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She is not speaking to you directly. The Lady Renate, I mean. Not because she is haughty, but simply because it does not always occur to her to do so. This ancient beinng thinks like the wind. Her visionns and conceptualizations race along, richocheting from one image to another. She penetrated the brains of simple shepherds and transformed them into Sumerians. She shaped illiterate reed gatherers along the River Nile into the Nation of Kemet, known to history as the Egyptians. The Lady is usually benign... but not always. So we take her as she is. When she speaks, she speaks. And when she does not speak...we listen to her heart beat. I am one of those able to feel the rhythm.
Now she progresses through the night, like the sky blood men call lightning. Hello, children of the Canaanites sleeping far below. Greetings, thou contemporary Sumerians.....Your Sculptress passes. And if she created not the clay, she never-the-less gave it form.
Far away, over the horizon lies the Nation of The Twenty Six Satrapies. A veritible pillar of the classical world. Home to the triumphant Medes. Fortress of the people we call Persians. But their 'king' chews bitter herbs. He has made of his heart a fiery stone and keeps counsel with manic forces.
So the Lady Renate penetrates the particles of reality known to you as atoms. She approaches his bed chamber, guarded by modern 'immortals.' Can they stop her? They cannot. Her power is vast. Her form quite elusive. She stops. She condenses by the bed and calls his name.
The rather ordinary sized man in the wide bed begins to stir. His eye balls race beneath the skin. The moustasche trembles. His fingers grab the linen. But he hears her. His essence feels the call. And he sees. There by his bed stands a figure, a shimmering pillar of soft, pearly light. It speaks...or rather delivers thoughts right into his brain. It 'says' - HEAR ME!..... And he does. But he gathers up his courage and asks - What manner of ghost addresses me?...........The Lady says - I am not a wayward spirit, angry man, but something greater........... He burrows deep into the bedclothes, as her fingers examine his heart..........She says - Who would you destroy? Whose children will you burn? What temples shall you shatter?
And mistaking her for a jinn sent to aid his cause, he licks his lips and smiles.......But her purpose is not his......And his lips begin to burn..............
Now she progresses through the night, like the sky blood men call lightning. Hello, children of the Canaanites sleeping far below. Greetings, thou contemporary Sumerians.....Your Sculptress passes. And if she created not the clay, she never-the-less gave it form.
Far away, over the horizon lies the Nation of The Twenty Six Satrapies. A veritible pillar of the classical world. Home to the triumphant Medes. Fortress of the people we call Persians. But their 'king' chews bitter herbs. He has made of his heart a fiery stone and keeps counsel with manic forces.
So the Lady Renate penetrates the particles of reality known to you as atoms. She approaches his bed chamber, guarded by modern 'immortals.' Can they stop her? They cannot. Her power is vast. Her form quite elusive. She stops. She condenses by the bed and calls his name.
The rather ordinary sized man in the wide bed begins to stir. His eye balls race beneath the skin. The moustasche trembles. His fingers grab the linen. But he hears her. His essence feels the call. And he sees. There by his bed stands a figure, a shimmering pillar of soft, pearly light. It speaks...or rather delivers thoughts right into his brain. It 'says' - HEAR ME!..... And he does. But he gathers up his courage and asks - What manner of ghost addresses me?...........The Lady says - I am not a wayward spirit, angry man, but something greater........... He burrows deep into the bedclothes, as her fingers examine his heart..........She says - Who would you destroy? Whose children will you burn? What temples shall you shatter?
And mistaking her for a jinn sent to aid his cause, he licks his lips and smiles.......But her purpose is not his......And his lips begin to burn..............
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