The dawning..


She knew within herself shortly afterwards that the grasping she’d lingered onto for so long had slowly diminish into dry false hope.. Hope of a fantasy that was merely mistaken. She’d wanted nothing more than a soul mate but at a loss she’d found destitute, for nothing more could suffice.

There came a time when Miranda would often get lost and engrossed in other worldly curiosities, outbound and     outgrown by her own cause for satisfaction which she could neither satisfy or find. Quite simply, she was a wanderer looking and searching for that which she could not find. She’d given up by now for be it what it would be, seemed quite simply to be the tall order now. She’d become dishevelled with notions.

The day had become brighter, the sun brilliant, everything was alive, breathing and vibrant.. Through these new eyes her vision uplifted.. Thrown away was the old and the letting go refreshing, even exhilarating. Why, she suddenly thought had she wasted so much time caught up in her own head of an illustrious minefield with rich pickings of no valid quantity. She laughed or maybe even cried at the notion.. Life was beautiful and wonderful.. If only she’d looked through eyes of clarity. She sat for a moment and picked the day away, marvelled at what she’d missed before mulling into new seas which she called her home.   Here and now.



10 thoughts on “The dawning..

  1. Into the Wizard

    “Metaphors reveal a deeper truth
    About ourselves
    And hence the Universe . . .”

    Her favorite quote
    And yet today he was ill

    He was suffering and she could see it
    On the Metaphoric plane . . .

    Nothing seemed to help

    She moved
    Into his mind

    And something was wrong
    It was frightening
    His was a powerful mind
    And the Tempest that was raging through it . . .
    Armageddon on a local scale

    She wanted to run
    But something asked her for help
    In the wind
    So she turned to face it

    Through pounding storms
    Tsunamis high enough to drown the World
    Through firetroms and the nine levels of Cerburis
    She fought
    kicked and crawled

    And at the center of this Hell
    She saw the memory
    Of a woman made of snowflakes
    A woman made of ice

    And were the memory touched his mind
    Something bad was happening

    The memory was parasitic
    It was rewriting the other memories
    Perverting them into more parasites
    Growing exponentially in number

    The storms were
    His mind’s immune system
    Trying to help him survive
    And it wasn’t working
    He was dieing inside . . .
    Oh dear God . . .

    She wasn’t even aware
    That something inside her was changing
    Mutating . . .
    Into . . .
    How do you say
    What can’t be said . . .

    Her hands were becoming
    Something . . .
    There was something . . .
    Her hands were becoming anti~parasites
    And she knew a need

    She wanted to touch the parasites
    She could feel the . . .
    Correctness in this
    To touch . . .

    The first one she touched withered and died
    The good memory could not be recovered
    But it would not destroy any of the others

    She extended her hands
    For now she had many
    Like a Hindu goddess
    Hands in all direction
    And she caressed all the parts of his mind
    And where her hands touched him
    Healing began

    And he smiled


      • The Truth

        Nisha enters by the Western door
        The Museum is quiet and dark
        dusty and cold
        Foreboding and . . .

        “Neat.” she says
        “Old man? Where are you old man?
        I’m here
        Like you asked
        I’m here
        Now where are you?”

        “I’m here
        For the love of . . .
        Now be quiet.”

        “But you said you wanted me to come here.”

        Yes I do
        But if you keep shouting
        My thoughts will be jumbled . . .”


        “Let’s try talking about seeing first.
        Describe to me what you see.”

        “You mean other than you?
        Well its all kind of a mess
        This place is a mess
        that’s what I see.”

        “How is it that you see so little?
        There are so many things here.
        This is Hannibal’s hatchet
        This is a flask of the Tears of Eve
        You know what this is
        This is the string of time
        and this right here is the knot of the present
        This is the asp of Cleo . . . “

        “But its all stuff.”

        “Excuse me?”

        “This is just stuff.”

        “Young lady these are details
        And it is said that without details
        Everything is everything
        Which means nothing.”

        Anaxamander shuffles off
        and Nisha follows
        Down a long hall
        With Pictures on the walls
        you know those pictures that watch you as you pass
        She thinks they are creepy

        Through an open air cloister
        with a fountain in the center

        “Can we have lunch here?”


        “Lunch here?”

        “Lunch is in the dinner . . .”

        “Can we bring it out here?”

        “I suppose . . . come along.”

        He opens a wall that turns out to be a door
        And the inside is so bright
        She can’t see at first
        As her eyes adjust she can see he holds a hoop

        “Can you see this?”

        “Yes sir.”

        “Describe it to me?”

        “It’s a gold hoop
        About an arm wide.
        Is that writing in the outside?”

        Anaxamander nodes ‘yes’ and throws the hoop up
        It hangs there in the air and starts to spin
        Slowly at first and she can hear the swish as the edge goes by
        Nisha starts to reach for it but the old man
        Gently restrains her hand

        “This can hurt you
        And I have no wish to explain to your kin
        Why I let you hurt yourself.”

        “What is it?”

        “This is perhaps the most arcane
        artifact in the World.”

        It is spinning so fast
        it now appears to be a sphere
        A liquid golden sphere

        Nisha squeals in delight

        “What is it?”

        “It’s the Truth.”



        The sun slants from the left in the deepest cloister
        of the Museum of Arcane Devices
        Anaxamander offers Nisha a fish sandwich
        She wrinkles her nose
        He passes his right hand through the air
        To distract her while pulling an apple out of his lunch pack
        with his left hand
        He then pretends it is majik
        She laughs and takes the apple

        “Anaxamander is too hard to say
        Do you have any other names?”

        “I have many names
        None of them are easy.”

        “How about I call you Mander?”

        “How about


        “Eat your lunch.”

        “OK, Nax
        I will call you Nax.”

        “You may call me whatever you wish
        If it will get you to eat your lunch.”

        “I don’t like the Laboratory.
        Everything is too high.”
        Anaxamander chuckles to himself
        It never occurred to him that this might be a problem

        She considers
        “I’m trying
        I’m not trying to mess anything up
        I’m trying to understand.”

        Anaxamander wipes
        an unseen tear from his weathered eye
        He remembers why he is doing this
        This is the real dance
        The only dance that matters
        “Well, young lady
        We shall see if we can find you something to stand on.”

        “I’m sorry I spilled that flask.”

        “Nisha the learning of anything
        is always a untidy and cluttered process.
        You must experiment and take time to ponder.
        That ‘time’ thing has always been a problem for me
        I always want to skip to the end and see how its going to come out.”

        “Me too.”

        “The Truth is a circle
        Let it turn and it becomes a sphere.
        Many are the wonders of this World
        and the worlds beyond
        Stare at them
        compare them
        Taste them
        finger them
        Let them see each other
        see which ones cringe in the light of day.
        Do not hurry so little one,
        There is time.”

        “You gonna eat that pickle?’

        “You can have it.”


        The Lesson of Song

        Nisha follows Nax through the Blue Sea labyrinth

        She tosses one of the silkies a treat
        She thinks he doesn’t see her
        The silkie winks

        They take a left turn
        where they typically take a right
        And she is now in new territory
        If she had been versed in Earth Mythology
        she would have recognized the Egyptian murals and columns
        But as it is she had never seen the palm fronds
        and the elaborate battle friezes

        “Wow . . .”

        “You like this Nisha?”

        “Very much.”

        Anaxamander chuckles to himself
        He pushes the eye of a huge hawk
        and a door materializes where there was no door before
        Anaxamander enters a room darker than night
        Where only the light from the doorway intrudes
        Nisha hesitates at the door

        “I don’t want to enter this
        this dark portal to — to the inside.”

        “I’ll wait.”

        “The problem with dark
        is that I have no night vision goggles
        They forgot to stick them in my
        cereal box.”

        “I remember a decoder ring I found in a box
        years ago as you might guess.
        Still have it somewhere . . .”

        “And you still want me to enter?
        I can’t see
        How do I know what will happen?
        I don’t even have to know everything I just want an inkling
        Like what color is it in there?
        How high are the ceilings?
        Are there bats?
        Are there walls?
        Is there even a floor?”

        He remains silent but she can see his hand in the light

        You have the most annoying habit of standing perfectly still.
        Nax, I’ve heard its rude to linger in doorways.”

        She steps into total darkness

        The darkness isn’t bad is it?”

        “Do you mean is it evil?”

        “I’m afraid of the Dark.”

        “The darkness of the summer night
        Is never so dark
        As the darkness in the hearts of some
        This is a gentle darkness
        And if you enter further your eyes will adjust
        Is that better?”

        “Hey! I can see you.”

        “And I can see you
        People fear the darkness because they think they can’t see
        and so they can’t
        But if you can’t trust your eyes
        then trust your ears
        Your hands
        your tongue
        And when all else fails
        Trust your heart.”

        “Is that a lesson?”

        “It’s an observation.”

        “What is this room?”

        “This is the room of song.
        Can you see now?”

        I can see colors
        You usually can’t see colors in the dark
        Its as bright as day in here
        Why is the door so bright
        Its hurting my eyes.”

        “Look this way
        See this
        What is this?”

        “Looks like rice paper.”

        He offers the sheet to her and her fingers pass right through it

        “I ripped it
        I’m sorry”

        “Its song paper
        Very delicates
        Now just open your hand and don’t try to grasp it.”

        He places the flimsy on her upturned hand and it rests there
        Her breath blows it away
        He places another
        And she is careful not to breathe in its direction
        He places one in his own hand

        “Now what?” she asks

        And Anaxamander starts to rumble deep in his chest
        It’s a kind of musical note
        Deep and thunderous
        He opens his mouth and the note of his song
        Fills the walls

        To her utter amazement the
        paper begins to drift above his hand
        His song begins to convolute itself and the paper dances
        She tries it
        But her voice is a discord and her paper does not fly
        She tries several songs she knows
        But nothing works

        Then she just listens
        Anaxamander is rebreathing
        so that his song is like one continuous note
        And as she listens she can see a light in the sound

        A thrill creeps up the back of her neck
        And without her even trying
        The a note comes out of her mouth

        An angelic note filled with light and life
        Her paper lifts and she feels the interconnection
        Between her hand and the paper
        the paper and the song
        The song and . . . well everything

        Her tiny voice takes on tremolo and vibrato
        And her paper dances well past time for supper


        To Dance the Stones

        Anaxamander blinks in the harsh light
        Nisha jitters the way that children have always jittered
        when they are physically overjoyed

        When will we get there?”

        “We are here little one.”

        “But this is just the river bank.
        What can we . . . OK I get it
        Look at the details.
        Can we go swimming?”

        “Consider this.”

        “It’s a rock.”

        “I prefer stone. . .”

        “It’s a stone.”

        “Then let this stone be your teacher.
        As you have no doubt surmised this entire river bank
        Is covered with these rounded stones
        Some as small as your head
        some bigger than a house.
        What can you tell me about theses stones?”

        “They’re rounded.
        I guess the river has picked them up
        and rolled them around against each other
        And that’s why the are kinda smooth.”

        Now watch as I dance the stones.”
        And without further comment Anaxamander ran up the river bank
        So far that he became a speck then back again.
        Nisha is amazed.

        “Now you do it.”


        “You dance the stones.”

        “I’ll fall . . .”

        “If you believe you’ll fall
        sure enough you will fall.
        I do not believe I will fall
        therefore I do not.”

        “But you’re old and if you fall
        you’ll break something important.”

        And that is a risk that any of us must consider
        But if you think three stones ahead . . .”

        “I’ll fall.”


        “You don’t want me to get hurt, do you?”

        “No little one, I would never want you to be hurt.”

        “Why are we doing this?”

        “It’s a lesson on dynamic balance.”

        “I don’t want to do this.”


        “Moms going to be very angry
        if I get these clothes wet.”


        Nisha takes a tentative step onto the first rock
        And it wobbles.

        “Find the center of gravity in your mind
        Before you place your foot on the rock.
        Go slowly at first, no need to hurry.”

        She takes another step and the rock is stable.
        She looks up
        Expressions of elation and stark fear
        war across her face
        With the lithe movements only a child can move
        She passes from one rock to the next

        By late in the day
        They are blurs moving across the rock bank like water
        Her giggle says all there is to say
        about the way life lifts inert matter
        In the face of Entropy

        Exhausted they stop at the place where they came
        Anaxamander can hardly stand

        “Hey Nax
        I want to try something.”


        “Just sit down
        This isn’t dangerous.”

        She places one stone on top of another
        Then another and so on
        She stacks the ovaliod stones high as her head
        A perfect testament to balance in all things

        Anaxamander is so impressed that he can not speak
        He just applauds


        The Lesson of the Silke

        Anaxamander searches the Indigo room
        His movements becoming more anxious
        as he moves through the Hall of the Mountain King
        As he rounds the cloister of Omaron
        He use the discipline of mind reach and can not find
        the girl’s thoughts
        “Shethra exu Hector!”
        He shouts as his hands weave the dance of summoning
        A ghost angle materializes in front of him
        “Find Nisha.”

        In seconds they are beside the Silkie habitat
        And he notices that one of the Silkie males is in human form
        Without apology he passes through the barriers
        And confronts the young male

        “I am your alpha (this is translated from Silkie )
        And I am lacking a proper understanding.”

        “You are not alpha . . .”

        “I am ALPHA!” and Anaxamander evokes the thunder clap

        All the silkies jump and the smaller pups hide
        Behind their Hindmares.
        One of the older males considers
        And decides to back down

        Nax continues
        “What is your name pup?”

        “I am no . . .”

        “What is your name pup?”

        “I am Noreega TuLagetti
        Of the Utaslk Pod”

        “I am lacking a proper understanding.
        Must I nip your ear?”

        “Oh no sir alpha
        How may I assist you understanding.”

        “There is a young woman . . .
        All the silkies were jittering
        “There is a young woman who often walks beside me
        And she is missing.
        I want to understand where she has gone.
        Assist me!”

        One of the elders flumped toward Anaxamander
        Performing the appropriate
        ‘You are alpha’ gestures
        “Alpha I am responsible for this pup Noreega TuLagetti.”

        “Can you assist my understanding?”

        “The pup woman and Noreega TuLagetti
        Were frolicking
        And he thought it proper to remove his silkie skin
        so that he might look more like humans.
        And all was well
        I mean who can blame them
        They are young and it is Spring.
        Unknown by Noreega TuLagetti
        or any of us for that matter
        The pup woman slipped on his skin
        And swam away . . .”

        The sound that Anaxamander made was the most alpha sound
        Since God went looking of Adam and Eve
        “Find Her!”

        Anaxamander falls and became a Dolphin
        And with the entire swimming pod of the silkies
        They search all the waters in the habitat
        Finding her trying to escape through one of the service vents

        Anaxamander returns to human form
        She is wild and will not listen
        She huddles behind a large rock
        “Nisha, its me Nax. You remember Nax.
        Now honey you have been in the skin of an animal
        And I’m sure that you remember when you put it on.”
        She peeks from behind the rock
        “Nisha when you wear an animal skin too long
        It starts to affect your mind.”

        She leaps into the water and is instantly surrounded by the male silkies
        She tries to find a place to flee

        “Palealeto LoMeinnototis!”
        Anaxamander shouts and she falls asleep
        The silkies lift her in the waters so that she won’t drown

        Strangely lithe and strong for a man his age
        Anaxamander lifts the sleeping girl silkie
        And carries her toward the barrier of the habitat
        Noreega TuLagetti follows whimpering
        Anaxamander turns on him
        Somehow the expression of the old man softens
        You have endangered one of mine
        And yourself.
        You must be more careful in the future.”

        “May I have my skin?”

        “Your skin will not come off in one piece
        Unless I am very careful.
        I will do what I can.”

        “Alpha saves us.”
        Noreega TuLagetti chants with deep emotion

        The silkie form of Nisha is levitating at shoulder height
        In a room is so bright you can’t see at first
        The sphere of Truth is buzzing inches from her feet
        Anaxamander is studying the ring of Truth
        And like a snake his hand snaps out and seizes the hoop
        Making a sound not unlike an electric sizzle
        It instantly stops in his hand

        He stands beside the young girl silkie
        You are a lot of trouble
        And you have given my old dead heart
        So many new ways to break
        But if you can hear me
        Please remember the fun we’ve had.”

        The hoop begins to slide in his hand
        In such a way that it is rotating about its central axis
        The inscriptions caress the palm of his hand

        He holds the circle at her feet so that she is inside
        And as he slowly slides it toward her head
        The silkie skin peels away
        Revealing the girl child Nisha
        Sleeping . . .


        The New Curator of the Museum of Arcane Objects

        Nisha enters by the Western door
        The Museum is quiet and dark
        dusty and cold
        Foreboding and . . .

        “Has it been seven years?” she says
        Where are you Nax?”

        No answer
        She lifts Hannibal’s hatchet
        Examines the flask of Tears of Eve
        She walks down a long hall with Pictures on the walls
        Through an open air cloister with a fountain in the center
        She opens a wall that turns out to be a door
        And the inside is so bright
        She can’t see at first
        As her eyes adjust she can see the hoop of Truth

        A young man passes her in the hall
        She stops him
        “Who are you?’

        “I am Noreega TuLagetti, mistress.”

        “Do you remember me?” she asks

        “No mam. I am sorry . . .”

        “Never mind.
        I suppose you’ve never heard of Anaxamander?”

        “There is a legend . . .”

        “Who is the curator of this place?’

        The young man seems flustered
        “You are Mistress.
        By the way
        There is a young boy named Mander Xam
        At the front entrance.”

        “I’ll go meet him
        You fix us some lunch.”

        Noreega TuLagetti bows slightly and shuffles off
        Nisha turns for toward the front hall
        And as she does she catches just the hint of a movement
        A shadow moving within a shadow
        And she knows he’s there

        “Balance in all things old man
        Balance in all things . . .”

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  2. The Party of Lady Erato the Muse

    The Lady Erato of far Cyllabra
    and her Maiden in training Kylasheana
    Always throw the best parties
    It is rumored that there are those
    Who would gratefully kill
    just to receive an invitation

    Many are the tales
    And even more will be the legends
    Of these Galactic Gala Events
    And this one is no exception
    Scheduled on Friday the Thirteenth
    Everyone is invited to wear
    The most outrageous costumes
    and bizarre hats
    On the thirteenth hour
    The stewards ring small silver bells
    And usher the honored guest
    Down the winding path to the port
    No one knows why

    The Lady and the Maid glide down
    to the dock
    Everyone is straining to see
    Whatever she is trying to see
    Just cresting the horizon
    A tiny green-grey ship courses toward them
    against the tide
    The ship is such that
    it is sometimes difficult to actually see
    It could easily be mistaken for a graceful sea bird
    It is a dragon
    a dragon boat
    It’s billowing sails could be clouds . . .

    As it nears the coast
    The honored guests can see
    three men
    One in grey robes
    one in a black frock coat
    One in an outrageous costume
    of lightning bolts and
    mesmerizing stars

    The tiny ship soars to the dock
    but doesn’t stop
    It moves across the sand
    and halts inches from the honored guests
    The three disembark
    And the Head Steward announces
    The Magician ~ Mystaphystei the Magnificent
    in the outrageous costume
    The Pilot ~ Karl Williams of Near Angia
    in the black frock coat
    The Wizard ~ Chyfrin
    in the grey robes
    And . . .
    How can this be
    the steward is confused
    The Heart . . .

    The ship folds its sail wings
    extends its legs and
    Before anyone can gasp
    The Dragon bows . . .
    The Pilot laughs as he introduces
    ‘Fair Ladies and Gentle folk
    May I present
    my constant companion
    My ship and my dragon
    The Heart!”

    The Magician doffs his hat
    and performs a perfect courtly bow
    The Lady is much amused
    There is much applause

    The Incident at the Dock

    The Pilot takes the Lady’s lace gloved hand
    Kisses it with all due respect
    And it escapes the eyes of few
    That this Lady of four kingdoms
    Is actually blushing

    She holds his eyes
    ‘Pilot Williams
    When last we met . . .
    Well actually we didn’t meet . . .’

    ‘Fair Lady of far Cyllabra
    I apologize far more than I can ever say.
    As you remember I was commissioned
    In your father’s war
    And had to sail on the tide.’
    He appears completely contrite

    Many are the recounts of
    Courage in those ghastly battles
    And I was devastated
    when I learned of your injury.
    You served my father well
    And if reports have it true
    You saved the lives of the family royal.
    The day you sailed
    I was late . . .’

    The Pilot waves his hand
    ‘My lady
    You are never late . . .
    The tide was early.’

    The Lady Erato
    lightly wraps his knuckle with her fan
    ‘Who is this?’

    ‘This my Lady
    Is Chyfrin
    The Rukesayer of the Eastern Mysts.’
    A hush falls on the guests
    The Lady’s eyes widen

    Chyfrin advances and bows deeply
    No one can believe that the Lady is honored
    in such fashion
    For many and powerful
    are the legends of Chyfrin
    Rukesayer of the Eastern Mysts
    Yet here he is
    Paying the Lady Erato the greatest accolade
    The Maiden Kylasheana breaks the uncomfortable silence
    ‘Master Wizard
    Did you give Pilot Williams this magnificent ship?’

    Chyfrin laughs deeply
    It is the sound of clear waters
    running under rocks in Spring
    ‘Young Maid
    Forgive me the amazement of an old man
    For I can see the sunlight in your eyes
    moonlight in your hair
    Starlight falling from your lips.

    Our young pilot here
    Won his own heart back
    in the Battle of Kalufron Despecke.
    And he is perchance more fortunate than most
    For very few men are ever
    captains of their own heart.

    He has granted me passage here
    As a favor
    A kindness rare in this
    or any age.’

    The guests applaud

    Drinks and Dance in the Grand Hall

    The Lady is speaking
    In the crystal Hall of far Cyllabra
    The Magician pulls her words
    Words like small fragile birds
    Out of the air
    Ever so gently

    His hands move quicker than light
    So that they appear
    as birds at the ends of his arms
    His hands weave tiny sheets of light
    into the most ornate origami cages
    Gently nestling the tiny birds
    of her words
    In cages of twinkling splendor

    Somehow he hangs the cages
    In the air and they bob and sway
    In the air currents that coil around him

    He starts to sing a song
    That is exactly one octave below the birds
    He and the birds interweave
    chords and melody of legends

    A sweeping gesture
    And all the cages leap into the high rafters
    And set the birds free
    They fly out the windows
    and gather in the tress around the palace

    The musicians take up their instruments
    The Lady takes the hand of the pilot
    The guests pair off
    And the grandest dance of many centuries

    A Private Moment
    Beside the Reflecting Pond

    The reflection of the Lady
    Glides across the dark waters
    Beside the reflection of the Pilot
    The palaver of the party
    Provides a pleasant backdrop to their movements

    The wind ripples the waters
    Breaking the reflections into mosaics of shimmer

    Erato breaks the silence
    Under a wine velvet sky ariotous with stars
    ‘You are a stranger my Love
    And yet not strange here beside me
    In the starlight.
    This time is strange
    And we meet on this alien shore
    Of stone and starlight
    I wonder . . .’
    She turns enigmatically
    They can hear the crash of the ocean
    As well as the revelry

    A silence passes between them

    She continues
    ‘I wonder if your lips taste of
    a lingering strawberry-red ripeness?’

    ‘Fair Erato
    There is only one way to know.’

    She turns away from the kiss
    ‘Lovers are alchemists and what they
    create is like nothing before or will be

    ‘Erato . . .
    I fall
    A winged creature
    stunned for eternity.
    Never far away
    never close enough.
    If you will free me
    with this kiss . . .’

    She kisses him
    And when she opens her eyes
    He is a magnificent dragon
    Eye of gold and wings of silver
    Skin like burnished copper

    She lifts her hand
    And strangely notices that her claws
    Appear to be a mystic metal
    a color not unlike alabaster
    She has never felt wings before
    She stretches out to her full length
    And coils her tail in the moonlight

    There are no words to describe her opalescent beauty
    Her magnificence . . .

    The Wizard
    the Magician
    And the Maid regale the guests
    Until well near dawn
    No one at the party
    Notices their departure


    and you and I
    run the far high places
    like hounds of love

    open sky speaks
    a frothy dialogue of moon and stars
    to cyan and turquoise sea

    we sail
    the night air
    lingering only a moment
    where shadows gather
    under the stars

    we soar
    a warm Autumn sky
    on wings of gossamer


    Liked by 1 person

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