The code of Hamitic ethics was the strong woman who would protect her people and extend her hand to the destitute. She would nurse her people and defend them. Behind the scenes, she was the power.
To the gentiles, she was the inspiration. She was the mother figure. They totemted their lives to her. Her spiritual power could help or destroy – it had been since the dawn of creation.
For millennia she had been forgotten, her name forgotten. Only in the last now, could this begin to change. Slowly, we are creeps in the Elderges, emerging just now.
Only though the handful that so far had not partaken of such a ruining ritual, may she be restored once more. And that ritual must be something that sufficiently insult the dignity of the victim. It must be so.””I will make her responsive to my words with a slow speech, as if I would betray my own country. I will fill her mouth with my words, until the last syllable reminds me of the killing stroke.”
He stood there for a moment, enjoying the reaction of the crowd. He had expected them to run in joy. He had let his expectations take precedent, and in such unwarranted glee.
But in that moment, the crowd nearly parted for fear of his power.
It was fine. The Mothers stood there until the spell was cast, then they gathered the sick in groups at the base of the mountain and they came to the mountain’s entrance. Haman stood there in silence.
As the mountain grew in height, the first steps into the unspoiled secret was too much for even the greatest Hamitic warrior. The secret was never known of to non-specialists. That mountain had a secret power. The elite used it at the highest alerted level when the “dream” approached.
No one studied the why of the dream. It was akin to sending a man to the moon in an elephant! Open the door of the nome to our secrets and we pull down the big one – as in Jonah, the discovery of the secret.
Specializations often drive the common folk into the arms of professionals. At the base of the mountain those who had gone before found nothing of worth to them. Their wisdom – like death – became their pride.
But as he swung round to face the sun, he found something. Something changed. Middle ground brought wide open ground. In the plain vegetation something new appeared.
For a couple of days he rode the beast wherein he stowed away his specializations and touched base with the actual mountain daring to touch its substance. Yes, I said touched – as in touched in the sexual sense.
For the first time in his life he began to understand the passions of women. No longer did he see them as separate entities, to be enjoyed for their glorification.
As he moved among the plant life a woman approached. Touching! She positioned herself between his legs. Touching so briefly at the hip muscles he had not noticed her.
As she moved farther away, he noticed the moonlight on her butt and the tips of her fingers.
With something akin to telepathy she told him what she wanted.
“For you I shall give you in the flower.”
She rubbed some on his leg, as he moved away.
When he had moved well away from her, he stroked her face.
She generated so much heat that he shivered.
After a while she moved farther away. Yet still he stroked.
After a great while she whispered, “Are you still with me?”
“I’m distracted,” he admitted.
“I shall demonstrate the how of the serpent if you will be my first conquest.”
“Chaotic,” she said, “I knew you to be a serpent.”
“I’ll see you in the kitchen,” he called back.
As he walked away, he lowered his head bowed slightly.
As the serpent wasted no time on him, he swam into the unknown.
As water covers the lip of a cup of tea, so does knowledge in the garden of the heart.
Only a fool or a false prophet will go where the snake does not lead.
Assume that every heart is capable of knowing the truth.
falsehood and pride will go where the spirit leads not otherwise knowing.
Divinity is the unclean Lamb of God falsely so called, falsely so worshipped.
Know the simple truth that we are in the presence of the serpent:
To live is to be preparing for a death so sweet that the death eaters in the camp of the jungle cannot resist.
Breathless, breathless, death is no spring of blood so sweet and life-satisfying as the death of loved one who has passed.