Wednesday, October 19, 2011

THE CROWS COMETH

As King Roland, the sovereign ruler of this great land slept peacefully in his bed, an angel entered into his living quarters. As she floated over to his portion of the bed the wind from her wings began to change the temperature of the room, causing his skin to produce chill bumps. She kneeled down and whispered into his ear. “Nurture your garden, for the crows cometh to destroy.” The next morning King Roland went into the palace chapel along with his consort Queen Tori, a princess from a small principality on the coast of east Africa. They both kneel at the altar where the sun hits the golden cross that was given to them by His Grace Pope Augusto of Italy as a symbol of friendship, fellowship, and faith amongst the two countries. “I have everything I need. God has allowed me to serve him, my country, and your majesty faithfully. I only want to pray for my dear children,” said Queen Tori to the King. “I shall pray for understanding, for my God sent his messenger to warm me that the crows cometh and I should nurture my garden,” replied King Roland.

Later on his majesty requested that he spend some time in the throne room alone, without the noise and side gossip of the court. He sat upon his throne for hours praying and analyzing the message from the angel. King Roland was known for his intelligence and great wisdom. He had a habit of sitting in one place for days attempting to figure out dreams, visions, political moves, logic, etc. After much mental debating with himself he began to think about the prayer of Queen Tori and how it could possibly relate to the angel’s warning. “That’s it!” His majesty insisted that his sons report to the garden on the east wing of the palace for their evening studies. He wanted to teach them a lesson about garden maintenance, which was odd coming from a person of noble blood. The royal groundskeeper has worked in the palace ever since King Roland’s father ruled. He taught the future king about learning about life through gardening.

King Roland’s three sons were said to be the most sought after princes in the entire known world. Prince Malachi (the eldest) was skilled in mathematics as well as military tactics in which he formulated through his visions. He was very controlling and arrogant, but people respected him because of his visions that have kept the country’s borders safe. As the eldest he was next in line to inherit the throne. He envisioned one world ruled by one monarch. Prince Jacob, the middle man as he was called, was very observant, social yet humble and giving. He did not talk much, but when he did people gave him their undivided attention. Prince Jacob was into expressing himself through the arts, sciences, and philanthropy. The king worried that his constant curiosity and kindness would cause people to manipulate him. Prince Yohannes was the youngest of the royal family and a skilled musician and composer. He was the most handsome of the three, although they all were attractive. Affectionately known as “The Charmer” around the kingdom, he used his title as a way of luring young mistresses both of equal or lesser value into his bed. The title, “The Kings Purse Pincher” was whispered amongst the members of the court.

When the three princes enter into the beautiful garden they were met by the royal groundskeeper. He explained to them that their assignment for today was to nurture the garden. “How dare you speak to us in such a manner? I am a prince, soon to be reigning sovereign of this country. I don’t have the time to indulge in such a lowly occupation,” yelled Prince Malachi. He then storms out of the garden. “So this bottom feeder thinks we are his slaves,” Prince Yohannes said comically. “I have no time for this! I have other important engagements. This is joke.” Prince Yohannes then walks away. “Well, I’ve always wanted to know the nature of things,” said Prince Jacob as he laughed. The groundskeeper showed him how to use the watering pail and he eventually left the prince to continue alone. “This seems easy,” the prince said to himself.

The prince enjoyed the calmness and solace that came along with the task. He took a break to write down this experience in his tablet. Prince Jacob takes it everywhere he goes. He paid attention to the way the ground would absorb the water, which reminded him of his desire and thirst for knowledge. As he continued to write, he began to hear the sound of a lyre playing in the distance. He began to move deeper into the center of the maze garden until he saw an angel sitting on the steps of the gazebo, playing a lyre ever so beautifully. The sound of the water from the two waterfalls on both sides of the gazebo had calmed him. His curiosity caused him to have no fear. He sat down three feet away from the angel and listened to her play. Suddenly the lyre began to speak to his soul. To others it may have been a simple tune, but the lyre to Jacob was like a sweet symphony to his soul.

Prince Jacob had read about the lyre once before in his studies. The lyre was a kind of a harp used by the ancient Greeks as an accompaniment to poetry. It was the peculiar instrument of Apollo, the tutelary God of music and poetry. It gave name to the species of verse called lyric, to which it originally furnished an accompaniment. Prince Jacob pulled his tablet out once again and began writing the words given by the lyre. Suddenly, two crows flew into the garden and began to pick at the lyre, but the angel continued to play. Their hard beaks biting the wire were disturbing the peaceful transaction of the musical message. Prince Jacob struggled to continue to write. The message was not as clear. He was losing focus. The angel suddenly grabbed the two crows and ripped the beaks from their faces. While a few drops of blood ran down her fingers, she began to play the lyre with the beaks of the dead crows; their bodies laying lifeless next to her foot.

Prince Jacob became more curious. He continued to write even though the music sounded strange and the message wasn’t as clear. The constant plucking on the wires of the lyre forced the beaks of the dead crows to file until they were no more. The music was beautiful and the music was clearer once again. Prince Jacob began to cry as this encounter taught him a lesson about life. The angel said unto him, “Seek knowledge, seek truth, seek God, and stay focused even in the midst of confusions and distractions. Tough times are certain, but faith will put your life back in tune.” She smiled at Jacob and then disappeared. Prince Jacob ran into the castle to inform his father about this encounter, only to run into terrible news. Prince Yohannes had been murdered by a female commoner. He was found in his bed, naked, with his torso cut open. Crows were feeding on his internal organs.

Prince Malachi’s ship caught fire and burned him alive. A palace gatekeeper had informed the king the two crows had returned his eyes to the front gate of the palace. The royal family mourned the death of their loved ones for quite some time. When Prince Jacob finally had the opportunity to tell his father about his encounter, King Roland wept and thanked God for sparing his son and humbling him. King Roland died twelve years later. Prince Jacob was now the ruler of his country. He never forgot his encounter with the angel, the lyre, and the lesson he had learned. King Jacob The Humble, as he was called, was also a visionary. He built schools, roads, provided special programs for the arts, math, engineering, poor people, and women. He was the first monarch in Africa to modernize his country, establish trading routes, and introduce the outside world to Africa culture.


Tuesday, October 18, 2011

AT THE TABLE

As I walked into this strange room -a medieval tavern of some sort- I noticed a beautiful ivory desk in the center of this room dimly lighted by candles. The ivory top was held by four golden statues in the shape of men that in my mind resembled the Hebrew slaves. Each stood three foot high. All of them were lifting their hands in order to hold their share of the heavy ivory top. On the desk was a red book trimmed in gold, a quill pen made from the feather of a swan, and an ink bottle. Then I took a look at the chair. The chair was not as magnificent as the desk. It was a dull brownish color. I could tell that it was weak and worn. I could also tell from feeling the texture that this chair had been sat on so much that it had lost its firmness; its ability to hold someone up. Then I began to take a look at both the desk and the chair. I realized that even though the desk was far more attractive to the eye, I saw no difference. The golden Hebrew slaves lifting that heavy ivory top at the bottom was suffering from the same pain as the raggedy and worn brown chair; trembling and attempting to hold on to what little strength that they had left.

As the sun began to peak above the mountains, I noticed that the light had placed itself directly on the chair. “Please take a seat,” a voice I felt inside of me say. I cannot possibly sit in this chair. It cannot support me. “Sit down,” the voice yelled! So I slowly sat down in this fragile chair and listened as it screamed for dear life, but strangely it screamed for my life. I did not want to place my hands on the ivory desk, because I feared putting more weight on those poor Hebrew slaves. Even though they are not real, I felt a connection to them. “Write,” the voice said. I opened the red book that was trimmed in gold and began to stare at the blank pages. There was no beginning, no ending. I looked at the Hebrew slaves. I looked at the brown chair beneath me, still screaming for my life. I grabbed the quill pen made from a swan’s feather and for a moment marveled at its uniqueness, its ability to write history. I dipped it into the ink bottle, because this quill pen made of a swan’s feather cannot write history on its own.

The sun I could see through the large window continued to pull its head over the mountain. As I began to place the pen onto paper, I watched as a drop of the black ink that was trapped inside the ink bottle and met this quill pen made from a swan’s feather, fall onto the paper. To my surprise, that drop of black ink disappeared before my very eyes. I did not think that it was such a matter of extreme importance so I began to write. I was writing, but the words were not visible to me. I became frustrated (after a few attempts) and continued to dip the quill into the ink bottle, grinding the pen into the paper, but I could not see what was being written. I did not notice that my frustrations with the paper, this pen made from a swan’s feather (pressing down against it), and this black ink was adding more pressure to the Hebrew slaves down below; causing this weak chair to scream for my life even louder.

I was so angry that I had mistakenly cut myself. The sharp tip of the quill pen made from a swan’s feather had slashed my left palm. As I attempted to nurture my wound I watched as the blood began to seep through my clinched fist. I noticed a drop of blood had fallen upon the paper. Then suddenly, words appeared! I skimmed through the pages only to see words written in many languages, but somehow I could understand them. The sun has arisen! The voice said to me, “If you want to write history, then you have to know your true history. I have set a few pages in this book aside just for you. You cannot begin to write until you have read everything before your section begins. I left spaces for others that will write even after you are gone. You have to understand the clues that were left for you by your ancestors. If you allow someone else to write your history for you, they control your present, they control your future. Not knowing who you are and what you are is the same as being dead or not having a soul. Study to shew thyself approve; then write. Share your wisdom with the world. In preparation for greatness, you must be willing to die for it.”

That was the day that I buried my old self. A new and enlightened me was reborn.