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"Mysteries of the Seasons"


Text from the book of Poetry

SUN'S CALENDAR
A Book of Hours
& the Ancient of Days

"Spring of Fire"

From Stillness

Springs the spark of all beginnings
From Sun sifting down to rest
on quenchless forests & meadows & mountains
Breathing light into life's limitless seeds
growing, bursting through matter & flesh
into color and consciousness
The adder, the hydra, the lion, the dolphin
the golden rose, the redwood, every woman and son
All drinking from the self-same stream
spiraling up as ceaselessly descending
from sunrise to dusk to dawn

As all around


The sphere of fire fills earth
bright shaft to descent
luminescence to nimbus
water to flowers
humanity to renewal
liquid to life to sky


From the book of poetry


THE EYE OF EROS

"The Conscience of Love"

She kisses me fully on the lips
with words never spoken yet warmly sent & sensed
For I feel her in every oak & willow I pass
in the pause between every breath and breeze
with every step on these forest trails we so often shared
in distant days gone by
Her presence encompasses all that I see
from swarming cloud and rain
to lightning flash vision
Defining the limits of my suffering
the fullness of my joy
Inciting grand instauration
with all things expressed in her silent song
which consecrates the surrounding Spring
and brings the light of love to dying days


From the Book of Poetry

TO SYBIL OF THE SUN

Turn a spirit ear toward the sun
Sound out vestiges of ancient race and time
Enter vestibule of Stone face
Guardian of Night's nave and vernal Temple
where timbrel soundings from the Fool
Turn around the Child
whose articulate eye fashions castles from sand
and whispers with the haunt of white vespers
Hollow hosannas which are the wishings
of his budding eyes

Phoenix gleam in his flaming red hair
White fingers
articulating arpeggios of the Lily
which line in millions
the stairway to the Stars




From the Children's Novel

THE KEY, THE BOOK & THE MOUNTAIN



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MINARET DE MER

On the edge of Fire & rain,
On the border of Sun & storm,
There lies the golden
Minaret de Mer
(Which the holy Seekahs of Anashator
call the Gate of Mercy)
A place where all the Elements are in a state
of eternal war.
Here love and pain never cease to struggle.
Here minds are tested, be they brilliant or bloody.
Here hearts are weighed, be they feathery
or made of lead or stone.

And here the old King Sea-Serpent
guards the golden minaret
and the Princess Firecloud
who is held prisoner within.


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From the Book

SHADOWS OF THE MASK


    "Enter my lie," he implored me.
    "Help me reveal the great Secret," he pleaded.
    "Peel back the layers. Pull off my turgid skin. Help me shed this mask, these vast deceptions which shroud the Snake-man I truly am; alternately impulsive, constrained, contorted, before the hidden beauties of life & death.
    Look at my fear & madness, and try to see your own embedded deeply within.
    Help me describe my lie. For there you will find your own, posed as a demanding job or lover or nation, lying at the foot of your bed, a sterile box of metal and glass, posturing like an alluring odalisque, plugged into the wall eating invisible atoms and dead black animals, projecting wishes unfulfilled, crumbling on the road, dying on nearest forest's floor.
    See it before you. A lake of fears, Streaming illusions. A hungry hole that devours your every step.
    Once we were a singular thing, like a sentient stone, of smooth, luminous flesh; wed in time to a dark mask, a shroud that compresses every desire into seed.
    Phantom seeds that fill unseen millennia.
    Feel it all through this my wound which seethes in anger, lost love & self-pity.
    Mark my ascension which will be built upon this singular yet time bound descent (and thus shared by every woman and son, as it is the odyssey of our touchless souls).
    Reach into the darkness with me, to reemerge in agonizing ecstasy from this death-wed womb (as watch hands haunt me, ever reshape me in the image of something new).
    Mark these my inimitable acts which bear every being’s name.
    One invaluable breath with countless heaves I give.
    Weighty truths I offer you, I, the Prophet of Oblivion.
    Aspiration, struggle, perspiration I offer, mixed with Ocean’s tide.
    Salty tears flowing indistinguishable from blood.
    Countless loves turned to longing passion.
    The anticipation of annihilation & refulgent Union in the black Light of Midnight ...
    Until all things are done and then undone ...”

    Thus did I consent. Thus will I testify in his name (be he Snake-man, madman, or anointed Savior ...)
    This I promised him, as I must in all conscience promise myself, if I ever wish to be true to myself and someday save my own soul.
    In the name of the Sign of the Serpent, the Dove, the Hawk, the Poetess, the Star, the dog, the missile, the worm, the Mountain, and the nameless One beyond.



From the Book of Poetry

FIVE MASKS OF THE SUN

So the Face of Flame
of Obscuration and Revelation Proclaims

Scatter your seed across the winds
like blazing eyes which span the thoughts of countless days
Gather green buds and Spring blossoms
then convert them into rain & snow & dark reflections
Compare them
Unite them
with the troubling doubts and yearnings of youth
that warm, inexorable pulse
trembling, wishing for deliverance
Weave blank assertions into passionate hunger
wrapping crone's shawl round crag and cranny
of stone face climbing to the Sun
Weep with the untold sufferers
who desire but their dissolution
Sing the joyous songs of man
Dance with the Daughters of Earth
as they feed the soul with the fire of their flesh
Laugh with the ecstatic dancer
whose proud spine & twisting limbs
bend and spin like a leaf in the breeze
Lifting your thoughts to the illimitable Sun


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From the Children's Book

MORGAN'S MAGIC OBOE

"The Legend of Finn Fingall"

    Finn Fingall was a simple shepherd. Like most shepherds, he had a love of music, green meadows and pretty girls. But for Finn, there was only one girl he could truly love. She had long golden hair, big blue eyes, and rose red lips. And she was known in their village as the Miller's daughter.
Unfortunately, the Millers' daughter did not love Finn. She never even noticed him when he was near. There seemed only one way in which Finn might win her love: through The Grand Brigita Music Festival.
    Every five years, the country's finest musicians met in the village for a competition. It decided the best music-maker in all of England. The winner received three gold coins, ten sheep and, most importantly, the admiration of every man and woman across the land.
Finn was already known as a good musician. No sheperd in the county was a beter piper. His music was said to be sweet enough to lull crying babies to sleep. But this was not good enough for Finn. He had to be even better. He had to be the best of the best. To do this, he would have to make himself a new flute. And to make the best flute he needed to cut wood from the Kingdom's mightiest tree. And he, like everyone else in Brigita, knew which tree that must be.
    It was the Oak that stood atop Primrose Hill. It was known by locals as the Oak Tree of Danu-Kali. There was only one problem. This ancient Oak was protected by Faery folk; at least that is what everyone in the village believed. It was said to be the Faeries' sacred tree. Thus there must be great magic in the Oak of Danu-kali. Villagers believed that harming the tree could cost you your life. No man or woman would walk within a hundred yards of the tree.
But for Finn it seemed the only way.
    So one moonless night, Finn went to the Oak Tree of Danu-kali. When he reached the oak, all was calm. All he could hear was the throb of crickets and the whispering of the wind. All seemed safe. No creature could be seen. Thus he reached up to the tree and broke off a branch. As he walked away from the oak he breathed a sigh of relief. All seemed safe. All seemed secure.
    But then, out of nowhere, clouds appeared and the wind began to savagely blow. The meadow filled with a thousand flashing lights. The lights darted like dragonflies, yet seemed to possess tiny human faces and and hands and feet. The lights spun around him. They spiraled in a thousand glowing rings.
Surrounded by the lights, Finn stopped dead in his tracks. He became filled with fear. Once stopped, another larger light appeared before him. Slowly the light dimmed, and took human form. But what appeared was no ordinary man. For he was no taller than an infant. What's more, he had a pair of pale purple wings growing from his back. He wore a glittering green coat and a jeweled crown on his head. His hair and skin glowed golden like the sun. At once Finn knew who this must be. It was none other than Oberon, the King of all Faery.
    There was anger in his face and fire in his eyes when Oberon spoke.
    "What are you doing here foolish mortal? Don't you know this is Faery time and Faery space? Why have you touched our sacred tree?"
Finn thought he would surely be struck down by lightning, or swallowed up by the hungry earth.
    With trembling voice he replied, "my Lord, I meant no harm. I intended no disrespect. I wanted but the smallest branch of the tree. From that golden bough I wished to make the most beautiful instrument in the world. Upon such an instrument I could create the most beautiful music in the world. Then I could win the most beautiful woman in the world, the Miller's daughter of the village Brigita. I love this woman more than my life. Forgive me my errors, my Lord. But everything I did was in the name of music and love."
    Upon hearing this, Oberon's face softened.
In a mild voice he said, "fortunate mortal, your foolish innocence may be your salvation. You have unwittingly said the magic words: love and music. For there is nothing as important to the Faery as music and love. Thus in the name of these celestial powers I will spare your life. But penance for your transgression must be paid. You must help the Faery in our work. There is no other way."




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                                                                                                                     "Morgan & Gloriana"

     That night Morgan fell asleep with a big smile on her face, the thought of her new oboe warming her heart.
Upon touching her pillow,Morgan found herself floating in space. When she looked down she saw a silver floor beneath her feet. When she looked up, she saw a silver sail, a full moon and starry skies overhead. At last Morgan realized that she was gliding through the air in a grand silver ship, its mast made of diamonds, its sails embroidered in threads of gold.
She gazed down upon the ground below. In the distance, she saw a milky sea that stretched to the horizon. On the edge of the sea lay a green meadow. In the middle of the meadow stood a glorious tree which glittered in the moonlight.
     Morgan's ship landed at the foot of the tree. Morgan looked from the tree to the ocean. On the edge of the ocean the sea began to swell. Slowly, a shining creature emerged from the waves and foam. Arising from the sea was a beautiful woman, who had gleaming silver hair and ivory skin. She wore a crystal gown which sparkled under the dove-white moon. As the woman approached Morgan and the tree, her gown left streams of tiny stars in its wake. A hundred sea birds flew in rings above the woman's head. When the woman reached the tree, Morgan knelt down before her. Thinking she must be some powerful goddess, Morgan was too overwhelmed to move.
     At last the woman spoke.
     In a voice as sweet as sugar she said, "arise my child. You, dear Morgan, have no reason to fear me."
     "You know who I am?" asked Morgan in surprise.
     "Of course. I have kept a close eye on you all your life, as I do with all descendents of Finn Fingall. My husband, Lord Oberon, has spoken of you many times."
     As soon as she heard this, Morgan knew who this wondrous woman must be.
     "Forgive me, Queen Gloriana," she said as she curtsied. "I did not recognize you at first."
     "It is understandable, my child. We have never met face to face. Moreover, I look a little different every night. Everyone who gazes upon me sees me differently."
     "There is something that confuses me, your Highness," said Morgan. "As Queen of Faeries I thought you lived in the forest, not in the sea."
     “It is true that I usually live in the forest,” Gloriana nodded. “But I was born in the sea, many ages ago. I often return there at night to sleep. Or I travel to the ocean of stars above to dream my dreams.”
     “Oh, that seems like a most pleasant place to sleep and dream.”
     “Indeed it is. And from there I can see anyone or anything I want to see.”
     “If you please, your Highness, could you tell me if this tree is a sacred Faery tree?”
     “Yes it is, child. We call her Old Grand Mother U.”
     “So is she related to Grand Father A Tree?”
     “In a manner of speaking, she is. This sacred tree is the mother of all Yew trees.”
     “She must be very old then,” Morgan said.
     “Yes, she is most ancient.”
     “And does she sing too, like Father Apple Tree?”
     “Of course. That is, if you have the ears to hear. In fact, I will leave you now so you may sit with Mother Yew Tree and listen to her song. I am glad to see you brought your oboe with you this time.”
     Though Morgan could not remember bringing her oboe, sure enough, she looked down and saw it in her hand. When she looked up she found Gloriana floating in the air.
     With a wave of her hand, the Queen said, “farewell Morgan. I am glad we finally met face to face. Just listen to my special friends, the Owl, the Yew and the snowy Dove, and you will learn all that you need to know. Just open your heart, then listen and learn.”
     With that, Gloriana floated away in a stream of sea green light.
     Left alone, Morgan looked to Grand Mother U Tree. She sat at the foot of the silver tree in a chair of soft moss and grass. As she sat, an Owl and Dove flew into the tree and perched on a branch above her head. The birds sang a song together, their two liquid melodies melting into one. As the two sang, Old Mother Yew hummed her own song, as soft and soothing as a gentle summer rain. But before Morgan could learn the Song of the Yew Tree, she fell asleep.
     And as she fell asleep in her dream, she awoke from her Faery dream, to find herself in her very own bed. An unknown melody floated through her head. It was as soft and soothing as the ocean tide. But in the next instant it was gone, like a silver wave as it melts into the golden shore.





                           From the Book of Poetry

                         ELEGIES OF THE MASK

                               "Second Elegy"

 (this city, this rubble, these mirroring windows, these redoubtable struggles,
     these listless men, this dimsionless vista, these shorelines imposed)

      Why have the Angels left us to seek our absolution
            in the dense arms of rank and aquisition

  This chair, this car, this border, this yard of shag or lawn or rayon or nation
   wrapped like clinging bedsheets in stranglehold about our necks & chests
      as if some material sex-gain-thing, a pure thingness
         which measures our ultimate gain & worth

  Where do these curving stairs lead?
  To what regulations, what strivings, what starvings ...
  To the ring of the regulus?
       vain accomplishments of the uterus? of slag heap or ironworks?
    endless innovations of microcircuit? conjurations & manipulations of the tube?

  And where does this other gate lead?
       on the other side of the curve
    into what garden? into what vast memory?
     under what understanding stars?

  There the bell of the angelus
     the fresh face of the choirboy we once were
      joyous in the mystery of candle's ritual

  We feel the faces glancing, glaring in the mirror
  We fear our hands before the flame
  We fight our impulse to jump through the mirror
     to shatter that false image which wears the human mask
           and stands before us tauntingly
      twisted in hidden desires, a vague discontent

   The wavering secrets
  The deeply buried prism
    Its oscillating gains
    (as cyclic repetition generates precision & mass)
  Celebrated by small multitudes in uninhibited joy
  Wallowing in some recondite Mass
       known but to gnomes & Gnostics & Hermetic warriors

  Its indistinct utterances
  A demon song to the orthodox
  Yet the vesper herald of artists devoted to silent psalms
         songs of the unearthed
     All unclaimed wonder
  The all enduring magnitude sublimely announced
       in the frost of stained glass
     the stone trefoil & leadened mullions
  Reconstituted in purple mountains' vast surmise ....

  Should we kiss her or worship her?
     as if an Angel's glance made into joyous flesh

  Should we devote ourselves to the angelus
   Reconstitute Gregorian chant
        in the grunts and heaves of penitent love?
  Or compose in the myriad of mad act & drugged ecstasy
          some senseless celebration
          to the Mask of the Wise?

   (this ecstasy, this obscurity, this answer, this Sangreal, this shaft,
     a phallum or rocket thrust to Eternity,
  to the glittering glimmering of gold, to a nameless God)





                                                                                                                                 Excerpt from the Fantasy Novel

                                                                                                                                 MASTER OF THE GUILD



   It was two days’ ride from Mother Hypatia’s cottage to the Maw of Delphus. The Paterini had spoken little since the encounter with the Cacus, their usually gay spirits dampened by their uncertainty and loss. Wary of this latest threat, the Paterini were unusually alert as they approached the Maw of Delphus.
    The Maw was considered one of the world’s sacred points of power. According to legend, it was the center of the world and the birthplace of the Five Realms. It had been the home of many ancient religions, most prominently the followers of the goddess Kalidar and, later, the Artemar. It was here that they held their sacred rites, where their initiates learned the secrets of death and rebirth, where magic was practiced, where their Prophetess spoke the oracular language of the gods. Over the centuries, the ecstatic rites of the Goddess were supplanted by the more formal rituals of priests and kings, and the patriarchal religion of Apollan and Phoebar.
    It was only natural that when the first Monarchos, Demiurgus, came to power, he made Delphus the center of his empire. Here, he could solidify his theocratic rule, claiming divine kingship, using the power of the priesthood and the ancient liturgy to support his authority.
    After the death of Demiurgus, the Maw began its gradual decline. The sons and grandsons of the Monarchos fought over control of the central realm. In the process, Demiurgus’ palace was destroyed. His once great city was burned and desecrated. All that remained were charred pillars, rocky ruins and the scattered cobblestones of ancient streets. The once grand gardens had long since turned to seed. The Temple of Delphus, one of the wonders of the ancient world, lay in ruin.
    Yet the holiest site of Delphus remained. Before the existence of cities or temples, before kings or priests rose to power, when civilization was but a dream in the mind of Apollan, there stood the cave of Delphus. It was in this cave that the priestesses of Kalidar proclaimed their oracles. The devotees of the ancient religion still made pilgrimages to the Maw and to the sacred cave.
When the Paterini arrived at the Maw, Berenice went straight to the cave. With Hypatia’s ashes in hand, she entered the sacred site. The men waited outside under a grove of cedar trees. Ramar took out his copy of the book, THE FIRST POWER, and began to read.
After some deep searching, Ramar came across a verse that he had never seen before. It told of the Simurg bird and its mystic feather. It read:
“As the Serpent draws the lightning Power
through its fiery skin,
And the dolphin breathes in
the nectar of the Sea,
So the Simurg and its crystal feather
drink the light of the Sun,
Giving all that touch them
the endless eyes to see.
As the Light, the heart & the feather
bring all things together,
Making the sky & earth as one,
Lifting Mind and Spirit into the Eye of the Deathless One.”
Ramar did not know what to make of this cryptic verse. He sensed that there were valuable secrets hidden in the text, secrets that might help him understand his past experience and his deeper powers. But he could not find the key to unlock the mystery.
After an hour of intense study, Ramar saw Berenice emerge from the cave. She seemed worn with fatigue. Her eyes were red, either from the strain of darkness or from the toll of tears. First she nodded at the other Paterini. Then she walked up to Ramar.
With a marbled expression and a stern voice she said, “Ramar, it is now your turn.”
“My turn?” he muttered. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean it is your time to enter the cave.”
“Why would I want to enter the cave?” he asked warily. “Anyway, I thought it was a place reserved for women.”
“It is true that these days it is mostly women who enter. But the inner sanctum is open to anyone who may profit from its wisdom. During ancient times all sorts of men and women consulted the Oracle. Now there is more fear and less willingness to enter the cave. But there is no real reason to fear it, particularly if you go in with a pure heart. Though the oracular Priestess is long gone, her holy word may still be found within, at least by those who have the ears to hear. “
Still doubtful, Ramar asked, “but how do you know that I should enter?”
Firmly, she answered, “because I was told so by the voice within.”
Unwilling to simply accept this explanation, Ramar asked, “the voice within? What do you mean? Why would I go inside?”
Berenice raised her fingers to his lips and said, “shush.”
She then took a leather pouch from the folds of her dress and said, “take this with you. It should help you to hear. But you must not open it up, no matter what happens.”
“What should I do when I get inside?”
“You will know when you get there. Just trust in what you feel.”
Despite his lingering doubts, Ramar moved toward the cave. He took Berenice’s torch with him to light the way. At the mouth of the cave were inscribed numerous symbols, a flaming serpent, a spiral maze, an array of circles, triangles and stars.
Ramar followed the winding tunnel down into the earth until it opened up into a cavern. Stalactites hung from the high ceiling, the roof embedded with tiny star-bright crystals that glimmered in the torch’s flame. A jagged fissure cut across the floor, like a black wound slashed through the skin of the earth. At the center of the cave, spanning the fissure, a bronze chair had been erected. For centuries it stood as the throne of the oracle, the High Priestess of Kalidar. Now it was a ruined relic, the seat destroyed, its three long legs rusted and bent yet deeply embedded in the ground.
White fumes seeped out from the fissure in the earth. At first the fumes smelled foul and sulfurous, bringing tears to Ramar’s eyes. With time the smell softened, taking on the briny scent of the sea. Overcome by the fumes, Ramar lowered himself to the ground. Once seated, his body began to tingle and tremble. In order to quell his uneasiness, Ramar used a technique he had learned from The First Power. Drawing all his senses inward, he focused his mind on a single symbol. He fixed all his consciousness on a point between his eyes. He spread the fire of his breath rhythmically through his body. Becoming one with the sign of the fivefold sun, Ramar experienced a pulsing over his hands and heart.
After a moment of confusion, he recognized the source of the vibration. It came from Hypatia’s pouch and from his Simurg feather. With eyes closed, he felt light emanating from the objects, like luminous ripples in a pool. Subtle colors and currents surrounded him, as if layers of luminous flesh newly covering his skin. He felt a quaking of the earth, then a sense of displacement, a separation from ordinary time and space.
These sensations were similar to what he experienced with the Simurg, but this time he never fell out of consciousness. Light shimmered before his closed eyes. His body trembled in synchrony with the quaking ground.
Energy surged through him, in alternating currents of silver and gold.
A lightning bolt flashed through his flesh, shattering his body into a thousand infinitesimal pieces.
His life force lifted upward. His being became a luminous fountain surging, spiraling from the earth.
His awareness ascended to worlds beyond, past fiery lakes and diamond forests, through cyclones of light, beyond spiraling rainbows and clouds of gold. Stars sprang to life and burst around him, filling the magnitude with countless white fires.
Above him loomed an ocean of light, pulsing in time to his heartbeat, sharing in his every breath and thought.
A vast presence floated in the sea above. It filled him with luminous sentience. It sang a hymn of restoration and belonging, uttered in a language of radiance and love. Slowly words became recognizable, erupting like stars from the milky sea. Words as revelation rained down upon his limitless eyes.
As the light rained down to say,
“At last, in returning to me, we may return in part to you, in you and through you, one light, one Selfsame longing, a joining of purest intention, infinite, beyond, yet suffusing all matter from the great forest of life and feelings to the sky and sea of light above. I embrace your wish and your wonder, Ramar of the Golden Kin. I receive it as I receive you, with all the love and mystery and fullness of the sea, in that hidden place of majesty and cosmic completion, born in your darkness yet residing in the luminousness of me. Rest assured that we will always be with you, in life as in death, as we are wed to the same pure power and desire. The mask of your mind and flesh has led you to forget this timeless place, this your greater source and knowing. But such things are never lost. They live in your dreams and speak through your songs. Though you have much to remember about yourself and about the lost all, your end and completion is near, nearer than you could possibly know.”
Ramar felt his being rock with joy with these words. Though he did not wholly understand the heavenly song, as it shifted between light and symbol and unspoken word, he felt its ineffable truth, its endless power.
The presence embraced Ramar with its wisdom, filled him with light, its ecstatic flame subsuming all the love he had ever in his lifetime known, offering in return all completeness and peace.
In his mind Ramar asked the presence, “where am I going? Who am I? What will I become?”
For countless moments Ramar floated in the luminance, yet heard no answer to his questions. Within the white sea Ramar saw flashes of his mother’s face and form. He felt her fullness touch his distant flesh. He heard the echo of her voice singing mythic songs. Their sound swelled beneath him, supporting him, drawing his awareness from the heights.
He sifted down, shifting from stellar magnitudes to flashes of dreamscape, to the limits of body and flesh. The once bright sea became a tiny, pulsing spot amidst the greater architecture of stars. As his awareness drifted down, he became engulfed in a stream of grey tendrils. The tendrils became swirls of smoke which wrapped around him and burned his eyes.
He lifted his heavy eyelids.
He saw a torch’s flame glittering off a golden tripod. He thought he saw a shimmering woman’s form in the fumes, before the shape dissipated in a swirl of smoke.
Finally he awoke to the darkness of the cave.
In a daze of confusion and a mist of pulsing lights, Ramar stumbled out of the cave. The world quivered with golden life. Near the cave was Berenice, sitting on a silver stone that sparkled in the sun.
When Ramar was joined by Berenice, he did not know what to say. He still felt streams of energy filling him, rushing through his veins. He felt his feelings overwhelm him, ecstasy, wonder, doubt and awe rising and falling, each fighting for supremacy. He wanted to laugh at the impossibility, then cry at the magnitude and beauty of it all. Everything around him seemed transformed. The trees and plants were more colorful and alive, tied to each other and the ground and sky in an invisible web of energy and knowing.
Ramar muttered to Berenice, “I don’t understand what just happened to me. I experienced something, something unbelievable in the cave. It is more than I can comprehend or explain.”
Berenice put her hand on his shoulder and said, “I understand. That is often the way it is in the Cave of the Oracle. But try to tell me what happened, that is if you wish to share it with me.”
“I would like for you to know, Berenice. Maybe then you can help me understand. Some of what happened was similar to what I experienced with the Simurg. But this time I was more awake, more alive than before, more alive than I have ever been. When I entered the cavern I was overwhelmed by a surge of incredible energy. I went to a place more vast than the sky or ocean. I felt a presence and a power I have never felt before. My mind exploded, expanding far beyond the bounds of my body.
Some things were communicated to me by the great presence, but I am not sure now what that presence was. An unspoken voice hinted of my destiny, hinted at what I truly am. But everything was spoken in a language of light and sound and color that I couldn’t fully understand. Yet I could feel it. I felt such a sense of love, of belonging and completion, the like of which I have not known since I was a child, since I was in the arms of my mother. All of this and more stemmed from the presence beyond the stars.”
Berenice sighed, smiled, and said, “such things you speak of are not unknown to women, but are more rarely experienced by men. This is because you were welcomed home by your mother. This is the presence you felt. You were touched by your first and truest mother, our great Goddess who lives in the stars beyond, just as she lives in the trees and streams and ground below.
The Artemar call this divine presence Mother Nuitalla. The ancient Kalidar named her Binahokma, she who is the first and greatest wisdom, and second to none in power. The Holy Virgin Mother has chosen to lift her veil and reveal a part of herself to you. She has seen fit to bless you with a drop of her infinite love. What you have experienced is one of the greatest gifts imaginable. It is a gift held sacred by the Artemar. It is a sublime boon that few men are blessed to receive, for to see the Goddess, a man must touch the divine feminine force within himself.”
Ramar sighed, and said, “I do feel blessed by this, as I did by the visitation of the Simurg. I just wish that I understood it better. I wish the Oracle or the Goddess could have answered some of my questions. I am beginning to wonder if I will ever discover the truth about myself.”
“Of course you will,” Berenice reassured him. “But I don’t think anyone can answer these questions for you. I think you must answer them for yourself. That is because you are still learning, you are still in the process of creating yourself. As Mother Hypatia once told me, we are always in the process of creating and reinventing ourselves, as well as our destinies. You are just beginning your process of initiation. After some time at Monsolvat, many of these things will become clear to you.”
Under his breath, Ramar whispered, “I just hope to Goddess you are right.”






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