Title: Tûr Lost, Thand Coth
Fandom: Silmarillion etc
Rating: G
Length: 260
Content notes: N/A
Author notes: Thanks go to Morgynleri for encouragement & sanity-checking. Title is Sindarin, meaning 'Lord Void/Emptiness, the true enemy'
In memory of Robin Williams and Thierry Sloan.
Summary: The enemy of life is not death.




The enemy of life -- the true enemy -- is not death; the enemy of light is not darkness; neither is grief the enemy of joy or despair the enemy of hope. No, the true enemy is that which denies all feeling, sucks all meaning, all sense and sensory apprehension from the world, leaving only sere disconnection, mere existence, continuation pointless, drear and empty. It is that which dulls all thought, drains color from all sight, music from all sound, texture from touch, savor from taste, scent from smell. It is that which dims all sparks, disconnects, murmurs low and constant of uselessness, of burdens empty and ongoing, grinding into nothingness.

And it lies, always, in this suasion: insidious, creeping, cruel and false. In all ways it lies. The enemy of life, light, joy and love is not that which contends with it, however sharp or loud, painful, mucky, foul or fair; it is that which denies the very beingness of life, the meaning of love, the existence of hope.

That is the true enemy. That is Melkor's true face, the greatest lie. Not that there is dark between the stars, for there is -- how else would they shine? -- but that there is no meaning, no reason, no connection, only nullity.

Life is. Love is. Hope is. The Song that sung the Making of the World is sounding yet, however stopped ones ears, muffled ones heart. Blame not yourself that the great liar lies, that the sickness lies, but hold fast, help where you can: the Song will still sound for you.