Roshanak is her name, meaning in Persian one who is a luminous beauty, a shining star or light. Fitting in all ways, do not be deceived by her outer garb, that would be foolish and ultimately defeating. Serene and bearing knowledge of things found only off the beaten path. She assesses and keeps her counsel, for we are not privy to such secrets. Master of the hidden aspects of this life, Master of the keys to fulfilment and oblivion. The choice is yours. Harsh as that may sound it is all that is open to us, or so she likes to tell. Silence is her domain but only if you desire it so. She waits for you to ask, seek, and search. She is a smokescreen the unseen throws in your path. Fear her not, she is not what she appears to be.
The space around the enigma is, seemingly empty, yet pregnant with meaning. We seek such guides and teachers, hoping for clarity, yearning for self – knowledge. Roshanak emerges at the moment of transformation, offering choices not easy to accept.
The older woman stops speaking, her deep, melodious voice ending on a whisper. She gazes at the young woman opposite. At long last here is the Alchemist’s daughter and her venerated ancestor. The circle is closing; the Ouroboros is coming forth into being. Rather ironic that they are now present in the city of one beginning. A place shimmering like a dream, a facetted jewel without price. In this place did they mingle, Sufi mystics, Chaldean astrologers and ancient Egypt priesthood. The Oracles of old sent their emissaries and carried secrets back and forth. Vast caravans plied their wares, as did storytellers unfolding tales of magnificence and adventure. They dealt in dreams and imagination, richly woven artefacts that fired the soul and heart. Infusing all with the heavenly scent of paradise.
photo credit: Phototravelography Basilica Cistern in Istanbul, Turkey (6th century, former Constantinople) via photopin (license)
Both women pause for thought and remembrance, of things that are half forgotten, buried beneath dried rose petals and sad kisses. Their present surroundings are redolent of grandeur but only an illusion; perception is not what it seems. The two sit in a place between what is known and unknown. A Void. All who desired sacred knowledge and illumination came to this place, not shown on any earthly map. One wonders where this will end, the other where it will begin.
One searches the heart of the other. Both seek meaning in each other. One is the mirror and the other the candle. The mirror reflects the light that stands before it and reflects back the truth. You gaze within the mirror to seek the reason for life and Universal truth. The veils between illusion and reality are torn away at this moment.
Secrets have a place in the order of things but a time comes when they must be unveiled. Roshanak hands her companion a small medallion inscribed with sigils, a name that has remained lost to human memory. Always lost to human memory it seems but remembered vividly by others. It is our true name, forgotten at the Fall.