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!
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