arfer tuag adeg y Galar Di-ben-draw, ac sy’n llawn o ffars, cerddoriaeth, cymeriadau traddodiadol, a jôcs cyfoes (y panto, nage’r Pythefnos Dychrynllyd – “Byr yw Coethi-fis, ond hir ei anghysuron,” fel y meddan nhw).

 

Wel, ar ôl i fi lanio yma ar lannau diffaith a diflas Pretania, gwpl o flynyddoedd yn ôl (er ei bod yn teimlo fel einioes), ro’n i mor lwcus pan ddes i’n ddarlithydd cynorthwyol ieuaf yng Nghimbria. Mewn byr amser, fe ges i ‘ngofyn i gynhyrchu rhywbeth i’r uwch-arwyr bach ewn ym meithrinfa Canolfan Hyfforddi Cymuned Ieuenctid Amgen Kimbria. Nawr, fel pawb arall yn y Byd Annealladwy hwn, dw i’n dwlu ar waith y “Chwaraewyr Chwit-chwat” a’r sioeau un fenyw i gyd. Hoffwn i ychwanegu yma, er does neb wedi gweld y meddyliaethydd arbrofol byd-enwog Helen Grossmann a finnau yn yr un ystafell ar yr un pryd, sdim rhaid i chi boeni am y ffaith fechan honno.

 

Felly, nes i ddechrau sgrifennu’r darn hwn i’r plantos, a chael llawer o hwyl wrth lunio’r stori, ac wedyn wrth eu gweld nhw’n ei lladd hi ar y llwyfan. Gobeithio cewch chi dipyn bach o ddifyrrwch wrth ei darllen yma hefyd. Yn ogystal â’r gwaith llenyddol, mae golygydd y gyfrol hon wedi gofyn i fi roi caniatâd i gyhoeddi detholiad o ‘nhraethawd hir, academaidd, poblogaidd ar iaith. Dw i wedi cytuno, wrth reswm, er mwyn cyflwyno eto rai cwestiynau perthnasol ar yr adeg fwyaf cythryblus hon yn hanes ein bodolaeth. Beth ar y Blaned Ddirgel hon y bydd e’n ei wneud gyda’r testunau hyn, dw i ddim yn gwybod. Ond, fel y dywedai f’athrylith o frawd colledig, druan ac eithriadol o ffôl, Daud Pekar drwy’r amser (ac o’r hwn, raid i fi gyfaddef â chalon drom, y tarddodd sawl un o’r syniadau yn y canlynol) – “Dw i’n byw mewn gobaith.”

 

*           *           *           *           *           *           *

 

[O “Rhaffu Rhyfeddomatig a Ffolineb Ffuglennol”

gan J Pekar (G Llwynlesg, gol.)]

 

“Nid oes dim yn ein cadw’n fwy mewn ffolineb na’n doethineb ein hun.”

 

Er mwyn cyfathrebu â’n gilydd tu mewn i gymdeithas, yr ydym wedi dyfeisio symbolau fyrdd. Cynrychiola gwyddorau ysgrifenedig iaith lafar; crynhoa lluniau sefyllfaoedd cymhleth; dihuna cerddoriaeth deimladau; geiriau a brawddegau ein hieithoedd sydd yn ein galluogi i greu syniadau a chrynhoi ystyron. Ac wedi’u dyfeisio hwy, nid ydym yn gallu gwneud hebddynt. Gydag iaith yr ydym yn llunio ffuglen a thrin ffaith: rywbryd byddwn ni’n dweud y gwir, ond yn aml, yn ddweud celwyddau. Raid inni ddechrau trwy ofyn, felly: beth ydy “ffaith”? Wel, gallwn ni ddweud mai darn o wybodaeth ydy ffaith, wedi’i fynegi mewn geiriau gan amlaf, a gyflwynwyd fel petai’n wrthrychol wirioneddol. I’r gwrthwyneb, o’u cymharu â ffeithiau, mae “celwyddau” yn anwireddau pwrpasol, wedi’u creu gyda’r bwriad o ddychrynu, twyllo, neu ddefnyddio pobl eraill. Siawns na threcha ffeithiau a gwirionedd mewn cymdeithas rydd, agored, ddatblygedig, a soffistigedig?

 

Unwaith, llawer iawn o flynyddoedd yn ôl, yng Ngwlad Gwir a Glendid, anhygoel o bell oddi yma, yr oedd Brenin a Brenhines yn byw’n hapus, hapus mewn castell dirfawr wedi’i wneud o galchen a chaws, lle bodolai pob llawenydd daearol, a phob rhinwedd nefol. Roedd gan yr hen le bob cyfleustra modern, yn cynnwys sestonau dwrlif yn y tai bach, a system gwres canolog yn y ffos hefyd. Ond gochelwch! Fe newidiai’r castell hwnnw ei wedd yn gyson, fel llewpard yn newid ei frychni yn yr hen straeon. Un dydd yn y gaeaf, roedd y Frenhines yn gwnïo, wrth eistedd ger silff y ffenestr wedi’i gwneud o bren cyn ddued ag eboni (neu efallai mai eboni oedd hi, pwy a ŵyr, fe fuodd cyhyd yn ôl a chyn belled i ffwrdd). Roedd y ffenestr ar agor, achos bod yr ystafell yn boeth, a gorchuddiwyd yr arffed ag eira. Roedd y fenyw frenhinol uchel iawn ei pharch yn canu yn drist, gan nad oedd hi’n fam i’r un plentyn (a dyna fu disgwyliad cymdeithas ar y pryd ar gyfer bywyd llawn yn gorlifo gan lawenydd). Ac wrth wneud hyn, pigodd hi ei bys gyda’r nodwydd. Cwympodd un dafn o waed ar yr eira a gronnai yno’n daclus. A dyna a achosodd i ryw damaid o hud ddechrau chwarae gyda chalonnau a meddyliau. 

 

Yn y byd sydd ohoni, rydym yn creu’n holl realiti cyffredin trwy gyfrwng symbolau a’r cyd-destunau lle y’u defnyddiwyd. Sut y byddwn ni’n penderfynu beth ydy gwirionedd, felly, ymhlith y cymysgedd o wybodaeth grai? Wel, mewn llys, er enghraifft, “ffeithiau amgen” a allai fod yn wir o bosibl, a ddygir gan y ddwy ochr, a bydd rhaid i’r rheithgor ddod i gasgliad ynglŷn â pha rai sydd yn gywir ar sail tystiolaeth gan ddiffynyddion, dioddefwyr, tystion, ac arbenigwyr. Ymhellach, mae gwyddonwyr yn defnyddio arbrofion i ddewis rhwng damcaniaethau cystadleuol a chael hyd i’r un sydd yn cyfateb orau i’r arsylwadau. Felly, mae synnwyr gwirionedd yn byw eto ar yr olwg gyntaf, yn y sefyllfaoedd cyfyngedig, arbennig hynny o leiaf. Ar sail hyn, yr ydym yn gobeithio mai mewn bywyd bob dydd hefyd, y byddai’n bosibl inni ddilyn yr un egwyddor: bydd yn rhaid inni farnu gwahanol honiadau trwy eu cymharu â’r dystiolaeth gorau.

 

Fel mae’n digwydd, felly, y pryd hwnnw, fe fuodd i’r gwŷr i gyd oedd yn byw yn y glymdref o hofelau ar bwys y castell gwympo mewn cariad â gwyryf o’r enw Hlanhalan, a’i gwallt hir, melyn. Roedd hi’n gweithio mewn melyn oedd â lloriau gŵyr, ar ben y bryn lle’r oedd tŷ ei hannwyl gariadus frawd, a oedd yn wirion bost hefyd. “Dymunwn ni dy briodi di: wyt ti’n fodlon?”, ebe hwy, ond “Ddim ar gyfrif yn y byd a finnau’n fyw ac iach,” atebodd hi dan bwdu, mor gysetlyd oedd hi. Ond rwy’n fodlon dweud ei bod yn mwynhau’r mynyddoedd o siocled a’r afonydd o win pefriog serch hynny. Pan gawsai hi lond bol ar yr holl sothach honno, penderfynodd hi ddianc, a dychmygodd y ffôi y tu hwnt i’r enfys, i gyrrau’r Ddaear, i chwilio am gorachod, a ffenicsiaid, a sffincsau. A rhedeg bant a wnaeth, nerth ei thraed swmpus, a chanddi gwfl marchog coch amdani. O weld hyn, roedd y mwyafrif o’r dynion yn cwyno: “Fe ŵyr hi ei meddwl ei hun, felly, gwaetha’r modd. Well i ni fynd i lawr i’r dafarn i foddi’n gofidiau.” A dyna beth a wnaethon nhw, yr hen gythreuliaid gwirion, ac eithrio un ohonynt o’r enw Thavoh (hynny yw, “Mab yr Haul”), a aeth bant a chael diploma uwch cymhwysedd anymarefrol o Ysgol Profiad mewn "Dulliau Cymharol Cyfredol Lles Anifeiliaid,  Gofal Creaduriaid, a Fferylliaeth Bwystfilod." Fodd bynnag, nid yw'n syndod, dan yr amgylchiadau cymdeithasol bryd hynny, ei fod yn ddi-waith ac mewn dyled hyd at ei geseiliau. Roedd e wedi benthyg llawer iawn o bres gan yr usuriwr Twinklin Lwkr oedd yn anghlodwiw ond yn drewi o arian. Pan hawliodd Lwkr ei echwyn yn ôl gyda llog, ni allai Thavoh dalu. Felly, gwnaeth Twinklin felltithio'r llanc i fod yn gariad marwol, a charwr y meirw – fe fyddai hynny'n wers iddo. Rhedodd Thavoh bant mewn anobaith.

 

Wel, mewn Byd Delfrydol, wrth reswm, byddai hynny yn wir. Ond uchafiaeth anochel Prynwriaeth Ronc wedi’i hybu gan y Blaid Baternalistig Biws sy’n rheoli’r byd heddiw, gan gynllwynio yn erbyn y posibiliad hwn. Y tu mewn i’r gyfundrefn hon, didolir y pethau a gynhyrchir a’r gwasanaethau a ddarperir oddi wrth y rhai’n eu gwneud neu’u darparu. Rhoddir prisiau mympwyol ar bethau nad ydynt yn cyfateb i’w defnyddioldeb ymarferol, nac i gost cynhyrchu. Ailddiffinir diwylliant trwy gyfrwng diwydiant, tra bod trefoli’n gwahanu bodau dynol oddi wrth y byd byw. Y rhai sydd yn gweithio galetaf ac yn gwneud y swyddi mwyaf brwnt a pheryglus a ennill y cyflogau isaf. Ffynna grwpiau grymus mewn cymdeithas trwy arfer nerth ariannol yn seiliedig yn aml ar enwogrwydd neu ar boblogrwydd, neu a geir trwy lwc, drwy dwyll, neu drwy ymelwa ar eraill. O ganlyniad i hyn, mae pobl yn cael eu pellhau oddi wrth bobl eraill ac oddi wrth fyd natur y maent yn rhannau ohono. Nid ydy hwn yn amgylchedd y mae gwirionedd yn gallu blodeuo ynddo, fel y esbonnir isod.

 

Yn ôl yn y castell castiog, pan welodd y Frenhines y tri lliw prydferth – du, coch, a gwyn – yr un rhai yn union ag ar fflag urddasol y deyrnas – fe’i swynwyd. “O, fe fyddwn i’n dwlu ar gael merch gyda gwallt cyn ddued â’r frân yn y fynwent, gyda chroen cyn wynned ag eira ar y bedd, a gyda gwefusau cyn goched â gwaed Lushfé wedi’i ddatgymalu,” meddyliai i’w hun. Roedd yr Ysbryd Anweledig yn gwrando arni (mewn ffordd ffigurol o siarad, wrth gwrs, gan nad oes ganddo glustiau), ac yn fuan wedi hynny, esgorodd y Frenhines ar ferch fach. Ond clywsai’r Ysbryd Cyfrwys Vísha hefyd, yn ei palas enfawr, ym Mashmalo, ym mhen pellaf yr Holl Fyd, sydd ei galon hefyd. Fe sicrhaodd hithau i’r fam lân farw yr un pryd y daeth y babi i’r Byd. “Mor gryf â dur yw gwraig, ac yn y nef eheda hi; Boed i ti fyw, a ffynnu, a charu!” oedd ei geiriau olaf i’r plentyn. Heddwch i’w llwch: ni ddaw’i hoes drachefn.

 

Yn y llysoedd a’r labordai, mae’r achosion a’r profion yn cael eu rheoleiddio’n ofalus, ac mae angen ar ymarferwyr proffesiynol ddefnyddio iaith dechnegol yn fanwl gywir. Y tu allan i’r mannau hyn, fodd bynnag, yr ydym yn tueddu i ddefnyddio iaith anarferol o ddyrys, neu gamddefnyddio cyfathrebu confensiynol yn rheolaidd, y dyddiau eithriadol hyn. Ceir “cam-lefaru,” er enghraifft, sy’n golygu “dweud celwyddau” mewn gwirionedd, ond heb grybwyll y gair dadleuol. A beth am y rheiny sy’n ymroi i ddefnyddio “gormodiaith eirwir” drwy’r amser? Dim ond camliwiad diniwed ydy, yn ôl pob tebyg – yn eu tyb hwy, o leiaf. Ond, i’r gwrthwyneb, mae’n gweithio’n rhy dda i hyrwyddo buddiannau’r rhai pwerus sy’n ei defnyddio’n effeithiol iawn ar draul y gyfran fawr o’r boblogaeth wedi ei dieithrio a’i phellhau oddi wrth gymdeithas – y tlodion, y gwan, y rhai di-addysg, a’r rhai sy’n agored i niwed –achos y bydd pobl y dygwyd grym oddi arnynt, yn dymuno credu mewn pethau eithriadol. Y cyfryngau i gyd sy’n cyfrannu at y broblem hon, trwy werthu nwyddau, syniadau a gobeithion diangen fel petaent yn hanfodol. Oherwydd hyn, felly, mewn bywyd beunyddiol, math arall ar “ffeithiau amgen,” sef “gwybodaeth wedi’i seilio’n bennaf ar farn” sy’n cymryd lle gwirionedd. Golyga geiriau’r hyn y dymuna masnachwyr y newyddion iddynt ei olygu. Bu farw’r hen wir! Hir oes i’r gwir newydd!

 

Gyda llaw, yn ystod ei theithiau, methodd yr eneth fentrus ac uchelgeisiol honno, o’r enw Hlanhalan, â chwrdd â’r un uncorn, na choblyn, nac aderyn llwch gwin, er iddi fynd o goed i gastell, drwy fröydd a thros fryniau, hwynt ac yma, mewn gwlad a gorwlad. Ond, o’r diwedd, fe drawodd hi ar lanc dihalog a chyhyrog, yn lliw haul, ac â llygaid tanbaid fel llygaid elain. Roedd gwallt hir, cyrliog, golau’n donnau ar draws ei ysgwyddau, a gwên felys ar ei wefusau. Am ei ben roedd coronbleth aur, a phâr o adenydd bychain yn tyfu ma’s o’i gefn. Roedd e’n cario gwialen bysgota yn ei llaw dde, yn uffernol o siaradus ac yn haerllug gyda’i gweniaith, yn llawn o ymadroddion ffraeth fel, “Fe ddywedi di’r gwir bob amser, rwy’n sicr, nes cocho grymoedd y tywyllwch, O angyles nefol lanaf!” Esboniodd sut y gallai’r melinydd wireddu meddylfryd ei chalon, dim ond trwy wrando’n astud ar bob un o’i geiriau ac ufuddhau’n ffyddlon. (Gwir ddoethineb yw sylweddoli cyn lleied a wyddom am fywyd, am ein hunain ac am y byd o’n cwmpas, ebe hwy. Ond bychan yn wir a wyddai Hlanhalan mai Avatha oedd hwn, y bwystfil mytholegol a fyddai’n ymddangos ar ffurf draig wen, neu sarff ddur, neu fadfall enfawr felen, ar ddiwedd bywyd wedi’i afradu, i lusgo pechadur ymaith i ddyfnderoedd Heli-hrelí.)

 

Heddiw, dyna dimau o arbenigwyr sy’n graff o ran y cyfryngau yn brwydro i ddiffinio a rheoli’n byd tra chymhleth ni, wedi’i adeiladu â thechnoleg wynias, yn llawn i’r ymyl â ffeithiau, ac yn orlawn o wybodaeth. Boddi mewn hysbysrwydd rydym. Pwy sy’n ein gorfodi i fwyta’r seindalpiau blasus, y sylwadau bachog hynny? Dyna’r darlledwyr. Pwy sy’n treulio ac ail-chwydu’r testunau amlgyfrwng lluosog? Dyna’r sylwebyddion proffesiynol. Pwy sy’n dadansoddi’r mynyddoedd o fanylion, sy’n gythreulig o gymhleth? Dyna’r pynditiaid, y gwŷr hysbys hynny wedi’u trwytho yn y dirgelion. Ac mae pob un o’r rhain wedi gwario llawer o arian yn ennill y cymwysterau priodol. Maent i gyd wedi rhoi cryn dipyn o’u bywyd yn cronni’r medrau. Palu’n fwyfwy dwfn mewn ffosydd sy wedi dod yn fwyfwy cul a wnânt. Fe amddiffynnant eu tiriogaeth a’u datganiadau â ffyrnigrwydd selogion. Yn awr, mae arbenigwyr wedi dod yn enwogion; ac mae “selébs” bob amser yn barod â’u barnau ar bob peth dan haul. Ac eto i gyd, dyna’r Arglwyddi Dyrchafedig a’r Arglwyddesau Anghymharol yn y Cyngor Gwerinol, sydd yn malu awyr ar eu sgriniau teledol drwy’r dydd wrth drafod pynciau llosg megis tewdra, pwysau, a blas y malwod yng nghyrri’r Arglwydd Lywydd, a faint o fudrelw mae’n Harweinydd Anghymharol ni’n gallu’i hawlio am orfod rhannu yng ngofidiau’r werin.

 

Fyddai dim problem o gwbl (yn ôl Avatha a oedd yn esgus mai Thavutha, yr Haul Disglair, ydoedd, a chael hwyl fawr yn dweud mai Elnela, y Lloer Oriog oedd hithau). Fyddai ond yn rhaid iddi wneuthur drych hud o fetel du a dŵr glân, i ddal breuddwydion fyrdd wedi’u chwalu; a chasglu nifer mawr o lysiau gwenwynig; a dofi pâr o adar gwylltion fel y bônt yn llygaid a chlustiau iddi; a gwerthu ei henaid, ac yn y blaen, ac ati. Fe gytunodd yr eneth yn frwd, a chyda un diferyn o waed glas, oer mewn gobled o laeth enwyn poeth, roedd pwerau’r Fall wedi ei hawlio iddynt eu hunain. Fflach o olau uwchfioled. Bloeddio chwerthin gwallgof. Drewdod llymsur, siarp osôn. O hynny ymlaen ei hwynepryd a fwriai gysgod hir dros bawb yn ei gŵydd. Ac oni bai am ei llais persain, ei geiriau hudol, a swyn ei drych parablus, fe fyddai i’w gweld ar ffurf bleiddast enfawr ac iddi bawennau swmpus, a’i chroen yn llosgi i gyd, a’i blew hir melyn yn llawn llwch blawd.

 

A dyma broblem arall Gall unrhyw un ddadlau am y gorffennol, gan ddyfeisio damcaniaethau hyfryd o astrus sy’n esboniadol i ryw fesur. Serch hynny, does dim profion a all eu gwirio. Rydym yn sôn am ddysgu gwersi gan hanes ond ni ddysgwn ni ddim byd. (“Mae’r ci’n llyncu’i gyfog, tra mae’r ffŵl yn tagu ar ei ffoledd,” chwedl “Doethineb Ví-aza” – esgusodwch fi am gyfeirio at yr Hen Lyfrau!) Beth am dybiaethau ynghylch y dyfodol? Wel, o brofiad truenus dynolryw hyd yn hyn, mae’n ymddangos, mewn unrhyw system mor gymhleth â chymdeithas, nad o werth fydd yr un darogan o bethau i ddod yn y tymor hir. Byddinoedd o broffwydi ac o ddaroganwyr sydd. Ond, tra gweithiant yn eithriadol o galed i ennill eu tamaid, gwaethygu’r sefyllfa a wnaethant, o ran y rhan fwyaf o bobl ddifreintiedig o leiaf, gyda’u rhagolygon. Fe ddaw syniadau’r werin bobl yn fwy dryslyd fyth. (“Oblegid ni ddaw’r un wir argoel byth o enau dynol,” yng ngeiriau “Dywediadau’r Gwrandäwr Gwydn” – ymddiheuriadau eto!) Ac wedyn fe fyddant hwy fwy hydrin ac yn haws eu camarwain. Felly gwella’r arbenigwyr amgylchiadau ar ran awdurdodau’r sefyllfa fel y mae. Wedi’r holl ymdrechion hyn, arhosa’r cwestiwn a ofynnwyd  filenia yn ôl: beth ydy gwir?

 

Fodd bynnag, yn ôl y castell o esgyrn a gewynnau yn y brifddinas roedd y baban newydd yn y teulu brenhinol yn dra phrydferth. Roedd ei gwallt cyn ddued â’r frân, ei chroen cyn wynned ag eira, a’i gwefusau cyn goched â gwaed, ac felly y’i henwyd y Dywysoges Hardd yn Helhen (hynny yw, “Eira Wen”). Pam nad “Hwaykoth” (neu “Gwaed Coch”), na “Korvaldí” (“Brân Ddu fel Eboni”) oedd hi, ni fydd neb byth yn amgyffred. Fe ddathlodd yr holl Deyrnas, ond gresynon nhw ar yr un pryd hefyd (wel, y rhai ohonynt nad oedd wedi marw o newyn erbyn hynny). Er bod y Brenin yn bur drist, priododd e fenyw newydd ar unwaith. Gwreigdda hardd ar y naw oedd hi, o’r enw Hlíha (Hlanhalan oedd hi, mewn gwirionedd), y daethai adfyd i’w rhan. Roedd wedi cyrraedd y castell amser yr angladd, a gwerthai oel nadroedd, dognau o gedowrach ag arian byw rhag y frech, ac elicsirau ieuenctid. Eithr er gwaetha’r sandalau croen dafad swmpus, pawennau bleiddast a dyfai o’r pigyrnau siapus. Gwrach ddrwg iawn oedd Hlíha (neu Hlanhalan) hefyd, does dim dwywaith amdani, a dyna sut y llwyddodd hi i reibio’r Teyrn galarus – yr hen ffŵl gwirion.

 

Erbyn hyn, yn lle’r pregethwyr yn rhegi a thaeru, y cantorion yn llafarganu cantiglau, a’r cyffeswyr cyhoeddus yn datgan ein pechodau fyrdd, y dewiniaid delwedd, y troellwyr trosiadol, yn debyg i offeiriaid bydol, sydd yn gor-ddweud a chanmol i’r cymylau, ond nad ydynt yn dweud y gwir. Llefaryddion ar ran pleidiau gwleidyddol sy’n rhoddi gwedd wedi'i hystumio’n fwriadol ar ddigwyddiadau, pobl, a pholisïau, i’r cyfryngau torfol. Ac yn wir, byddant yn cyflwyno dehongliadau rhagfarnllyd, dethol ffeithiau ffafriol, claddu newyddion drwg, gwadu pethau heb eu nacáu, ac ymddiheuro am gamgymeriadau heb ddweud eu bod yn ddrwg ganddynt, er mwyn hocedu a drysu.

 

Ac adeiladu drych hud a wnaeth Hlanhalan, yn ôl y cyfarwyddiadau manwl a gyflawnasid iddi. Wedyn, pan siantiodd hi’r swyn gwysio o “Lyfr y Damnedigion” am y tro cyntaf, fe gafodd hi sioc syfrdanol. Dyna o’i blaen, yn ymrithio o’r hylif trwchus, du’n nofio ar wyneb y gwrthrych ffiaidd, roedd ffigur benywaidd. Naw troedfedd o daldra o leia oedd hi, a’i chroen yn wyrdd tywyll, yn gwisgo siwt ffurfiol o frethyn caerog glas yr awyr, ac am ei ben goron o ddrain. “Gostynga di yn dy arrau o’m blaen i, O forwyn ffyddlon,” datganodd y wraig frawychus, a oedd yn sefyll yng nghanol yr Haul Disglair fel petai mewn pwll o fflam ysol. Ac aeth hi yn ei blaen: “Rwyf yn sylweddoli dy fod di’n dyheu am bŵer dihysbydd. Dere, bwyta’r hadau bywhaol yma, a phrofa di’r galar, wrth i ti rannu poen pob peth byw. Abertha di dy hun!” Ac er mawr dychryn i Hlanhalan, fe ddeallodd mai Mamothí (a Drumbulé, a Lilitha), y Dduwies Driphlyg oedd hon, a doedd dim amdani ond ufuddhau.

 

Gadewch inni ystyried nesaf, felly: beth sy’n digwydd pan â iaith i’r gad? Hynny yw, pan fydd ymadroddion diniwed a dymunol yn cymryd lle termau sarhaus, dadleuol, a garw, a fyddai’n cyfleu’n gywirach yr hyn a olygir. Wrth gwrs mae iaith, ac ieithoedd, yn ddibechod ynddynt eu hunain. Y propagandwyr yng Ngweinyddiaethau Heddwch (ar bob ochr) a ddefnyddia fwytheiriau neu eiriau teg (ac onid lledneisair ydy’r term hwn ei hun, hefyd?) sydd ar fai. Bid a fo am hynny, y dyddiau hyn, mae “arweinyddion dilychwyn y byd rhydd” yn mynd ati i “ennyn rhyfel dyngarol” yn erbyn “llywodraethau drygionus” ar “Echel y Fall” sy’n meddu ar “arfau dinistr helaeth” – siŵr o fod.

 

O hynny ymlaen ac am byth, Krondí (hynny yw “Calon Ddu”) oedd ei henw cyfrin gan ei bod yn ymddangos yn dda, ond bod ei henaid hi mor dywyll â nos heb leuad na sêr. A dweud y gwir, defnyddiai hi ei hud, a dod yn bertach o ddydd i ddydd trwy wneud pethau drwg iawn – megis bwyta cŵn bach (fe frathasid yn groten ar ôl cicio ci’r melinydd, ac roedd hi’n benderfynol o ddileu’r rhywogaeth o wyneb y Ddaear), dad-diwnio pob liwt a thelyn (roedd hi’n fyddar i donau, ac yn casáu miwsig felly) a rhwystro cariadon (mor unig oedd hi, ac eisiau dial ar y Byd Creulon). Bob dydd, fe fyddai Krondí (hynny yw, Hlanhalan), yn holi’r un cwestiwn i’w drych swynol, pan ofynnai iddo fe: “O ddrych hud, fy nrych swyn, nawr codwch eich llef; pwy bellach yw’r pertaf o bob peth dan nef?” A bob dydd atebai’r drych, a ymddangosai bryd hynny ar lun a gwedd Refshishlí, cennad yr Ysbryd Anweledig, yn yr un wedd: “Arglwyddes, un peth rwy’n ei ddweud wrthoch chi: o bob peth dan haul, y decaf ŷch chi!” Byddai’r ymddiddan hwn yn parhau yn ddi-fael – yn oriau mân y bore, ar ôl iddi godi, am ganol dydd, gyda’r wawr, a chyn iddi fynd i’r gwely – ac roedd llysfam Helhen wrth ei bodd. Fodd bynnag, roedd y Dywysoges Hardd ifanc yn dod yn fwy prydferth fesul dydd hefyd, a heb ddefnyddio hud chwaith, a phan ddaeth hi’n ddeunaw, newidiodd popeth.

 

Yn ystod “rhyfelgyrchoedd yn yr awyr” y defnyddir “bomio’n fanwl” i “ddiddymu asedau’r gelyn” y tu mewn i “lecynnau o wrthsafiad.” “Ymosodiadau â fflaim” sy’n “niwtraleiddio targedau;” a “dilëir minteioedd o frawychwyr” gan “fomiau craff.” Rywbryd, yn anffodus, cynyddu “cyfrif cyrff” a wna “saethu cyfeillgar” a “difrod ystlysol” wrth greu “naws braw ac ofn” sydd yn hollbwysig mewn gwrthdrawiadau o’r fath. Ond trwy wneud hyn (felly y dywedir wrthym) y gwareda “grymoedd y goleuni” diriogaethau ar bob tu rhag gelynion sy’n “creulon, gormesol, a gorthrymus,” gan “buro ac ail-wneud” y ddaear ar eu delwau cyfiawn eu hunain, pa le bynnag y bônt.

 

Ar ben-blwydd Helhen, aeth y Frenhines Krondí fel cyw cog yn y nyth i ofyn ei chwestiwn fel arfer. Ond atebodd y drych y tro hwn: “Arglwyddes, mae’n amlwg eich bod chi’n dra theg; ond y bertaf i gyd ydy Helhen heb freg.” Wedyn, aeth Krondí yn grac arswydus, ac addo i’w hun y byddai’n lladd ei llysferch cyn gynted â phosib ar ôl cael ei thriniaeth harddu ddyddiol (fe fyddai’n ymdrochi mewn crochan enfawr o bres gwyrdd yn cynnwys galwyni o waed moch berwedig a stemllyd am oriau bwygilydd bob dydd, am fod hynny a orchmynnid yn “Llyfr y Damnedigion,” ac yr oedd hi’n ofalus uwchlaw dim, ac un daer am hunanddisgyblaeth os bu un erioed.) Roedd dicter y wrach yn ddychrynllyd yn wir, ond ni allai hi ei hun ladd y Dywysoges ifanc am fod hud nerthol cariad ei mami ymadawedig yn ei gwarchod. Felly, gorchmynnodd y llysfam anfad i heliwr hunangyflogedig o’r enw Thavoh, oedd yn mynd o gwmpas i chwilio am waith, â geirda canmoliaethus iawn, wneud y weithred ddrwg. Dywedodd hi wrtho am fynd â’r Dywysoges i lwyn Valashé ger y castell o groen a chyhyr, ac yno, mynnodd hi y dylai yntau dynnu ei chalon gan ddefnyddio cyllell finiog o garreg ddu, ac wedyn dod â’r galon yn ôl iddi yn syth. Wrth gwrs, aeth e â’r Dywysoges Harddaf i’r goedwig. Fodd bynnag, dyn anrhydeddus oedd e (er ei fod yn fforddolyn, heb yr un geiniog, ac yn dipyn o ffŵl), ac felly ni allai ei lladd hi, ac fe ddwedodd wrthi hi am redeg bant a’i chuddio ei hun. Gwnaeth hi fel y gorchmynnwyd iddi wneud, gan redeg fel ewig a dal ati nes na allai hi redeg rhagor. Cwympodd e i gwsg llethol, gan freuddwydio am y ferch oedd mor brydferth, ond na allai fe garu am iddi ar dir y rhai byw. Fel y digwyddai fod, fe ddihunodd Thavoh wrth i faedd gwyllt a oedd dros ei ben a'i glustiau mewn cariad â fe lyfu ei wyneb yn dyner. Pan rythodd y llanc ar fyw ei lygaid llaith, ffrwydrodd y creadur (mae’n flin iawn ‘da fi weud), gan adael ei galon, a oedd yn dal i guro, yn ôl. 

 

Erbyn hyn, mae maes y gad, sydd yn “theatr rhyfel” yn ôl y trosiad Pretaneg, wedi dod yn theatr lythrennol. Bydd yn rhaid i’r “gormeswyr tramor” gael eu pardduo er mwyn hyrwyddo amcanion yr “ymgyrch tuag at heddwch parhaus.” Gwneir hyn gan gynrychiolwyr cyfryngau newyddion wedi’u gosod yng nghanol y brwydro. Dyma ohebwyr a blannwyd mewn unedau milwrol, yn cael adroddiadau disyfyd yn uniongyrchol oddi wrth y cadlywyddion a’r saethwyr cudd fel ei gilydd. Bydd yr anymladdwyr hyn yn aml yn llinell danio – dyna gyffrous – nes iddynt deimlo’r fwled yn brathu! A dyna fydd yn well fyth.

 

Daeth yr heliwr â chalon y baedd yn ôl i’r castell o ewin a chorn, lle y’i bwytaodd y Frenhines anfad dan lawenychu. Er hyn, ddathlodd hi ddim am yn hir, oherwydd pan aeth i ofyn y cwestiwn arferol i’r drych hud, atebodd ef yn hyf: “Arglwyddes, go dlws ydych chi, wraig mor syw; ond y ferch fwy teg fyth ydy Helhen sy’n byw!” Wedyn gwylltiodd Krondí yn ofnadwy; aeth ei hwyneb yn wyrdd o genfigen, a’i chalon mor ddu â chwmwl taran. “Fe fydd yn edifar gan y forwyn am y dydd y cafodd hi ei geni,” tyngai, “ac yn ddiau fe fydd hi farw bellach dan fy nwylo fy hun!” Ac aeth y llysfam ysgeler i ffwrdd dan sorri i ferwi ei chrochan o bres gwyrdd a bwrw ei hud. A, gwarchod pawb – yr oedd yr heliwr dewr ond dilefelaeth hwnnw, Thavoh, amdani heb os nac oni bai – roedd e’n ei haros hi, ac fe fyddai’n ei chael hi yng nghyflawnder yr amser (beth bynnag fo “hithau”)!

 

Beth, felly, y gellir ei ddweud am yr Ail Drychineb yng Nghalon y Cyfandir, a achosai gan yr EFE a Choalisiwn y Grymoedd Glân, sydd wedi ei alw gan rai damcaniaethwyr diwylliant yn “alanastra yn esgus bod yn sgarmes”? Dim ond ychydig o anafusion a lladdedigion ymhlith rhengoedd y Coalisiwn fuodd. Ni wyddys llawer am y nifer gywir o glwyfedigion ymhlith lluoedd ffiaidd yr anghredinwyr (efallai tua hanner miliwn – yn blant, yn fenywod, yn henoed, ac yn filwyr – mor farwol oedd arfau’r ochr arall). Defnyddiai’r Cynghreiriaid rym awyr llethol yn aml, yn hytrach nag ymladd yn uniongyrchol ar y ddaear. Perffeithiasant hefyd ddefnyddio technoleg feddyliol eithriadol o nerthol. Darlledwyd yn gyson luniau o ganol y brwydro dros y Byd Creulon mewn amser real, yn ogystal ag ailddarllediadau, sylwebaeth, cyfweliadau, a dadansoddiadau. Oblegid hyn oll yr honnir na allai gwylwyr wahaniaethu rhwng ­­y digwyddiadau go iawn a phropaganda wedi’i wneud.

 

Yn y cyfamser, roedd Helhen yn crwydro yn y goedwig dywyll ac enbyd tan iddi flino’n llwyr. Yn y diwedd, daeth hi o hyd i fwthyn bach, glas yng nghanol y coed, a baglu i mewn. Doedd neb yno, a bwytaodd damaid bach o fwyd cyn cwympo i’r llawr dan lewygu. Ac wedyn roedd yn trwm gysgu, ddydd a nos, nes i’r trigolion ddychwelyd adre. (Yn wir, roedd y lle’n llawn o egnïon hynafol, rhyfedd.) Ac roedden nhw’n saith bardd crwydr o’r dosbarth isaf a thrwydded ganddynt i berfformio comedi yn ogystal â chanu mawl am dâl. Mewn gwirionedd, dyma oedd y Saith Clerwr, ac enwogion o fri ydoedd hefyd. Carfan lac oedden nhw, a ffurfiwyd o ddau lwyth o’r enw Aserusu ac Onilithé. Yr oedd Vohlerola a’i bartner Vihlisí; Ithiria a’i chariad Vlahaha; Tohathí; Vlathista; a Theylí. Chwiorydd a brodyr yn ffydd wir y Thorlin oeddent: dysgedigaeth a gofleidiai a dathlu, parchu a gwerthfawrogi tebygrwydd, amrywiad a gwahaniaeth – rhwng gwŷr a gwragedd, rhwng yr henoed a’r ifainc, rhwng y bonedd yn drewi o arian a’r gwrêng tlawd – o safbwynt athroniaeth, diwylliant, cymdeithas ac economeg. (Vlathista a wnâi'r sywdd fudr o helpu'i gymrodyr creadigol, a oedd yn idealistig ond anymarferol i reoli'u buddsoddiadau, dan y ffugenw  "Twinklin Lwkr.") 

 

Fodd bynnag, efallai bod y newyddion, a’r cyfryngau yn gyffredinol, wedi syrthio i fagl eu llwyddiant eu hun. Mae carfannau mewn cymdeithas yn llwyddo i ddefnyddio a thrin ffynonellau gwybodaeth er mwyn goruchafu ar eu gwrthwynebwyr a’u pleidwyr fel ei gilydd drwy gynrychioli a darlledu eu negesau ideolegol hollbresennol eu hunain. Mae swyddogion y llywodraeth yn gallu bygwth a bwlian cynrychiolwyr y cyfryngau, ystwytho ffeithiau, a gadael cyfarfodydd heb ateb yr un cwestiwn. Wrth gwrs, yn Nhŷ’r Llywodraeth, yn ôl Rheolau Urddas, ni all un o Gynrychiolwyr y Werin honni i un arall wyro oddi wrth y gwir; ac yno, celwyddau noeth a enwir yn “anfanylder mewn termau.”

 

Pan ddaeth y Clerwyr i mewn i’r bwthyn, dihunodd y ferch ar unwaith. “Beth ‘chi’n wneud yn ein tŷ ni?” oedd y cwestiwn yng ngenau pawb. “F’arglwyddi trugarog, does dim dichell yno i; rwy’n ffoi rhag fy llysfam sy eisiau fy lladd i!” atebodd, dan gwympo’n fflachdar i’r carped helaethwych o Balas Tywod Etneksha fel petai’n anymwybodol. Mor hardd oedd hi er ei bod ym mhob man, a chyffyrddodd ei geiriau gwirion y Clerwyr hyd at ddagrau. Felly rhoddon nhw hi yn y gwely, a gofalu amdani nes iddi ddihuno eto. Pan ddigwyddodd hyn, daethon nhw â dysglaid o gawl yn addas i lysfwytawyr iddi hi (rhag ofn bod anghenion arbennig ganddi), a gofyn iddi ddweud ei hanes i gyd wrthyn nhw. Gwnaeth hi hyn, a phan gwplasai, estynnodd y Saith Clerwr eu cydymdeimlad dwysaf. “Bydd rhaid i chi aros yma gyda ni,” medden nhw, “fe fyddwn ni’n gofalu amdanoch chi, ac fe gewch chi ofalu amdanon ni.” Cytunodd Helhen heb amheuaeth o fath yn y byd. Ond, yn anfoddus, ni allan nhw fyw’n hapus byth oddi ar hynny, gan fod y Frenhines ffiaidd yn cynllunio gwneud drwg, ac roedd y plot yn mynd yn fwy cymhleth, tra ceulai’r gwaed baban, dagrau ellyllon, a llaeth blaidd yn ei phair.

 

Yn dilyn y llwyddiant ysgubol ond erchyll yng Nghalon y Cyfandir, fodd bynnag, ffrwydrodd bom o dan y fangre hybarch honno yn y Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg, a’i harferion astrus a gwrthun, pan gyhoeddodd rhaglen newyddiadurol ffeil o ddogfennau cyfrinachol a sensitif wedi’u hysgrifennu gan gannoedd o gynghorwyr anetholedig. (Dywedai rhai mai’r EFE a oedd y tu ôl i’r brad erchyll a phellgyrhaeddol hwn.) Fe fuodd y rhain o’r pwys mwyaf yn cyfiawnhau’r Ymosod Erchyll ar y Parth Glas a wnaed gan lywodraeth Pretania. Gwylltiodd y Prif weinidog a Thad y Genedl, ac aeth y llywodraeth a’r cyfryngau i ryfel. O ganlyniad, collodd pwysigion fyrdd yn y gwasanaethau teledol a sifil eu swyddi, tra dyrchafwyd eraill i fod yn dduwdodau, bron; rhwystrwyd ymchwiliad cyhoeddus cyfreithiol; datguddiwyd llygredigaeth sefydliadol yng nghalon y llywodraeth; a digwyddodd terfysg helaeth, a wastrodwyd yn waedlyd gan blatynau arbennig o filwyr ymosod. .O hyn ymlaen, “Gwlad y Cnafon Gwrthun” fyddai enw ar Bretania ar wefusau gweddill y Byd Creulon.

 

Nawr, arbenigwr ar greaduriaid chwedlonol, prin, egsotic, sbesial, a marw oedd y Thavoh hwnnw, a frasgamasai o’r dref ddadfeiliedig ger y castell cyfnewidiol amser maith yn ôl, gan adael cannoedd o ewythr, a neiaint, a chefndyr yn eu hôl er mwyn iddo ddod yn ei flaen yn y Byd Mawr, Drwg. A llanc clyfar iawn oedd e hefyd (yn ôl ei Anti Vlothweth, o leiaf). Gallai fe fod wedi troi ei law at unrhyw beth, a rhoi cynnig ar weithio mewn sawl sw. Ond chaeth e’r un geiryn o lwc, am y rheswm od iawn hwn. Wel, roedd ar yr anifeiliaid i gyd chwant ei gusanu, a’i anwesu. Ond, pan rythent ym myw ei lygaid, ar amrantiad y diflannai pob un ohonynt mewn fflach lachar, megis trwy ryw felltith wael achoswyd gan Arswyd-sgôp, gan adael ar ôl ddim ond chwyrlïad troellog o blu gloywddu, neu swp gwaedlyd o flew ac esgyrn. A bob tro fe fyddai llais i’w glywed yn canu’n angylaidd “Hoenus yw’r Byd, er bod tranc yn ffaith; Unwaith boch fyw, mwynhewch yr holl daith!” Yn y pendraw, yn llawn siom, a dicter, a gofid, wedi tro bach yn gweithio’n ddielw fel heliwr trugarog (doedd dim rhaid iddo hela o gwbl!), llwyddodd mewn cyfweliad gydag Actorion Ardderchog Alanthé. Wedi'r cyfan, roedd geirda heb ei ail ganddo gan y Frenhines Hlíha – un rhy berffaith, neu hyd yn oed un sywnol, falle – ond rhy brysur o lawer i boeni am bethau fel hynny oedd aelodau rhwysgfawr y cwmni heriol a chlodfawr hwn. Ac felly, er nad oedd ganddo yr un blewyn o brofiad priodol o ran troedio'r llwyfan, y Tywysog Swynol fyddai Thavoh o hynny ymlaen (yn ogystal â bod yr  arbenigwr ar gelfyddydau duon a thân gwyllt), yn y pantomeimiau addysgol a moesegol a berfformiwyd trwy'r flwyddyn, drwy gydol Gwlad Gwir a Glendid a’r tu hwnt.

 

Peth arall yw’r ffenomen ddiweddar o’r enw “newyddion ffug” a geir fwyfwy aml ar y rhwyd electronig ryngwladol ac yn enwedig ar y “cyfryngau cymdeithasol” bondigrybwyll — “Dewch yn llu! Dewch i weld y sioe! Wele Leskov, yr Arglwydd Lywydd, yn lladd llew lloerig yn Llwyn Xatlaltvazsu!” Mae’r e-safleoedd yn ymddangos fel petaent yn gyfreithlon, ond propaganda gwleidyddol ydy eu diben anfad gan amlaf. Mae’r straeon hyn yn debyg i newyddiaduraeth go iawn, ond tra mai hollol ffug ydy’r mwyafrif ohonynt, mae rhai’n rhannol wir. Hwythau biau ansawdd rhyfedd o hygrededd, ac felly, mae’n anodd iawn gweld y gwahaniaeth rhwng erthyglau cywir, straeon ffug, a hysbysebu. Mae'r e-syrffwyr yn rhy brysur neu ry ddiog (ymhlith pethau eraill), ac eironi, hiwmor, a hurtrwydd sy’n helpu i ddileu’r gwahaniaethau.

 

Halodd y wrach golomen ddu o’r enw Sethrilé a brân wen o’r enw Athuthel o’r castell i’r goedwig fel ysbiwyr, i gasglu meddyliau a chofion, a phan ddaethant yn ôl, dangos iddi hi lle’r oedd y Dywysoges yn byw bryd hynny a wnaethant. “Byw y mae’r lodes o hyd, ond yn fuan fe fydd hi farw,” meddai’r hen ymhonnwr ysgeler dan glegar chwerthin nes ei bod yn wan. Ond dim ond crawcian a wnâi’r adar anfodlon, gan ailadrodd, “Ofer yw hoedl, rhowch i ni gnawd; Aiff pawb i’w tranc, ni ddaw â’u ffawd.” Dair gwaith y cuddiai’r fenyw anfad ei gwir hunaniaeth â’r hud cryfaf, a cheisio lladd Helhen tra nad oedd y Clerwyr gartref. Y tro cyntaf aeth hi yn ffurf yr Olchyddes wrth y Rhyd â bodis o les, a cheisio dwyn perswâd ar ei llysferch i’w defnyddio, fel y medrai ei gwasgu i farwolaeth fel pomgranad yn llwydni i gyd. Ond daeth ei chyfeillion ffyddlon yn ôl mewn pryd ar y funud olaf un, a’i hachub hi. Yr ail dro, yn rhith yr Harddwraig Hael, aeth hi â chrib a gwenwyn sarff arni, a thrio gwenwyno Helhen, ond dychwelodd ei chymrodyr ar yr unfed awr ar ddeg unwaith eto, a llwydo ei harbed hi. Bob tro, anfonai’r Frenhines ei hysbiwyr i ddarganfod beth ddigwyddasai ar ôl iddi adael, a bob tro rhoddon nhw’r un ateb: “Ofer yw!” Pan ddywedodd y drych hud yr un ateb yn union hefyd, aeth y wraig ddrwg yn wyllt gacwn yn waeth na chynt.

 

Roedd llawer o straeon ffug ar gerdded cyn yr Etholiad Arlywyddol diweddar ym Mhretania (ar ôl diddymu swyddogaethau’r Yarliaid, a thoddi seremonïol y Sedd Uchel), ac yn wir, llwyth o e-safleoedd yn cefnogi Leskov. Eto i gyd, hwyrach bod Pen Pwdr yn rhy brysur yn rhefru am raglenni teledol poblogaidd, a phrancio o gwmpas wrth chwarae bili-ffŵl, i gymryd sylw. Nid ydy’n llywodraethu drwy’r sianelau swyddogol, wedi’r cyfan, ond trwy ddictad personol ac ebychiadau answyddogol di-dor yn y cyfryngau. Honnwyd i’w ddefod sefydlu ddenu’r gynulleidfa fwyaf erioed i dystio i achlysur o’r fath. “Gwybodaeth anghywir” sydd yn “anwiredd profadwy,” meddai’r newyddiadurwyr. “Ffeithiau amgen,” atebodd y cynghorwyr anetholedig dros yr Arlywydd Lywydd, a gyhuddai’r gohebwyr o hau anghydfod, trwy wneud adroddiadau oedd yn fwriadol anwireddus [*]. Ydy hwn yn ymosod difrifol ar y cyfryngau rhydd, ynteu ar y gyfundrefn wleidyddol ei hun? Ddylai hwn gael ei wrthwynebu, a chan bwy?

 

Y trydydd tro, fe fwriodd yr Arglwyddes Uffernol hud nerthol, a chreu afal swynol oedd yn flasus ac yn farwol fel ei gilydd, gan roi ynddo ei holl nerth. Aeth hi â’r afal i’r bwthyn yn y goedwig, wedi gwisgo fel hen ferchetan, ddall ac unig, a oedd wedi colli’i chariad, sef y Famfaeth Ryfelgar, ac yno fe demtiodd hi Helhen i’w fwyta. Ni chawsai’r llances yr un tamaid i’w fwyta drwy’r dydd, mor brysur fuodd hi’n gwneud gweithredoedd da’n rhad ac am ddim, a gwnaeth hi gydio ynddo’n farus. Cyn gynted ag y 'naeth hi'i frathu gyda’i dannedd pert, mor wyn â pherlau, ‘naeth hi gwympo ar lawr. A’r tro hwn ni fedrai’r Saith Clerwr ei helpu hi erbyn iddynt ddychwelydd, gan na allent ddarganfod y gwenwyn. Roedd y ferch hardd i’w gweld yn cysgu, felly fe’i rhoddasant hi mewn arch grisial, fel y gallai pawb syllu arni hi, a’u calonnau’n llawn cariad a galar, rhag ofn iddynt ei hanghofio hi.

 

“Tir diffaith” oedd y disgrifiad ar y Byd Creulon ar ddiwedd y Cythrwfl Mawr Cyntaf, hynny yw, lle gwag yn llawn tranc ac annynoldeb a arhosai am farn. Yr oeddem ni’n crwydro yn anialdir diymadferthedd ers tro byd, ac yn ymdrybaeddu yng nghors anobaith mud. Ac wedyn yn sgil y distryw, digwyddodd yr Ail Chwildro Gwyddonol, a ryddhaodd bŵer hynod ysgytwol yr Aur Du i danio Trawsffurfiad Dynolryw. Fy marn ystyriol innau ydy bod arswyd rhyfel a gwyrthiau technoleg wedi epilio heb os ar Fyd sydd “y gorau o’r gwaethaf.”

 

Flynyddoedd yn ddiweddarach roedd y Deyrnas oll wedi mynd i’r gwellt, am fod hanner y boblogaeth wedi mynd i rythu ar y Dywysoges a throi'n gerfluniau byw yn eu galar. Erbyn hynny, roedd Thavoh yn Dywysog golygus ond calon-galed yn wir, wedi gwneud ei ffortiwn a phentwr o arian drwy ddiddani'r werin bobl a gwerthu iddynt obeithion ofer a breuddwydion gwag. (Byddai rhai'n honni taw llyffant llysnafeddog oedd e, mewn gwirionedd, a chysidro ei fethiant o ran cael hyd i gariad gyda chroen twym a chalon yn curo, a'r cyfnodau trychinebus pan oedd e'n gweithio fel heliwr a gofalwr sw). Un dydd, fe aeth e i osod cyflwyniad ger bron y Clerwyr (yr unig gystadleuwyr i Actorion Ardderchog Alanthé ar y llwyfan genedlaethol a rhyngwladol oedd y rhain) gan fynnu gostyngiad llwyr dan gosb difodiad (roedd e'n filain oherwydd ei ddiffyg serch). Ac yno, yn y pwythyn bach, glas yn y coed, wrth iddo actio, ac arthio, a dangos sawl deimlad, fe ddigwyddodd iddo gael cip ar y Dywysoges a oedd yn cysgu’n sownd yn yr arch grisial, fel petai'n farw gelain. Fe wyddai Thavoh taw llwybrau gogoniant sy'n arwain at y bedd, ac mai’r ci a gerddo a gaiff, ond roedd wastad arno eisiau rhedeg yn wyllt a chael hwyl – yr hen lanc digariad, gwirion. Ond er hynny, fe syrthiodd yn anadferadwy mewn cariad â'r llances farw (neu gwsg) ar ei union, yn y fan a'r lle, fel na buasai wedi ei gweld hi erioed o'r blaen. Fe grefodd ef ar y Clerwyr yn dra thaer i agor yr arch, gan addo rhyddid a gogoniant (ac nid ychydig o aur), a phan wnaethant felly, fe blygodd drosodd er mwyn ei chusanu hi. Aeth y Clerwyr o’u cof o weld y fath anghywirdeb gwleidyddol yn digwydd, a allasai fod yn gyfartal ag ymosodiad. Er mwyn osgoi’r sarhad hwn ar wedduster, hwythau a ymosododd arno fe, gan fwrw yn erbyn yr arch yn ystod yr ysgarmes. Diolch i Drefn Annisgwyl y Ddau Fyd, fe ryddhawyd y darn o afal gwenwynig o wddf Helhen, a dihunodd hi ar unwaith, mor iach â chricsyn ac mor llon â’r brithyll.

 

Yn y Byd Afreal hwn, rhedeg yn wyllt yr oedd ystrydebau. Nid cymryd lle gwirionedd a wnaethai symbolau; realiti ei hun oeddynt, neu yn hytrach, “amgen-realiti.” Yr oedd ystyr wedi dod yn ddiystyr. Roedd gwir go iawn wedi marw. Nid oedd dim byd ar ôl, nac o ran deall, na chymdeithas, na moesoldeb. Yr oeddem ni’n byw mewn oes lle’r oedd cysyniad paradocsaidd, hollbwysig o’r enw “gwyn-ddu” yn rheoli. Roedd yn rhaid i wrthwynebwyr i gyfundrefn wleidyddol neu drefn gymdeithasol neilltuol ddweud celwyddau enllibus am eu gelynion, gan honni, mewn effaith, mai du oedd gwyn drwy’r amser. Ar y llaw arall, fe fyddai’n rhaid i’r rheiny a oedd yn teyrngar gefnogi’r system wybod mai gwyn oedd du heb os nac oni bai – nid oedd credu’n ddigon da – gan ddiwygio’r gorffennol yn gyson.

 

Nid oes angen dweud i’r Tywysog a’r Dywysoges briodi heb ymdroi (ar ôl mynd trwy broffil personol ei gilydd yn fanwl anghyffredin). Ond nid cyn i’r pâr ifanc, call lunio cytundeb priodasol oedd yn ddiddos ac yn hollol sicr. Ac roeddent yn byw’n hapus fyth oddi ar hynny, wedi mabwysiadau eu saith cyfaill ffyddlon, a’r ddau aderyn anhydrin. (Roedd yn rhaid i Thavoh wisgo sbectol haul ddydd a nos o'r adeg honno ymlaen i osgoi damweiniau anffodus.) A beth am y llysfam ddrwg? Pan glywodd hi am y briodas, fe dorrodd hi’r drych hud yn chwilfriw, mor grac oedd hi, ond distrywiodd hyn ei swyn i gyd, ac aeth hi yn grebachlyd, a chludwyd hi ymaith gan haid o gysgodion i wlad ddychmygol Vihlirtha, i fyw ymhlith y Tylwyth Teg (a elwid felly gan eu bod mor hyll), ac achosi helynt dan yr enw Harumimlí. Ac yn y pen draw nid oedd dim byd o gwbl ohoni ar ôl heblaw am ei llais yn galaru: “Rhyfedd yw serch, rhowch i mi hedd; Ymadael a wnaf, lle mae fy medd?”

 

Felly mae’n rhaid inni ofyn: lle’r ydym ni yn awr? A beth yn enwedig a ddigwydd nesaf? Gyda sefydlu Capeli Ymholiad Anenwadol yn ddiweddar, a feiddiwn ni obeithio bod yr hen aeon o ddarniad ac ansicrwydd yn dechrau diflannu, bod “Byd Newydd, Braf” ar fin cyrraedd, ac mai amser ailadeiladu ac ail-lunio sefydliadau ac arferion sydd yn bodoli ers tro fydd hyn? Wedi’r cwbl, gwelwn ni ym mhobman unigolion trefnus a dyfal sydd yn dod at ei gilydd i ffurfio carfanau bychain ond uchel eu cloch. Ac wedyn, fe fyddant yn dechrau mynnu’r hawl i benderfynu drostynt eu hun. Yn lleol, ac ar bynciau penodol yr ymgyrchant, a newidia’r lleoliadau a’r achosion drwy’r amser yn ôl y gofyn. Maent yn dechrau gwrthsefyll grymoedd trechaf heddiw, sef brad y cyfryngau torfol, celwyddau gwleidyddiaeth a phrynwriaeth, a gafael yr EFE. Ac yn aml gwnânt hyn trwy fanteisio ar, a cham-ddefnyddio’r dechnoleg newydd.

 

Wedi dweud hynny oll, Krondí a gyflwynasai felino peiriannol i’r brifddinas, a chychwyn y Chwildro Gwyddonol Cyntaf o ganlyniad. Ac roedd ei meddyginiaethau gwerin tra effeithiol o werth enfawr i’r cwmnïoedd fferyllol rhyngwladol a ddeuai maes o law. (Roedd “Llyfr y Damnedigion” gan Tletlu a Tretru Molruku yn llawn o syniadau atyniadol, aethus, a phroffidiol yn wir, i’r rhai’n barod i aberthu cydwybod a chofleidio cynnydd dilyffethair.) Aeth yr hen Frenin i fyw yng nghymundod y Brodyr Drwg eu Tymer ym Mhen Draw’r Byd (fe fyddai sawl un yn ddweud Vihlirtha), lle’r adwaenid fel Sihuho. Yno, fe helai ei damaid trwy werthu tywod brwnt wedi’i gymysgu â sorod o’r ffatrïoedd, a’r gweithfeydd, a’r ffowndrïau a ymddangosai’n bur fuan, i drigolion gwrthnysig y Diffeithwch Dwyreiniol, a achosai gymaint o helynt i Archimandriaid y Dad-Eglwys Oruchaf. Nid oedd dim ots gyda nhw o gwbl am hynny, ac fe ddalient ati i ddefnyddio’r sylwedd amhur yn eu seremonïau ysgymun. Fe brynai hefyd feintiau enfawr o sbeis caethiwus ganddynt, a sefydlodd farchnad ddu, lewyrchus gyda chymorth sawl cerddor hunangyflogedig.

 

Pwy a ŵyr, efallai y gwelwn gyrsiau cyn hir yn y Canolfannau Addysg newydd sbon danlli, ar bynciau megis Gwyrthiau Technolegol a Meta-gyfathrebu Hudol, ar gyfer pobl hen ac ifanc fel ei gilydd. Nyni biau lleisiau a’n lleisiau a geir eu clywed! (A finnau’n cadeirio Pwyllgor Sefydliadau Addysgol Annibynnol Unedig Aberdydd a’r Cylch, fe fydd hyn yn digwydd yn gynt yn hytrach nag yn hwyrach, bid siŵr.) Ac wedyn, a fyddwn ni’n dewis dyfodol yn Kayn-lan ar lannau Sasik-sivash, ynteu yn y Pwll Diwaelod (a sôn yn ffigurol, wrth gwrs)? A grëwn ni wlad iwtopaidd sy’n ymreolus, lewyrchus, gyson, amlieithog, neu ardal ddystopaidd, uniaith, heb hunaniaeth, sy’n llawn trais? Kimbria Annibynnol, neu Bretania Orllewinol? Pwy all ddatrys y pos hwn? Nid finnau a ŵyr. Fe all dychan a ffuglen wyddonol archwilio dewisiadau, ond, ni raid dweud, fe allant hyrwyddo propaganda ar yr un pryd, yn y dwylo anghywir!

 

Ar yr un pryd, bu’r sefyllfa yn y Byd Twn mor brysur ddirywio o ganlyniad i newid hinsawdd, cynhesu byd-eang, darwagiad osôn, capanau iâ’n toddi, a lefelau môr cynyddol. Ac efallai o achos hyn oll y daeth dyddiau blin ar Wlad Gwir a Glendid, a’r boblogaeth yn mynd ar gyfeiliorn a magu castiau drwg o bob math. A buan y daethent oll yn gynefin â dulliau’r llysfam ysgeler, a’r lle’n nofio mewn anfoesoldeb, a llygredd, a chyffuriau, a thrais. (Roedd bron mor ddrwg, hyd yn oed, â’r anweddustra rhywiol, a’r diffyg deallusol a moesol i’w gweld yn Nhŷ’r Llywodraeth yn ein gwlad ni y dyddiau hyn.) Llywyddu dros yr hafog yr oedd brawdoliaeth o saith cynghorwr anetholedig a grymus iawn, dan awdurdod Vothun a'i adar siaradus (neu falle taw Lwkí Stáz oedd wrth yr awenau, doedd di ddim yn hollol glir hanner yr amser). Arferasent fod yn berfformwyr offerynnol a lleisiol, ond fe'u hystyrid yn dduwdodau erbyn hynny, oherwydd esgeulustod troseddol y Tywysog Swynol a’r Dywysoges Harddaf (dyna anfad yw cariad ffôl!). A dyna ben ar hanes Helhen a Thavoh, Harumimlí a Sihuho, a’r Saith Clerwr ... nes i’r bennod nesaf gychwyn, wrth gwrs.

 

Efallai nad rhwng dau wrthwyneb y mae’r dewisiadau pwysicaf, y rhai a wna’r mymryn lleiaf o wahaniaeth yn y pen draw. Hwyrach na allwn ni ddioddef gormod o wynfyd, ac mai dyfodol yn byw mewn gwladwriaeth wedi’i rheoli gan feddyliau artiffisial lloerig fydd ein diwedd ni. Fodd bynnag, o’m rhan i, gobeithio o galon na fydd hyn yn digwydd. Gadewch i bob un ohonom felly weddïo (unwaith eto, rwy’n ymddiheuro am yr ieithwedd flodeuog!) mai gyda chymorth dulliau Barddoniaeth Feddyliaethol yr wyf wedi’u cyflwyni’n fanwl iawn yn rhywle arall, y gallwn ni i gyd ddwyn grym oddi ar y pynditiaid, y gwleidyddion, a’r personiaid. Ac wedyn, fe fyddwn ni’n goresgyn gormes y dewiniaid teledol, y demagogiaid hunanol, myfïol, a hunangeisiol, a’r achubwyr eneidiau rhagrithiol a hunangyfiawn, gan adfeddiannu geiriau, a dod yn awduron ein hanesion ein hunain. Ond, peidiwch ag ufuddhau i mi’n wasaidd: meddyliwch, a gweithredu, drosoch chi’ch hunain! Wedi’r cwbl, gan na all yr un bod dynol ddweud y gwir bob amser, lledaenwr celwyddau noeth a rhai gwynion fel pob un arall ydw i – o bryd i’w gilydd o leiaf. On’d wyf fi? On’d ydyn ni oll? Ond trwy gymryd cyfrifoldeb a bod yn hunanymwybodol, fe fedrwn ni’n llwyddo i wella’r Byd er gwaethaf hynny.

 

*           *           *           *           *           *           *

 

[EBF] O ble mae’u nerth brawychus yn dod? Wel, i ateb y cwestiwn hwn, fe fydd dyn yn gorfod derbyn mai taclau hudolus yw symbolau yn nwylo ymarferwr medrus. Ymhellach, mae arno angen sylweddoli bod ymwybyddiaeth yn cynnwys miliynau o hunain datodadwy, wedi’u lapio am ei gilydd fel haenau fyrdd wynwyn, sydd yn cydweithredu fel arfer, ond yn gallu gweithredu ar eu pennau eu hunain dan yr amodau cywir. Yn y seremoni hudol, neu grefyddol, neu feddyliaethol – neu farddonol – fe fydd y wisg, y masgiau, yr ystumiau, a’r geiriau, yn creu’r cyd-destun cymwys i drawsffurfio’r perfformiwr, fel y daw yn gyfarwyddwr ymwybyddiaeth a all foldio personoliaethau mandyllog a hydraidd. Bydd arno angen defnyddio dychymig bywiog i wahanu man sanctaidd y “mundus imāginālis” trothwyol oddi wrth y lle bydol. Megis y “sòrkavrànda” (“iachäwr graenus”), bydd yn rhaid iddo ddysgu adrodd y “kùnshyíkhòw” (“sylfaen ddofn”) i feistroli ofn cyn dechrau ar ei Waith Mawr. Drwy’r siantio ac ystumio, bydd y perfformiwr yn profi effeithiau seico-ffisiolegol go iawn, a chydnabod gwirionedd yr hud, wrth i’w gnawd drawsffurfio’n gorff ysbrydol.

 

Bydd y lle sanctaidd wedyn yn gorlifo o hud a lledrith sy’n diddymu’r Ddaear Greulon am sbel, a’r Holl Fyd yn atseinio, wrth agor drws i orfoledd ac anfadwaith y Nw Yrth, ble mae popeth o chwith. Yn ystod y ddefod, ni fydd rheolau arferol rhesymeg ac achosiaeth, na deddfau natur, yn gweithredu. Bydd y gofod yn toddi, llif amser yn mynd yn ei ôl, a’r dirwedd yn cael ei thrawsffurfio’n hollol. Fydd dim rheolaeth ar symbolau nac ystyr, a bydd y lle’n cael ei lenwi â delweddau atyniadol a brawychus. Bydd gwrthrychau a chyfranogwyr yn cael eu llenwi â phŵer yn tarddu o’r Ddau Fyd, a’r ymarferion yn llwyddo yn eu hamcan oherwydd hyn. Trwy hyn, bydd cyferbyniadau deuol yn diflannu, a’r gweithiwyr yn mynd i gyflwr amgen ar ymwybyddiaeth dra awgrymadwy, gan golli rheolaeth ar feddwl, synnwyr amser, a delwedd gorff. Byddan nhw’n sylwi ar newidiadau yn eu hemosiynau, yn eu canfyddiadau, ac yn ystyr eu meddyliau, ac yn teimlo eu bod yn cysylltu â phethau anhraethol wrth gael eu hadnewyddu.

 

I ddechrau, bydd personoliaethau’r grŵp yn cael eu rhwygo’n ddarnau, gan ymddryllio fel teilchion o ryw ddrych hunllefus. Bydd y naill berson yn dod y llall. Wedyn, bydd pawb yn dod yn un. Dyna fydd plant yn dod yn oedolion; dynion yn ymddangos fel gwragedd; menywod yn troi’n binwydd, ewigod, tylluanod, a blodau; gwŷr yn dod yn faeddod, bleiddiau, ceirw, eryrod; a’r ifainc fydd yn dioddef a llawenhau yn lle’r henoed. Ac wedyn, fel y “jyoka” (“blaguryn llosg”) yn gwyllt ddawnsio, byddan nhw’n clywed ffibrau o olau’n tarddu o’i gegau a’u bysedd. Bydd y rhain yn creu endidau nad ydynt yn bodoli tu hwnt i’r lle sanctaidd, ond sydd yn hollol real wrth gael eu hystyried, ac yn gweithredu yno i ateb diben, gan roi cyngor, datrys problemau, iacháu, a dial. Ar ddiwedd y seremoni, fe fydd yn angenrheidiol  i’r rhithiau nerthol hyn gael eu gyrru ymaith. Fe all meistr y ddefod ddefnyddio clochen fel batri ysbrydol i gasglu egni gweddilliol.

 

I orffen, mae gennyf un rhybudd pwysig iawn i chi ynghylch fy fersiynau modern ar y dulliau hynafol hyn sydd mor bwerus ac mor bellgyrhaeddol, ond mor anodd eu rheoli hefyd. Rhaid i'r rhai presennol yn ystod y perfformiad fod yn ofalus dros ben, rhag iddynt gael eu newid yn barhaol mewn ffyrdd na fydd neb yn medru eu rhagweld. Dyna berygl llosg a hyfrydwch gwefreiddiol y gelfyddyd fwyaf hudolus hon.

 

*           *           *           *           *           *           *

 

[*] Diddorol nodi mai’r canlynol a ddigwyddodd yn Seremoni Sancteiddio Stiwardiaeth Sicraf y Kyning Kalkevork Gall o ganlyniad i sawl problem fach o ran y trefniadau. Rhaid cofio mai gweithred gyntaf y Grasusaf ac Ardderchocaf Rhithbennaeth fuodd diswyddo (neu gael alltudio neu ladd) pob un o osgordd yr hen Yarliaid ar fyr rybudd, gan adael neb ar ôl. Felly ni syndod gweld bod pethau o’u lle yma ac acw yng Ngaleri Cyfiawnder Eithaf ar ben tŵr piws uchaf Palas Rhysedd Ffederal. Monarch Pretania Fawr a Diffynnwr Eneiniog yr Un Ffydd Wir sy’n sôn yn swyddogol yma yn ystod ei ymddangosiad cyntaf yn y rôl gyhoeddus bwysicaf hon:

 

“A, ni allwn ni ddioddef y blydi achlysuron hyn, ble mae rhaid inni gymysgu gyda’r dorf ddrewllyd! Ac O, myn y Pŵer Anghrybwylladwy, cymaint yr ydym yn casáu ysgrifbinnau a phopeth yn ymwneud â hwy! Arfau diafoliaid ydynt, sydd mor ddi-ddal, yn diferu inc ymhobman o hyd, yn llamu i’n trywanu ni, ac yn ein gorfodi i ysgrifennu dyddiadau anghywir ac anghofio pwy ydym! Tyrd, was, brysia, onid wyt wedi sylwi ar y llaw reiol fendigaid yn ystumio arnat am oes ddiderfyn bron? Dos â’r daliwr cwils addurnedig ffiaidd hwn wedi’i wneud o aur solet ymaith yn syth. Tafla di ef yn yr ysbwriel, oblegid iddo ein rhwystro ni wrth geisio arwyddo ein henw teyrnasol, llunio ein llythyrbleth gyfrin, a gosod ein sêl sanctaidd yn iawn ar y memrwn dilychwin hwn.

 

“Felly, yr ydym wedi penderfynu’r canlynol yn y fan a’r lle. Nyni a ddatgana a thaeru na fydd angen ar y Kyning na’r Kwén, na’n hetifeddion ac olynwyr, darllen nac ysgrifennu’r un iot ar unrhyw ffurf o gwbl o hyn ymlaen hyd at dragwyddoldeb. Ond yn lle hynny, bydd pob gair mawreddog yn dod allan o’n cegau’n gweithredu fel petai wedi’i naddu’n barhaol yn y marmor drutaf a mwyaf rhywiog! Gwrandewch chwi daeogion ffyddlon oll, ac ufuddhau, oblegid nyni eich Kyning a’ch Arglwydd, sydd wedi llefaru!”

 

Yr oedd y pryd hwnnw y sylweddolodd Arglwydd Lywydd y Tribiwnlys Consistori Aruchaf Leskov Börslavr Pfpfelyuk jon-Stanlíy iddo gymryd gormod o frathiad yn wir, a chreu anghenfil afreolus – o’i safbwynt o leiaf. Wedi dweud hynny, llwyddodd y Kyning a’r Kwén yn eithriadol o dda mewn cynyddu eu llwyth aristocrataidd o droseddwyr diegwyddor, llosgachol a rheibus. Tra âi gwareiddiad i’w grogi, byddent yn dirywio (os y gair cywir ydy hwnnw) i ddod gyda threigl amser, a gwasgaru’u hadau dros yr ardaloedd oedd yn dal yn drigiadwy ar y Sfferoid Sgrechlyd (a enwid “y Canolfyd”), gan ddod yn benaethiaid llwythau cecrus, arglwyddi rhyfel lleol, unbeniaid pot jam, gormeswyr a bwlïod sadistaidd, a delwyr cyffuriau aruthrol o gyfoethog.

 

Byddai hyn oll yn rhoi’r farwol i ddymuniad Leskov i ddod yn Wareiddiwr ac Unwr i Diroedd Anobeithiol y Cyfandir Deheuol, er siom aruthrol iddo (a chwedlonol oedd ei byliau o dymer ddrwg o ganlyniad). Beth, tybed, a fyddai wedi digwydd i ysfa’r hen Brif Weinidog a Thad y Genedl i ddod yn Fyd-frenin wedyn (neu’n gyndad i Fyd-frenhinoedd o leiaf os nad hynny), oni bai am y ffaith iddo epilio, heb yn wybod iddo, linach wasgaredig o ferched a meibion a fyddai’n creu cymdeithas newydd, a’i dinistrio hefyd. Ond yn y dyfodol pell, pell y câi hyn oll ei wireddu – yn freuddwydion twymynol Leskov a hunllefau oeraidd y teuluoedd aristocratiaid sarffaidd. Nid, fodd bynnag, heb gydweithrediad gan ryw swynwr Kimbreg castiog o dras Ilyraidd, cynhorthwy gan fam a mab annaearol ac annynol (o’r Cyfandir Deheuol yn ôl y sôn), a gwasanaeth gan saith cerddor crwydrol oedd yn aelodau o frawdoliaeth droseddol danddaearol ar y slei. A dyna hanes “Cyflafan yn y Canolfyd.”