Pebbles from the Cragg of Canaan

I stimulate the sense, here it is again.
A scream. A whimper. A plea. A sob.

Jolted from my dreams I find beads of sweat forming against my brow. Mouth is dry and eyes are heavy. Forearms quivering as they hold the weight of my torso up in bed. As I sat there in the dark, panting, waiting for the beat of my heart to slow, I could only reflect back on the imagery that lay behind my lids.

There was a breaking of rock. I could hear the thick chunking of axe and rock piloting through the atmosphere into my skull. Many many axes charging away at stone. Heavy stone.
As the ash dissapates the weeping and screaming start.

It was never my intention to just watch creatures suffer. My life has always been directed towards involving myself in the pain of others in order to alleviate or stop it in some way.
There they were though. Angels.

Millions of angels with pickaxes breaking away at chunks of a stentoriously grand cube floating in the air. The cube seemed impenetrably undefinably thick. I knew what the cube held and as I watched these poor creatures, with whom I suddenly realized were tethered to some crystalline form taking shape around what might have been their legs, I found myself painfully speechless.
Within the ultima-cube waited Canaan. Heaven. Nirvana.
These angels were trying to return home.

I could barely make out the definition of each angel and as I approached one I could feel the tears as it wept above me. Looking into its face I then saw the binding around its eyes. All of these creatures were blind.

I collapsed to my knees unable to process the overwhelming scenario. It was unbearable.

These imprisoned angels could never return and even if they somehow managed to tear the monumental stone apart, never would they behold the visage of Canaan, nor would they be allowed to enter in as they were held to their earthly bondage.

In a distant building that sat by itself beneath the stone of Canaan I could hear the preaching of a thousand priests, rabbi, preachers, pastors, ministers and reverends of all religion. The thrumming of their voices created a resonant cacophony which seemed to strengthen the bonds of the angel.

I wondered if perhaps by halting the word of the zealot, I might be able to free the divine....

I wondered.....and then awoke to the screaming in my ears. It was time to wake up.