..::I began by noting the strange continuance in Christianity of the original pagan title of Chief Pontiff, which the Bishop of Rome, successor of St.Peter the Fisherman, assumed two centuries after it had become the Roman state religion.
For the Chief Pontiff, in Republican and early Imperial times, was personally responsible to the Capitoline Trinity:
***Juppiter, Juno and Minerva,***
for the chaste behavior of the Vestals, as his successor now is to the Christian trinity for the Roman Catholic nuns::..
Robert Graves
The White Goddess
. . . .
'Perhaps you can also explain why the hair of a Vestal is cut at marriage and never allowed to grow?'
'That must have been King Tarquin's prudent regulation. Woman with their hair cut cannot perform magical spells. Doubtless he feared that they would revenge themselves on him for his severity towards them. It was he, not the Chief Pontiff, who had the privilege of scourging any Vestal who let the sacred fire go out, and scourging to death any Vestal who took a private lover.'
Robert Graves
A Conversation at Paphos AD 43
. . . .
..::After Adam and Eve had eaten of the tree of knowledge, the Gnostics taught that they experienced enlightenment, awoke to their own luminous nature and could distinguish good from evil, just as the serpent had promised. Seeing their intellectual and spiritual transformation, the demiurge was jealous and roused his demonic companions:
'Behold Adam! He has come to be like one of us, so that he knows the difference between light and darkness. Now perhaps he also will come to the tree of life and eat, and become immortal. Come let us expel him from Paradise down to the land from which he was taken, so that henceforth he might not be able to recognize anything better.' And so they expelled Adam from Paradise, along with his wife.
What stands out in this Gnostic Genesis is the way in which Adam and Eve are expelled from 'Paradise' down to 'the land' -- where henceforth they are to live in ignorance of their true potential. The underlying concept of a descent from a spiritual paradise into a fleshly and material world is extremely close to the Bogomil and Cathar notions of angels falling from heaven to earth to inhabit human bodies.::..
Graham Hancock
Robert Bauval
'Talisman'
* * * *
Daryl realized after Jack had returned home, that he had unintentionally left his nephew rather frustrated and somewhat disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm for Jack's monumental revelation.
He certainly hadn't intended such. As he had endeavored to explain to Jack, he simply wanted to be quite certain that this new realm was everything it appeared to be. Daryl had, after all, encountered many such alternate universes and timelines; some better, some worse than their present tempus locus.
Daryl sighed and stood. Like an automaton he clomped down the spiral staircase and exited the library. Closing the double doors behind him, he leaned his head back against them and closed his eyes a moment...Pax.
Rousing himself, he made a few rounds of the parlor and stopped to glance through the French doors at the weather, clearing up somewhat now. The timewalkers must all be settled back at home base. He would have no more interruptions for a while.
Hands in pockets, he entered the black and white chessboard hallway and stood before the door, glaring at it. He wanted to talk to Athena...but he realized that this would amount to an admission of weakness on his part. Or so he felt.
Back to the parlor then, he began to set kindling to a small blaze upon the hearth, then added a few larger branches. He felt better now, although he was still unwilling to admit to himself the fire was mostly a means of conjuring up a live thing to make him feel rather less bereft.
'What now...what now...?' He muttered to the leaping flames, hands back in pockets, kerflummoxed for the nonce.
He wasn't hungry. He didn't feel anything really except a dull sort of ache deep within. This wouldn't do. 'Get a grip, man,' he told himself.
Glancing at the windows he saw that the sun was beginning to set. Already? Had the day gone by so soon?
He and Jack had been in discussion some time, it seemed.
'Proceed as if...,' he admonished himself. This was one of his personal credos; simply put a good face on things and act as though all is well and somehow, sometime, it will be. Eventually.
'Fine, then.' He betook himself into the kitchen and fixed himself a plate of appetizers: cheese, nuts, fruit, crackers, olives...and, perhaps some wine as well, why not?
Thus fortified, he made his way back to the parlor and, touching a wall button en route, he entered to the strains of Berlioz's 'Rob Roy Overture'.
Seated beside the now blazing hearth, he began to contemplate events as he munched, watching the sunset.
The thing that niggled at his grey matter, teasing him like a imp with a hot poker, was just this: He realized, whilst listening to Jack, that he, Daryl, actually did NOT wish to return to any other timeline!
He also knew this was a bloody bizarre way to think.
And, possibly dangerous.
He sat forward and clasped his hands over his knees, staring at the fire now. No, it wasn't that he just wanted to put Jack's alternate timeline to the test; he knew, to his bones, (and he had best simply admit this to himself), that he did not want to leave here.
Oh, he could play about with the 'when', still. But, he realized, in spite of himself and all logic to the contrary, that where he now was -- here, with Athena, and Emlyn, even Yvonna, Rosa and Manuel, Shannon and the Bards...all conspired to make here and now feel like 'home' to him. And, he had grown used to their company; even with all the crazy misadventures that went with them...
And Jack, well...Daryl sighed. He hadn't been much help to either Jack or Emlyn.
Then, too, there was...the Cup. Sure, he told himself, he could bring it with, wherever he was to go.
But he did not wish to be elsewhere, or with unknown others, when he used it. He wanted it here, he decided, and drank to that.
A knock at the door startled Daryl from his reveries. He dragged a hand through his hair, endeavoring to flatten the family cowlick, and opened it to find Athena waiting.
'I thought you might like some company,' she said.
'I thought you'd never ask...' Daryl replied, smiling.
...Thunder rumbled in the distance.
'You can open your eyes now.'
Emlyn smiled at Shannon who stood beside her, clutching her hand tightly, eyes squeezed shut against the dark Null Zone of time travel.
'Oof! Do you ever get used to that?!' Shannon shook herself, and breathed deeply, squinting about.
'Are we really here?'
'If you mean, my room at Mrs. Murphy's, it would seem that we are.' Emlyn disengaged herself and gazed about the little room. How odd; it all looked as though she hadn't gone anywhere. But when she glanced out the window and beheld the riot of fall color, she knew she had been some Time away, indeed.
'It's marvelous outside, just as you said!' She looked over her shoulder at Shannon. 'I'll just put my things away then pay a long-overdue visit to Mrs. Murphy.'
'And to Jeanne, after!' Shannon told her. 'She has been ever so sick with worriting about yourself!'
After having set Mrs. Murphy to rights with past-due rent monies, as well as paying 6 months advance rent, despite protestations of the venerable landlady, Em and Shannon at last found themselves outdoors and en route to Jeanne's house.
'It is glorious here now!' Emlyn whirled about, wishing to see all the flaming colors of leaves dancing about her in the autumn breeze. 'If only I were an owl and could twist my head behind me...'
Shannon smiled at her. 'It's good to see you like this, Em! You've been much too serious of late.'
The two women trekked off the main streets of town and wandered down a deer path crossing a golden meadow. Em deeply inhaled the scents of eucalyptus and pine wafted by a welcome breeze in the late summer heat.
'We're soon to Jeanne's place!' Shannon perked up, if any more of that were at all possible. 'Oh, I am so relieved that you came back, Em! I can't imagine the Triad without their third, in time for Samhain!'
Whilst they had been speaking with Mrs. Murphy, Em had ascertained that it was, indeed, near Samhain, still, and the Keltic New Year's celebration hadn't gone past them yet.
'Will we be holding Samhain here on the Green, by the Bear's Den, such as it was for Midsummer's Day?'
'Oh, aye and most likely so,' answered Shannon, pausing to peer at the head of a white mushroom. She bent over and plucked it. 'Meadow mushrooms! We should come back with a basket...'
Soon the trail led into a small house at the end of town. 'You can also come to it by way of High Street, but I prefer to wander the meadow here, myself.' Shannon knocked on the front door. 'Sunday...shop is shut, so she should be here...'
The door opened at last, and out rushed several meowing furballs of various colors, followed by Jeanne herself.
'Ach! You're back! Ah, Shannon, at last you brought her back! Come here, you!' And Jeanne took Em in a close embrace whilst Shannon bounced on her toes til she couldna bear no more, and threw herself into a group-hug.
'Of course! We're not a Triad, otherwise!' She exclaimed.
Later, basket in hand, Jeanne locked up the shop as the Triad headed back to the meadow for more mushrooms.
'So. Tell all then. Leave out nothing, for I'll find out on my own anyway!' Jeanne warned. With a smile.
'Not so much to tell, really,' Em demurred, weaving together a crown of wild oats as they walked. 'I have simply been staying in Massachusetts, talking with Athena and Daryl...'
Shannon belted forth a whoop. 'Not much, says she!' She tossed back her head, beseeching the heavens...
'Oh, we only went timewalking back to Glastonbury Tor! And saw a reeeal crop circle in the making there! And, we saw Emlyn's faery prince lover, Gwydion, AND her half-fey son, Llew!-- both looking quite fine and eireachdail, indeed I'm here to tell you! AND, not to mention, we also saw Emlyn's Spirit Husband! Oh, aye!
As a great fearsome Knight in shining mail, on a giant black beast of a mount, snortin' fire, so he was!'
Shannon hadn't seemed yet to ken that they all had stopped and were staring at her, silent, frozen; until Jeanne's gimlet gaze bore into her, arresting a seemingly untrammeled torrent of blarney.
'Ach. I see.' Jeanne raised her brows heavenward, as she gave Em rather sang-froid appraisal. 'Any of this have a base in reality, then?' She enquired.
By Emlyn's reddening features as she bit her lip, frowning, and looked away, Jeanne divined that, incredibly, all seemed perhaps to be just so, indeed.
'Well, well, then!' Was Jeanne's only comment, as they
resumed their foray upon the toothsome fungi.
'Looks like several over here!' Emlyn pointed and scampered off, having spotted their quarry. And mucho relieved she was, for a pause, of any explanations soon due.
Jeanne wasn't about to let her off that easily, however...
'You'll be staying for Samhain, then?' She inquired, all seeming indifference.
Emlyn straightened up, taking her apron-load of mushrooms to the basket. 'I was hoping to, yes. It seems so, so long ago that I've been here...that I've been home.' She looked at Jeanne, who acknowledged the admission. Em hoped she'd take it as a promise as well.
Jeanne smiled at Em. 'That's good you're thinking of staying on, then.' She touched her shoulder, 'You are, aren't you? Staying on after Samhain?
'Oh, mercy, yes...' Em shook her head. 'I'm tired of
having to be haring off all the time! I had only just arrived here and then, pfft!' She tossed a hand in the air.
'In a way, that's why I'm here now,' she allowed. 'During our...timewalk, in Glastonbury, with Daryl and Shannon, you see...when we ran into Gwydion there, well, Daryl wasn't really much help. Not to mention it was his idea to go there in the first place!' Em glared at the mushrooms.
'Well, anyway...so staying at Daryl's place, to shield myself from Gwydion, was no answer, either, then.'
Shannon trotted up, hands full of 'shrooms and emptied her harvest into the basket. 'All we need's a wee bit of rain and there'll be mushrooms erupting sure.' She rose up then, hands on hips: 'It's only your Sisters and the Triad, and Herself, you can be certain of, Em!'
Emlyn smiled then, and taking the basket, linked arms with her Triad sisters and together they strode off down the meadow into the hazy setting sun...
. . . .
'Jack's serious. You're serious.' Athena studied Daryl closely, as she sat sideways upon the parlor sofa, feet tucked beneath her, as was often her wont.
Daryl was standing at the mantle with one arm resting upon it. He'd just outlined the basics of Jack's news to Athena, who, for her part, had noted Daryl's distinct lack of celebratory attitude.
Daryl sighed. 'Yes, I'm afraid he is completely...won over, by his discovery of this, particular alternate timeline.'
'And, you are not, I take it?' Athena accepted a glass of wine from Daryl, who refreshed his own.
A Gallic shrug from Daryl. 'Je sais pas? I have no idea what to think. That he believes it is the answer we've been seeking, is obvious. But, don't get me wrong!'
Daryl moved to the sofa's other end and took a seat beside Athena. 'I am more than relieved to find Jack looking so well, after all he's been through! Oh, just about anything, is worth seeing Jack regain his health and cognitive facilities!'
Athena took a small sip of riesling. '--But?'
Daryl looked at her, putting an arm atop the sofa's back. 'But...it is simply prudent to proceed with caution,' he lied.
'Well. I, for one,' Athena began, eyeing him critically, 'would be interested in finding out more about this alternate reality.' She drank her wine and set down her glass.
Daryl turned back to the hearth, saying nothing. All was quiet for a moment, as the grandfather clock ticked the minutes past.
Finally, he ventured, keeping his eyes carefully averted from her, 'Would you be tempted thus, to join him there, my dear Athena?'
'Would you not?' She unfolded herself and slid over to Daryl's side, putting a hand upon his leg. 'I might.'
Athena reached around him and poured more wine.
'Daryl. Should, heaven forfend, anything interrupt or somehow penetrate your grid here, we would be, effectively, back in hell then, you know.'
Daryl sighed, again. 'Yes. You speak truly.' He looked down. 'Then, perhaps, it's the parting of the ways for us, cara...,'
He took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissed it, and held it to his cheek.
. . . .
The day had been a hot one, but a cool afternoon wind freshened as the Triad meandered across the meadow and up a small rise. They soon found themselves at the iron gates to the old city cemetery; gold flecked fleur-de-lis tipped it's rococo ironwork which proclaimed it dedicated in 1829.
'Rather a late date,' Jeanne led the way, 'but Arcadia was founded around the time of the gold rush.'
'Arcadia? I thought this was Malta.' Emlyn followed her elder sister into the maze of statuary, headstones and several mausoleums, which made up the hillside resting place of those Maltese or Arcadians, who had gone before.
'Oh, it was changed. A couple of times, actually. It was a rival fraternal organization, the Brotherhood of Malta, who won the honor of renaming the town...we have several fraternal societies here, but it was the Templars who named it Arcadia, in it's inception.'
Emlyn stopped in her tracks. 'Templars!...As in the 'Knights Templar'?'
Jeanne turned, regarding her. 'Just so. Yes, one of the founding fathers, at least, was a Templar Knight.
Of course, the society here in the west is quite a different one from the old Crusaders. But, most of these other Templars left long ago, about the time that the ah, Maltese showed up. And the Judge himself, has long passed.'
'Is he buried here?'
Jeanne nodded and led the way.
Shannon had gone skipping ahead and they caught up to her at the site of one of the mausoleums. This one was rather grand, featuring the Archangel Michael atop, bearing not a sword, but his other talisman, the scales of balance.
Shannon was staring up at him, smiling. 'I like to think that Michael is here in place of Maat -- the Egyptian goddess of Justice, who weighs the heart against a feather in judgment o'the soul.'
Em smiled. 'A very Libran goddess. I'd much prefer seeing her here, but...' She gazed up at the statue's serene features. 'I've always rather liked Michael for that particular Libran attribute. He is usually depicted with a sword, however. Not a peaceable angel, our Michael.'
'Not a peaceable kingdom, this mundane plane...' Jeanne
pulled a few weeds around the site.
'True enough,' Emlyn agreed, as she explored the surroundings. 'Ah, there's his Templar cross, etched on the tomb. It isn't a splayed cross though, this one looks more like a Crusader's...hmmm.' She wandered around to the other side. 'Ah, here's a lovely angel...is this his wife here, then?'
The others joined her. 'Yes, this is she,' Jeanne answered, contemplating the female angel adorning the opposite side of the tomb. 'Our Templars could marry, you see. She does look more serene than sad. I've always rather liked her angel, as well.'
Shannon leaned forward and began to intone:
'As you are now, so once was I,
As I am now, so shall you be.'
Em hunched her shoulders. 'Sounds rather threatening!'
Surprisingly, Shannon laughed lightly. 'Ah, no, Em --
'tisn't like that a'tall, you see! Come...' She took Emlyn's hand and led her back a ways from the statue.
'Look at her! She's marvelous lovely, no? Untroubled, so she is. At peace.' She looked at Em. 'Above it all, you might say.'
'Indeed, that is certainly true. Angels have wings to fly over the care of this world...' Emlyn sighed.
'Actually, the early depictions of angels never had wings,' Jeanne supplied. 'Like the faery, folk only decided to give them wings, later. No story of folk meeting angels, in person, as it were, ever mentioned wings a'tall.'
'You see, Em, 'tisn't a threat! 'Tis a promise!' Shannon
was smiling still. 'Aye, 'tis much you need to learn still!' She slipped a wink at Jeanne, who also wore a secret smile.
'Tis like this,' Shannon continued, ''As I am now,' -- meaning the angel, not the once-material flesh, you see;
'So shall you be'. Have you never heard the tale of the angels fallen from heaven?'
'Certainly! Everyone has heard of that tale!' Em replied, joining Jeanne in a spot of weeding.
'Well, that's us, you see,' Shannon went on, 'In many old tales, not just Keltic, but from many lands, we humans were just that -- those angels who fell to earth, and became entrapped in mortal flesh. We forgot our high heritage, and 'lost our wings' you might say!'
'Or, some would name the Tuatha de Danaan, instead of angels, as our ancestors. They also came here from the heavens in ships of light, 'tis said, giving birth to the Kelts...' Jeanne faced the sunset, closing her eyes.
'Hmm. Perhaps I have read something similar...' Em allowed.
Shannon nodded. 'So you see, that's our task whilst we're here; to remember our true selves! To reclaim our wings and return to our former state, before we fell and forgot our true divine nature. So, 'As I am now, so shall you be,' is actually our hope, Em. Not a hope of mortal death, but beyond, and even before, this or any other incarnation -- to regain our rightful place as co-creators with the Goddess.'
'So mote it be,' pronounced Jeanne.
'So mote it be,' echoed Emlyn, softly.
Shannon sighed, and closed her eyes in the setting sun. 'Blessed be, Bridgit...'
