I walked slowly through the lightly soothing rain. I was straying, paused, lost in an unfamiliar forest of freshly sprinkled foliage and bantering bathing birds. Then he appeared, elderly, silent, sitting beneath some trees intertwined for dryness; and I, audaciously joining, sat with, and after a question, simply listened:

My ancestors came from the oceans a numerous age ago. Simple, they thrived to survive amongst the terrible lizards that inhabited their domain. They hid, concealed, waiting instinctively for mother earth to change the course of history; the weather had no sympathy and all struggled to survive. But they emerged, upon a time, hurling the crimson stone they had sharpened.

It appeared suddenly, heat & rage, weapon & friend- as that which brought them comfort and left them cold to lie. They roamed, hunting and gathering, while slowly stepping back and forth in time. Oh what of connecting sounds, possible utterance: understand, reply, what has this done for us, for them? And so all continued with that which gives, and that which takes away.

They stepped forth with reason and placated the invisible movers, the amiable and those of enmity:

"Oh thy womb, Hail Gaea, Mother Goddess, giver of life, voluptuous are your daughters- who flow with fertile springs to subdue the earth of men"

Soon she of fruitful loins gave birth to omnipotence and slowly stepped aside. They respected the magic, left the weather, and propitiated the seasons. They were soon sewn upon the earth- 'the great hunter before the lord', the builder of fortifications, tamer of beast, controller of flame. Mighty before the lord was he- the one of winged followers, teller of stars, keeper of mysteries. Yes, mighty before the lord was he. Confounded, they continued to divide and fight, each with their ancestors and their gods, who took forms of reflection and the weakness one must hide. Then their thoughts became immortal. Who would dare to stand against the written word? Who would dare to betray the divine inspiration? Yes, to give unto the invisible movers: incense, animal, virgin, and child.

Cyclical time, life reborn- Ah, the climax of ritual, the ultimate sacrifice to end all sacrifice. The goddess with child reborn in all her magnificence! The holy mother, her first born incarnate; they consumed of the life to propitiate rebirth. But with time the people learned. With observance, reason, questioning and testing; their images were dying. They are now dead. We are still dying. Ignorant of purpose, blinded by ages of deception, unable to help ourselves for we know not who we are...