Have courage, for life is striding
To endless life along;
Stretched by inner fire,
Our sense becomes transfigured.
One day the stars above
Shall flow in golden wine,
We will enjoy it all,
And as stars we will shine.
The love is given freely,
And Separation is no more.
The whole life heaves and surges
Like a sea without a shore.
Just one night of bliss —
One everlasting poem —
And the sun we all share
Is the face of God.
Novalis, Hymns to the Night
I felt extremely alert, nervous in fact.
Up in the sky with the eagle all had been blue day, but here on the ground I could see it was black night and that the fire was only light visible in this entire place. I could just make out a number of men – between 5 and 9 – seated around the fire watching me intently. I took them to be tribesmen/shamans, largely because of their appearance. They seemed to be of Asian stock and were wearing woolen hats covering their ears woven of multi coloured threads.
They seemed to be dressed in a combination of wool and leather and were very watchful without seeming aggressive.
They spoke to and interacted with me (I couldn’t hear anything, I just sensed it) but seemed really quite cautious. They were not hostile but they did not smile. I experienced some doubt around this point and was suddenly aware that I’d been told not to ‘play with fire’ (bearing in mind I was pretty much standing in one) and warned especially against salamanders.
I hopped out of the fire and retreated very quickly to the edge of the camp, which I circled quite restlessly for a while. Worryingly, there was nowhere to go, the darkness was impenetrable beyond their circle and I have always been afraid of the dark.
I sat out there on the edge, on my own, for quite some time, but eventually the lack of light and concern for what might have been ‘out there’ drew me closer to the group around the fire again. It seemed there was no escape.
At that point, one of the shamans presented himself as a guide, possibly reluctantly; I’m not sure if being female helped me in this respect. Nevertheless, I was told to relax and not to fear the darkness or the situation. I had little choice but to acquiesce, this being their territory after all.
Very peculiar things then started to happen.
The camp-fire was mesmerising and I found myself continually insisting on getting into it, as if hypnotised or entranced. After indeterminate lengths of time in the fire I would then worry (quite irrationally, I suspect) about salamanders, whereupon I would somehow ‘whizz’ out of the fire at breakneck speed and jump straight into the mounds of soft snow surrounding us, as if to convince myself that I wasn’t burning up.
I did this several times at explosive speed for no reason whatsoever that I can discern. I’ve no idea ‘what’ I was doing or even what I ‘was’. The movement between fire and snow was incredibly forceful and I was totally absorbed in the elemental procedure.
At a certain point I stood looking up from the centre of the orange flame which seemed to encompass everything, and wondered whether – if the eagle had indeed been shot down – I might see a phoenix. The next time I leapt out I managed to ‘cocoon’ myself entirely in fiery/watery, spinning light.
Is this how a star is made, I wondered?
He came bearing gifts and paid in large measures of gold to have me sit before him on the tripod in my closely woven veil.
My sisters watched from beyond the darkness of the pillars surrounding me on three sides.
“It seems to me, he loves her” Whispered Erato to Calliope, knowing full well that I was listening. “I have seen how his eyes follow her form – as if she were a doe and he the stag! – and now he sets a king’s ransom before us like a dowry.
Calliope laughed in delight: “Love; ah, the story of a lifetime!” I could tell she was thrilled by the very idea.
“It will all end in tears,” checked the fateful Melpomene. “What mortal man has the right to desire one so beloved of Phoebus Apollo?”
“If it is written in the stars that they are for each other, then nothing can change things, nor unfix that which is set by fire upon the face of heaven,” my solemn sister Urania announced in portentous tones.
“We must end this speculation, which will – as soon you shall see! – disturb our peace. The fact is that every man on Earth seeks the God’s attention and it seems to me that many of them will come bearing gifts for our sister.”
Thus were the sanguine ruminations of my elder sister, Clio.
I was thankful my hot cheeks were shielded from the watching world as I struggled to breathe more easily. My almost overpowering urge to run towards him was kept in check by the force of the god holding me in place. The result was that I could neither speak nor move an inch from the position in which I found myself, suspended between Heaven and the Abyss, fixed at that point in time on solid, immovable Earth.
He betrayed no emotion at all and I wondered if I had only dreamed of his kiss with the unfulfilled desire of childhood. Too soon he was gone.
Then the pagans pressed to vino
Bowls of grapes and drank the contents,
Chewed the leaves which brought the dream world,
Through the skies their wakened souls sent.
Next up went the Persian preacher –
He who knew the truth was deeper
Than the other side of reason –
Flew he swift to find his teacher.
On their cloud the grail men bonded
In their wish to not be tempted,
Then, at last, was one persuaded;
As he left, the clouds were emptied.
With a palm pressed firmly downward
With his legs both crossed at centre,
Did the prince – a pauper – summon
Earth to witness; heaven entered.
Laughing with delight the Veda
Sang into the air a summons,
Brought a vehicle named Vimana,
Flew at once upon the sunbeams.
By the ray which crossed the cosmos,
Did the moon and he who loved it
Find in space the Truth Dimension,
Past the dipper, starry seven.
Seeing how the rest succeeded,
So the ninth himself was certain,
That he’d reach his destination
Up beyond the sky-drawn curtain.
Speaking next, a bearded poet,
Stroked his chin and touched the symbols
Woven on his woollen long-coat:
Winged heart, the moon and lone star.
“Heights are reached by native mystics,
Yet the greatest peak of learning
Is our own, and few have reached it;
Sufi spinners rise by turning.”
“Here upon our cloud, unknowing,”
Sighed the mystic Christian fathers,
“We see how all souls are growing,
Ever upward, past the dawn-star.
“Darkest night will never capture
Those who walk beneath the lantern
That was set by Christ. In raptures
Have our Saints recovered phantoms.”
“Mani of the Moon, the Mirror,”
Spoke his priest. “A silver sliver
Of the lamp which lovers worship;
Shines the light on true believers.”
“Brings to mind the Bodhisatva,”
Spoke the Buddhist, “of compassion.”
“From the Eastern land of ancients,
Where the bowl of Earth was fashioned.”
A huge ellipse with markers strewn –
Stretching far, it seemed a tunnel –
Looked immensely like an air-strip,
Star-port landing, this the summit.
Before my eyes the globe appeared –
Pupils widened, thoughts ran clear –
Radiance filled the tunnel, deep;
Hidden star-ways mark this keep.
Then were sounds of celebration –
Laughter, shouting, whooping, cheering –
Drifting down to where I waited;
From their vantage point they watched it.
As it glided, came to standstill,
‘Here’s the moon!’ cried out the nation.
Thus I pondered, numb with wonder:
‘What brought round this situation?’
Whose the hymn of ardent praise,
The church of luminary office;
Are there here to end their long days,
Star-struck scientists of Attis?
Did these ancient priests control
The queen of ebbing, flowing tides,
The weathered ship of midnight squalls,
The treasured orb that mirrors light?
Only one can read their signs
If free; the one will travel time.
Then to one, unseen, unheard
Shall be revealed at once these words.
The silver mirror turns to fire.
Golden haired, a halo of sunrise
Is in the clouds.
His robe is cloudy grey and heavier.
Than the robe of air
That was lighter than petals, silk or breath.
He passes over my head like a wind horse;
The hem of his robe brushes my face.
“Nephilim” Someone said.
“Elohim”, I replied.
He is standing above and beyond me;
I see him looking East.
He is a young-looking and handsome;
He is older than day, cooler than rain,
But there are no tears in his eyes; his eyes dry.
He watches and waits like a coiled Spring,
Radiating fiery light that is silvery grey,
Like fire of the moon and dry rain.
I cannot breathe or blink, I do not feel or think
As I watch him watching the sun rise.
I hope his gaze does not turn on me.
Angel, anima, herald, star, who is he?
It matters less if he does not see me.
His impenetrable breastplate
Is his silver chest of translucent air;
Knight of the sun or prince of the night,
His hair reflects the golden light,
Rising in the dawn he knows is coming.
Ever he swears allegiance:
Eternal is His dominion;
I watch for Him until day breaks.
If the Watcher stops watching, will the watched-for never return?
“Smile!”, the stars incline to tell,
“Share our light, immortal wealth.
Blessed are we with hopes and dreams,
Sent from Earth in endless reams.
So we shine to share with you
The dazzling promise: Dreams come true.”