I entered the ruin to a low hum…
The snug fit of my arms in the portal vectors was no accident.
Once inserted an irreversible chain reaction commenced.
The stone and wood around me shifted into old form:
The screen before my face showed a small orange planet, turning in space.
The hieroglyphs overhead read Mine-Sweeper…
Thinking the words was enough to initiate the familiar
of passing solar systems.
Three light speeds later and the low hum again indicated arrival.
White-Glare flooded the craft.
“Welcome back, Agent Blonde. How goes it with Urantia?”
“Not good, Ma’am…”
‘The Witch’, they called her but she minded not, tending to her herbs and the animals and birds which nature’s highest intelligence brought to the garden of her single roomed house knowing her abilities to hold and to heal…
It started slowly.
A black stain on the stone and the gentle glooping of mud or oil disturbed by rising vapours.
But by noon the single roomed house had begun to rise through the air…
She peered from a window of the house, now tower, at the receding garden, far below, and smiled.
Unfurling her wings she hopped from the window…
“We still don’t know how they did it, or why, or even if they really did it or not…
…We do know that for at least two thousand years these sort of monuments were a preoccupation, were the preoccupation of a world wide culture.
And then they were not!
The traditional supposition is climate change.
But there is another way to look it.
One that involves teleology…
And a change of state…
Amphibians can live in water and on land.
What would we call a creature that lives neither in nor out of time but somewhere between?”…
The first key…
Bigger than me…
and inside, a box; identical but smaller, in order to fit, with another key.
Key number two…
As big as you…
whose mote is my beam, now clearly seen as I click the lock and find inside another box, identical but smaller…
Key number three…
What will we see…
as we flick the lock and peer inside the box? A heart, blood red and still beating…
The ground starts to shake with footfalls much bigger than me and a large eye appears at the church window.
‘Fee… Fi… Fo… Fum…’ says the Giant.
…Moments later the bars of blue light shimmered into three tightly clad figures.
Kirk, glanced expectantly around the room and sighed.
Spock arched a well manicured eye-brow skyward.
“An empty writing room,” pronounced Sulu, somewhat redundantly.
Kirk’s hand held communication unit twittered into life.
“Better check the co-ordinates on that one Scottie, I asked for ‘enterprising room’, dammit!”
Meantime, Spock had slithered over to the window and was peering through the white-blue light.
“Captain, no, wait…”
“What is it Spock?” asked Kirk moving toward the window.
“Well, it’s life Jim, but…” smiled Sulu, who was already there.
On one side a giant kisses the sky,
On the other a fore-finger, its hand buried in clay.
Yet should you ask, ‘why?’
There is no one left to say…
Can a sliver of blue heaven
Between hard rock face,
Answer the riddle
Set by time and place?
Could Sentinels of Stone point out the way?
Is there really such a difference betwixt night and day?
First it was a tickle,
Then it was a stroke…
As the pale sun’s disk
Caressed by bark
Slid down to earth
And then began to talk…
‘You enter this portal to
avoid traversing the dark.’
I have lain here for millennia
watching ages pass.
Great beasts once roamed my slopes.
I saw them take to the air.
Their leathery calls scarring the sky.
In a fiery eye-blink they were gone.
Ice flows then kissed my rugged cheek
with cold, thin, sticky, lips
and time ushered in a new form of dominion.
But they too have all but gone now
transforming themselves into machines
which will devour everything
like the great beasts of old.
But I will still endure, watching
ages pass, for millennia more…
turn to tree
or was that just eroded memory?
Yet, if water turns to earth
and earth to fire
and air to water
by dint of long forgotten alchemy.
And if indeed
the Fire-King and Earth-Maiden
have spawned a beautiful daughter…
There may yet be
some fleeting semblance of hope
One life for the minerals, substance of earth.
One life for the flowers, blossom of soul.
One life for the animals, projection of dream.
The dream of reason produces monsters.
The dream of love produces life.
The dream of death produces light.
Stone is the bone of earth.
Down the dark stairwell, a silent progress plotted.
‘Twas death in that house were Tom but spotted.
…He reached the door, a tree clad Owl hooted.
Three seconds more and Tom was Seven League Booted.
One stride it took to clear that grim ravine.
By the dimly waking watchers, Tom was never seen.
A toe hold caught the receding lip of night.
Poor Tom was spilled out, and tumbled into flight…
In the glow
far, far below…
High keening Kites.
*Tom Banjo is a character who appears in the Grateful Dead song entitled ‘Mountains of the Moon’. About two-thirds the way through the song, and upon hearing of the Marsh King’s daughter, Tom mysteriously disappears…