I awoke as if from a dream, my entire life but a distant memory, a vision from which I had just risen in order to greet the day. It was as though I had been freshly made, a newborn just birthed into the world.
It was peaceful.
I was Zacharí - I remembered that much, as my wits returned to me. My name, and the names of my brothers as I looked upon them.
As I looked upon them.
We were not in our quarters above the temple. We were dressed in rags, tossed ashore by the careless hand of the ocean. My body burned as one does from too much sea water, skin swollen and patched in places. My brothers were in a similar state - so we had been adrift for some time.
But how? How had we arrived here? My last memory was of finishing the final labors for what would be our meeting hall, and then retiring for meditation and rest alongside my brothers.
A foggy though came to me, then, as I pondered. I had awoken after that day, or so I recalled. My brothers cold and lifeless upon their beds, the wood of the church rotting and sagging beneath me. The walls of our fortress crumbling, overtaken by time.
Visions of decay and ruin. I called out, and my cries went unanswered. My last memory, then, was of standing before the inevitability of time.
It should not have pained me, to see everything rightfully return to the earth. That is the natural way of things, and that is what we upheld in our faith. The sight struck me deeply, nonetheless. It roused an awareness in me. A realization, I suppose.
We must persist.
We must last.
Perhaps it was a true experience, perhaps it was a dream, perhaps it was a vision of the Lord we once thought we had simply imagined. I take it as a call to action. My brothers have agreed. We must grow beyond the cycle of the earth. We must carve a place for ourselves, and erect a memory that will last until the stones it rests upon turn to dust.
To do this, we must become stronger. Pacifism befits us, but we cannot strive for peace now. We must find balance in power.
I spoke these words to my brothers as their minds arrived. We discussed it as we prepared shelter, built a raft, and took our first meat for purposes other than ritual or charity. The hunt was liberating, and the meal was delicious.
I write this now at what I estimate as at least a week since our rebirth. Time is difficult to know when there is no sun or moon above you. We have built strong shelter, and tamed a myriad of new beasts. And we have made paper. We are already stronger in a week than we were in a month's time upon the sacred hill.
For the grace and glory of Gorp, we will only grow stronger. With honor and dignity we go forth.
Procedimus ad dignitatem.