Of the Kingdom of Darkness
The life of the female leviathan was nasty, brutish, and short.
If those medieval Christian philosophers who asked each other "how many angels can dance on the head of a pin" had talked to Jewish sages instead of trying to expel the Jews from Europe, they might have noticed that the answer to the question "Can God make a stone so big he can't lift it?" had already been answered. By the Leviathan.
Or rather, the Leviathans.
For like everything else, they were created male and female.
Every man has a right to every thing, even to one another's body.
But then Yahweh, that ancient Prometheus, realized that such mighty creatures, who each ate a whale every day, who made the depths of the sea churn like a boiling cauldron...such beasts could not be allowed to live as other animals live, could not be permitted to make more like themselves.
The world is full of teeth and claws, violence and evil, but still. There must be limits. The female leviathan could not live.
Honourable is whatever possession, action, or quality is a sign of power.
God had created an animal that could destroy the world he'd created.
The leviathans should live until the end of time. No harpoon or spear or hook or javelin or dart can pierce their skin, according to the writer of the Book of Job.
Did he do the dirty deed by miracles or muscles? Could Yahweh order his angels to do for him the dirty work of refuting his creation? (And what would happen to them afterward?) Did he create for himself a pair of hands and arms like ours, if not to kill then at least to salt the meat and the hide of the leviathan who'd been doomed by living the life she was born to?
There is no power on earth to be compared to him.
Not any more, anyway. Not now that the leviathan's womb poses no threat.
The only leviathan most of us know now is the solitary, poor monster. Has he forgotten about his mate, as most of us have forgotten her? Does he trawl the depths of the sea in dull loneliness?
Imagination is nothing but decaying sense, and is the same as Memory.
Or does he dream still of how she was taken from him? Does he endure his loneliness with longing and anticipation that she will appear any minute now?
Appetite with an opinion of attaining is Hope.
Does he know he's just as much a testament to a fallible creator as his sistermotherwife?
Her flesh will feed the righteous in the banquet at the end of time, and her skin will form the tent that shelters the banqueters, but until then she lies in God's forsaken pantry, the Lord's larder, the kingdom of darkness from which none of us can rescue her.
The next best thing we can do is remember her.