How brilliantly the little lights shone upon the face of the water. Spirit-Maker marvelled at their beauty, but wondered why his friends and family didnt see them the way he did. They saw only the reflected light of stars; he saw the faces of his ancestors, fierce battles fought in foreign lands, the fate of unknown kings, the rise and fall of nations yet to be, and other wondrous sights beyond the scope of his imagination. Soon Spirit-Maker began to see something far more important himself.
He couldnt quite define it, but it was there, rising from the deep, swirling patterns of light, leaving deep impressions on his open heart and mind. He began to realise that he was unlike his brothers and sisters, parents and relatives. Spirit-Maker was a Seer, and all that was in him spoke of a higher purpose to his being.
One clear night, as the stars danced their tales, he began to cry. Yet it was not for himself that he cried, but for the throngs of unknown people he had seen in the water who would die in some remote future world. He could feel their anger, their fear, and their pain.
His mother and father would sit beside him to console him, but still Spirit-Maker cried. He cried for twelve days, causing great fear among his people, and knowledge of his lamentation spread across the known world. All who witnessed his tribulation, became anxious, fearful, and profoundly saddened. After the twelfth day his crying ceased. Rain then fell for another twelve days straight.
Seers from far and wide traveled to his village to see Spirit-Maker for themselves. Upon their arrival, they were bathed in holy water, given proudest feathers of honour, and guided toward Spirit-Maker, who sat upon a hillside above a lake in quiet contemplation. He no longer spoke at all, for it was said the light in his eyes was beyond speech, and Seer after Seer found himself lying prostrate at Spirit-Makers feet.
Spirit-Maker had become water, and others now saw what he saw reflected in his eyes. He communicated not only his visions, but also the feelings that accompanied them. The problem was that Seers immediately saw themselves as inferior vessels for such knowledge and insight. Soon fear shook the fragile foundations of their hearts.
There were meetings, nightly cabals where Seers met and discussed what to do about Spirit-Maker. Villagers were uneasy, and feared the future Spirit-Maker was slowly divulging, and its effect on the people. The Seers knew in their hearts Spirit-Maker was a superior being, closer to the gods than they would ever be. Yet they knew they had a duty to perform: they must rid the world of knowledge of such a future, otherwise the peoples hearts would be forever damaged, and nothing worthy might be accomplished under the sun. They made a decision.
Spirit-Maker sat like a stone above the waters, immersed in their clarity. He wanted to sing, to shout, to pour his cornucopia of feelings out over the world. All his visions had dovetailed into a greater beauty than he had ever known. It was time to share it with the world, for no person can hold such beauty for long soon it must destroy him. Love swelled from within and sat perched on the tip of his tongue like a dream about to touch reality
There are no tales now of the Great Lamentation and Spirit-Makers sacrifice. You must read it for yourself in the stars, washed through the tears of nature.
Rich Roach, 2005
He couldnt quite define it, but it was there, rising from the deep, swirling patterns of light, leaving deep impressions on his open heart and mind. He began to realise that he was unlike his brothers and sisters, parents and relatives. Spirit-Maker was a Seer, and all that was in him spoke of a higher purpose to his being.
One clear night, as the stars danced their tales, he began to cry. Yet it was not for himself that he cried, but for the throngs of unknown people he had seen in the water who would die in some remote future world. He could feel their anger, their fear, and their pain.
His mother and father would sit beside him to console him, but still Spirit-Maker cried. He cried for twelve days, causing great fear among his people, and knowledge of his lamentation spread across the known world. All who witnessed his tribulation, became anxious, fearful, and profoundly saddened. After the twelfth day his crying ceased. Rain then fell for another twelve days straight.
Seers from far and wide traveled to his village to see Spirit-Maker for themselves. Upon their arrival, they were bathed in holy water, given proudest feathers of honour, and guided toward Spirit-Maker, who sat upon a hillside above a lake in quiet contemplation. He no longer spoke at all, for it was said the light in his eyes was beyond speech, and Seer after Seer found himself lying prostrate at Spirit-Makers feet.
Spirit-Maker had become water, and others now saw what he saw reflected in his eyes. He communicated not only his visions, but also the feelings that accompanied them. The problem was that Seers immediately saw themselves as inferior vessels for such knowledge and insight. Soon fear shook the fragile foundations of their hearts.
There were meetings, nightly cabals where Seers met and discussed what to do about Spirit-Maker. Villagers were uneasy, and feared the future Spirit-Maker was slowly divulging, and its effect on the people. The Seers knew in their hearts Spirit-Maker was a superior being, closer to the gods than they would ever be. Yet they knew they had a duty to perform: they must rid the world of knowledge of such a future, otherwise the peoples hearts would be forever damaged, and nothing worthy might be accomplished under the sun. They made a decision.
Spirit-Maker sat like a stone above the waters, immersed in their clarity. He wanted to sing, to shout, to pour his cornucopia of feelings out over the world. All his visions had dovetailed into a greater beauty than he had ever known. It was time to share it with the world, for no person can hold such beauty for long soon it must destroy him. Love swelled from within and sat perched on the tip of his tongue like a dream about to touch reality
There are no tales now of the Great Lamentation and Spirit-Makers sacrifice. You must read it for yourself in the stars, washed through the tears of nature.
Rich Roach, 2005
