Filippino Lippi Allegory

Filippino Lippi AllegoryBartolome Esteban Murillo A Girl and her DuennaCaravaggio The Incredulity of Saint Thomas
Brutha could take in the scene. There was the staff of Ossory, and Abbys's cloak, and the sandals of Cena. And, supporting the dome, the massive statues of the first four prophets. He'd never seen them. He'd heard about them every day of his childhood.
And what did they mean now? They didn't mean anything. Nothing meant anything, if Vorbis was Prophet. Nothing meant Smiling.
The part of him still capable of thought was think­ing: there is nothing you can say. No one will listen. No one will care. It doesn't matter what you tell peo­ple about Ephebe, and Brother Murduck, and the des­ert. It won't be fundamentally true.
Fundamentally true. That's what the world is, with Vorbis in it.
Vorbis said, "There is something wrong? Some­thing you wish to say?"
The black-on-black eyes filled the world, like two pits.anything, if the Cenobiarch was a man who'd heard nothing in the inner spaces of his own head but his own thoughts.He was aware that Vorbis's gesture had not only halted the guards, although they surrounded him like a hedge. It had also filled the temple with silence. Into which Vorbis spoke."Ah. My Brutha. We had looked for you in vain. And now even you are here . . ."Brutha stopped a few feet away. The moment of . . . whatever it had been . . . that had propelled him through the doors had drained away.Now all there was, was Vorbis.