There is no fear but fear itself
that frightful, fearsome, dreadful foe
that swells within our bellies so
though we may fret, our flesh turned weak
our world perceived a vision bleak
let anger rise to swallow fear
and through the heart to free your tears
Of sorrows past, of rage or joy
but do not speak it, let it through
and in the mind let it not sit
for God awaits for this great gift
if it returns what shall we do?
remember feelings break the shelf
So do not fear, the fear itself
For fear is now afraid of you
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
The Adventures of Thomas the Momas ep. 3
Now at the top, Thomas bolted for the door, smooth black wood with no markings or knobs. Only a levitating crystal ball, inches from the center of the door awaiting someone's touch to grant them passage to the see the Mistress. Once inside, Thomas could see the faint light in the distance, surrounded by the endless black his nerves could not bare to merely walk to the parlor. So he ran, terrified but excited, constantly looking around to see if anything would leap out at him and swallow him whole. Making his way to her abode a distant memory surprised him, that of his first visit when he was but a child. Then, he was too young to come on his own, his guardian had accompanied him. They say that the Mistress has answers to all questions thus has no need to ask anyone of anything. However, if she should ever ask you a question know that far beyond its answer the reason for which the question is posed is of crucial importance. During that first visit, as young Thomas sat across from her, she leaned over and simply said: "Have you come to know when it is you will expire?". But Thomas was far too young and knew too little to be bothered or surprised by such an inquiry. As he grew and learned more of the Mistress and her ways, he realized that that moment was a rare gem, a clue to the meaning and unfolding of his existence. Yet, in all his years of searching and adventuring the answer to why she asked him never revealed itself. And obviously, the Mistress herself was never so kind as to shed light on the matter. "That is a matter for you alone to discover." She would always say, sometimes as he was merely thinking of asking. Now at the parlor, Thomas immediately sat in the chair and began the long chase after his breath. The Mistress accustomed to Thomas arriving in this fashion was preparing tea, to help him relax. With her back turned to him, raising her voice over the sound of his heavy breath she said: "Thinking of the days of old my young friend?" Thomas, trying to catch his breath and calm his nerves, noticed that she had asked a question. And though it appeared to be no more than a innocent observation (as far as people with such gifts are concerned), he could not help but wonder if this was another question for which the answer might reveal some clue as to his destiny.
However, soon after, the very question of this question was no longer a concern. The Mistress had a talent for tea, and it always seemed that all burdens and troubles were gently washed away by the hot soothing brew. Now comfortably settled, he began to discuss what he always discussed, the great door in the basement.
"Again, I failed to have the courage to open it Mistress. Again, the terror was too terrible, the light was too bright. I fear I will one day be no more than an old coward roaming the halls of my home."
With soft eyes and as sweet a voice as she could muster, the old crow responded. "My sweet boy, fear not, you will one day rejoin your clan. As they have done before you, you will one day cross the threshold."
"But how can you say it so plainly, you who have professed to have seen men defy their own destinies and be led to ruin. As you always say, the obstinence of man if unchecked leads him to great sorrows that need not have been."
The Mistress, only smiled, like elders do in the face of a troubled youth
Thomas let out a great sigh in frustration. "My boy, all things are possible, all dreams and nightmares can become our reality. Simply dream Thomas, dream of the tomorrow you so desperately seek." Thomas unphased by the fortune teller's wise words said nothing, he looked away, trying to hide the welling of tears is his eyes. Now the Mistress sighed, almost threatening to lose her patience: "Why don't I tell you your fortune for the day...Today, wondrous adventures and good times with friends await you..." As she continued, stubborn Thomas slowly turned his eyes towards her, he became so engaged in the reading of such a good fortune that he soon forgot his troubles and became light again. He left the realm of the Mistress cheerful and excited about the rest of his day.
However, soon after, the very question of this question was no longer a concern. The Mistress had a talent for tea, and it always seemed that all burdens and troubles were gently washed away by the hot soothing brew. Now comfortably settled, he began to discuss what he always discussed, the great door in the basement.
"Again, I failed to have the courage to open it Mistress. Again, the terror was too terrible, the light was too bright. I fear I will one day be no more than an old coward roaming the halls of my home."
With soft eyes and as sweet a voice as she could muster, the old crow responded. "My sweet boy, fear not, you will one day rejoin your clan. As they have done before you, you will one day cross the threshold."
"But how can you say it so plainly, you who have professed to have seen men defy their own destinies and be led to ruin. As you always say, the obstinence of man if unchecked leads him to great sorrows that need not have been."
The Mistress, only smiled, like elders do in the face of a troubled youth
Thomas let out a great sigh in frustration. "My boy, all things are possible, all dreams and nightmares can become our reality. Simply dream Thomas, dream of the tomorrow you so desperately seek." Thomas unphased by the fortune teller's wise words said nothing, he looked away, trying to hide the welling of tears is his eyes. Now the Mistress sighed, almost threatening to lose her patience: "Why don't I tell you your fortune for the day...Today, wondrous adventures and good times with friends await you..." As she continued, stubborn Thomas slowly turned his eyes towards her, he became so engaged in the reading of such a good fortune that he soon forgot his troubles and became light again. He left the realm of the Mistress cheerful and excited about the rest of his day.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Tale of the week
The eighth tale: Ogdazh's challenge.
One day, the King had all his people gathered under the battlements of the castle. "Fellow subjects, I issue a challenge to those who are brave enough. The one who overcomes this challenge shall learn my most treasured of secrets. The root and flower of all my power." The crowd below began to stir as people began to voice their excitement. The King called for silence and continued. "For the next four days it will rain, and very hard, with no interruption. He or she who can catch but a single drop of rain from the sky and travel with it to the throne chamber shall be the receiver of my gift. But this must be done as it still rains outside, all must be soaking but the inside of the hand that holds but a drop. And, you may only travel once to see me, so be sure." With that, the King retired. The crowd became agitated. An electricity filled the air as excited young men and women declared their imminent victory. The older and wiser folk retired to prepare.
The next day the rain started, and throughout the village closest to the castle, a huge crowd of people could be seen, trying to catch but a drop of the pouring rain. A rain that poured furisouly, heavily, as to almost blind one completely. As the day went on, many gave up, covered in mud, sneezing, feverish, sliding and slipping as the rain did not yield in the slightest. The eldest of the challengers sat in meditation, contemplating the rain, and of the youngest only one still attempted it. Young Yarhid would not be deterred. He was a young man now, still before the age of adulthood, small in stature and known by his friends and fellow villagers as a very brave lad. In his pocket, his sacred keepsake, a golden egg with the inscription: "Yarhid prince of bravery", which he received as a child. Yarhid whipped his hand furiously into the rain hoping to catch one drop. He felt sure he could do it, even now, after a whole day in the rain, he thought how his hand had grown faster and that soon he would master the technique. A young monk, who was passing through the village looking for shelter before returning to his own Kingdom, observed the spectacle and inquired.
"What are you doing?" He asked.
"Trying to catch a single drop of rain, now leave me be." Yarhid replied impatiently.
"My apologies, could you possibly tell me where the nearest inn is? I am already soaked and would like to retire from this rain." Yarhid pointed south then turned away to continue. The monk thanked him and began to leave when he turned and said. "You will never achieve this, as you are doing it."
Yarhid turned to face him, looking insulted and scoffed. "And what would you know of catching rain, monk?"
"Oh, nothing, it's just that even if you succeed, how will you know. By the time you open your hand to see it, it will be lost." And with that the monk left.
Yarhid was stunned by this obvious truth. He had to travel with this drop all the way to the King first before finding a spot dry enough to check. Those were the rules. If that was not the case, Yarhid could run in and out of a place to see. Also, the monk must have realized that his hands were now too cold and wet all over to feel if there was but one drop.
Yarhid was discouraged, and sat in the mud to ponder upon this impossible task. He now understood why the elders had sat without acting. How to do this he thought? But no answer came. Later, all those who still remained retired for the night.
The next day Yarhid returned, determined, but this time he sat and like the elder ones, he watched the rain, studied it, trying to unlock the secret of all this. The next three days passed like this and all Yarhid caught was fever, sickness, tremblings and even waking nightmares. In the dying hours of the contest none remained but the boy, all had given up. The rain pounded mercilessly on his head, his body was numb and he wondered if he could even stand, but he would not move until the answer came. Eventually doubt began to settle in and his composure broke. “Am I not brave enough?” He shouted. “Am I not worthy enough?” He pounded his frozen fists desperately into the mud no longer able to contain his frustration. Then, the monk from the other day returned and saw Yarhid, concerned he stopped.
"Is this not a dangerous thing now, to catch the rain? Is it not foolish, is it not all so foolish?"Yarhid did not answer, and the monk continued. As the sounds of the monks steps grew fainter, his words reached Yarhid's mind and broke it. Yarhid burst into laughter.
"Indeed, it is all too foolish." And with that he ran to the castle, burst into the throne room and stood before the King showing him his hands, wet, inside and out.
"There is no way to hold it, for it cannot be held."
"As the single drop of water is to an ocean, as so are we to Kavik. Even on its own, the single drop remains a part of the ocean and the ocean remains a part of it, their essence being one in the same and their natures indistinguishable. That is the essence of Kavik, that is the great teaching of the Nasgari and the secret of your great King. In short you should have never tried to catch the rain, as the drop of water does not try to blend with the ocean. There is simply no need, it was indeed all too foolish" The King replied, smiling mischievously.
One day, the King had all his people gathered under the battlements of the castle. "Fellow subjects, I issue a challenge to those who are brave enough. The one who overcomes this challenge shall learn my most treasured of secrets. The root and flower of all my power." The crowd below began to stir as people began to voice their excitement. The King called for silence and continued. "For the next four days it will rain, and very hard, with no interruption. He or she who can catch but a single drop of rain from the sky and travel with it to the throne chamber shall be the receiver of my gift. But this must be done as it still rains outside, all must be soaking but the inside of the hand that holds but a drop. And, you may only travel once to see me, so be sure." With that, the King retired. The crowd became agitated. An electricity filled the air as excited young men and women declared their imminent victory. The older and wiser folk retired to prepare.
The next day the rain started, and throughout the village closest to the castle, a huge crowd of people could be seen, trying to catch but a drop of the pouring rain. A rain that poured furisouly, heavily, as to almost blind one completely. As the day went on, many gave up, covered in mud, sneezing, feverish, sliding and slipping as the rain did not yield in the slightest. The eldest of the challengers sat in meditation, contemplating the rain, and of the youngest only one still attempted it. Young Yarhid would not be deterred. He was a young man now, still before the age of adulthood, small in stature and known by his friends and fellow villagers as a very brave lad. In his pocket, his sacred keepsake, a golden egg with the inscription: "Yarhid prince of bravery", which he received as a child. Yarhid whipped his hand furiously into the rain hoping to catch one drop. He felt sure he could do it, even now, after a whole day in the rain, he thought how his hand had grown faster and that soon he would master the technique. A young monk, who was passing through the village looking for shelter before returning to his own Kingdom, observed the spectacle and inquired.
"What are you doing?" He asked.
"Trying to catch a single drop of rain, now leave me be." Yarhid replied impatiently.
"My apologies, could you possibly tell me where the nearest inn is? I am already soaked and would like to retire from this rain." Yarhid pointed south then turned away to continue. The monk thanked him and began to leave when he turned and said. "You will never achieve this, as you are doing it."
Yarhid turned to face him, looking insulted and scoffed. "And what would you know of catching rain, monk?"
"Oh, nothing, it's just that even if you succeed, how will you know. By the time you open your hand to see it, it will be lost." And with that the monk left.
Yarhid was stunned by this obvious truth. He had to travel with this drop all the way to the King first before finding a spot dry enough to check. Those were the rules. If that was not the case, Yarhid could run in and out of a place to see. Also, the monk must have realized that his hands were now too cold and wet all over to feel if there was but one drop.
Yarhid was discouraged, and sat in the mud to ponder upon this impossible task. He now understood why the elders had sat without acting. How to do this he thought? But no answer came. Later, all those who still remained retired for the night.
The next day Yarhid returned, determined, but this time he sat and like the elder ones, he watched the rain, studied it, trying to unlock the secret of all this. The next three days passed like this and all Yarhid caught was fever, sickness, tremblings and even waking nightmares. In the dying hours of the contest none remained but the boy, all had given up. The rain pounded mercilessly on his head, his body was numb and he wondered if he could even stand, but he would not move until the answer came. Eventually doubt began to settle in and his composure broke. “Am I not brave enough?” He shouted. “Am I not worthy enough?” He pounded his frozen fists desperately into the mud no longer able to contain his frustration. Then, the monk from the other day returned and saw Yarhid, concerned he stopped.
"Is this not a dangerous thing now, to catch the rain? Is it not foolish, is it not all so foolish?"Yarhid did not answer, and the monk continued. As the sounds of the monks steps grew fainter, his words reached Yarhid's mind and broke it. Yarhid burst into laughter.
"Indeed, it is all too foolish." And with that he ran to the castle, burst into the throne room and stood before the King showing him his hands, wet, inside and out.
"There is no way to hold it, for it cannot be held."
"As the single drop of water is to an ocean, as so are we to Kavik. Even on its own, the single drop remains a part of the ocean and the ocean remains a part of it, their essence being one in the same and their natures indistinguishable. That is the essence of Kavik, that is the great teaching of the Nasgari and the secret of your great King. In short you should have never tried to catch the rain, as the drop of water does not try to blend with the ocean. There is simply no need, it was indeed all too foolish" The King replied, smiling mischievously.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Adventures of Thomas the Momas ep. 2
“Un-be-lie-vable!” He exclaimed, stressing every syllable of the word. That was usually his manner of speaking when excited or annoyed.
Not having noticed Thomas when he entered, he shrugged off his frown momentarily to quickly dispense with the amenities.
“Morning Tom.”
“Morning your lordhip.” Tom was being sarcastic of course, being considered as part of the family there was no need for him to be so formal. The Lord answered with a hard look, and then turned to the Mrs.
“Nearly starved to death was he my dear?” He said quickly, raising an eyebrow at Tom.
“Yes my love.”
“Saved by good scent cloud was he?”
“Yes my love.”
“Hmph, not sure where to eat I bet? Indecisiveness will most likely be the end of the boy.”
“Most likely.”
With an air of mock victory, Lord Muffin-Top joined the other two and the table and readied himself for breakfast.
“Your Lordship.” Thomas continued, not conceding defeat. “You were saying?” Paying no attention, his lordship went on with the story.
“Ah yes, ahm, as I was saying…Un-be-lie-vable!”
“There I was.” The lord was very gestural in his manner of speaking especially when anecdotal. It was as though he re-enacted whatever tale he told.
“On the hunting grounds, the…the…uh.”
“Huntington.” Mrs. Muffin-Top quickly and delicately added.”
“Thank you dearest, the Hun-ting-ton hunting grounds. Ready to hunt bear.” Whenever Mr. Muffin-Top would speak of an animal he always mimicked its most distinctive physical attribute. For example, for a deer or moose he make antlers of his hands atop his head, in this instance he made his arms wide to show the bear’s corpulence making claws with his hands and a scary growl face. And no matter how many times he would allude to the animal he would pause for the mimickery. Thomas loved this about him, and always found himself more enthralled in the story as a result. “So there we were the chaps and I, walking the woods, stalking the grounds, trying not to make a sound. When all of a sudden, we found a magnificent beast, a bear no less than fifteen feet tall if he was a foot. I called the boys over for them to see, and told them, this one was mine. I lined my tranquilizer rifle, ready to put him to sleep so that he may be dealt with in a most humane way.
“Most humane my love.” The Mrs. Added
Mr. Muffin-Top’s face was already red, and he was almost short of breath from the exertion of flailing his arms to re-enact the walking, pretending to sneak around to re-enact the stalking and clutching an invisble rifle to re-enact the lining. All of this while speaking, in that particular manner of this.
“So there I was, ready to bring doooooooown the bear, when a most un-be-, no, no that’s not it, when a most, a most.” He was now huffing and puffing, so red, so mad, it seemed that soon he would lose his muffin’s top.”
“Grievous my dear.”
“A most grrrrrrrrrrievous transgression on one’s right to hunt good and proper, was commited onto MEEEEEE!” Completely spent from the emotion of this retelling, Mr. Muffin-Top’s captive audience was forced to wait for him to gather himself, drink a little water and then finally, go on.
“That idiot Nigel accidentally fired off his rifle, causing the bear to be alerted to our presence, then to give chase in a raaaaaaaaged frrrrenzy, for what seemed like miles Luckily, we somewhow managed to escape with our hides intact. His lordship, now drew a deep breath filling his starved lungs, collapsing in his chair reeling from the climax of this near tragic story. Thomas was quite exilirated, his face gleaming.
“Well anyway, I was so angered at that poor fool that I could no longer enjoy the hunt, and so here I am. Shall we begin?”
The meal had been quite worth the wait, as it always is in this land. For you see, the true treasure of this place is that no matter how much you eat, you never feel full. And so the only reason you ever stop is simply because you no longer want to eat. But do not be fooled, gluttony is greatly frowned upon, all things must be done in moderation you see. “Tis’ the only way the things that need doing will get done.” As the Mrs. Always puts it. Of course, this does not prevent those who dwell here to eat great amounts food.
What was important was to enjoy every morsel regardless of the quantity, and what signaled the end of the meal was simply a question of having your taste buds satisfied. Meals in themselves thus lasted for hours but there was no gouging of food or stuffing of faces, quiet, delicate seemingly endless savoring of foods. By the time Thomas had left, the hour was well past that of the noon hour but he was quite content save for a bit of soreness in his jaw. He bid the Muffin-Tops farewell and made his was home. Crossing over into his empty castle-like home was at times such a contrast from whatever place he was returning from, that he would feel a little out of place. Now was most definitely one of those times and he had no desire to dwell as he did before in a search for his next door. He knew where he was headed and with quick feet, charged up to the top floor of the house heading for the realm of the crystal mistress. The mistress was a fortune teller, an old woman who crowed and cackled like a witch, frail looking but undoubtedly powerful. Her world unlike all others was caught somewhere between dimensions, it was black all around for what seemed like infinity. The only light was that which surrounded the massive wicker chair in which she sat surrounded by crystals of all shapes and sizes. She cautioned all those who managed to find her never to stray from her parlor for those who could no longer see its light vanished into nothingness.
Not having noticed Thomas when he entered, he shrugged off his frown momentarily to quickly dispense with the amenities.
“Morning Tom.”
“Morning your lordhip.” Tom was being sarcastic of course, being considered as part of the family there was no need for him to be so formal. The Lord answered with a hard look, and then turned to the Mrs.
“Nearly starved to death was he my dear?” He said quickly, raising an eyebrow at Tom.
“Yes my love.”
“Saved by good scent cloud was he?”
“Yes my love.”
“Hmph, not sure where to eat I bet? Indecisiveness will most likely be the end of the boy.”
“Most likely.”
With an air of mock victory, Lord Muffin-Top joined the other two and the table and readied himself for breakfast.
“Your Lordship.” Thomas continued, not conceding defeat. “You were saying?” Paying no attention, his lordship went on with the story.
“Ah yes, ahm, as I was saying…Un-be-lie-vable!”
“There I was.” The lord was very gestural in his manner of speaking especially when anecdotal. It was as though he re-enacted whatever tale he told.
“On the hunting grounds, the…the…uh.”
“Huntington.” Mrs. Muffin-Top quickly and delicately added.”
“Thank you dearest, the Hun-ting-ton hunting grounds. Ready to hunt bear.” Whenever Mr. Muffin-Top would speak of an animal he always mimicked its most distinctive physical attribute. For example, for a deer or moose he make antlers of his hands atop his head, in this instance he made his arms wide to show the bear’s corpulence making claws with his hands and a scary growl face. And no matter how many times he would allude to the animal he would pause for the mimickery. Thomas loved this about him, and always found himself more enthralled in the story as a result. “So there we were the chaps and I, walking the woods, stalking the grounds, trying not to make a sound. When all of a sudden, we found a magnificent beast, a bear no less than fifteen feet tall if he was a foot. I called the boys over for them to see, and told them, this one was mine. I lined my tranquilizer rifle, ready to put him to sleep so that he may be dealt with in a most humane way.
“Most humane my love.” The Mrs. Added
Mr. Muffin-Top’s face was already red, and he was almost short of breath from the exertion of flailing his arms to re-enact the walking, pretending to sneak around to re-enact the stalking and clutching an invisble rifle to re-enact the lining. All of this while speaking, in that particular manner of this.
“So there I was, ready to bring doooooooown the bear, when a most un-be-, no, no that’s not it, when a most, a most.” He was now huffing and puffing, so red, so mad, it seemed that soon he would lose his muffin’s top.”
“Grievous my dear.”
“A most grrrrrrrrrrievous transgression on one’s right to hunt good and proper, was commited onto MEEEEEE!” Completely spent from the emotion of this retelling, Mr. Muffin-Top’s captive audience was forced to wait for him to gather himself, drink a little water and then finally, go on.
“That idiot Nigel accidentally fired off his rifle, causing the bear to be alerted to our presence, then to give chase in a raaaaaaaaged frrrrenzy, for what seemed like miles Luckily, we somewhow managed to escape with our hides intact. His lordship, now drew a deep breath filling his starved lungs, collapsing in his chair reeling from the climax of this near tragic story. Thomas was quite exilirated, his face gleaming.
“Well anyway, I was so angered at that poor fool that I could no longer enjoy the hunt, and so here I am. Shall we begin?”
The meal had been quite worth the wait, as it always is in this land. For you see, the true treasure of this place is that no matter how much you eat, you never feel full. And so the only reason you ever stop is simply because you no longer want to eat. But do not be fooled, gluttony is greatly frowned upon, all things must be done in moderation you see. “Tis’ the only way the things that need doing will get done.” As the Mrs. Always puts it. Of course, this does not prevent those who dwell here to eat great amounts food.
What was important was to enjoy every morsel regardless of the quantity, and what signaled the end of the meal was simply a question of having your taste buds satisfied. Meals in themselves thus lasted for hours but there was no gouging of food or stuffing of faces, quiet, delicate seemingly endless savoring of foods. By the time Thomas had left, the hour was well past that of the noon hour but he was quite content save for a bit of soreness in his jaw. He bid the Muffin-Tops farewell and made his was home. Crossing over into his empty castle-like home was at times such a contrast from whatever place he was returning from, that he would feel a little out of place. Now was most definitely one of those times and he had no desire to dwell as he did before in a search for his next door. He knew where he was headed and with quick feet, charged up to the top floor of the house heading for the realm of the crystal mistress. The mistress was a fortune teller, an old woman who crowed and cackled like a witch, frail looking but undoubtedly powerful. Her world unlike all others was caught somewhere between dimensions, it was black all around for what seemed like infinity. The only light was that which surrounded the massive wicker chair in which she sat surrounded by crystals of all shapes and sizes. She cautioned all those who managed to find her never to stray from her parlor for those who could no longer see its light vanished into nothingness.
Tale of the week
The fifth tale:The King and the demon.
In the third age of the hundred year rule of King Ogdazh, the demon of Azgar appeared and layed waste to many of the villages in the Kingdom, hundreds died and suffered. The demon spared none that he came across and his delight in the carnage was expressed by the gruesome scenes left in his wake.
The people, desperate, begged that the King should save them. But the King did not. Villagers came to pound on the gates and doors of the castle, but still the King would not act. For seven days and nights, the demon cruelly ravaged the lands as the villagers ran and hid for their lives.
On the eighth morning, when the demon came to the largest of the villages in the Kingdom, he found that the people had rallied together in great number to fight, having abandoned all hope that their King would save them. As this beast of a creature approached, the villagers came out and surrounded it. Unmoved by the spectacle, the demon continued to approach laughing most darkly. The villagers trembled, but held their ground and as it seemed the demon would leap forward to attack, the King suddenly appeared before it. The demon, showing no sign of surprise, cast its vicious gaze upon the King The King countered with a frightful stare and their eyes locked. The villagers, amazed and baffled by the King’s sudden appearance, could only watch in anticipation. As time crawled on and with no sign of either yielding any ground, the villagers grew restless and the crowd rumbled. Soon the tension grew too great and the villagers could wait no longer. The King, sensing this, made his move. Walking intently towards the demon, he held out his arms, and he and the demon shared an embrace, like two old friends finding each other after many years. Once the embrace finished, the demon vanished.
The crowd of villagers instantly fell silent and for what seemed a long time, just sood there in great confusion. Suddenly, one among them spoke in anger at the scene, then another, and another, all screaming that the King was in league with the demon and had sent it to destroy them. The mob's anger grew hot and the air smelled of violence, they-the villagers- began to descend upon the King. The King turned to his people and raised his fist letting out a mighty war cry, his voice booming like the cries of a thousand warriors. As the sound of the cry reached the villagers, it carried deep within each of them quelling their rage and leaving them still, proud and strong.
The King lowered his hand and said. "Now you fend for yourselves, recognize that which the demon has left you and be thankful, for when the day comes when the King is no longer, the people of Altai shall know how to stand and fight.”
In the third age of the hundred year rule of King Ogdazh, the demon of Azgar appeared and layed waste to many of the villages in the Kingdom, hundreds died and suffered. The demon spared none that he came across and his delight in the carnage was expressed by the gruesome scenes left in his wake.
The people, desperate, begged that the King should save them. But the King did not. Villagers came to pound on the gates and doors of the castle, but still the King would not act. For seven days and nights, the demon cruelly ravaged the lands as the villagers ran and hid for their lives.
On the eighth morning, when the demon came to the largest of the villages in the Kingdom, he found that the people had rallied together in great number to fight, having abandoned all hope that their King would save them. As this beast of a creature approached, the villagers came out and surrounded it. Unmoved by the spectacle, the demon continued to approach laughing most darkly. The villagers trembled, but held their ground and as it seemed the demon would leap forward to attack, the King suddenly appeared before it. The demon, showing no sign of surprise, cast its vicious gaze upon the King The King countered with a frightful stare and their eyes locked. The villagers, amazed and baffled by the King’s sudden appearance, could only watch in anticipation. As time crawled on and with no sign of either yielding any ground, the villagers grew restless and the crowd rumbled. Soon the tension grew too great and the villagers could wait no longer. The King, sensing this, made his move. Walking intently towards the demon, he held out his arms, and he and the demon shared an embrace, like two old friends finding each other after many years. Once the embrace finished, the demon vanished.
The crowd of villagers instantly fell silent and for what seemed a long time, just sood there in great confusion. Suddenly, one among them spoke in anger at the scene, then another, and another, all screaming that the King was in league with the demon and had sent it to destroy them. The mob's anger grew hot and the air smelled of violence, they-the villagers- began to descend upon the King. The King turned to his people and raised his fist letting out a mighty war cry, his voice booming like the cries of a thousand warriors. As the sound of the cry reached the villagers, it carried deep within each of them quelling their rage and leaving them still, proud and strong.
The King lowered his hand and said. "Now you fend for yourselves, recognize that which the demon has left you and be thankful, for when the day comes when the King is no longer, the people of Altai shall know how to stand and fight.”
Monday, July 21, 2008
The Adventures of Thomas the Momas
I present to you, dear reader, The Adventures of Thomas the Momas. The tale of the spiritual journey of an enigmatic young man who lived in an enigmatic old house.
There once was man who lived in a house filled with doors to other places. Not closets, bathrooms, kitchens or bedrooms but other worlds and dimensions. Everyday he awoke and began making his way through his house, going from floor to floor hearing each door call to him, urging him to walk through. Some doors, more excited than others shook hard, almost coming off their hinges. But he was a patient man, examining each door carefully as to be sure to make the right choice of door for today. “Which one shall it be today?” he said aloud, the doors hummed in anticipation. “Shall it be a big door?” He continued standing in front of massive double-door made of heavy oak. “Shall it be a small door?” He turned and knelt to examine the waist high door behind him. “Will it be a green door, an orange door…?” He continued down the hall, hearing the doors cry out in his mind. He made his way to the basement, ten floors down, once there he made his way through a long winding hallway lit by torches and lined with mirrors. In the mirrors of this house there lived something ominous, a spectre, a phantom, an evil of some kind. He feared it, and welcomed it all at once for he knew that in this life it was bound to him. It did not speak up like the doors, only whispered in a sinister voice, hushed evil things in his mind. He ran down the hall way, for though the mirros were scary, the prize to be found was too irresistible. At the end of the hallway, two doors made of cast iron stood towering seemingly to no end, the torches lighting it on either side found their light swallowed by the deep darkness a few feet higher leaving no account of any kind of ceiling. Indeed the basement was a dark and frightening place. He stood in front of the large doors, speechless, examining the texture with his eyes, than his hands, then feeling the metal’s frost with his cheek. He had never past this gate before, but everyday he came to look upon it. He could not say why, but something in compelled him to, as if he needed to be reassured it was still there. He thought perhaps this door hid away untold treasures, or maybe untold horrors, all he could say for sure was that he wanted above all else to walk through them. Yet he could not bring himself to do so, every time he set his hands on the iron rings with which he could pull the doors open a murmur emanating from the mirrors could be heard. As he began to pull the massive doors open the murmur grew to ghostly whispers of an ill intent. An ominous feeling would then creep up his spine causing a shudder, as the doors would begin to part a bright light would burst from the slight opening blinding him, forcing him to turn his eyes away and with the light came wind but not from the inside. The hall of mirrors in protest of his efforts conjured a strange wind that pulled him from behind with enough force to convince him to release his grip. And the moment he would the doors would slam shut of their own accord and once again he would be left in the dark, short of breath, sweating and exhausted. The mass of the doors themselves was cause enough for such physical exertion. However, the mystical energies working in tandem to thwart his attempts at crossing would nearly suck the life out of him. Light and wind, his ennemies at this hour, every single day, for years he could no longer count. But, he would return tomorrow, compelled by some dogged determination even he could not understand. For he was very mild in character in regard to all other things, never did he apply force where there was too much resistance, but this door and its mystery had awoken something in him that could not rest until satisfied.
After he had taken a long hot shower, he began to wander the halls again this time in search of an enchanting place to have breakfast. As always the morning’s episode always left him famished and happily so, for he delighted in food like no other. “Where O where to satiate my great hunger?” He said nearly in song, jubilating at the mere thought of the feast to come. He made his way from floor to floor, unable to choose, torturing himself as his hunger grew to the point of intolerability, which also delighted him. He began to feel faint and decided to sit a spell, on the stairs between the 4th and 5th floors. He thought perhaps if he made up his mind about where to go in one place he would have more luck in choosing. He thought long and hard, trying as best not to be distracted by the constant grumbling of his stomach, he thought and thought but to no avail. Suddenly, his salvation came in the form of a faint aroma, one sweet and delicious. Bewitched by the sweet odour he was drawn to his feet and followed his nose down to the fourth. Now the sent was growing stronger and more sweet and with each step he fell deeper and deeper under its spell until his feet left the ground and he began to float. He floated until the end of the hallway and arrived in front a wonderful coloured door, looking like a rainbow swirl and smelling of pancakes, waffles, marmelade and sweet berries. He pulled it open and was carried inside by a wonderfully sented cloud onto a chair at a table where a mountain of all the things he smelled and more stood before him. “Well my dear, looks like you’ve alost done it this time.” The words came from the high pitched yet lovable voice of Mrs. Muffin-Top, a small and full figure of a middle aged-woman with a face as sweet as her baked treats. “You’ve almost gone and done it this time, nearly starving yourself to death!” Our hero looked around but could not see her, she actually remained hidden and the other end of the table concealed by the stacks of food. Knowing he was probably looking around for her, she poked her head out on the side and gave him a sweet smile, the sweetest smile. She was of a playful nature and he very much liked that.
“Yes I know Mrs. Muffin-Top, it’s just so hard to choose at times.”
“Well you know dear, I always tell you when in doubt come to the Muffin-Tops’, but do you ever listen?” Her cheery voice sounded a little more reproachful, but not too much so.
“Yes, I know, I know, It’ll be the end of me…Say, where’s Lord Muffin-Top this morning.”
“The Lord is out hunting, don’t think he’ll be in for breakfast though.” No sooner had she finished her words did Mr., or rather Lord Muffin-Top come bursting through the front door huffing and puffing in discontent.
From the Adventures of Thomas the Momas Copyright 2008
There once was man who lived in a house filled with doors to other places. Not closets, bathrooms, kitchens or bedrooms but other worlds and dimensions. Everyday he awoke and began making his way through his house, going from floor to floor hearing each door call to him, urging him to walk through. Some doors, more excited than others shook hard, almost coming off their hinges. But he was a patient man, examining each door carefully as to be sure to make the right choice of door for today. “Which one shall it be today?” he said aloud, the doors hummed in anticipation. “Shall it be a big door?” He continued standing in front of massive double-door made of heavy oak. “Shall it be a small door?” He turned and knelt to examine the waist high door behind him. “Will it be a green door, an orange door…?” He continued down the hall, hearing the doors cry out in his mind. He made his way to the basement, ten floors down, once there he made his way through a long winding hallway lit by torches and lined with mirrors. In the mirrors of this house there lived something ominous, a spectre, a phantom, an evil of some kind. He feared it, and welcomed it all at once for he knew that in this life it was bound to him. It did not speak up like the doors, only whispered in a sinister voice, hushed evil things in his mind. He ran down the hall way, for though the mirros were scary, the prize to be found was too irresistible. At the end of the hallway, two doors made of cast iron stood towering seemingly to no end, the torches lighting it on either side found their light swallowed by the deep darkness a few feet higher leaving no account of any kind of ceiling. Indeed the basement was a dark and frightening place. He stood in front of the large doors, speechless, examining the texture with his eyes, than his hands, then feeling the metal’s frost with his cheek. He had never past this gate before, but everyday he came to look upon it. He could not say why, but something in compelled him to, as if he needed to be reassured it was still there. He thought perhaps this door hid away untold treasures, or maybe untold horrors, all he could say for sure was that he wanted above all else to walk through them. Yet he could not bring himself to do so, every time he set his hands on the iron rings with which he could pull the doors open a murmur emanating from the mirrors could be heard. As he began to pull the massive doors open the murmur grew to ghostly whispers of an ill intent. An ominous feeling would then creep up his spine causing a shudder, as the doors would begin to part a bright light would burst from the slight opening blinding him, forcing him to turn his eyes away and with the light came wind but not from the inside. The hall of mirrors in protest of his efforts conjured a strange wind that pulled him from behind with enough force to convince him to release his grip. And the moment he would the doors would slam shut of their own accord and once again he would be left in the dark, short of breath, sweating and exhausted. The mass of the doors themselves was cause enough for such physical exertion. However, the mystical energies working in tandem to thwart his attempts at crossing would nearly suck the life out of him. Light and wind, his ennemies at this hour, every single day, for years he could no longer count. But, he would return tomorrow, compelled by some dogged determination even he could not understand. For he was very mild in character in regard to all other things, never did he apply force where there was too much resistance, but this door and its mystery had awoken something in him that could not rest until satisfied.
After he had taken a long hot shower, he began to wander the halls again this time in search of an enchanting place to have breakfast. As always the morning’s episode always left him famished and happily so, for he delighted in food like no other. “Where O where to satiate my great hunger?” He said nearly in song, jubilating at the mere thought of the feast to come. He made his way from floor to floor, unable to choose, torturing himself as his hunger grew to the point of intolerability, which also delighted him. He began to feel faint and decided to sit a spell, on the stairs between the 4th and 5th floors. He thought perhaps if he made up his mind about where to go in one place he would have more luck in choosing. He thought long and hard, trying as best not to be distracted by the constant grumbling of his stomach, he thought and thought but to no avail. Suddenly, his salvation came in the form of a faint aroma, one sweet and delicious. Bewitched by the sweet odour he was drawn to his feet and followed his nose down to the fourth. Now the sent was growing stronger and more sweet and with each step he fell deeper and deeper under its spell until his feet left the ground and he began to float. He floated until the end of the hallway and arrived in front a wonderful coloured door, looking like a rainbow swirl and smelling of pancakes, waffles, marmelade and sweet berries. He pulled it open and was carried inside by a wonderfully sented cloud onto a chair at a table where a mountain of all the things he smelled and more stood before him. “Well my dear, looks like you’ve alost done it this time.” The words came from the high pitched yet lovable voice of Mrs. Muffin-Top, a small and full figure of a middle aged-woman with a face as sweet as her baked treats. “You’ve almost gone and done it this time, nearly starving yourself to death!” Our hero looked around but could not see her, she actually remained hidden and the other end of the table concealed by the stacks of food. Knowing he was probably looking around for her, she poked her head out on the side and gave him a sweet smile, the sweetest smile. She was of a playful nature and he very much liked that.
“Yes I know Mrs. Muffin-Top, it’s just so hard to choose at times.”
“Well you know dear, I always tell you when in doubt come to the Muffin-Tops’, but do you ever listen?” Her cheery voice sounded a little more reproachful, but not too much so.
“Yes, I know, I know, It’ll be the end of me…Say, where’s Lord Muffin-Top this morning.”
“The Lord is out hunting, don’t think he’ll be in for breakfast though.” No sooner had she finished her words did Mr., or rather Lord Muffin-Top come bursting through the front door huffing and puffing in discontent.
From the Adventures of Thomas the Momas Copyright 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
This weeks Tale
The tenth tale: The King's apprentice.
Following the challenge, Yarhid was summoned to the castle. When he arrived the King stood at the gates, alone. "So then, my boy, you have uncovered my secret now you must be its student." Three monks appeared. "They will be your teachers, each for a day. After which you will tell me what you have learned." Yarhid greeted his three masters. One looked strong and had a frightful glare. He announced that he was to be his first teacher. The other two departed.
"Today you will learn about the body and its power." The broad shouldered teacher declared and lead Yarhid to the training ground. Throughout the day, the master monk amazed Yarhid with his might, able to lift things no man could lift, able to break through barriers no man could break through. At the end of the day Yarhid had learned much about concentration and focusing ones might, and to the monk’s surprise, could now perform some of what he had learned after only a day.
The next morning, Yarhid awaited the second teacher. He thought to himself he had now understood it all, he knew not what else he could be taught. The second monk now arrived, tall, graceful, with a look of peace on his face. Without a word he motioned for Yarhid to come with him. During the day, Yarhid was again amazed. This monk could do everything the other could and more. But he used not an ounce of strength, just his mind. Once more, the young apprentice was up to the challenge. By the end of that morning, he could perform some of what he had learned. He knew now that he could hold even more power and that he did not need to exert his own energy to channel it.
As they returned together to the castle gates where they had met, the third monk was already there. A short, awkward old man, with a funny face and character to match. He was loud, coarse and laughed at his own silly jokes. Yarhid thought he did not hold the same dignity as the other two. "Ok boy, come with me now, you obviously have learned nothing from those two." The old monk said. Yarhid was surprised at the insult, and even more surprised that the psychic monk simply bowed and withdrew. "Let's have a look at you...hmmm...just as I thought...utterly stupid...and ugly too. My god, your parents must be tired of squinting when looking at you." He chuckled, then turned and walked away telling Yarhid to follow. Yarhid did not appreciate the remarks but held his tongue for he thought it important to learn. All day the monk walked aimlessly about the town, and in the forest lecturing and insulting the poor boy. He thought this might be tolerable if he at least taught him something, but nay, only insults, silly jokes and incessant empty chatter. On top of it all, he made him help with his errands, not to mention that at every turn the monk was nearly struck down by a cart or crushed by a heavy door. Yarhid had never met anyone so lucky and thought perhaps he should teach the monk a thing or two about being careful.
By nightfall Yarhid could take no more. “Hours on foot, just for this!” He was annoyed and exhausted. Suddenly, the monk stopped and fell silent. Then turned to the boy and said.
"I have taught you all that I know, am I not the wisest of your teachers? Now, acknowledge me as your master." The monk had a big silly grin on his face.
"You?. My master?!" Yarhid could no longer contain himself. "You are the silliest clumsiest fool I have ever met, it's a miracle you are still alive!"
"So you do acknowledge me as the best of your teachers?"
"Absolutely not! I have learned nothing at all, except how to almost get myself killed. The other two taught valuable methods and lessons. You, it seems, know nothing at all!"
The monk lowered his eyes to the ground. Yarhid suddenly felt guilty, and tried to remedy his outburst but the monk stopped him and said. "I told you he was too young, still too fool-hardy."
The King suddenly appeared. "I can see that." He looked at Yarhid disapprovingly.
Yarhid was at a complete loss, he felt he had failed somehow but did not understand why. "I do not understand my King, what has happened here?"
"Why don't you tell us what you have learned from the three."
And so Yarhid extolled the virtues of the first two monks but had nothing to say of the third.
"Therein lies the problem." The King said. "The first two monks, though powerful showed you only how to borrow power from the universe, and that is only the beginning of it all. True greatness comes from uniting with the world around you, as our friend here does." He was pointing at the old monk. "The other two monks removed obstacles as a result of their will amplified by the energy they had absorbed. But the third monk was being served by it entirely. He is no clumsy fool, he was just showing you that no matter what, the energy that flows through him will clear all obstacles. That he may live as he chooses, secure in that knowing, for he has surrendered to that fact and his faith is the only power he needs."
Yarhid was mystified, but saddened that he could not see. He looked over at the old monk, more carefully this time and saw that there was a glow around him always, a glow that seemed to tickle those who noticed it.
"Do not worry young one." The King went on. "Seedlings do not become trees in three days no matter how pure the rain or rich the soil."
From the Legends of Altai Volume 1, The tales of King Ogdazh: Book of Divination copyright 2008
Following the challenge, Yarhid was summoned to the castle. When he arrived the King stood at the gates, alone. "So then, my boy, you have uncovered my secret now you must be its student." Three monks appeared. "They will be your teachers, each for a day. After which you will tell me what you have learned." Yarhid greeted his three masters. One looked strong and had a frightful glare. He announced that he was to be his first teacher. The other two departed.
"Today you will learn about the body and its power." The broad shouldered teacher declared and lead Yarhid to the training ground. Throughout the day, the master monk amazed Yarhid with his might, able to lift things no man could lift, able to break through barriers no man could break through. At the end of the day Yarhid had learned much about concentration and focusing ones might, and to the monk’s surprise, could now perform some of what he had learned after only a day.
The next morning, Yarhid awaited the second teacher. He thought to himself he had now understood it all, he knew not what else he could be taught. The second monk now arrived, tall, graceful, with a look of peace on his face. Without a word he motioned for Yarhid to come with him. During the day, Yarhid was again amazed. This monk could do everything the other could and more. But he used not an ounce of strength, just his mind. Once more, the young apprentice was up to the challenge. By the end of that morning, he could perform some of what he had learned. He knew now that he could hold even more power and that he did not need to exert his own energy to channel it.
As they returned together to the castle gates where they had met, the third monk was already there. A short, awkward old man, with a funny face and character to match. He was loud, coarse and laughed at his own silly jokes. Yarhid thought he did not hold the same dignity as the other two. "Ok boy, come with me now, you obviously have learned nothing from those two." The old monk said. Yarhid was surprised at the insult, and even more surprised that the psychic monk simply bowed and withdrew. "Let's have a look at you...hmmm...just as I thought...utterly stupid...and ugly too. My god, your parents must be tired of squinting when looking at you." He chuckled, then turned and walked away telling Yarhid to follow. Yarhid did not appreciate the remarks but held his tongue for he thought it important to learn. All day the monk walked aimlessly about the town, and in the forest lecturing and insulting the poor boy. He thought this might be tolerable if he at least taught him something, but nay, only insults, silly jokes and incessant empty chatter. On top of it all, he made him help with his errands, not to mention that at every turn the monk was nearly struck down by a cart or crushed by a heavy door. Yarhid had never met anyone so lucky and thought perhaps he should teach the monk a thing or two about being careful.
By nightfall Yarhid could take no more. “Hours on foot, just for this!” He was annoyed and exhausted. Suddenly, the monk stopped and fell silent. Then turned to the boy and said.
"I have taught you all that I know, am I not the wisest of your teachers? Now, acknowledge me as your master." The monk had a big silly grin on his face.
"You?. My master?!" Yarhid could no longer contain himself. "You are the silliest clumsiest fool I have ever met, it's a miracle you are still alive!"
"So you do acknowledge me as the best of your teachers?"
"Absolutely not! I have learned nothing at all, except how to almost get myself killed. The other two taught valuable methods and lessons. You, it seems, know nothing at all!"
The monk lowered his eyes to the ground. Yarhid suddenly felt guilty, and tried to remedy his outburst but the monk stopped him and said. "I told you he was too young, still too fool-hardy."
The King suddenly appeared. "I can see that." He looked at Yarhid disapprovingly.
Yarhid was at a complete loss, he felt he had failed somehow but did not understand why. "I do not understand my King, what has happened here?"
"Why don't you tell us what you have learned from the three."
And so Yarhid extolled the virtues of the first two monks but had nothing to say of the third.
"Therein lies the problem." The King said. "The first two monks, though powerful showed you only how to borrow power from the universe, and that is only the beginning of it all. True greatness comes from uniting with the world around you, as our friend here does." He was pointing at the old monk. "The other two monks removed obstacles as a result of their will amplified by the energy they had absorbed. But the third monk was being served by it entirely. He is no clumsy fool, he was just showing you that no matter what, the energy that flows through him will clear all obstacles. That he may live as he chooses, secure in that knowing, for he has surrendered to that fact and his faith is the only power he needs."
Yarhid was mystified, but saddened that he could not see. He looked over at the old monk, more carefully this time and saw that there was a glow around him always, a glow that seemed to tickle those who noticed it.
"Do not worry young one." The King went on. "Seedlings do not become trees in three days no matter how pure the rain or rich the soil."
From the Legends of Altai Volume 1, The tales of King Ogdazh: Book of Divination copyright 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
This weeks tale.
The second tale: Ogdazh and the serpents skin
One day the mightiest warrior of the Kingdom, Tokrat the savage, burst in to the great hall of the castle and declared: "I Tokrat challenge Ogdazh, King, for his throne”.
Those in the great hall gasped, surprised by the boldness of the warrior. Tokrat, who had won many battles, slain many ennemies and had accomplished many feats beyond that of a normal man, had grown brazen and dared to challenge his King. He was confident that his rule would herald a new era of greatness for the Kingdom.The King who was present rose to greet the warrior and replied to his challenge."I accept your challenge Tokrat, mightiest of warriors. To prove your worth we shall have a contest, a hunt for the throne. He who brings the greatest serpents skin for all to see by nightfall, will be ruler." Tokrat smirked and left at once to hunt. The King however, spent the rest of the day in the hall and throne room tending to the affairs of his Kingdom. Those loyal to the King grew worried that he did not leave to hunt but none dared to question him.
By nightfall Tokrat had returned, bloodied and covered in sweat. On his back he carried an enormous and colourful snake skin: "This is the skin of the great snake of the four peaks, the most dangerous serpent in all Altai. No man has ever survived an encounter with it but I, Tokrat, bring it to you, people of our Kingdom, to prove my worth." He threw the skin on the ground and layed it out for all to see, the people of the Kingdom were astonished. Tokrat then turned to the King: "And what have you brought O King?" He asked defiantly.
The King, who was dining at his table did not even raise his head. He only raised his hand which began to glow with a golden light. The light grew brighter and brighter until it shone with the force of a thousand suns making all those present cover their eyes. The people thought the King was angry and that he would now punish Tokrat’s arrogance using the strength of the sun. But the King did no such thing, the light from his hand now faded completely and in the wake of its brilliance, hundreds of lavish snake skins now adorned the walls of the great hall. The crowd gasped, then stood to their feet and cheered for the King. Tokrat who was slowly spinning round himself, mouth opened in amazement did not realize that the King knelt before him, when he did the King said. "I have brought all the skins from all our lands to dress these walls, but none are finer than yours O King."
Tokrat stood speechless and the hall fell silent. Tokrat fell to his knees and quietly uttered. "No, it is you who are King, I am no match for your greatness and am not worthy."
The King rose and approached the warrior and said only this. "You are right, you are not worthy, for a true King never hesitates, now be banished from my Kingdom."
From the Legends of Altai Volume 1, The tales of King Ogdazh: Book of Divination copyright 2008
One day the mightiest warrior of the Kingdom, Tokrat the savage, burst in to the great hall of the castle and declared: "I Tokrat challenge Ogdazh, King, for his throne”.
Those in the great hall gasped, surprised by the boldness of the warrior. Tokrat, who had won many battles, slain many ennemies and had accomplished many feats beyond that of a normal man, had grown brazen and dared to challenge his King. He was confident that his rule would herald a new era of greatness for the Kingdom.The King who was present rose to greet the warrior and replied to his challenge."I accept your challenge Tokrat, mightiest of warriors. To prove your worth we shall have a contest, a hunt for the throne. He who brings the greatest serpents skin for all to see by nightfall, will be ruler." Tokrat smirked and left at once to hunt. The King however, spent the rest of the day in the hall and throne room tending to the affairs of his Kingdom. Those loyal to the King grew worried that he did not leave to hunt but none dared to question him.
By nightfall Tokrat had returned, bloodied and covered in sweat. On his back he carried an enormous and colourful snake skin: "This is the skin of the great snake of the four peaks, the most dangerous serpent in all Altai. No man has ever survived an encounter with it but I, Tokrat, bring it to you, people of our Kingdom, to prove my worth." He threw the skin on the ground and layed it out for all to see, the people of the Kingdom were astonished. Tokrat then turned to the King: "And what have you brought O King?" He asked defiantly.
The King, who was dining at his table did not even raise his head. He only raised his hand which began to glow with a golden light. The light grew brighter and brighter until it shone with the force of a thousand suns making all those present cover their eyes. The people thought the King was angry and that he would now punish Tokrat’s arrogance using the strength of the sun. But the King did no such thing, the light from his hand now faded completely and in the wake of its brilliance, hundreds of lavish snake skins now adorned the walls of the great hall. The crowd gasped, then stood to their feet and cheered for the King. Tokrat who was slowly spinning round himself, mouth opened in amazement did not realize that the King knelt before him, when he did the King said. "I have brought all the skins from all our lands to dress these walls, but none are finer than yours O King."
Tokrat stood speechless and the hall fell silent. Tokrat fell to his knees and quietly uttered. "No, it is you who are King, I am no match for your greatness and am not worthy."
The King rose and approached the warrior and said only this. "You are right, you are not worthy, for a true King never hesitates, now be banished from my Kingdom."
From the Legends of Altai Volume 1, The tales of King Ogdazh: Book of Divination copyright 2008
Friday, July 4, 2008
More words and music
For this bit of 'Content that moves you', I wanted the music to reach further down into people's souls. Grab them where their faith resides and help open their hearts to that big old universe out there; and maybe, just maybe, even help catch a glimpse of the man upstairs :)
Turn the music up real loud and enjoy!
Turn the music up real loud and enjoy!
Monday, June 30, 2008
This weeks tale.
The seventh tale: Tale of the golden swan.
Once a year in the Kingdom of Ogdazh, a great game took place known as the ‘Golden Swan’. Every child that had reached the age of reason would be sent out to find the great golden swan. The swan in itself was a mythical creature and so the children were told that the one who found one of its eggs – which the parents would make and hide - would win the contest. The prize was to become the great swan’s friend, which meant that the swan would watch over the child always. The King had won the game very young in age and had become the most notable King in all their history, so the children very much wanted to win this game. Especially young Yarhid (yarr-heed), a boy from a small village who had come of age this year and very much wanted to please his mother by finding the eggs. Yarhid was a soft boy, who was slow at running and very clumsy, but of such kindess and sweetness that even the mothers of the other children delighted in all he did. His brothers and sisters were all older and stronger, braver and smarter, and they teased Yarhid, telling him that he should not seek the eggs but be one himself, for he was still soft like a baby. Yarhid's gentle nature knew not how to fight being teased, and so he ran to the yard to cry. His mother, wanting to console her boy, would always bring him a treat and tell him stories of he great King. On the night before he game, she told him that the story of her own father, telling Yarhid that when he was little, he was very much like him, gentle and kind. "Do not worry about those who are stronger and faster, for they are not better than you. Even my father, youngest of his brothers and sisters found the eggs though everyone teased him, and so will you sweet Yarhid." With that, she wiped the rest of his tears and went inside while Yarhid finished his treat and dreamt of his coming adventure.
The next day, the race began and the children went off in a furious wave of excitement into the castle wood to find the eggs. Little Yarhid had also gone to play, despite all the teasing. His mother had given him the keepsake his grandfather had when he had found the treasured eggs, for courage and luck. The boy, full of determination leapt into the wood and searched high and low, climbed in trees and dug in the ground, he even asked the woodland creatures if they had seen the eggs but they did not seem to know where they were. Occasionally, he stopped to eat some food and rest as he had promised his family.
As the sun began to set, Yarhid grew tired and discouraged and thought it maybe best to give up. He sat on a tree root and sulked, when he suddenly remembered his mothers words and his grandfathers keepsake. He took it from his pocket, held it tight and prayed that the gods would guide him. Keeping his eyes closed, he walked, one hand outstretched, believing the gods would lead him to the eggs, but all he found was a branch to trip over and then a scrape on his knee. He cried in pain, but the sound that came next hurt something much deeper. A loud cheer from outside the wood, and a gong calling the children home for someone had found the eggs.Yarhid was utterly dismayed, and now couldn't help but cry. His mother had said he would win, and he did not, how would he be able to face her. Yarhid cried and cried until finally, he slept.
When he woke, the wood was dark and scary, he called out, hoping someone would answer but only the night creatures answered. Little Yarhid, began to cry again. Then, from behind, he heard a rustling, terrified at the thought of a wood beast coming to eat him, he ran as fast and as far as he could. Poor Yarhid ran until he was lost and was finally halted by the not so gentle knock of a tree. When he got up, he looked around and saw he was nowhere he knew. It was getting cold and Yarhid started to shiver, all he could think of was finding a warm place to hide. As he looked around again, he noticed a faint golden light shining through a clearing nearby. Yarhid approached carefully, remembering that some wood beasts may try to eat him. As he drew closer he heard a voice and a strange sound. He thought he was saved and hurried towards the clearing but instead, he stumbled upon a sight beyond anything he could have ever imagined. The strange golden light had been coming from the golden swan of legend and the voice was that of King Ogdazh. They were sitting together, eating and talking to each other. The swan spoke in its own tongue but the King seemed to understand.
"Ah, young Yarhid, everyone searches for you now, where have you been?" Asked the King, the swan, majestic and radiant turned to the boy and also asked a question but Yarhid did not understand. "The swan says, do you not want to go home? Your mother is very worried."
Yarhid came into the clearing, bowing his head in shame. "I cannot go back, my mother said I would find the eggs and I failed, if I go home she will be angry. I wanted to be like my grandffather." He removed the keepsake from his pocket. "Here, this was his and with it he found the eggs when he was a boy."
The King took it and looked at the keepsake a moment, then showed it to the swan. They spoke to each other as Yarhid watched. Then the King said. "It is agreed, we will keep this."
Yarhid cried out in anger: "Why?? My mother will want it back, you cannot take it!!!"
The King rose to his feet, towering above the boy. "I am King of this land boy, perhaps you have forgotten?" He said loudly. The boy quieted, terrified. "But in my realm, no man shall take from another without returning in kind." He gestured to the swan, who from beneath his wing drew a small golden egg which the King gave to the boy. Yarhid took the egg with both hands, astonished, delighted, but on it there was an inscription that he could not read. "It says, Yarhid prince of bravery." The King explained. "You are now his friend and he will watch over you always and see that you fulfill a great destiny."
As Yarhid raised his eyes to thank them, they had already vanished, and he stood there alone but triumphant. The next moment, someone grabbed him from behind and spun him round. It was his mother, sobbing."My boy!" She cried holding him and kissing him all over, her tears tingling his cheeks. "Where did you go? Why did you not come home?"
Yarhid spoke softly. "Because I did not find the eggs, I feared you would be ashamed, and also I lost the keepsake..."
She smiled in delight at his sweetness."My, how silly you are, I will never feel shame for any of my sons and daughters, and never mind the keepsake....what is that in your hand Yarhid?" She noticed something in his hand, shimmering of gold. Yarhid smiled proudly and told her of all his adventures, of the terrible forest, of the King and his new friend the swan, as they walked home hand in hand.
From not very far away the King and the swan watched. "If only he knew." The King said, and both he and the swan laughed heartily.
From the Legends of Altai Volume 1, The tales of King Ogdazh: Book of Divination copyright 2008
Once a year in the Kingdom of Ogdazh, a great game took place known as the ‘Golden Swan’. Every child that had reached the age of reason would be sent out to find the great golden swan. The swan in itself was a mythical creature and so the children were told that the one who found one of its eggs – which the parents would make and hide - would win the contest. The prize was to become the great swan’s friend, which meant that the swan would watch over the child always. The King had won the game very young in age and had become the most notable King in all their history, so the children very much wanted to win this game. Especially young Yarhid (yarr-heed), a boy from a small village who had come of age this year and very much wanted to please his mother by finding the eggs. Yarhid was a soft boy, who was slow at running and very clumsy, but of such kindess and sweetness that even the mothers of the other children delighted in all he did. His brothers and sisters were all older and stronger, braver and smarter, and they teased Yarhid, telling him that he should not seek the eggs but be one himself, for he was still soft like a baby. Yarhid's gentle nature knew not how to fight being teased, and so he ran to the yard to cry. His mother, wanting to console her boy, would always bring him a treat and tell him stories of he great King. On the night before he game, she told him that the story of her own father, telling Yarhid that when he was little, he was very much like him, gentle and kind. "Do not worry about those who are stronger and faster, for they are not better than you. Even my father, youngest of his brothers and sisters found the eggs though everyone teased him, and so will you sweet Yarhid." With that, she wiped the rest of his tears and went inside while Yarhid finished his treat and dreamt of his coming adventure.
The next day, the race began and the children went off in a furious wave of excitement into the castle wood to find the eggs. Little Yarhid had also gone to play, despite all the teasing. His mother had given him the keepsake his grandfather had when he had found the treasured eggs, for courage and luck. The boy, full of determination leapt into the wood and searched high and low, climbed in trees and dug in the ground, he even asked the woodland creatures if they had seen the eggs but they did not seem to know where they were. Occasionally, he stopped to eat some food and rest as he had promised his family.
As the sun began to set, Yarhid grew tired and discouraged and thought it maybe best to give up. He sat on a tree root and sulked, when he suddenly remembered his mothers words and his grandfathers keepsake. He took it from his pocket, held it tight and prayed that the gods would guide him. Keeping his eyes closed, he walked, one hand outstretched, believing the gods would lead him to the eggs, but all he found was a branch to trip over and then a scrape on his knee. He cried in pain, but the sound that came next hurt something much deeper. A loud cheer from outside the wood, and a gong calling the children home for someone had found the eggs.Yarhid was utterly dismayed, and now couldn't help but cry. His mother had said he would win, and he did not, how would he be able to face her. Yarhid cried and cried until finally, he slept.
When he woke, the wood was dark and scary, he called out, hoping someone would answer but only the night creatures answered. Little Yarhid, began to cry again. Then, from behind, he heard a rustling, terrified at the thought of a wood beast coming to eat him, he ran as fast and as far as he could. Poor Yarhid ran until he was lost and was finally halted by the not so gentle knock of a tree. When he got up, he looked around and saw he was nowhere he knew. It was getting cold and Yarhid started to shiver, all he could think of was finding a warm place to hide. As he looked around again, he noticed a faint golden light shining through a clearing nearby. Yarhid approached carefully, remembering that some wood beasts may try to eat him. As he drew closer he heard a voice and a strange sound. He thought he was saved and hurried towards the clearing but instead, he stumbled upon a sight beyond anything he could have ever imagined. The strange golden light had been coming from the golden swan of legend and the voice was that of King Ogdazh. They were sitting together, eating and talking to each other. The swan spoke in its own tongue but the King seemed to understand.
"Ah, young Yarhid, everyone searches for you now, where have you been?" Asked the King, the swan, majestic and radiant turned to the boy and also asked a question but Yarhid did not understand. "The swan says, do you not want to go home? Your mother is very worried."
Yarhid came into the clearing, bowing his head in shame. "I cannot go back, my mother said I would find the eggs and I failed, if I go home she will be angry. I wanted to be like my grandffather." He removed the keepsake from his pocket. "Here, this was his and with it he found the eggs when he was a boy."
The King took it and looked at the keepsake a moment, then showed it to the swan. They spoke to each other as Yarhid watched. Then the King said. "It is agreed, we will keep this."
Yarhid cried out in anger: "Why?? My mother will want it back, you cannot take it!!!"
The King rose to his feet, towering above the boy. "I am King of this land boy, perhaps you have forgotten?" He said loudly. The boy quieted, terrified. "But in my realm, no man shall take from another without returning in kind." He gestured to the swan, who from beneath his wing drew a small golden egg which the King gave to the boy. Yarhid took the egg with both hands, astonished, delighted, but on it there was an inscription that he could not read. "It says, Yarhid prince of bravery." The King explained. "You are now his friend and he will watch over you always and see that you fulfill a great destiny."
As Yarhid raised his eyes to thank them, they had already vanished, and he stood there alone but triumphant. The next moment, someone grabbed him from behind and spun him round. It was his mother, sobbing."My boy!" She cried holding him and kissing him all over, her tears tingling his cheeks. "Where did you go? Why did you not come home?"
Yarhid spoke softly. "Because I did not find the eggs, I feared you would be ashamed, and also I lost the keepsake..."
She smiled in delight at his sweetness."My, how silly you are, I will never feel shame for any of my sons and daughters, and never mind the keepsake....what is that in your hand Yarhid?" She noticed something in his hand, shimmering of gold. Yarhid smiled proudly and told her of all his adventures, of the terrible forest, of the King and his new friend the swan, as they walked home hand in hand.
From not very far away the King and the swan watched. "If only he knew." The King said, and both he and the swan laughed heartily.
From the Legends of Altai Volume 1, The tales of King Ogdazh: Book of Divination copyright 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Heart and spirit
I am a firm believer in holistic health and have now spent a third of my life learning and exploring my body, mind and the nature of the spirit. This lead to my very first video.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Introducing the The Tales of King Ogdazh (Ogdaj)
The Scribe of Pahndalor welcomes you to the Tales of King Ogdazh. King Ogdazh, ruler of the people of Altai, was known for his great wisdom and strength. For generations, the tales of the great King have guided the hearts and spirits our people as they are said to hold the power of divination, guiding all those who read them to their destiny. So read these stories with great care and be watchful in the coming days, as the power of destiny unveils itself before you.
May the wisdom of the King guide you
The ninth tale: The King and the innkeeper.
Sometimes the King would venture into the villages in disguise, to spy on his subjects and to see what mischief was about. On such a day, the King went to an inn in one of the smaller villages. There, in front of the inn, he decided to sit and beg for money. The innkeeper was a brutish man, with one eye always squinting, looking quite sinister and was indeed very bitter. "What do you think you are doing in front of my inn!? Begging?" No sooner did the King try to answer that he was being chased away with a broom. The King returned the next day and began to beg again. "What? You again!" But before the King could plead his case, again he was chased away.
The following day the King returned, but this time before the inn opened. As the keeper opened the inn, he found the King outside sweeping the entrance.
"What do you think you're doing?" The keeper had to wait for an answer since his broom was no longer available.
"Sweeping, sir."
"What for?....Oh, you think I'll give you something in return do you? Well you can sweep all you like but you'll get nothing from me!" And with that the innkeeper returned to his affairs.
The next morning when the innkeeper stepped outside, he fell on a most shocking sight. The entrance had been swept, the sign had been cleaned and repainted, and there was a soft and sweet fragrance in the air: flowers of every color now adorned the entrance of the inn. But the King was not there, he looked around to see where the beggar had gone. Suddenly, there he was running towards the inn with buckets of water. The King set them down and began washing the walls from the outside.
"Hmph!" The innkeeper exclaimed. "Still playing housemaid. Well you don't work for me so do as you like for nothing is what you'll get.!" And with that he left again.
As the days went by and the King tidied more and more, the innkeper noticed that more patrons arrived and soon invited the King to do the same inside, if he wished, but still for nothing. The inn flourished, the innkeeper was happy. The King even became to be known as he greeted all the patrons coming in and out of the inn.
"What luck to find such a fool to make me rich!"
The next morning, the innkeeper stepped outside expecting to find his willing slave and had even brought him food his dogs had left uneaten. But the King was nowhere to be found. He waited a while, and still nothing. Until, he was pushed out of the way from behind. The innkeeper fell, only to see the King leisurely walking away with a chest.
"Wait!! That's mine! THIEF!! THIEF!! he's taking all my money!!!!!" The King had rounded a corner. All the villagers came, as did the town guard, to see. "The fool, he took my money chest and went that way! ''But when the guardsmen went to see round the corner, no one could be found. The innkeeper was furious, he went inside with the guardsmen to see what else was missing, and could be heard hollaring from all quarters of the place. As he reached his safe, he saw that it had been broken into.
"So what was this man's name so what we may search for him?" Asked on of the guards.
"How should I know?"
"Did he not work for you?"
"Of course not!"
"Then what was he doing all day cleaning and fixing the inn."
"What he wanted. I never asked, and told him he would get nothing from me!" The innkeeper said hotly. The guards gave each other a satisfied look and continued to look about the room for clues.
"Well, he didn't take everything." said another guard, pointing behind the keeper at the broken safe. Indeed, there was something, shiny there where his chest once was. When he got closer, he saw that it was a big bar of gold. Worth far more than what had been stolen. The innkeeper's eyes gleamed greedily."Oh happy day! You truly are the King of fools, whatever your name is!" But there was something more, an inscription: "don't forget to share." it said. The innkeeper read it and scoffed. As the guardsmen approached to see. The keeper clutched it tightly and yelled for them all to leave now. The innkeeper was enormously happy his fortune had multiplied by a thousand, but he did not know what to do next. "Hmmm....Ah yes, I shall build another inn, and be richer. If only I could find more fool slaves." he snickered. "But where to take the gold to be parted, I cannot trust anyone, they’ll all try to take it from me."
As the days went on, the innkeeper never parted with his gold, not even to sleep. The safe remained broken but he cared not. Soon, he had withdrawn completely, suspecting that his patrons my try to steal it, or even kill him in his sleep. So he slept not, did not tend to his inn and soon all his patrons were gone, his inn was shabby again and all those who worked there went away. But the innkeeper had his bar, though he did not eat, or wash or sleep for fear of being caught unawares. He soon started to become mad, talking to his precious bar, he could even be heard fighting with it, cursing its evil hold. But still, he would not part with it. Finally, the madness broke him, one morning, exhausted from a night hysterics, he rose without taking his bar with him. When he returned from the bathroom, he realized he had not taken it, but when he looked at his bed it was not there. In a wild panic he went thrashing about the inn to find it, screaming thief, thief!! Unable to find it, and with no one coming to help, he took a large axe to see if it was not hiding inside a wall somewhere. As he came near the broken safe, where he had first found the bar, he decided to rest and sat for a while. He looked around the room and realized that everything he owned was gone. 'I have nothing left, not even a place to sit in my own inn, all because of that cursed gold!' He then leapt up, realizing that he was sitting on something. He turned to look, and there it was, of all things, his old money chest. He fell to his knees weeping in relief, the gold was lost but he did not care, it's burden had been to great and he was joyous to find what he once had. And then, as though waking from a long and twisted dream, he looked at his inn and could not believe what he had done to it. 'It will be alright, with what I have in my chest, I will make this inn as it was.' He went to open the chest and like on the bar of gold, he found words carved on it. "Don't forget to share." The innkeeper gasped at this sight, remembering the one he called a fool and then broke into happy, grateful laughter.
A week later, the inn had reopened. The entrance was clean and fresh from the scent of flowers. The walls were freshly painted inside and out, and at the door the innkeeper, comely and clean was there to greet all those who came. He had even renamed the inn, it was now "The Fool's Inn". The keeper prospered and word quickly spread of the inn with the funny name with the kindest, most generous keeper. For his wealth he now shared with all.
One night, the King, his family and the court arrived at the inn to dine, for it had become truly famous. The keeper, who was at the door could not believe that the King had to come to his inn, he bowed to the King most reverently, and when he rose their eyes met and the innkeeper was overcome by a strange feeling. Some how, he knew this face from another time but could not understand how, since he had never seen the King before.
The King spoke to break the strange silence. "Are you the keeper?'
"Yes my lord, I welcome you and your...."
"Why is it called the fools inn?" The King interrupted. The keeper lowered his head smiling, his eyes welling with tears.
"I named it after a dear friend."
"I see, well then, I suppose tonight I will be the King of fools."
From the Legends of Altai Volume 1, The tales of King Ogdazh: Book of Divination copyright 2008
May the wisdom of the King guide you
The ninth tale: The King and the innkeeper.
Sometimes the King would venture into the villages in disguise, to spy on his subjects and to see what mischief was about. On such a day, the King went to an inn in one of the smaller villages. There, in front of the inn, he decided to sit and beg for money. The innkeeper was a brutish man, with one eye always squinting, looking quite sinister and was indeed very bitter. "What do you think you are doing in front of my inn!? Begging?" No sooner did the King try to answer that he was being chased away with a broom. The King returned the next day and began to beg again. "What? You again!" But before the King could plead his case, again he was chased away.
The following day the King returned, but this time before the inn opened. As the keeper opened the inn, he found the King outside sweeping the entrance.
"What do you think you're doing?" The keeper had to wait for an answer since his broom was no longer available.
"Sweeping, sir."
"What for?....Oh, you think I'll give you something in return do you? Well you can sweep all you like but you'll get nothing from me!" And with that the innkeeper returned to his affairs.
The next morning when the innkeeper stepped outside, he fell on a most shocking sight. The entrance had been swept, the sign had been cleaned and repainted, and there was a soft and sweet fragrance in the air: flowers of every color now adorned the entrance of the inn. But the King was not there, he looked around to see where the beggar had gone. Suddenly, there he was running towards the inn with buckets of water. The King set them down and began washing the walls from the outside.
"Hmph!" The innkeeper exclaimed. "Still playing housemaid. Well you don't work for me so do as you like for nothing is what you'll get.!" And with that he left again.
As the days went by and the King tidied more and more, the innkeper noticed that more patrons arrived and soon invited the King to do the same inside, if he wished, but still for nothing. The inn flourished, the innkeeper was happy. The King even became to be known as he greeted all the patrons coming in and out of the inn.
"What luck to find such a fool to make me rich!"
The next morning, the innkeeper stepped outside expecting to find his willing slave and had even brought him food his dogs had left uneaten. But the King was nowhere to be found. He waited a while, and still nothing. Until, he was pushed out of the way from behind. The innkeeper fell, only to see the King leisurely walking away with a chest.
"Wait!! That's mine! THIEF!! THIEF!! he's taking all my money!!!!!" The King had rounded a corner. All the villagers came, as did the town guard, to see. "The fool, he took my money chest and went that way! ''But when the guardsmen went to see round the corner, no one could be found. The innkeeper was furious, he went inside with the guardsmen to see what else was missing, and could be heard hollaring from all quarters of the place. As he reached his safe, he saw that it had been broken into.
"So what was this man's name so what we may search for him?" Asked on of the guards.
"How should I know?"
"Did he not work for you?"
"Of course not!"
"Then what was he doing all day cleaning and fixing the inn."
"What he wanted. I never asked, and told him he would get nothing from me!" The innkeeper said hotly. The guards gave each other a satisfied look and continued to look about the room for clues.
"Well, he didn't take everything." said another guard, pointing behind the keeper at the broken safe. Indeed, there was something, shiny there where his chest once was. When he got closer, he saw that it was a big bar of gold. Worth far more than what had been stolen. The innkeeper's eyes gleamed greedily."Oh happy day! You truly are the King of fools, whatever your name is!" But there was something more, an inscription: "don't forget to share." it said. The innkeeper read it and scoffed. As the guardsmen approached to see. The keeper clutched it tightly and yelled for them all to leave now. The innkeeper was enormously happy his fortune had multiplied by a thousand, but he did not know what to do next. "Hmmm....Ah yes, I shall build another inn, and be richer. If only I could find more fool slaves." he snickered. "But where to take the gold to be parted, I cannot trust anyone, they’ll all try to take it from me."
As the days went on, the innkeeper never parted with his gold, not even to sleep. The safe remained broken but he cared not. Soon, he had withdrawn completely, suspecting that his patrons my try to steal it, or even kill him in his sleep. So he slept not, did not tend to his inn and soon all his patrons were gone, his inn was shabby again and all those who worked there went away. But the innkeeper had his bar, though he did not eat, or wash or sleep for fear of being caught unawares. He soon started to become mad, talking to his precious bar, he could even be heard fighting with it, cursing its evil hold. But still, he would not part with it. Finally, the madness broke him, one morning, exhausted from a night hysterics, he rose without taking his bar with him. When he returned from the bathroom, he realized he had not taken it, but when he looked at his bed it was not there. In a wild panic he went thrashing about the inn to find it, screaming thief, thief!! Unable to find it, and with no one coming to help, he took a large axe to see if it was not hiding inside a wall somewhere. As he came near the broken safe, where he had first found the bar, he decided to rest and sat for a while. He looked around the room and realized that everything he owned was gone. 'I have nothing left, not even a place to sit in my own inn, all because of that cursed gold!' He then leapt up, realizing that he was sitting on something. He turned to look, and there it was, of all things, his old money chest. He fell to his knees weeping in relief, the gold was lost but he did not care, it's burden had been to great and he was joyous to find what he once had. And then, as though waking from a long and twisted dream, he looked at his inn and could not believe what he had done to it. 'It will be alright, with what I have in my chest, I will make this inn as it was.' He went to open the chest and like on the bar of gold, he found words carved on it. "Don't forget to share." The innkeeper gasped at this sight, remembering the one he called a fool and then broke into happy, grateful laughter.
A week later, the inn had reopened. The entrance was clean and fresh from the scent of flowers. The walls were freshly painted inside and out, and at the door the innkeeper, comely and clean was there to greet all those who came. He had even renamed the inn, it was now "The Fool's Inn". The keeper prospered and word quickly spread of the inn with the funny name with the kindest, most generous keeper. For his wealth he now shared with all.
One night, the King, his family and the court arrived at the inn to dine, for it had become truly famous. The keeper, who was at the door could not believe that the King had to come to his inn, he bowed to the King most reverently, and when he rose their eyes met and the innkeeper was overcome by a strange feeling. Some how, he knew this face from another time but could not understand how, since he had never seen the King before.
The King spoke to break the strange silence. "Are you the keeper?'
"Yes my lord, I welcome you and your...."
"Why is it called the fools inn?" The King interrupted. The keeper lowered his head smiling, his eyes welling with tears.
"I named it after a dear friend."
"I see, well then, I suppose tonight I will be the King of fools."
From the Legends of Altai Volume 1, The tales of King Ogdazh: Book of Divination copyright 2008
Welcome to "Content moves you"
For my first post, I would like to share my most recent creation, which I call words to share.
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