Gracious Hand; Exit the Sand

One hand reached across the sand. Hand with hole in wrist, and I could not resist. Hand to hand to assist; no longer could I persist to insist upon my own demise no matter how much my life I did despise. The disappearance of Bast and sudden appearance of another was quite a surprise, but welcome. No face could I see in my debased estate, but I knew as fresh wind blew that here was one who could offer something anew. I grasped the hand without demand; there was no reprimand but only kind command, “Arise! Be gone with the lies, and claim your prize of life without compromise! It is yours, though you still be oh-so unwise.”

Phantasmal range of change.

Verdant green. Soft bed of grass. Scene of beauty. Lake of crystalline glass.

I opened my eyes to clear, blue skies. Skies above rolling hills to still my heart. Yet stain of remorse; pain of guilt remained, though I strained to forget.

“You need not live with regret,” spoke shadowy figure. “I’ve set your feet again upon the way you may walk; for you this is your new day… Rest here for awhile, but do not stay.” Eyes of soft brown, shimmering crown of thorns. “I do not reprimand; there is no more demand upon your soul, but the hole is for you to fill at will … if you will.” Very still in his presence I offered no resistance, and I seemed to understand, and deemed this One most worthy to heed; this One who even now seemed to fill my need … my need of which I really knew nothing, as the Spirit of Life blew over and through the hillocks.

Reaching. Touching. He bade farewell to fade back into ethereal world somehow more real than reality; the immaterial more potent than the material … and could I comprehend? No. I could only pretend, and that I would not do, but ascend now in my journey again without feign of greatness — I had none — nor courage or wisdom; I’d really only begun. So under bright sun, I made my way to cool, clear pool of water abiding just off the side of celestial lake. Would these be the hills of my restoration, my own mount of transfiguration?

Suddenly I ripped my tattered clothes, stripped naked and like madman ran into the small sea now free of Bastian glee! I plunged myself down into refreshing water as if to drown the plight of previous night. Rolling, turning and churning, I made my way to the bottom and up again into bright light of sun. And I wept, and I kept weeping flood of tears mixed with blood. I plunged again and lunged forward in cleansing font — bathing, purging poison — with nothing to haunt me here; no one to taunt. I was free again to be me … or, at least, to begin to be the me I could now begin to see. And the water felt as if this very element could be daughter of Dyēus.

This time I did not run. This time I swam and shouted, “I Am!”

.

.

Advertisement

In Fire On Funeral Pyre

The fire never seemed to burn, and I did not turn. I just laid there, completely bare, as Bast looked on quietly and more than slightly pleased that I’d appeased her. I knew my body was being consumed, and assumed by the night air beneath bright light of moon, and I would soon be gone. There was no liturgy for my funeral; no synergy of seen and unseen worlds. There were none who mourned my passing; none who adorned the pyre now set afire. But there was Bast holding my hand as I died on desert sand with no demand upon my fading life.

She smiled. “You are but a child. You’re lying to yourself in thinking you’re dying. I’m not grilling you!” She laughed again. “I’m not killing you; I’m filling you with life and thrilling you with freedom you’ve never known, liberty you’ve never been shown. There is no right or wrong, no light or dark … only the song that long plays for those who pay the price to be set free and forever be at liberty. This is what you do now, my love, and you’ll no longer bow to fraud of a god, who hides behind facade of holiness and righteousness!”

Indeed you are lying to yourself as you’re dying in the fire of funeral pyre, the inaudible voice came unexpectedly. Choice. You have choice. You need not blindly bind yourself to this fate; there is an open gate … even now. My mind was torn asunder as I wondered to whom this voice belonged and longed to know, for her to show herself. I am Ajna, your third eye, and I heard your cry, your mournful sigh, ever before they escaped your soul, which now descends into deep, dark hole. Rise up now; you have the strength! Surprise Bast, who will flee as you truly set yourself free!

The flames rose higher, fire fuelling self-induced blame and shame. What could I do? What should I do? Why try anymore? Why not lie here and die? Precisely because you will die, and never be able to try again; never to begin again. Life may be rife with pain and seemingly no gain … but life is living, and living is in giving, not in swimming in self-pity! And you see no celestial city because there isn’t any! What? Did you expect Dyēus to respect you so much that he’d create some special place for you to recreate? 

“Stay. Day is almost upon us, but deed is almost done, before arises again the sun,” Bast calmly intoned, but now in my mind’s eye I could see her enthroned in tower of power brought low by blow of Dyēus. “Ah … you do well to sell you soul to me to keep forever deep in armored heart that never seeps. You will be mine forever and never again worry nor scurry about in fear, for fear shall never draw near. Hear what I say this day: You will never feel again, as I peel away all emotion and commotion of heart, mind, and soul.”

You haven’t long before you forever belong to this witch-bitch, came silent voice of Ajna. Leap up now, and keep yourself from evil power! Now is the hour … the moment! Sun is rising on far horizon to lighten, but you will be poisoned and unenlightened, imprisoned forever by wicked siren… Leap up and run!

.

.

Note: This “episode” is the continuation of Dark at Night; Dangerous Without Light. To fully appreciate this installment, the reader really ought to read the previous “episode.” Thank you and all the best w/blessings! Peace and cheer!

Also, Ajna — obviously somewhat personified here — is taken from the fourth Chakra in the Chakra “system” or perspective of the human being. Ajna is associated with the heart and, thus too, with love and relationships. However, this is one of the most important as Ajna is “the center through which all energies must pass in transit from one group of chakra layers to another and from one reality to another. This chakra and its associated chakra layer filter all energies, thoughts, and experiences, which ultimately affect us emotionally, physically, and spiritually Linked to the “feeling body” the heart chakra is the central focus between the lower and upper chakras (White, R. (2009). Using your chakras: A new approach to healing your life. New York: Barnes and Noble Books).

Long is the Night; Long the Road…

Long is the night to those for whom sleep doth fight; long and dreary the road to the weary; longer still is the cycle of life for those who live in strife … within and without, so rife with pain and no gain of peace in lease of time. Such was my frightful flight east away from beastly terror now marauding Uruk, stalking the countryside round about; the sound of such blight still floating on light wind, but I would not stop to bend knee, though free to pray. Kheba told me to stay the course, and though I may travel alone, an ill-suited fool-companion would only cavil and unravel my senses, lowering my heart and mind defenses, putting me in closer range of physical danger, as well…

But I’d reached the desert sand, where dæmon band could be heard clear as warped and twisted bird on this my third night of flight. My water skin was now dry — and did I try not to consider my thirst — but there would be water if only I could make it to yonder hills where lay still ponds and gentle brooks, or so it looked, if not an illusion born of my mind of confusion. No matter; I’d made my resolution from the revolution underway in my soul being purified by deprivation, new creation within; that is, the manifestation of determination and sobriety, of illumination and deadly-defiant piety.

Ah, but I was not alone; I knew, for the wind blew with the Spirit — mysterious, imperious, perhaps even deleterious, yet Source of Life — so yes, something was there to be with me. Something, or Someone, had always been but never seen. As an ancient sage of another age said, “hidden in keep of the deep! I do not know who begot this child nor if she is mild … but this, the same, came even before God!” Far older than the sod under my tortured feet plodding along the sanded heat that so nearly threatened my defeat. But would I bleat like some little lamb?

Oh, but damn the very thought! What a sham it would be, I boldly told myself. I’m not a lamb but man! Or to hell with it! Man to view; woman to few who know what I show from inside but try to hide? Does it matter? What fracking scatter of thought! I’m human, at least; not beast … but what? Even beast would not concede to dying without trying to live! The instinct for survival and revival is vital to the nature of every creature!

“Water … water … water from the daughter of Kheba… What could be wrong coming from one so strong?” the voice carried with ease on the gentle breeze. Enticing. Alluring. Seductive. Slicing through my senses. Impressively reassuring. Destructive. “Water … water … water you need to feed your strength lest at length you perish … and truly I cherish you.” Lies. Lies in angel guise. Snake eyes sharp to incise the unwise; to apprise the demise of desperate man; ready to baptize him in flood of his own thin blood. “Fear … you fear, my dear … fear you fear, not me, the one you do not see. Ah, but let me be your heart’s decree, and you will be free … free … free with me for whom you never sought, in liberty unbought, given freely with no thought … free to be what you really are … bright and shining star.” Not far from truth, I needed no proof from prophet, priest, or sayer of sooth; yet there was nothing to say but, too, I could not stay, though the hills still seemed so far away.

And So I Kept Walking…

.

.

Note: Both illustrations stock photos/pictures free for public usage.

One From Whom You Cannot Run

“One great sage of your age very wisely surmised that to truly discipline the unruly mind is very much in kind with the man, who tries as he can to empty the ocean three tea cups a day while allowing no dismay,” Bilgeliği Meleği intoned in well-honed voice of wisdom. “Yet there is an intense defense you can commence without delay, lest you prefer to stay in vulnerability to the mystic motility of Bast?” Kheba chose not to show emotion as I shook my head no.”This also involves change that will almost derange, though quicker and thicker.”

“There was another sage, who lived long before your age, yet from here is still to come in quite some time from now, but how he chose to live, to best his foes, is what you need to know. And so I will tell you how best to fell Bast in one lesson he taught — this Enlightened One who himself her fought — and it is this gem of wisdom you must not miss: That the ill-thatched hut is but hopeless, for when the sky rains her blood, she does flood the whole house; and does not that rain cause pain to husband, children and spouse? So, too, the ill-thatched mind: Evil will find his way in and flood and stay, causing nothing but dismay. Guard your mind, then; find the best way. And your heart, as well, for it plays even the better part.”

Palms waved in the calm breeze with the seeming ease of a royal dance, amid the prance of flower petals across the courtyard embossed in symbols and scenery surrounded by lush greenery, all to lance the heart with beauty and carry the mind from duty into sleepful trance. And so Kheba seemed to fade as I unwittingly bade farewell to Bilgeliği Meleği…

Ah … and so here you are again from there, but where?  the voice came ever so sick-sweetly and hauntingly-meekly… No, no one … no one … no one is here but one… the voice was soft and numinously aloft. No, no one but the son of perdition in hopeless condition … so hopeless, you may as well aspire to drown in fire, or turn to burn in water  the laughter of rebel-daughter came quickly after … light but cruel, slight but brutal. No monsters or surreal songsters; no spiritual stealers, soul dealers, nor heart mealers; no ghosts or dæmonic hosts … only one … only one … only one from which you cannot...

“Run!” screamed the voice of Lemek. “Make your choice! Fight the plight in sight, or run!” I was stunned. “But the Watchers are upon us at the very gates with unrestrained hate, and you, my friend,” he pointed to me for all to see, “are only bait! Wait not longer, then, but run toward the rising sun!” And off he was with angry scoff, bedecked in leather plate, straight to battle the now-cursed chattel of Şeytan, with bronze shield and sword ready to wield against archenemy of humanity. And suddenly there was frantic motion and loud commotion all around, leaving my heart to practically pound out of my chest despite my best to calm the rising alarm.

“Are you deaf and fool, too?” Kheba yelled as she grabbed long, sharp tool. “Run! Or prepare to be spun by the Watchers like fly in web to say your last ‘good-bye!'” She looked at me clearly fiercely, yet with pity, practically begging me to flee the city. “My love, you are no fighter; you are writer, and if not would do better to wear the mitre; there is no shame in this, my dove, and so no reason for blame. Your name may yet live on, as it should, if only you learn to tame your mind … as Bilgeliği Meleği so wisely said so soon from our bed…” One last look; one ill-thought of Bast; and one tear did leak to run down her cheek. I would have bawled and crawled to her in that moment to beg to face together our opponent, but… “Go! Go now while you can, how you can; east toward the rising sun, and take not the least respite no matter how desperate for rest, but test your strength over and against your best till the hillocks round this city are but the collage of a far mirage.”

One last passionate embrace and kiss, and did I miss her sudden change into ethereal coating and weaponry that all the better expressed very real divine strength that for my sake she’d somewhat repressed? No, this I could not miss, nor could I insist upon staying, thus laying an extra burden on her shoulders that would surely have weighed like a boulder. No, and so alone I …

Ran!

.
.

Bilgeliği Meleği — lit. “wisdom angel” (from Turkish)

Note: For the hyperlinked portion of the torturous taunting of Bast (above) I must give inspirational credit to eloquentparadise. Thank you for the inspiration! First Image found at IMÁGENES DE JUEGOS, GUILD WARS at www.fondoscelular.com; second image found at Greek Mythology; third image found at www.fashionstyle.com (‘Daredevil Season Two: Elektra’)

Wake Up, Baby, It Was Just A . . .

Now awake, I told my hellmare, and Kheba was quite right in her take: It was more than dream mixed with cream of dæmons. No, twas phantastical vision and that, with frightening precision. Through time and space, could Bast now slither and lace herself? Had she gained such power? Certainly not from her ill-fated tower! But how now? Kheba, daughter of Dyēus, one of the Tri-Mater, actually looked shaken! I’d been crooked into the isolated presence of Bast, who’d cast me into her unholy royal chamber … right out of the arms of Kheba and her protection from harm! Tears streamed down her light brown skin, but what could smear such beauty? Still, as she wrapped herself around me, bound me fast to take away the last of my terror, my heart broke for her — for Kheba — like a stroke to the inner core of my spirit, and I bore her burden with her without fully knowing the burden (and almost surely showing my ignorance.)

Smooth diorite walls and halls, finely intermixed with divinely decorative lapis lazuli surrounded us, with profoundly long, large tables of shining marble along the sides, strong but radiantly soft, holding aloft plants and flowers of myriad kind with their silent chant of life and peace and joy — nothing here to annoy — and the bed worthy of royalty said clearly we were more than welcome. The home of Metuşelah and Lemek was our home, as well (what was so easy to tell.) Yonder was silver pitcher of fine wine, another of clear cool water from courtyard pool, and two bejeweled goblets; bell to ring to tell servants to come from their rooms to resume their task of fulfilling our needs, basking in the glory of guest goddess. Refreshing breeze blew silently through our room, but darkness loomed, darker than the darkness of night … the blight of evil darkness … live-evil. And Kheba marked the dark as Bast, who’d cast her presence into this time and space, but showing her face only to me without her mother to see.

Kheba stared out one of the paired arched openings at the palms calmly dancing, swaying to and fro, back and forth with no lack of encouragement from the gentle wind to slightly bend their bodies in sightly beauty as if in answer to some divine duty. “Nothing here will change,” she practically whispered. “We cannot rearrange; Tariqah is still dead … her head severed by sword from horde of wild Watchers.” Kheba’s voice trailed off, but not before she nailed me with eyes. “She cannot alter history, nor must we falter in our reaching your soul and teaching you, for you are clay and we the potter — we the Tri-Mater — under watchful eye of Dyēus who does spy everything, but…” She looked away and brooked not the terrible subject for which she could confect no answer. Did her father know, yet never bother to show, or had God become so slow? “She got to you and I never knew she could reach so far and breach the barrier being the carrier of such evil… Bast has grown stronger in ability, has greater mobility, and certainly not less in hostility.”

I shivered despite the warm air of night and pressed in closer to the might of Kheba … but why? She would keep me safe, but could she? This was the question now, and I had to bow to the ruthless truth that Bast had quite possibly become as powerful as Kheba somehow. And now what of Maftet and Ma’at from whom I’d sought refuge? And Sélená so bright; could she smite Bast and cast her back to dungeon gloom, her own living tomb? Ah … what had transpired to mire us in such dire straights?

Oh Dyēus on high, fly swiftly to our side and stay ever-so nigh!

.

.

Terror: Blast of Bast and the Meek Seeker

How the hell did I get here, I wondered. But now that’s a pretty question: Here is not there where I was, but where is here? It is cold and I haven’t even a coat to fold round me. It was warm with Kheba, and she promised no harm, but this … this does alarm!  And then I heard the laughter — cruel and mocking — I turned and churned inside, and was instantly beside myself. There she was, seated upon regal crystalline throne; hauntingly beautiful; tauntingly majestic. Poisonous pied piper, I knew her with only some few glances before… Bast.

“Did you think you had gone unnoticed, my little fawn?” Sprinkle of mystic evil and twinkle in her eye, she could easily spy my fear, though I shed not a tear. “Oh … my mother? Perhaps sisters or brothers? No, they are not here, my dear; and Maftet and Ma’at cannot be sought.” She rose, striking an altogether magnificent pose, looking as if she were deciding just how to dispose of me, nothing more to her than an insignificant bumble-bee. Her smile was meant to beguile as she stepped down from royal chair with barely any sound, and I instantly found myself in arm’s reach.

“Yes, I’ll loosen your fetters and teach you better, for I know what you want — your deepest secrets and desires, hardwired into your soul from foul bowl of Dyēus — and there’ll be no more frustration after your castration. Ah! No, no, no … this is not damnation; this will be the foundation for new life, not an aberration nor stagnation of existence. Nay! It is in your persistence in mere subsistence of what you now are, which is far from what I will make you, that causes such aggravation and exasperation.” Finger to my lips to hush, shamefully causing me to blush.

It seemed every beam, the floor and ceiling was coated in ice, bloated by an ongoing winter, so I knew without asking and wondered how it was Bast was basking as if in glory … but, perhaps, she had another story to tell? Evil may not mind the bind of freezing cold too bold for mortals… Ha! The slice of ice that kills may fill her with a measure of pleasure! But what of me? Shall I be made a eunuch by her wicked blade?  With that thought, the very laugh of Bast half killed me… In one very real sense, I’d have preferred to seal my death than endure the coming torture; I desired complete departure.

“Why do you think this will hurt when I’m expert in this skill; it will not kill,” Bast circled around me and bound me by her very presence. It was then I noticed the irregular, eleven-pointed star on the floor, with seven longer than four, which bore grotesque images of creatures only to detest. What meaning did Bast invest in this symbol, and what black majik did mingle within? “Ah, so many numbers, eh? And so many say what each means, but they lean on their own understanding, misapprehending.”

She seemed intent to explain, but that without any strain: “The seven pointed rays represent perfection — and upon reflection, you’ll remember learning as much, such as your learning goes — and the seven flow out further, which means they are read first, said first. The four shorter rays display rebellion … rebellion by an hellion like me!” And Bast shook the palatial tower of power with her tremendous laughter. Stupendous, to be sure, and certainly horrendous. So she imagines herself the perfection of defection from heavenly realms; highest infection upon the earth … without much reflection?

“You doubt me!” came the angry shout. “We’ll have a bout, then, to convince you of my clout! Whom do you think could rise so high and sink so low; higher than the heavens, below even the Abyss? Lies in guise of truth! Flies of lies from Dyēus, the Tri-Mater witch-bitch, and their score of whores! But now for you, my pet; I have you in my net! And you are mine to sign and seal, so let’s be quick about this and you’ll not be sick for long. Ah! But you will belong to me and only to me for all to see forevermore! Now you’ll be my whore!”

Down went my pants quick as lightening — frightening — and out came blade so precisely made for emasculation with no duration. And I could not help my imagination of the very real possibility of invagination to follow. So would I be forever changed by such deranged and fallen goddess? Oh, but the change I could bear, but ne’er life cast with Bast; I’d already determined to die, yes, and fly even into the Abyss in order to miss such prolonged torture. How to make such departure, though, elluded me … but, then, I was already deluded into believing hope was long gone.

“Wake up for the gods’ sake!”

Kheba?

“You’re quaking and shaking! Wake up, I say! It’s not even day, but wake up … wake up for my sake!”

Kheba? I bolted up in bed nearly knocking her head, and screamed from the hellish dream! Dream…? Was it just a dream? It didn’t seem so, but…

.

.

Note: First image, “Bastet,”  by Susan Seddon Boulet & Michael Babcock; Second image/photo, “Bast Statue,” found at Isis Books & Gifts  … Also, Please Kindly Consider Visiting J D Noble Publications on FB and “Liking” It.  I Plan on Utilizing This FB Page More Effectively in the Future … For Updates, Inside Info, Short Commentary on Stories and Other Blogs, etc. You Can Find the Icon-Box in the Lower Righthand Corner on This Page! Thank You!

Kheba: Pages From Forgotten Ages IV

“Had it not been for the crystalline, ethereal swords afforded by the Tri-Mater, and their sons and daughters, we would all have been slaughtered, except for the hypnotized, demonized chosen by the Watchers, frozen by their power for their own treasure and pleasure,” Metuşelah spoke in tone as if reading from an ancient book, with distant look in his eyes. “My father, Henokh, fought early and bought victory with his own blood amid flood of torturous screams… Some of my sisters and brothers died; my own turn would come soon enough…”

We were now seated in the courtyard garden, replete with lush green and flowers and bowers of olden trees. Stone benches were hard on the bone, but I dared not complain of pain while hearing such soul-searing tale.

“Avhnipaala took me as husband — brooking all distinction; she could have had better — when she had command of hundreds; an exceptional band of warriors. She had the hand of an Hiero-Güç archer — one of few — and blew through the enemy ranks like lightening and never sank; every arrow coated with Ruhani marrow… Wave upon wave came, but we did save this region from this dark legion fallen from heaven to ill-leaven earth.”

And so it was, for a time, because of their heroism the people were free of the terrorism of the Watchers, who fled north with their booty of brides under deific chides. And as Metuşelah explained, this is when his great father, Henokh, was lost to the frost of the netherworld as angry ice still sliced the world. One day they were walking and talking, then the Voice called, and without choice his father was gone, never to be seen again; at least Henokh was not guilty of flight of fright. No! Henokh was beacon light to his people… After his “stepping out” to walk about the spirit world, Lemek was shortly born to adorn the absence of so great an Hiero-Güç leader, destined to imitate his grandfather in so many ways in coming days.

“The lull in war was as always before,” Kheba intoned, chilling me to the bone. “Peace seems ever so elusive; that much is conclusive. The Watchers and whores bore their mutant offspring — worse curse of Dyēus — which enraged the Watchers, who then engaged in battle against Dyēus, the Tri-Mater, and all sons and daughters; his angelic host and every heavenly ghost — I well remember — while their mutilated children moved west, southwest to best humanity, engulfing them in unbelivable calamity, all to claim a home where they could freely roam.”

“During this peace, Avhnipaala died when she vied with one of her own,” Metuşelah picked up his cup and drank, then sank back into awful memory. “My beloved had no idea that Rhea had been bitten and, thus, smitten by one of the Watchers.” Metuşelah eyed me closely and could see… “Oh no … no, no my dear lad. The Watchers had beauty, hypnotic beauty.” He shook his head sadly and said, “And they took great care to keep up appearances to ensnare so many … and that they did in plenty, including Rhea.” Tears. Broken heart, the better part lost. “My dear Avhnipaala! She now walks the halls of Valhalla; I know, but how can I not show how much I long for her? After all, I belong by her side, and there to abide forever.”

“Ah Rhea!” Lemek rose in anger that knew no panacea. “She struck my dear mother from behind, and only with luck did find fatal spot for homemade blade! But Avhnipaala bested her! My mother invested Rhea’s headless corpse to the Abyss before she herself lie dying on cold, stone floor!” Lemek walked to and fro, ready to throw himself into bloody battle with all his might. “Yes, my mother was better archer and leader than father,” he bowed slightly toward Metuşelah, who lightly smiled and nodded head toward his beloved son, allowing Lemek to continue rampage begun. “And far, far better than her son or even — yes and I dare to say this day — her son’s wife; for on my very life, Tariqah said the same! Ah! Ah! Is this not so, divine Kheba? She loved my mother as her own mother; my mother loved Tariqah as her one and only daughter!”

“Yes, my dear, dear Lemek,” Kheba clearly nodded and replied, while each of us inside felt the pain of losing wife and mother, and apparently without any gain. Metuşelah motioned for his son to come and sit for comfort, but Lemek had some more to say, to sort out … again, as so many times in the past, so this would last as long as need be, yet no one dared feed the fire of anger and remorse; we waited and listened while Lemek ran his course.

“She acted as spy, full of lies! Rhea was the incarnation of lies! And did she ever try, really try, to free herself of Watcher’s curse, to be nursed back to health of mind, body and soul? No! Divine Keba knows! Yes,” Lemek looked at Kheba, his voice shook. “You were with us! You were always true, and ever able and willing to heal… Ah! But Rhea was sister, right? Ha! Damn the bitch! Damn the Watcher’s witch! Tariqah was right to have Rhea immediately out of sight, taken to the uzak-yerde as blight, to rot on spot of rocks and eaten by the birds of hell that yell for such wickd meat? Ha! Why cheat them of such a meal? Surely there was much evil there for them to devour!”

.

Avhnipaala  —  means “of warrior kings;” wife of Metuşelah

Crystalline  —  having the structure and form of a crystal; composed of crystals; lit. very clear

Ether  —  ancient: the upper regions of air beyond the clouds; archaic: a very rarefied and highly elastic substance formerly believed to permeate all space, including the interstices between the particles of matter, and to be the medium whose vibrations constituted light and other electromagnetic radiation; adjective, ethere

Hiero  —  prefix, sacred; holy

Hiero-Güç  —  holy (or sacred) power, strength, force, spirit, etc.

Ruh  —  spirit or divine power; adj. Ruhani, mean.  ethereal, disembodied, unworldly, immaterial

Tariqah  —  Means “morning star; victorious warrior; prosperous:” wife of Lemek

Uzak-Yerde  —  remote place; distanced from community/society

.

.

Note: First illustration, “Dark Angel,” (recast as one of The Watchers) found at Wallpaper Abyss; Second illustration, “Methuselah Syndrome,” (obviously recast as one of the offspring of the Watchers) by Ian Lom as found on Deviant Art; Third illustration, “Black Hair Seductress Serana,” (recast as Rhea) as found on Google Plus Photos

Kheba: Pages From Forgotten Ages III

Stretched out in small pool, filled with water clear and cool, we went about our discussion, the repercussion of which strained my every nerve and tensed every curve of my body … although, oddly enough, there was no complete abdication of relaxation as Kheba braided arm and legs with my own, our bodies half-laid between Metuşelah and Lemek.

“So do you remember Dyēus gave birth to his three daughters, the Tri-Mater?” I gave slight nod of my head, resting upon bed of her bosom. “You know, too, the truly hateful jealousy of Şeytan and his baitful lies and flies of hell he sends round the world, ready always to ring death bell. You remember, too, how Ma’at flew out from the heavenly ether breathed by Dyēus, to slaughter the maggot fodder of the ddiafol; how Şeytan as squirming worm did deceive Havva, who gave the fruit of discernment to Adama to receive without leave from God, who wept at commandment not kept.”

“Yes,” I whispered in subdued alarm as Lemek wrapped strong arm round my shoulders, sitting next to me like deific boulder.

“You remember, too, Kaini ever-so cruel, an human ghoul born of Adama and Havva, after sinister sister, Lilith; how Kaini and Abele struggled ~ brother and brother ~ Kaini murdering his best of kin without rest, till the cries of agony finally ceased for Abele deceased.” My terror and nausea increased at the vivid memory — Kaini so ugly and livid. “And the smiles of Lilith with her cunning wiles, and how she fled miles to the east to feast on kindred beast, where she would be high priest of the newly birthed city of Smriti.”

The hulk of Metuşelah shifted his bulk, sleepily breathed deeply, but entered gracefully into the quiet recounting of such horrid memory. “Yes, and then from black tomb of Lilith’s womb came Kālikā, warrior goddess severing heads and leading the dead, who cast dæmonic spell upon Bast, who then ever-so fast held to blood lust, and especially to suck from the bust of men. Ah, but Kālikā was kicked by Dyēus, tricked into lying with angel Tanrı, who paid the great price and coupled with hideous vice incarnate, so Kālikā bore Parvati, sweet goddess of verdancy and vibrancy.” 

“Ah! But this angered the bitch-witch, Bast, who cast her lot on lush, green plain in hush of life, to build her city out of self-pity!” Kheba practically spit the words out from pit of her stomach, now locked like rock. “Then came her miserable tower of power, for she was hell-bent on reaching back to the halls of Valhalla, where she believed she was meant, though sent away by Dyēus himself for such misuse of so much given her since birth … when she was worth so much more … store of my heart … broke … broke with one stroke of wicked spell from hell.” Ah! Ah! I bolted forward and turned sharply toward her… “Yes, my love. My womb made room for child, and in due time cast forth Bast, my daughter … and I thought like clay, and I the potter. But she was ere so cool, and I the fool!”

“Then came the fire and ice,” Metuşelah spoke with eyes now open, but distant and resistant to all present. “This … this is when I was born and torn from my dying mother by father and brother; and the one who married her never buried her, though his heart bled — Henokh — for he had no time; he led his family quickly ahead of danger to chamber of safety.” He looked at me with blank stare at such grave affair…

“The Watchers had come…”

.

Note:  First Photo, “The Goddess Bridgit: Passion,” by Helen O’Sullivan (Recast Here as Kheba); Second Photo, “Nevada’s Mysterious Cave of the Red-haired Giants,” by Terrence Ayn as found at http://www.beforeitsnews.com (Recast Here as Man Facing the Watchers) 

Kheba: Pages From Forgotten Ages II

“These good people you see have know tragedy and misery,” Kheba continued walking me along the streets, talking about this strange and ancient place, explaining the mysterious story I saw written in every face. “Only two generations ago, the Watchers blew through this city and all her surrounding fields, and practically drowned the people in blood, ground their communal life into dust, and the sound that issued forth was one of the most terrific, horrific cries of fear and pleas for mercy ever heard before or since; the tears were blood, sweat, and bile piled ten miles high.”

Then we rounded another corner, this one bounded by exquisite marble, and spied the two tried and true warrior-heroes: Metuşelah and Lemek, both young and hearty, strong and ruddy, sturdy, rough and tough in demeanor, yet also obviously clever achievers and relievers of their people. And Metuşelah looked barely older than Lemek, which I told her in whisper tone, but the two men seemed to hear as if they were as near as she, and so kindly laughed as to wash away all my fear. Their physique was so sleek and shimmered with enchanting mystique, gazing upon them burned my cheeks and churned my heart; I lowered my face so not to further debase myself. Kheba wove her arm in mine and boldly marched me forward toward these two most handsome demigods.

“These are the two who led the battle against the Watchers, and bled their own blood to save so many knaves against the Fallen Ones, though they had brave friends in the fight, who would not bend their knees or bow their necks to such horrendous sight and blight of evil!” At this Metuşelah and Lemek did slightly bow forward toward Kheba in an authentic attitude of humble gratitude for her laudatory remarks, but themselves would not embark upon their own praises. “This is why grandfather named this man, his son, Metuşelah, meaning ‘he shall bring death,’ and in turn father named this man, his son, Lemek, meaning ‘lamentation;’ for surely did Dyēus foresee the awful lacrimation coming in the fractionation and devastation of this city and whole region, swept over by legions of dæmons, bothers of the Watchers who fathered the Nephilim, whore beasts who made feast on human flesh.”

Metuşelah stoutly stepped out from behind an unadorned woodwork table, and ably embraced me in cultural fashion of greeting, so powerful, upon meeting the welcome stranger, assuring me there was no danger here. And Lemek followed his father, hugging me nearly like brother … perhaps more, to adore. But even this left me nothing less to abhor in the images now running through my mind, like cunning devils to bind my thoughts to stark darkness, which I marked with disgust and determination, insisting on resisting within myself. The playful squeals of children in the background, abounding in cheer, found its way into my soul and helped drive away the drear thoughts brought along by Kheba, though she never sought to depress me nor repress light and joy.

“What is so complexly perplexing and frustrating, leaving us prostrating in prayer, is the continued presence of the Rephaim,” Lemek spoke in smooth baritone voice, choice words in perfect timing, though it would seem I knew nothing of these Rephaim. But with gleam in his eye, Lemek would tell me something, happily leading me inside cool home with small pool filled with clear cool water for refreshing oneself from beat of overwhelming heat; treasured sight for eyes to meet when one felt so torn and over-borne with exhaustion. Lemek bid me enter, as did he, Metuşelah and Kheba … and found it best to rest in quiet for awhile. Then goddess Kheba began to speak again, to pull together what so far I’d gained in knowledge…

.

Metuşelah — In the Hebrew scriptures (Old Testament), one of the ancient patriarchs descended from Adam and his so, too, Seth; also the grandfather of Noah in the biblical narrative; Metuşelah, or Methuselah, is said to have lived for 969 years; also importantly, the name Methuselah comes from two roots: muth, a root that means “death” ; and from shalach, which means “to bring,” or “to send forth.” Thus, the name Methuselah signifies, “his death shall bring.” (Cf. Jones, Alfred, Dictionary of Old Testament Proper Names; Pink, Arthur W., Gleanings in Genesis; Stedman, Ray C., The Beginnings, Word Books.)

Lemek — In the Hebrew scriptures (Old Testament), the son of Metuşelah and father of Noah; Lemek, or Lamech, is said to have lived 777 years; also importantly, the name Lamech, a root still evident today in our own English word, “lament” or “lamentation;” suggests “despairing.” (Koinonia House, Churck Missler, “Meanings Of The Names In Genesis 5,” as accessed October 4, 2015)

The Watchers — “According to the book of I Enoch the watchers were angels who fell from heaven and changed the order of their nature by lusting after and fornicating with women, thus corrupting the sons of men and prompting the great flood… The book of Jubilees affirms the identification of the heavenly watchers, and adds that the watchers violated the law of their ordinances when they lusted after women, their polygamous relationships with women produced monstrous offspring… The Qumran literature contains similar accounts of these watchers.” (G. W. Bromiley, ed. The International Standard Bible Encyclopedia, Volume Four: Q-Z, 1024)

Nephilim — The monstrous offspring of the Watchers; the giants of the land mentioned in the sixth chapter of Genesis in the Hebrew scriptures (Old Testament). Somehow possibly related to the Rephaim?

Rephaim — The Rephaim are known from biblical, Ugaritic, and Phoenician sources. In the Bible two uses of the term are discernible. The first is as Gentilic, referring to a people distinguished by their enormous stature… In its second use Rephaim designates “shades” or “spirits” and serves as a poetic synonym for metim. It thus refers to the inhabitants of the netherworld. This second meaning is also found in Phoenician sources. (Encyclopedia Judaica, “Rephaim,” as accessed October 4, 2015; cf. also Wikipedia, “Rephaite,” as accessed October 4, 2015)

Please Note: Characters, places, events (historical or legendary) have been recast in these poetic narratives. However, end-of-entry descriptions and definitions are valid, being derived from legitimate, trustworthy sources, and offered to the reader for her/his own interest and knowledge. First Photo, “Beware the Watchers,” by  Shadoweddancer; Second Photo, “Warrior,” by illuminatedmind; Third Photo found at www.thetruthnews.com 

Kheba: Pages From Forgotten Ages

“You see them digging canals, working with first crude riggings, farming fields for harvest yields, herding their animals, and girding sacred shrines with flowered shrubs and trees, all of them working like kindred bees,” Kheba pointed to the finely-jointed thousands working without shirking their varied tasks, basking under radiant, Mesopotamian sun, in and around the one great city of ancient Sumeria; with magnificent aria arising as if from earthen angels. “There is no coercion here, and no aversion to labor. Here is Uruk, where each one is neighbor and, though shocked you may be, peace and harmony is not forced by threat of sabre.”

Truly what I saw was beauty in the raw — mundane, but certainly not plain — rain of divine creativity sparked from within early humanity, and all without vanity.

“There is no king, either,” Kheba smiled. “The song the people sing arises from one shared spirit, paired with affection under the protection and direction of Inanna, my sister-companion Cybele, daughter of Father Dyēus.”

In the city now, I felt self-pity and ugly jealousy as I zealously tried to believe what ears and eyes perceived. “Is this true? This hue of golden paradise, or merely some celestial revue? Entertainment of the Jinn for attainment of deific laughter, after which the world will return to its state of decay, churn of dismay, and burn of sin?” I could not help but question with ill-composed facial expression.

Kheba merely laughed at my pathetic suggestion of numinous trickery. “Oh, how I find it humorous that you so bitterly want to disbelieve history largely unknown to you because of your own preconceived notions of humanity, to which you so stubbornly cleave. Or do I misperceive?” She had an attractive glimmer in her eyes, two spies into my heart. “But no, I shouldn’t tease; you’re part is that of student, my love, so be prudent and let your mind be lucent.”

Walking down smooth, stoned streets to the regular, rhythmic beat of hundreds of feet walking amid never-ending talking, while workday went on with ne’er a yawn, I more sensibly inquired, “So it seems they aspired to communism, yet without dogmatism and no need for vulgar populism? No trace of fascism, obviously no vandalism, nor apparently gross masochism? Only egalitarian optimism?”

Kheba actually bent over in guffaw, struggling to draw her breath. “Pshaw! I should claw you raw, little boy, but then I’d have no toy to enjoy; and you play such the magnificent jester, I simply cannot fume and fester… Oh! By the fires of the Abyss and all that’s amiss, truly I love you!” And she laughed again, then calmed to an angelic grin, pulled me close and pressed lips to lips — sweet treat for undeserving man. “Can you not listen to me for sake of learning rather than burning inside always to answer from cancer of your own ignorance? You’re like a dancer in heat but three beats off and always bumbling and stumbling!” After this came yet more laughter… At least Kheba wasn’t angry; she rather found me a feast of comical delight.

“You are now thirty-two hundred years before the world will hear so much of such political musings — all too amusing, really. No, you’re being silly. Even through blurred mental vision, has it never occurred to you that humanity might have had to learn the awful art of suppression, wicked oppression, heinous aggression? Oh, look around you, and like a book keenly read this scene; this is not a perfect community with complete heavenly unity. There are those with more and those with less; those who seem to soar and those who crawl and bawl; most who kindly live, yet some few who brawl. No, my little dove of love, this is not Eden, but she is the Maiden of true Civilization; the occasion for falling from such graceful situation is still centuries in the offing.”

We could see women spinning and weaving, pinning and heaving bundles of cloth; yet some were brewing and others stewing, but all working, none lurking. Between buildings of clay cones and mud bricks, limestone and timber, we strolled seemingly unseen. “There are two men here, father and son, of great feat whom I want you to meet,” Kheba casually spoke. “Metuşelah and Lemek…”

.

Uruk — One of the earliest (known) sizeable cities; by approx. 3100 BCE “Uruk … was vastly bigger than any community that had existed before … anywhere. It was enclosed by a city wall ten kilometers around, and may have had a population of as many as twenty-five thousand.” (Amanda Podany, The Ancient Near East: A Very Short Introduction, 17)

Innana — patron deity and queen of Uruk; “goddess of both love and war, (and) was worshipped in other cities as well, but Uruk was her home.” (Ibid)

Metuşelah — In the Hebrew scriptures (Old Testament), one of the ancient patriarchs descended from Adam and his son, Seth; also the grandfather of Noah in the biblical narrative; Metuşelah, or Methuselah, is said to have lived for 969 years.

Lemek — In the Hebrew scriptures (Old Testament), the son of Metuşelah and father of Noah; Lemek, or Lamech, is said to have lived 777 years.

.

Note: First Photo, “Ishtar, The Goddess Wisdom Cards,” by Jill Fairchild, Regina Schaare & Sandra M. Stanton as found at Land of Goddesses (Recast here as Innana); Second photo, “Mari 5,000 Years Ago, Syria,” by Balage Balogh (Recast here as ancient Uruk)