Titan’s Dream

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Image: kellepics, Pixabay

Frozen in thought and breath, his dreams drift bereft.
They who worshipped at altar of incense and fire withheld their sacrifices long ago.
Vanquished by armies of nightmares, soaked in blood and shrouds of hatred.
Homes lie forlorn, abandoned, and starved of life. Ruined in all respects.
Ghosts patrol the mountains, their mournful voices search endlessly,
Grasp at scraps of memories, cry at divinity’s loss.
The Titan’s heart still lives, still bears the pain of loss.
Where are his children?
Still he sits, frozen in thought and breath, his dreams drift bereft.
Ages pass, shape the land, and breed new life.
Still he waits, watches with unseeing eyes.

From the South they came, from lands of verdant life and golden light.
Seeking ancestry in shards of ice and crumbling stone.
Their hearts quicken, soar at sight of grandeur, marvel at god rediscovered.
He senses things familiar, echoes of incense filled halls, and sacred utterances.
They approach in humility, laden with prayers, and awe-filled eyes.
Still he sits, frozen in thought and breath, his dreams drift bereft.
Is faith enough to waken forgotten gods? Their doubts shackle them.
He urges them on, sends thoughts of love, and vanquishes doubt.
“I’ve never left you” He whispers. Will they listen?

From behind the gates of Limbo something stirs, shakes off shroud of dust.
They feel his presence, gathering strength. He comes, glory unveiling.
Shadows recede from eyes of eternity, blindness melting like ice before fire.
Once more sacrifices of incense and fire grace his altars, nourish his essence.
He calls to their blood, of ancestry shared, gathers within divine embrace.
His children truly live! The dreamer has awakened.

 

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Salvation -Twittering Tales #58 – 14 November 2017

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Image: SkittersPhotos at Pixabay.com

Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tale this week has plucked a familiar figure from my inner landscape. He comes when needed most:

They wander lost and forgetful in the great Void.
A sea of memories murmurs in their ears bringing regret.
The dead have lost hope of any salvation,
“Save us mighty Anubis” they cry brokenly.
Will He hear? The darkness and silence overwhelm.
Then Eternity is pierced by light,
He comes.

(280 characters)

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Lament for Ishtar – Luna #writephoto

Image: Sue Vincent

Sue’s challenge for the Thursday Photoprompt Luna – #writephoto

presented us with a haunting image of a crescent Moon. My thoughts immediately turned to Ishtar, the Evening Star and daughter of the Moon God Sin. She was a goddess of Love and War.

The world she knew has long gone, now only a memory in artefacts and academic papers. Or so we think. She still lives in the DNA and spirits of those who once worshipped Her. Her temples are  in ruins, vanished into dust, and the prayers and adoration of her priesthood linger in windswept plains. You may think such thoughts are fancies, wistful imaginings. Yet, the past urges us to remember our beginnings, of standing under ancient skies, and even older moons.

We are urged to recall the voices of adoration and lamentation. Her priests and priestesses gaze at us across the divide of time. Their lips move but we cannot hear. Where is the key to unlock the door? Mighty Ishtar gazes in silence, hand held out, fingers curled over a secret. Our eyes hold the tears of a thousand longings, of regrets and hopes. Of whispered petitions for success in love and victory in battle.

How have we forgotten one so radiant and clothed in silvered light? How have we forgotten the old magic, primeval and potent? Its power still surges beneath our skin and flows like fire through our veins. Luna, Luna, beloved Evening Star! Hear our lament, our songs and prayers for what was lost and can be regained once more.

There is only silence now, but it is steeped in expectation. She hears us and ascends once more, clothed in stars and silvered light.

Tryst -Twittering Tale #57 – 7 November 2017

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Photo: “Saddle” by PIRO4D at Pixabay.com

My tale of doomed love for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tale #57 this week.  A sad tale of love and ashes…

Wolf and vamp
Lovers doomed
A tragedy waiting to unfold
Riding on steeds of antique silver and garlic leather
A tryst soon ended
Life in flames

(139 characters)

 

 

 

Infinity – Eye #writephoto

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Image: Sue Vincent

My contribution for Sue Vincent’s lovely photo challenge Eye – #writephoto this week.  It certainly stirred the creative waters:

It is said by the ancient tribes who live in the land of shadows and fire that the All Seeing Eye contains mysteries, ones that would inflame the spirit and shatter false perceptions.  They believe it lies between the barren desert wastes and the verdant lands beyond. To gaze into its iris is to see all timelines converge and vanish into infinity. So the stories say. I am inclined to believe they are ancient truths garbed in fantasy and fiction, the inner message no longer understood by the children of this new world.

The Eye hides in plain sight, a bridge between the waking world and the mysterious inner realms. It is a dream that haunts our Soul and refuses to relinquish its hold. It speaks to us of existence, of the reality of flesh and bone, of emotions that brush gently across the mind and at other times cut deep like a knife. To gaze into the Eye is to see your true self reflected in an infinite number of mirrors. Truly a marvel but the enormity of its power has shattered many, sending them fleeing into the barren desert. They thirst for the waters of life, tormented by mirages, not knowing that they have the power to release themselves from the shackles of a false reality. This much I convey to the nomads who travel through the land of shadows and fire. They carry my tales across the vastness of this land, much like the wind carries moisture from the Great Sea at the end of the world.

So I wait, watching for signs and omens carried by winged messengers and spirits of the forest. Clouds break one upon the other like waves breaking on the shore. The Great Sea calls, sends forth its emissaries into the world of human and primordial gods. So it begins, The All Seeing Eye turns its gaze upon this new world. What does it see?

The Immortal: Seraph’s Mission

Image: werner22brigitte

Some readers of this blog may recognise the name of Amunet, a character who’s appeared in a few posts and likely to pop up in many more. The Alchemist has revealed aspects of her true nature over time, hinting at many mysteries of the Universe. You could say she’s the ideal of our Higher Self. I’d certainly like her to be my Higher Self! Amunet has lived a solitary life since her father passed through the transition beyond the Veils of Existence. Until now that is.

A new character, named Seraph, has entered her world, one she’d been seeking for years. Seraph has been called many things over the centuries, “Warrior of Light” being one. Archangel being another. Mere words to describe the indescribable essence of a being no one understands. The name is a giveaway admittedly. Seraph-Seraphim. Numerous cultures attest to the existence of beings of immense power who watch over humanity, guiding and protecting. Seraph’s task isn’t to watch over humanity but to keep the forces of chaos at bay. They watch over the Cosmos, police it even.

Amunet and Seraph transcend religion, transcend pigeonholing. That’s my hope. They allow me to explore a Universe that lies hidden by stars and velvet darkness. It’s a difficult task I set myself, to step outside of my own conditioning and rise above false perceptions. I’m only human and have a limited life span on this material plane. So much to do, learn and see. Many throughout the ages have sought the gift of immortality, to banish the ravages of time and drink from the waters of regeneration and rejuvenation. To no avail for the vast majority of seekers.

Many of the Alchemists, amongst other true seekers of knowledge and illumination understood the inner meaning of the search. Immortality is certainly a seductive prospect is it not? What does it mean for a being like Seraph?

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Image: Ben_Kerckx, Pixabay

The last time we met him was in an undefined time, perhaps before time existed, in battle with forces that could be perceived as being evil.  He was a “she” at the time, one of numerous forms inhabited by an energy force entrusted with protection of a Cosmos in constant flux. Protection by means that could be perceived as ruthless and without humanity. The eons moved on and this warrior took on a different gender; watching over a very special artefact in a Tibetan monastery somewhere between India and Tibet. Waiting for Amunet to give him his next mission.

Beings such as Seraph aren’t endowed with human emotions, for their origins lie in realms far removed from the known Universe. Their matter is of a much higher vibration, as they are emanations of one known as the Cosmic Consciousness, existing in all places, realities and universes. They are thought manifested into form.

At the end of Seraph: Warrior of Light we see him disappear into the Himalayan mountain range, readying himself for the next stage of the mission on Earth:

“Study them Seraph” were her words to me. My mission was not so at the beginning of Creation; but even we the ageless and immortal must descend from our eyries in the interstellar regions to seek understanding. We do as commanded by one of the Nine. Human lives are utterly remote from ours, incomprehensible in every way possible. They are infinitely tiny points of light, struggling in a dense ocean of dark matter. What can we learn from them? Humility? Wisdom?

Seraph sits on the seashore, deep in thought. Such an attitude can be viewed as arrogant and with very little understanding of the human condition. That may be true but not an obstacle where his task is concerned. Being encased in flesh, bone and blood has been difficult and continues to be problematic. The fragile human vessel is only capable of containing a fraction of the power of his kind. Its DNA needs to be upgraded to hold a greater intensity of light. This is the next stage of human evolution. He closes his eyes and initiates communion with forces on the periphery of consciousness. There is much work to be done, so the journey continues.

 So my work continues.

Gift of the Forest -Twittering Tale #44 – 17 October 2017

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Photo by StockSnap @ Pixabay.com

My offering for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tale this week. It’s less dark than previous entries for this challenge, perhaps a little wistful and dreamy. Nature extends a lifeline dear readers, dare we accept?

The forest dreams, brings together myth and magic.
We gaze across divide, yearning and regretting melding.
Seek it utters, dare to dream.

(38 characters)

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Dionysos Pursues: Spirit of the Vine

Image: werner22brigitte, Pixabay

Once again we enter through the portals of the bar hidden deep within the heart of the city. A place only found by those who truly seek answers to questions of the Soul. Three hold court in its hallowed premises, the Spirit of Dance, Love and Memory. Which one shall the visitor gravitate towards? He stands silhouetted in the doorway, passion and gnosis encapsulated in breath taking beauty and disintegration. This is no ordinary seeker. Humans, non-humans and gods have passed through this place, leaving profoundly changed in some way. He enters holding the symbol of his divinity, the thyrsus surmounted by a pine cone. A panther, horse and bull soon follow. All eyes gaze knowingly at the tableaux. Something is afoot they sense. The man’s eyes search the dimly lit room, they’re intense and piercing. Many yearn to touch his sensual lips, not knowing why such an urge should overshadow reason and decorum. He brings a wildness of spirit and madness in his wake, with little change of escape for the unprepared.

The Triad watch silently, knowing well who he’s come seeking. The Spirit of Love gestures to a figure waiting in the shadows. A beautiful woman emerges into the light. Nut brown hair is held back form a fine boned face, which is flawless except for a tiny scar next to the right eye. This only serves to highlight her beauty. Her green eyes shine brightly, vulnerability clouding them briefly. They close for a moment, the man then seizes his chance and kisses her lips lightly. Such restraint the woman thinks. Many were the nights when the sleepy eyed god would rain kisses upon her, offering his Body, Heart and Soul. The fruit of the vine flowed like his blood, a sacrifice that was readily accepted by his worshippers, especially the Maenads.  Mighty Dionysos!

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Image: werner22brigitte, Pixabay

The woman curls her arms around his neck and they begin a slow dance in the centre of the room. The orchestra plays a wistful and hypnotic melody that fires the blood and reaches deep into your memories. It sings of the passion of worship and illumination, of unconscious urges rising from the depths and fragmenting in the light of day. Those present feel its primeval beat and unbridled emotions. They perch on the edge of surrender, surrender to forces beyond human comprehension, as do the two figures on the dance floor. Dionysos whirls away from the woman and performs a dance in ecstatic frenzy. He gives up himself and his very being in this ritual of unbinding and vulnerability.

“Come, maenad, tear me asunder and set me free” he begs his partner.

The woman walks round him, slowly and seductively. She stands in strength and power, confident in every way. Her grace and serenity beguile and warm the heart.

“Unbind your beauteous hair my love and let it flow like a waterfall over my arms” he beseeches to no avail.

“I loosen my hair for no one Great One, those times are gone. I no longer rend my clothes and spirit for you” she whispers in his ear. He moans in protest and then laughs.

They circle each like warriors on the battlefield. Memories swirl around them like ribbons of light, shimmering in intensity when the emotions overflow the cup. His ecstatic trance flows like a river in full rage, unstoppable and dangerous. The Triad held the power at bay if only to protect the bystanders. The driving beat of the melody urges the dancers onwards to a higher state of consciousness. The God of the Vine gazes intently at the woman facing him, her lips whisper prayers uttered in his honour in ancient times. His eyes close in humility and thanks.

The woman approaches and kisses him deeply. It tells of millennia of searching for her true self, of walking on roads unknown and fearful. Yet, she always sensed his presence wherever she went. The kiss told of her fragmentation and subsequent rebirth. It told of nights when the god approached and enfolded her in warmth and safety. It told of a love drawn from a bottomless well.

The two figures part and stand smiling at each other. She stands back and holds out her arms, two serpents emerge from behind and wind themselves round each arm. Her hair comes loose and flows down her back. The God of the Vine drinks bows his head in respect and gestures to a table in the corner. On it wait fruit of the vine and two wine glasses. The red of sacrifice has been replaced by the white of rebirth.

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Image: werner22brigitte, Pixabay

Hell’s Librarian – Twittering Tales #52 – 3 October 2017

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Photo by GLady on Pixabay.com

This is my response to the fiendish challenge set by Kat Myrman for this week’s Twittering Tale.

It’s taken a while to track you down and I’m not in a good mood. You’re fifty years overdue and he wants it back. Hand the soul over.
(135 words)

Seraph: Warrior of Light

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Image: Mysticsartdesign, Pixabay

Amunet faces another sunrise at the remote monastery, the sixtieth at the last count. Due to its location visitors are rare. Those that appear at its gates are there for very specific reasons and she falls into that category. The young man who accompanied her two months ago was meeting his guru at the monastery. Their journey will continue into the far north, deep into the Tibetan plateau. This is the last anyone will see of them. Many of her encounters end in such ways. As for the reason for being here, it has taken months of searching to find a lead, any lead, of the woman known as Seraph. She certainly had a sense of humour taking on that name. It was a little obvious! The monks have found the scroll she was looking for and today is the day its contents will see the light again after seven thousand years.

The library is immense, with shelves packed full with manuscripts and books. Most of which are written in Tibetan and Sanskrit, but in the inner sanctum are items of rare provenance. Treasures hidden from the grasp of greedy tyrants and seekers after power. It’s even whispered that the angels themselves have gifted this place with relics of terrible and prophetic power. These are well hidden, no one, no one has access except for three people, Amunet being one. You may ask why this is so, that may or may not be revealed later in her journey.

Two monks carry the scroll carefully to a desk in one corner of the room and beckon her over. It exudes an energy that isn’t quite comfortable, hence the monks having to wear special gloves. She lays her hands on the document, asking permission to enter into its world. It senses her essence and unlocks the gates to a hidden world:

The Last Battle

These are the last words of the being known as Seraph. My time is nearing its end in this place of darkness, the hordes are numerous and I could destroy them all. Yet, this is not my task alone but for the ones to come. I shall wait as long as I can and no longer, this body is damaged and must return to its elemental home. The spaces between the worlds are widening, like wounds they bleed but it is time and not blood that flows. My kin wait for my signal, ‘not yet’ I tell them.

Bloodshed and hatred spread like wildfire over these lands, the hordes have hearts that are filled with a darkness no light can penetrate. The overlords of such evil stand like sentinels urging their minions onwards. I hear the dripping of poisonous words in receptive ears, what glamour and twisted magic is being wielded to bind and enslave? Have reason and humanity deserted their souls, the ones that are tempted? They would jump willingly into the Pit if ordered to do so. Threads of disquiet spread throughout bodies that appear defenceless. I hear their cries for salvation, trapped they are in realms we cannot go. That task is for our brethren, the ones so called Fallen. In whose eyes may I ask?

This is a battle that has played out for eons. Consisting of games infused with treachery and pettiness. What use is free will if it is twisted to suit the oppressor? Heed my words but I fear they will fall on stony ground. It approaches, like a tide of blood and anger. I hear its whispered threats but fear them not. ‘Come closer’ I urge it, it obeys. It holds aloft the sphere triumphantly, captured through treachery of one no longer alive. We offered the bait and they emerged from the shadows, grasping hungrily. All the knowledge of the Universe is distilled in that sphere, yet none can access its treasures.

It stands over me gloating and baring its teeth. A little closer, yes, believe I have only moments to live. Its breath sears my skin but this body is beyond pain. How arrogant the beast is, even placing the sphere in my hand. My fingers close round it and then it begins. My kin rise like a curtain of incandescent light on the horizon, and sweep across the land vaporising all in their wake. The beast turns in shock. I strike at that moment. It too vanishes, leaving ash drifting in the wind. Now I can depart this body. She lies breathless on the ground, blood and dirt besmirching her features. We gather her remnants and return them to the eternal flame, another warrior passes beyond the Veil. It is done and the relic is returned once more to our possession. This battle has ended but there are more to come. We must be ever vigilant.

Amunet looks up from the scroll to see a figure shrouded in light. They move into view and gaze down at her.  Those eyes, they look so familiar. The man smiles and speaks.

Man:

That fragment doesn’t give the full story Amunet, but it’s a start. We’ve been waiting for your visit. Are you intrigued?

Amunet:

Intrigued? I think you know the answer. Is it safe?

Man:

So far. Yet, I sense the same powers are on the prowl again. The lure of divine knowledge still holds them in thrall.

Amunet:

I think you mean the power it contains is what they’re lusting after. (Smiles).

Man:

(Smiles back). That and more. Their natures are unchanging, eternally chained to ravenous beasts demanding more of their souls. It twist and thwarts what grace is left in those fragile bodies. The overlords of the Pit beguile them with beautiful words and false promises. Promises of wealth and status. They feed on ambition, fear and anger.

Amunet:

Once tasted, always hungered after…They seek the light, but can never twist and subvert it. The ancient darkness will lose and realises this truth. That’s why it’s redoubling efforts to push this world into nothingness. How many times have I seen this being played out? It has to end soon, otherwise we will intervene and then there will be nothing left for either side.

Man:

 I, understand.  (Bows and turns to leave).

Amunet:

Seraph, my words may sound harsh but this has dragged on for longer than necessary.

The man pauses and turns. He nods in understanding and then leaves. Amunet rolls up the scroll carefully and waits for the monks. She walks over to the window and looks at the retreating figure of the one who was Seraph. He disappears into the mist that’s descended on the mountains.

 The saga continues.

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Image: LYJ19920520, Pixabay