What Dyēus Gives, Dyēus Shall Prosper

Ma’at Sings Song of Comforting Truth

Do you think Dyēus gives only to waste?
To have you taste in haste your gift,
Where you’ve been placed, only to sift
And shake you down with frown, then rake
You aside ne’er to abide to flourish?

Do you think Dyēus has left you destitute,
To impute to you sin, dilute your life,
And thus refute all good plans for you,
Both small and grand; to have you stand
For judgement on pungent summit of hell?

So you owe a dime to Caesar, and have not
Any time to climb out of debt nor escape
Frightening threat, yet you have now met
Your deadliest foe, and found tis you
From head to toe in the jester’s show.

And do you think that Dyēus does not know,
And even now plot to untie your ugly knot?
Will not your mother God be also brother
And sister, and friend to bend the future
To bless you with success, not distress?

You have fine tomorrows waiting for you
With fine wine of heaven and the bread
Of angels upon which to feast, though you
Be the least of his children, not beast;
Dyēus will care for you, and no one dare
Try to tear you from his arms wrapped
Round you to keep you from every harm.

Amen.

‡

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Song of Ma’at to Gaia

Flames fly higher and higher in tremendous Mystery
In primordial history long forgotten by humanity;
And the chants, dances, incense from dried plants,
And trances beyond the naked eye to spy the reality
Of the numinous, the spirit world wholly unfurled,
~ shocking always, unnerving, swerving undeserving
Soul into netherworld ~ and therein lies worshipping
Of all-too-real realities unknown to most born now,
And how, but by blindness of mind, binding of heart
From the very start; we are incredulous, not sedulous
For care of our own inner person, whether a sinner
Or no; but there were saints who wore sacred paint,
Touched the hem of garments of gods and goddesses,
Reached for the very sun at night with an holy fright,
To see the light of heaven on earth, place of birth,
To join in the mirth of nymphs and sprites and angels
. . . and are we to blame for the dying flame? Who will
Rekindle the burning, churning fire of desire of soul?
Will she come ~ magna Messiam ~ to some or to all
To rescue again from the Fall, stand tall and enthrall,
Offer breast of life to suckle, best of body and blood
As food and drink to pull us back finally from brink
Of foolish self-destruction and induction into an hell
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ of our own making?

Ah! Will flames fly high again in tremendous Mystery
In our history not to be again forgotten by humanity?

Öyle olsun! Öyle olsun! Öyle olsun!

‡

 

Chaos Rising: The Malice of Isfet

Personified hate, I am, bait of the Şeytan,
One and the same, to satiate raging appetite
For anthracite minds and hearts torn apart
By profusion of confusion and dark delusion;
Yes, I laugh and chase, hot on their heels,
And they tire and weary and in pity kneel!

Ha! I am all blood spilled, every battle lost,
All fierce fighting and souls tempest-tossed;
Pity-tears in bottles and every sad sung song,
Humanity’s tossing, turning and every wrong;
Very sun I blackened and never slackened,
Nailed him to wood to make foul Hades’ food!

I had him sold, though Īsā I could not hold,
But I’ve sought his preachers and teachers
And have happily bought many a soul so cold;
Again and again I profane the reign of light
And life and all that’s bright in the sight
Of Dyēus, and against justice of Ma’at I plot.

I am Isfet — division and schism, derision
And all prison-religion — the Serpent who
Strikes at the heel of all those who kneel
And dare to stay to pray and never stray
From duty of beauty nor path of love’s way,
Like bitch Caillína and pretty-witch Sélená!

I am a troll for souls, and prey on strays;
My thrill is to kill, to do whatever I will;
I am the open grave for the foolish knave,
And I save my best treating for the beating
Of children lying and dying in the street,
Of the elders who shriek and reek of death.

One of my special hobbies is in the lobbies
Of the corporations of the powerful nations,
Leading businessmen into feeding frenzies
Of greed for more of what they do not need,
While millions starve in the global pillion
And very few care to repair my damage done.

I am the staph of humanity — what a laugh —
Now close your ears and eyes again; hear not,
See not, for I’m really not here … am I?

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Note: “Apophis the Destroyer” by Genzoman

Ma’at and the Third Dawning, Part II

Warm, rich cream suckled with placid dreams dreamed
Seemed best celestial fantasy, pressed against breast
Of Ma’at as I sought to fall back into sweet sleep;
“You don’t pretend to be other than mortal but spend
Of your passion freely, and all in an honest humility.
You remind me of kind simplicity and authenticity.”

Awakening was like shaking me back into quaking truth
Of horrors of impending doom, bending the far horizon,
Tending toward the ending of all without comprehending
Unrelenting judgment to come upon everyone, not some;
And so my tears flowed freely, clearly showed sadness,
And owed nothing to pride, as scented breeze blowed.

“Why such blight, my love, after such an awesome night?
Do you not remember the sight and sound of goodness
In the city; the pretty girl, shop keeper, street sweeper?
My dear, don’t be so drear. Goodness never lies nor dies;
But every new dawning is the purging for the emerging
Of another new world; queue for what is pure and true.”

Still it sounded like a curse to be poured from the purse
Of Dyēus — this coming dawn — “and so you’re now drawn
To asking what will be with no masking the coming dashing
Of the Second World in which you survive but do not live?
So I will tell you, but only in part in care for your heart.
But know what I show is in the flow of time, and will grow
Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ   Into another world aglow with life.”

So I waited with bated breath as she walked over the floor
Toward golden door, turned and stared across the space,
Looked with serious face and began to speak at eerie pace:
“Nations will fall and leaders crawl; the rich will pitch
For sale their bodies and souls, like witches and bitches;
Corporations will tumble, crumble with no more to whore.”

“Ice will melt by the diffusion of pollution, and be felt
Over the earth by rising tides that will preside ore floods
Of ocean blood; fields will dry and millions cry for meals,
Even peels of fruit, bit-pieces of an eel, or bark of abeles;
Disease will spread with nothing to ease the dying in bed;
And the fall of man will come like the blowing harmattan.”

Ma’at still stared straight into my open eyes with no lies,
And continued with sinewed voice: “Some will band together
Under the command of one strong, to whom the weak throng;
So clans will arise to claim whatever prize they may find
Upon the rind of decaying earth, for whatever it’s worth;
Ah! but after this comes the new birth, see; the new earth!”

Overwhelmed at what was coming, and what I was becoming,
What could I do but cross the space and embrace Ma’at?

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Ma’at and the Third Dawning

“‘Red skies at night, sailors’ delight; red skies in the morning, sailors’ warning,’
So speaks the wisdom of sky and sea,” Ma’at grabbed my waist band with strong hand;
“The far horizon is dizened rouge, my love, and it is morning, so this is a warning
For all who can see,” then she looked at me. “Are you blind, or can this you find?”
But I missed the intent of her query so remained content in silence, and to relent
To words wizened through the eons, prepared to offer my paean to the Aegean goddess.

“Do you remember the tower of power, Maftet showed you? Frozen for the ill-chosen?”
My head nodded as Ma’at led me out onto the balcony. “It was agony for this world,
But that was the Second Dawning you saw, slowly yawning; Dyēus turned celestial page
And so began another age, this age whose page is now full-worn and ready to be torn.”
My face was forlorn, “The prophets of doom and gloom are right, the end is in sight?”
Ma’at smiled, “No, the sun sets on this age for another world begun, heavenly spun.”

Why, then, warning of the red dawn morning? Unfurled, what would be this new world?
“Alarming, isn’t it?” Ma’at intoned as she hurled me once more thru space and time;
“Trace the lines of history and you find much misery, yet too much good and true.”
An ancient room now, fragrant with incense and dense with myriad flowers and trees,
And birds and bees; royally furnished with gold, silver and bright burnished wood;
“My honeycomb home!” she wildly laughed; I mildly smiled. “Your home, too, my child.”

Beauty astounding, resounding with echoes of another sphere and me merely human;
“From here you will see,” Ma’at still laughed at the thrill of it all; I felt so small;
An unearthly chill ran down my spine, but with ever goodwill she said, “I will fulfill
And kill your burning curiosity, and calm the churning of your quivering soul.”
With practiced sly-skill she led me into another chamber with obviously no danger;
“Here is an ember from the timber of the first tree,” showing me the glowing rock.

“This ember will the three mothers ~ Sélená, Cybele and Kheba, treble sisters terrible
In power ~ take and cast into everlasting sun, then shall the new world have begun.
And this will be the Third Dawning, but not yawning as the Second; no, this will come
In quick flight, in fright and terror; as bearer of destruction and reconstruction.”
My head shook dismayed as I prayed; “But my vision was not of apocalyptic collision
Or damnation and mutation! There was beauty and wonder, no cruelty or plunder!”

“Ah, my child, you’ve always heard the calm before the storm, but really the balm
Is the storm before the calm.” Ma’at gently stroked my pale face with trace of love;
“Brace yourself for the vase to be out-poured upon the earth; embrace all grace
Offered by heaven to leaven your life without strife; you’ve only seen in small part,
Like the false prophets, as if dimly through glass, but they’re crass, cunning asses!
You are true, though oh-so imperfect, and have found profound favor with Sélená.”

“There is here much to see, so be brave not knave,” Ma’at spoke firmly with poke
To my chest for me to be my best. “But not yet; you are tired and beset with worry;
Lie down here next to me, and drown yourself inside my gown, flesh to fresh flesh.”

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Note: Second picture 19th century print of the Interior of an Ancient Egyptian Palace by Charpentier — Image by Gianni Dagli

Ma’at and the Pyramid of Truth, Part IV

Through mist and bogs, and numinous fogs
Ma’at led me from rattle of recent battle
And prattle of lies to the city of Seattle,
Again donned for place in this space of time;
Regained my composure with closure of lips
Upon lips, tightly pulling us hips to hips.

“I want to show you this, so you will know,
And grow more in maturity, wisdom, purity
And self-surety; for there is no need here
To end your life to end your strife, love;
For in the Abyss there is no peace and bliss,
But greater pain, famine; you’d be a gamin.”

“Look here through this drear avenue window,
And what do you see?” Obeying, I cut a glance
Through the smut covered glass and saw a lass,
Curled alone in the corner of a gloomy room,
Holding her doll like some sacred shawl, crying;
“She has no papa to care, to bear her life.”

Tears rolled down my face; I thought I’d drown
In sadness; “And mama works through the trauma,
And cannot stand the demands she understands
In caring for this child, so mild, so innocent;
Can you see, dear man, that you can be father
To one of these; to fill and please their hearts?”

Another twist and twirl, hurl from place to place,
And we were on a sidewalk, busy and loud with talk;
“Do you see the street urchin, no shoes for feet,
who’s been beaten, cheated, and ere so mistreated?”
I nodded, prodded, “Has the child no where to go?”
“Maybe a father to gather and slather him with love?”

Yelling loud, obnoxious, from proud-suited, ugly man;
Young lass, head hung, silent tongue, clearly stung:
“How damn stupid can you be? You see I’m slam busy!
I don’t have time to look for you in some pop-shop!
No damn brain, you drain me, and strain my nerves!”
Father, yes; papa, no. “Do you see what you can be?”

Ma’at wrapped me in her strong arms, free from alarm,
And gently whispered intently, “You have been freed
To meet great need, my love; for there are so many
And any would be thrilled to have your warm affection,
And projection of love in real relational connection;
Rejected by your own, you have not been thrown away!”

Another kiss and tighter squeeze to ease my heart pain;
“You are flowing along the third stream, and growing,
Not blown off course, but shown new ways for new days;
Remember long ago, I told you this is the Third Dawning;
Ah! yes, you remember the December night dream-vision…
You are interlaced with grace that flows at peaceful pace.”

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Ma’at and the Pyramid of Truth, Part III

Cars sped down Main Street, leaving rubber scars on asphalt wearing under the tearing of the inexplicable race of people who had no ability, or sense, to better pace themselves for the sake of their own health and well-being, apparently not seeing the destruction of such flurry and hurry upon themselves as well as others. Ma’at leaned close as she screened the pointless madness and carefully preened her boy-love appropriately for such reckless scene.

She, too, was dressed for the time and scene, and I was no less impressed. Ma’at was overwhelming in magnificence with no need for extravagance nor any grandiloquence; she could simple be and anyone could clearly see her stunning beauty. “Ah, look!” She pointed to an elderly Greek priest, so obviously humble and meek. “Theophilus, venerable Theophilus! Old now but never cold; his name means ‘lover of God,’ and thus his claim to local fame, but he could just as well be named Faroqh, meaning ‘truth,’ for above all he loves Dyēus of truth and love, yet in all truth Theophilus loves love above all, for truth and love call to one another, and bind themselves together in unbreakable bond in Dyēus. And so this is Theophilus, truly heaven-sent, now bent with age, this wizened sage.”

Walking deliberately with careful gait, Father Theophilus did not long wait at the thick-wooden, double doors to step inside onto sheen marble floor of the gold-domed building with sharp cross atop that seemed to prop the very sky. “Yes, my pup, you would do well to drink of his cup, for he learned long ago to walk the Noble Path in sacred silence, with talk of only what is sound and pure, profound and sure. But in learning the burning pain of this world, he was enlightened to the truth that these clouds of pain are what give rain of joy.”

She wove her arm in my arm, and talked while we walked. “And in dispossessing himself of all, he found himself in possession of all, and so in dying to the lying of worldly pleasure, he was reborn to adorn the world with heavenly treasure. And so in him death took its last breath, which freed him from the endless cycle of futility to live forever in happy humility, and more, to live to give grace in every case and place to every face. In this, he travelled further along the Noble Road toward celestial abode, though Buddha of long ago, flowed freely, and showed in his day the higher way, and glowed with radiance without variance of truth.” We continued walking down the side walk, bustling with people hustling here and there and everywhere but seemingly nowhere, past a pair of drunks sharing a park bench with stench of alcohol.  “There is trouble everywhere; you don’t live in a bubble… What would Lao Tzu do here and now, and how?” Question. Hesitation.

“Did not Maftet show you the tower built for power, sitting in the blow of snow and ice, place of all evil and vice?” I nodded. “Look around you; here is a profusion of towers of confusion, and what would Jesú say today? The might of light penetrates the darkness, which cannot harness its brightness. And for all the people scurrying and hurrying in and out, about their business worries, those buildings loom large in the city like empty tombs. But watch! There is an intricate nautch of goodness, flowing throughout the frenzied madness, celestial dance envied by angels. The old woman selling her flowers is herself a tower of joy, and the boy with the papers, too. The middle-aged man opening his bistro is a veritable maestro of  generosity and honesty, as well as the street sweep, who keeps in his heart more gold than the old banks along these streets so replete with greed. And look at the little girl meeting the need of the homeless man; she’s not rich like the bitch passing by with irritated sigh. That small angel is giving in silence her whole allowance today, what she was going to use to pay for a tea-party tray. She comes from a healthy family, though by no means wealthy. She simply loves and gives because that’s how she’s been taught to live, brought up in the way of virtue from day to day.”

Ma’at turned me to the right, holding me tight. “And look there at the precious boy with golden hair. They call him cripple, but I tell you he stands tall and walks through life with longer strides, stronger than most anyone with legs that hurry and scurry. He has no money at all to give, like the angel-girl, but he can hurl more treasure from the depth of his soul with pleasure, blessing all life around, even the least of beast, with yeast of kindness and hope, mildness and wide scope of happiness that drives away all loneliness.” Her eyes were sparkling and dancing as she turned me to face her again. “You see! Don’t be so sad! Yes, there is bad in the world and you see it abound all around you, but if you’re not careful you’ll miss the bliss of heaven that leavens even this district that evil would otherwise constrict. Look around you, and you’ll see goodness in bloom and plenty of room for more; only open the door of your heart, my love, and let it flow like a river of silver and gold of untold worth … all you were given from birth.”

One long, strong kiss and … home again.

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Note: First image from http://www.pixshark.com; second image from awakeningthegoddesswithin.net

Ma’at and the Pyramid of Truth, Part II

“Tell me, little man, is there reason for any season of joy for the poverty-stricken? Especially in the face of those who sicken with their greed and insatiable need for more and more material wealth, and rule the nations with imperial stealth, hiding behind corporation names, playing their economic games? At least in ancient days their ways were more open and honest; Pharaohs and Caesars had their barrows pushed through narrow streets of town and village for silver and gold to support the crown. They offered no apology for their gross ethnology; in their warped cosmology, they declared themselves incarnate gods … not frauds nor even flawed.” Ma’at held me by her side, tied by her arm, gazing out at distant pyramid amid dust and sand.

“Yes, there are far different kinds of darkness, surprising as that may seem, comprising an oxymoronic reality, but really rather banal, not surprising,” she looked at me and slightly smiled, lightly ran fingers down my back. “There is honest darkness, born of pride and ignorance, kept in stride by fools who rule with iron hand, and demand complete submission from their whole population … yet their reign is very plain, nothing to feign … or so it was so long ago, where you really rather belong.” Shocked look; balk at her talk; nonsense. Ma’at laughed. “Maftet already told you, you cannot hold your thoughts inside; they slide out of your mind as easily as your mouth; you cannot bind them from me, you see… But, yes, my dear, your heart and soul are near the days of ancient ways far more than this … this world of covert worlds where empowered cowards so overtly rule, but from behind masks to perform their tasks of cruelty with incredulity.”

She turned and pressed me close to her breasts, and with sweet incense-breath, eyes to eyes where there’d be no lies, asked, “What would you rather: Genghis Khan of fearsome scourge, undaunted courage and physical brawn, who at least showed mercy to those who cowered and bowed in his presence and agreed to pay him obeisance? Or the suit-and-tie executive, who’ll not sully his hands when he can bully-by-hire, and lynch by his henchmen; who abides in tall towers and hides in lush office with plush furnishings?” Hands at the side of my head now fed with more truth; fingers gently brushing back my hair with fair look — sympathetic, empathetic. “As I told you before, though, all is not bad; all is not sad. Your heart is so tender for your gender, but that’s your splendor. So you need uplifting by shifting of our focus, am I right? Of course,” she laughed. “Yes, in the sight of truth, I’m right; that’ my greatest might … so I’ll comfort you like lover to succor your soul.”

Ma’at sat down, gave playful pat, and pulled me into her lap, resting my head upon the boulder of her shoulder. Sky hole with swirling clouds again appeared, twirling through the world till we neared some poor scene of huts and hovels, mutts and smuts; scarcity of food and crude-dressed people. Among this rabble and all the babble two foreigners stood… “You know of these two; their names and faces have won acclaim round the globe as they travel in charity, and live to give.” My head nodded in recognition and appreciation. “They provide food and clothing without loathing; proposing better plans for farming without harming the earth; building homes and schools, supplying tools; constructing streams and pools of clean water for mothers, fathers, sons and daughters. They help and adorn without scorn, for they have borne the responsibility of their blessed ability to do so much more than merely score another profit on the harlot market.” I smiled somewhat wild with joy. It couldn’t be helped or held back; it was like an attack of happiness overcoming my sadness.

“You see, my dove, there is still love in the world; yet, too, you must know the world has changed, been rearranged by strange dæmonic mange. There was in ancient times when right was right, and wrong was wrong, and ne’er a song was otherwise sung. Now so much has been turned inside out and upside down, where wrong is right, and right is wrong, and the song sung is discordant and mordant.” Instinctively, very distinctively, my arms tightened round Ma’at and would not lighten the grip. “Ah, my child-lover, hover here and don’t despair; send evil Moros back into the air! There is hope in the world — have you not been shown? have you not known? — and selfless Elpis visits especially the destitute and poor to shore up their spirits within the limits of their lives, minute by minute … and most of them are really not torn and so forlorn as you might think! At what seems to you the brink of despondency they drink from a cup of peace of which the rich know nothing!”

“Then all is not lost in the wicked frost that covers our world?”

“No, my dear, and that I will show you…”

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Note: First image from goddessofthemonth.mystaiofthemoon.com; second image of Ma’at from www.ravenmoondesigns.deviantart.com

Ma’at and the Pyramid of Truth

“Stinking, aristocratic snobs! Dogmatic fanatic jerks with all their quirks! I’ll gash them and smash them against the stones of the pyramids!” Ma’at railed in rage as angels wailed and begged for mercy in pity of humanity. But this was not all of humanity; just those caught up in extreme vanity and the insanity of believing they were better and higher than so many others, but Ma’at knew they were liars — to themselves and everyone else — and this is what angered her and endangered their lives.

Maftet had left me in the keep of Ma’at, like a little sheep, only moments before, or so it seemed. Now I was on the floor, or something like a floor, with no door in sight and pitch like night, except round the goddess of light and truth, justice and holy custom. And Ma’at looked into … something. Crystal ball? No! Nothing so silly! Cauldron? Certainly not! She wore no witches hat; Ma’at was much grander than that! It was like a piece of the sky with clouds flying around the edges. Yes, she was peering clearly through the heavens, leering at arrogant asses and their prideful passes.

“Because they have more silver and gold, they’re bold and so uncouth as they sleuth through life.” Ma’at glanced at me, and she pierced my soul with her eyes so wise. “Look at how they smile a mile wide, and slide back and forth as they glide around one another just waiting for an opportunity to stab and steal with complete impunity. Is there any unity in their community? Ha! Community of thieves! And they believe they can deceive and ne’er receive penalty for their iniquity? Ha! Fools! My sword drools for their blood!”

I’d never had any love for the wealthy with such unhealthy opinions, thinking themselves so mighty when they were, in fact, only minions of their money, blinking idiots who could buy knowledge they never learned nor earned. Still, the wrath of Ma’at sent chills down my spine in fine waves of fear and even some pity for the bitty-knaves. “Is there no other way?” I dared to ask “Can’t they be turned instead of everlastingly burned?” And quickly I added “Please, don’t be angry with me, but kindly put my mind at ease and appease my curiosity.”

Ma’at laughed much like Maftet — kind but not blind to my ignorance — and spoke with voice to prod and poke: “Do you ask mercy for the merciless? Shed tear for the uncaring, my dear? Would you rather they continue to rob and steal from the earth and poor every sumptuous meal? Continue the expansion of their mansions built on lust and greed that leads so many to dust and ashes as they plead for their very lives? When did you become the great defender of such grotesque pretenders?”

Suddenly the room, though not exactly a room, lightly glistened with beautiful hue of soft blue as I listened. “There was One, who taught you to show mercy to the unmerciful, I know full well. He rang the mighty bell of truth, of which I am the face and voice, and laced this with the grace of Dyēus. Yes! And you’ll not hear me lament one precious word of statement he uttered in the clutter of this diseased and dying world. But truth and justice unfurled is my appointment; to be the ointment of the fearsome holy upon all stages of this world till the end of the ages… Now let’s begin again, my love, and look at the brook of sin they cross as they toss mere crumbs to the poor.”

And it was true; Ma’at was right: The blight of poverty, the sight of spoiled earth, nations embroiled in war … all for love of money, like bees for their honey. “Make no mistake; there are the wealthy who use what they’ve been given in healthy ways. They do not abuse, but take their responsibility very deliberately. They are sensible and charitable; prudent but always for the improvement of others, as sisters and brothers. And the world into which they were born, they adorn with goodness in gratitude, so the latitude of their blessings is, indeed, very wide. But on the other side evil abides, as the seed of greed grows into thorns and thistles that cannot adorn anything, but leaves those quite empty and forlorn.” Her tan-gold skin shimmered, brown eyes glimmered, and she smiled. “This is all like the pyramid: Every word, heard and unheard; every crook and look; every event perfectly planned and damned; every thought and each item bought … all, everything, like stone upon stone angled-rising to the pinnacle of truth … the truth of life.”

Hmmm … I thought I understood, but this pyramid seemed somehow upside down, but perhaps I would learn more…

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Note: first image of Ma’at from http://www.pixshark.com; second from http://www.thecrystalgatewy.org

Maftet: Lessons Along the Nile, Part IV

Up from the river again, this time with shiver of cold and hold on Maftet, who quickly threw over me thick shawl to guard from squall in this barren, rugged land of dearth and famine. But here was where? I wondered against tear of fierce wind that seemed to pierce even through heavy cloth like swath made by cruel, icy scythe, so deadly and I so unsteady on my feet and knees, about to freeze.

I saw Maftet stoop for one then the other foot to slip on boot, lushly soft and warm against the storm with treacherous blow of snow. And then she girdled me with kilt like thick quilt out of nothing, but something. From where thick shawl, soft but rugged boots, and quilted kilt? Did she knit from whit of snow? Ah, but I would never know! I was warm, anyway, so why complain; Maftet made the pain of biting cold leave without reprieve.

“So prettily dressed now!” She laughed. “I’m impressed, if I do say so myself, but keep close by my side, precious bride; you’ll get lost in the frost.” Maftet smiled and winked at her trinket. “And, of course, you want to know where we are? Not far from where we were; look there! The river still flows below ice so nicely packed on surface. Careful in your pace, and we’ll cross the space to the other side to make our stride forth to the north.”

I dared not ask why north as we made our way that day along her chosen path alongside the frozen Nile.

“Much-spilled blood brought flood; excessive vice brought ice,” she intoned in manner that chilled me to the bone. So this is the age of ice? But what to see here in world of fear? Or learn in burn of frozen wind and churn of snow above and below? “Not far now and you’ll spy the tower high; built toward heaven for eleven years with sweat and tears and curses that reached the ears of Dyēus.”

Babel?

“Babel in Bubastis, yes,” she smiled and licked her lips, pulling at my hips. “Yes … confused and frozen for the ill-chosen, my love. Judgment from above to lay low the billow of Şeytan; to cleanse the rash of brash ddiafol with lash of wind; to bend down dæmonic pride and keep humanity in stride with humility and gracious tranquility.” Maftet pulled me tight. “You’re fright is right, but don’t fight the feeling, or you’re sealing your own fate; do not sedate yourself to what awaits.” She kissed my eyes to make me wise … or at least to loose the ties of lies. How could I know? I only returned the kiss below her neck, between her breasts in willing obeisance.

“So the tower was built in Bubastis? Not by the rabble of Babel?”

“Conflation of stories, my dear; the dilation of one and inhalation of the other. Not strange across the range of time, but first Bubastis!” She burst into laughter. “Then the tower built for power by the unmeek weak… Don’t you think?” She nodded then and prodded me forward. At her insistence I looked in the distance, and there lay crystalline city in beclouded day, sinister in this endless winter. And tower tall, unfinished, unblemished yet ready to fall.

“Bast built this city, named for herself in pity, and all for tall tower after she was cast forth from what some call the halls of Valhalla.” Heaven? Another smile, sideway glance to lance my spirit. “Yes and no, my love; but one of the heavens low. There is more than one, you know. Or do you now forget even what you knew before you blew into that room of gloom … before I craved and saved you?” Light laughter from my master.

“So she thought to bridge the gap twixt ridge of earth and low-heaven?”

“And bought the souls of cast and crew to do her bidding in building city and tower so high to sky, yes. But what is built so falsely is so easily blundered and torn asunder. Besides, lies always lead to profusion of confusion; is it any wonder, then, there are so many tongues flung throughout the earth, languages old and young? Breakdown in communication between kingdom and nation and every station of humanity? Even the least beast can better commune than man!”

“Can we explore and see more?”

“No!” Maftet wildly shook her head with look of dread. “Never here, not now; not even to walk through open gate to satiate curiosity. “No, my love. This is but a frozen cove of evil, where dæmons rove after God drove them, too, from the halls of Valhalla. And long will it be ere they wind their way elsewhere to roam and find some other home. But now, in this time, there is only chime of hell in distant city, resistant to all good and fair and mild, my child.”

“Then why are we here in this place so drear?” I burst in anger despite the danger. But Maftet only embraced and interlaced me with arms and legs, and wept as she kept me in her hold.

“As it has been told, this is the mold of your misery in the history of humanity. You have to see what some have become; I’m showing you the fissions and divisions that cause so much pain. Isn’t that plain enough, my love? This ice will melt and Spring will come and bring new life … but for how long? Does goodness belong in this world, and the angels’ song? We shall see, won’t we?”

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Note: image of Maftet from http://oktruebelievers.com/exhibitors; image of frozen tower from http://kevinmeek.com/mwo