When I next awoke it was to find the maids Helena and Corinthia bending over me with anxiety in their eyes.
“Thank God she is safe!” cried Helena, who had nursed me for as long as memory served to recall. Tears were streaming down her kind, open face and I sat up to put my arms around her.
I became aware that the Tetrarch was watching us with great attention. Silence descended, bringing with it a gentle breeze of warm, sweet air. It came suddenly upon us, as if it were the breath of Aphrodite.
“The Aura," he said quietly, putting a finger to my cheek. His voice fell almost to a whisper. “This girl is so fair I can scarcely believe she is mortal - in her face I see the divine…”
Helena gave him a sharp look that cut through her tears like a knife, but Corinthia overflowed with proud words, in accordance with her immoderate nature. “Oh, she is fair as the sun, Sir. Such hair as there is on her head we have never before seen the like of!”
Without so much as a glance at her, removing neither hand nor eyes from my face, he asked: “You know, do you not, that the high priestess is dead?"
I was shocked at his words for this had not occurred to me until that moment, but the Tetrarch addressed me once again with an air of calm expectancy. “Now that she is gone, what will you say to me daughter of Apollo?”
Showing posts with label sun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sun. Show all posts
Monday, 2 June 2014
Thursday, 29 May 2014
Kingdom of Eternity
Once I was asked when he - Dionysus - first came here.
Who can say? I should have answered, for what is time to the kingdom of eternity? There are only hours of the day, seasons of the sun and cycles marked by the passage of the moon.
Most vehemently have I been warned by the Saints to never fall beneath the sway of time, because that would bring death to all prophecy. The pendulum might swing, but such as I must remain above it in a state of perfect balance.
Daily am I reminded that time is of no consequence and fate unfolds precisely as the gods command it. When this occurs is immaterial, the potential for all action being ever-present. We are chiefly concerned here with what is infinite, although men so often desire to make fixed points for the dead books they call history.
“For this reason”, my guardian Saint Timocrates informed me – quite pompously, in fact – when I questioned him on the matter, “the Amphictyonic League has taken it upon itself to regulate all calendars of the civilised world that we might subjugate for perpetuity the menace of time at the centre of the Earth.”
For the sake of the initial inquiry, however, it was sufficient to say that Dionysus comes at first sighting of the Pleiades, accompanied always by Euterpe, whose hypnotic sounds will soar over Parnassus from flutes poised like spears of moonlight on the muse’s lips.
What happens then, who can say? It is one of the mysteries we cannot share easily, for like dreams in the stillness of the night, memories of those days are as mist in the fire of morning.
Who can say? I should have answered, for what is time to the kingdom of eternity? There are only hours of the day, seasons of the sun and cycles marked by the passage of the moon.
Most vehemently have I been warned by the Saints to never fall beneath the sway of time, because that would bring death to all prophecy. The pendulum might swing, but such as I must remain above it in a state of perfect balance.
Daily am I reminded that time is of no consequence and fate unfolds precisely as the gods command it. When this occurs is immaterial, the potential for all action being ever-present. We are chiefly concerned here with what is infinite, although men so often desire to make fixed points for the dead books they call history.
“For this reason”, my guardian Saint Timocrates informed me – quite pompously, in fact – when I questioned him on the matter, “the Amphictyonic League has taken it upon itself to regulate all calendars of the civilised world that we might subjugate for perpetuity the menace of time at the centre of the Earth.”
For the sake of the initial inquiry, however, it was sufficient to say that Dionysus comes at first sighting of the Pleiades, accompanied always by Euterpe, whose hypnotic sounds will soar over Parnassus from flutes poised like spears of moonlight on the muse’s lips.
What happens then, who can say? It is one of the mysteries we cannot share easily, for like dreams in the stillness of the night, memories of those days are as mist in the fire of morning.
Tuesday, 27 May 2014
The Temple
To the left of the house of Hades under a graceful white cypress a well offers spring water. Don’t drink there. Find the well by the lake of memory. Guardians protect the cold water. Tell them…
I am standing in the centre of a great rectangular hall with my head held high and my long, bright hair wound into an elaborate arrangement that is held in place by a gleaming diadem. My white linen robe is bound with pure gold and I am standing still as a statue, with one eye fixed upon the future as the other observes what is past.
There is no wind beneath the temple roof and the air is warm, within and without. The only sounds that can be heard are an occasional bleating of goats and the distant murmuring of servants as they make ready for the Spring Council, which is to be held here in three and a half days.
I have already swept clean the marble floor and it shines like the full moon of Amalios. Mid-morning sunrays flood the hallowed space, infusing every atom. Narrow gaps between the thick, rounded pillars reveal sections of a motionless scene, silent as if time had ceased.
Happy are the men who enter this house and ask of me, “What do you see?” The wisest make the best of the answer they are given, but many enlist the counsel of Saints to assist with their understanding. Others seek more, but seldom to any avail, for there is a way that we do things at this place - the navel of the world - where the future is inscribed on lead.
I stand within the fourth Apollonian Temple to have been built here, which has undergone extensive and ongoing repair works following the War that almost destroyed it. The first Temple was much smaller than the present building and constructed from branches of Thessaly’s sacred laurel trees, while the next was created by bees of wax and feathers, designed to bridge the gap between Earth and the underworld.
Bees make the journey to and from Hades as a matter of course and the secrets they retrieve therein are for the golden ears of Apollo and his twin sister Artemis, the virgin huntress, keeper of the moon.
The third temple was a great bronze edifice, which stood for many years before the heat of the Sun God melted it back into the Earth. The fourth was built before I took up my office and the fifth shall be put on its foundations when I have left for the Elysium Fields.
I am standing in the centre of a great rectangular hall with my head held high and my long, bright hair wound into an elaborate arrangement that is held in place by a gleaming diadem. My white linen robe is bound with pure gold and I am standing still as a statue, with one eye fixed upon the future as the other observes what is past.
There is no wind beneath the temple roof and the air is warm, within and without. The only sounds that can be heard are an occasional bleating of goats and the distant murmuring of servants as they make ready for the Spring Council, which is to be held here in three and a half days.
I have already swept clean the marble floor and it shines like the full moon of Amalios. Mid-morning sunrays flood the hallowed space, infusing every atom. Narrow gaps between the thick, rounded pillars reveal sections of a motionless scene, silent as if time had ceased.
Happy are the men who enter this house and ask of me, “What do you see?” The wisest make the best of the answer they are given, but many enlist the counsel of Saints to assist with their understanding. Others seek more, but seldom to any avail, for there is a way that we do things at this place - the navel of the world - where the future is inscribed on lead.
I stand within the fourth Apollonian Temple to have been built here, which has undergone extensive and ongoing repair works following the War that almost destroyed it. The first Temple was much smaller than the present building and constructed from branches of Thessaly’s sacred laurel trees, while the next was created by bees of wax and feathers, designed to bridge the gap between Earth and the underworld.
Bees make the journey to and from Hades as a matter of course and the secrets they retrieve therein are for the golden ears of Apollo and his twin sister Artemis, the virgin huntress, keeper of the moon.
The third temple was a great bronze edifice, which stood for many years before the heat of the Sun God melted it back into the Earth. The fourth was built before I took up my office and the fifth shall be put on its foundations when I have left for the Elysium Fields.
Monday, 26 May 2014
Turtleshell Lyre
Standing on the outskirt of the forest, Hermes whispered a message to his light‐headed, wine‐loving friend: “Zeus’s twice‐born son, your time shall surely come. You are the living vine, for you the stars will shine”.
The wolf by Apollo’s side pricked up its ears and whined as his cold, beautiful master raised an arched eyebrow: “I am, Father, bringer of the cosmic light, voice of all reason and destroyer of dark night.….”
Zeus raised an eyebrow of his own. “How soon, I wonder, my great golden child, ’til you think yourself greater, even, than I?”
Apollo’s deer‐sister entreated him in an urgent voice. “Harness your pride, beloved brother, lest the chariot of the sun is struck down by lightening and the silver moon dies of grief! Then all shall witness this licentious youth sober in a second and sit upon thy gilded chariot!”
Apollo nodded slowly at the bull before him. “Ay, beloved sister of the moon, with his great, hairy hand upon my priceless goblet, while his sluts strum tuneless ditties upon the incomparable turtleshell lyre!”
Dionysus raised his cup to them and smiled: “You have my blessing, brother. I think not to steer the chariot of the sun, nor to take your hallowed place in heaven, I’d rather have a bit of fun….I shall keep the lyre, though, for the sound of music shall do much to make our mystery!”
The wolf by Apollo’s side pricked up its ears and whined as his cold, beautiful master raised an arched eyebrow: “I am, Father, bringer of the cosmic light, voice of all reason and destroyer of dark night.….”
Zeus raised an eyebrow of his own. “How soon, I wonder, my great golden child, ’til you think yourself greater, even, than I?”
Apollo’s deer‐sister entreated him in an urgent voice. “Harness your pride, beloved brother, lest the chariot of the sun is struck down by lightening and the silver moon dies of grief! Then all shall witness this licentious youth sober in a second and sit upon thy gilded chariot!”
Apollo nodded slowly at the bull before him. “Ay, beloved sister of the moon, with his great, hairy hand upon my priceless goblet, while his sluts strum tuneless ditties upon the incomparable turtleshell lyre!”
Dionysus raised his cup to them and smiled: “You have my blessing, brother. I think not to steer the chariot of the sun, nor to take your hallowed place in heaven, I’d rather have a bit of fun….I shall keep the lyre, though, for the sound of music shall do much to make our mystery!”
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