Thoughts of the Bishop begin to trouble me once again. What if everything this man says is correct, and all that I have known and cherished is but an abomination? I cannot bring myself to feel this, and yet this man's stillness is a balm to me in the loneliness of the night. The King treats this man as an equal and even addresses him by his Christian name. Only in the privacy of these pages can I say that I believe no man's station allows a greater or lesser pathway to a creator. I am a simple man. I am a simple servant. But I am only a servant, just as is the King and the Bishop. I look to these pages for solace, but I remain troubled. What is it in this strange sky that offers only an imitation of the stillness I seek? Where is the Angel Kiss, and am I simply a fool to wish for guidance from the stars?
Sorren actually questions the veracity of the Bishop’s words? This simple man poses the question to himself as to the truth in the words of the Bishop, but then he merely posits the possibility that his own thoughts may not be based upon the truth of Christ. This man is wise to keep his provocative words to himself by candlelight scribbling his precious thoughts as good men sleep. A pompous King is terrible to behold, but a pompous servant is as insulting as it is absurd. His spelling is utterly incomprehensible, and sometimes I feel lucky that I cannot fathom what he is saying. But the angel kiss he refers to is puzzling to me, and actually the only thing he has said of any significance. The angel kiss perhaps is important within the circle of those that practice the mystery arts of alchemy and astrology. I will find out.
By the nature of the annotations I have thus far read, I find M to be a thoroughly miserable man, mean, nasty, and a singularly offensive person. Is there nothing that Sorren can say that M does not misinterpret? Is he completely unmoved by the thoughtfulness expressed by a simple servant opening his heart in the wee hours of the night? These are profound ideas expressed here, but M seeks only to use them for his own hidden purpose. Even when Sorren calls himself a simple servant, M interprets it as being part of some secret coded message, some strange cabal that he is endeavoring to penetrate. M has become obsessed with this man to such a degree that it almost has me rethinking my entire opinion of Sorren, but not quite. Sorren is writing in a private diary, a common thing that all persons are entitled to. This is an expression of this man’s heart, and it is not right that those feelings should be wrung out so forcefully for all to see. For M to berate the servant for having the temerity of having dreams outside of his station in life is disgusting, and telling. M must be a very strict, authoritarian man, and not one that I would ever want to meet. And from the specific wording of some of the annotations of M, it seems to me that, at this point, Sorren yet lives. How came such a private diary into the hand of such an insidious monster?
Increasingly, our private life is under just such scrutiny and our thoughts and passions are shared with those that do not even know us or have empathy with our personal struggles. Our thoughts, our feelings, as well as our actions, can now be called up and brought back for examination. Sorren deserved privacy, and it was not for M to dissect his very private thoughts and prayers to use against him.
Finally, there is a small phrase written by Sorren where he asks the question: Where is the angel's kiss? To me, this is written with deep feeling, and the thought is both cryptic and profound. Sorren knew what he was writing though we can only speculate. Every person has a right to be moved by an experience, a singular deep and penetrating experience, and not to feel obligated to have to explain it to others, or in some way justify the experience and rationalize the degree to which they are moved. Who does this man named M think he is? Is this man an Inquisitor? What is in a person’s heart and soul need not be justified to any man. The soul is a mirror, but the mirror is hidden.
After working with this leaf, my original plan to opine on these leaves without looking forward through the book has become certain in my mind, and now I know that my instinct was correct. I, as a curator, do not want to temper my judgment of these leaves with the knowledge of what evolution these leaves may take. Perhaps that would make me look wiser than I am, and I do not want to justify my judgment retroactively. I will therefore approach these leaves as they present themselves, and my judgment as a curator will undoubtably evolve as the words from the book of Sorren evolve.