..::Enoch wrote down "the signs of Heaven" (the zodiac signs) according to their months in a book. This was so human beings would know the seasons of the years in relation to the order of the months and their respective stellar and planetary influences.
The indication is that Enoch received this information from extraterrestrial angelic sources, i.e. the Watchers, and therefore he was a cultural exemplar.
According to the Bible, the consequence of a miscegenation between the Fallen Ones and mortals led to the creation of half-angelic, half-human offspring (Genesis 6:4).
These children were called the Nefelim or Nephilim and they were the giant race that once inhabited Old Earth.
The fallen angels taught their wives and children a variety of new technological skills, magical knowledge and occult wisdom. This suggests that psychic abilities and magical powers were originally an ancient inheritance from the angelic realm given to early humans.
In the ancient traditions this is known in spiritual and metaphorical terms as the 'witch blood', 'elven blood' or 'faery blood' that is possessed by witches and wizards.
Azazel taught them metallurgy and how to mine from the earth and use different metals. To the women he taught the art of making bracelets, ornaments, rings and necklaces from precious metals and stones. He also showed them how to 'beautify their eyelids' with kohl and the use of cosmetic tricks to attract and seduce the opposite sex.
This was the basis for the early Church condemning the fallen angels for teaching women to make necklaces from pieces of gold and bracelets for their arms. Paul said that women should cover their head in the synagogue (Corinthians: 11:5-6).
This was because the fallen angels were supposed to be attracted to human females with long flowing hair. The custom of women covering their hair in churches is still found in Roman Catholicism and also in the customs of Islam.
The fallen angel Shemyaza, another form of Azazel, is said by Enoch to have taught humans the use of root cuttings and the magical art of enchantment; the angel, Kokabiel, the knowledge of the constellations (astronomy)
• Armaros taught the resolving (banishing) of enchantments
• Baraqijal taught astrology
• Chazaqiel, the knowledge of the clouds and the sky (weather lore and divination)
• Shamsiel, the signs of the sun (the solar mysteries)
• Sariel the lunar cycles (in horticulture; agriculture and lunar mysteries)
• Penemuel instructed humans in the art of writing and reading
• Kashdejan taught the diagnosis and healing of diseases and the science of medicine
It is obvious from these descriptions of the teaching abilities of the Watchers that they were cultural exemplars and the bringers of civilization to the early human race::...
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..::The Kurds claim to be the descendants of the 'Children of the Djinn' (spirits), the offspring of a mating between the djinns and mortal women. In some parts of Kurdistan, especially among the sect of Yezedis, who worship the Peacock Angel (Azazel, the leader of the fallen angels), can be found tall, fair-haired people with blue eyes.
Although anthropologists believe they may be of ancient European ancestry, popular folk belief among the Kurds says they are descendants of the 'Children of the Djinn', who in ancient times brought civilization to early humankind::..
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..::Christian O'Brien has suggested there is a connection between the biblical Watchers and the semi-divine, semi-mythical Tuatha De Danann (Children of the goddess Dana). This race of ancient magicians descended to Earth on the sacred hill of Tara in prehistoric Ireland.
With the coming of Christianity, the Tuatha De Danann was banished into the 'hollow hills' and became the Sidhe (Shee) or 'Shining Ones', the elves and faeries of Irish folklore. There has always been a strong belief among the peasantry in Ireland that the Good People or faeries were originally the fallen angels in the Battle of Heaven::..
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"One of the Sanskrit words for 'victorious' were the gods of 'Abhijit'. That's what Vega was called in ancient India. It was under the influence of Vega that the Hindu divinities, our culture heroes, conquered the gods of evil.
Now, it's a curious thing. In Persia there are asuras also, but in Persia, the asuras were the gods of good. Eventually religions sprang up in which the chief god, the god of light, the sun god, was called Ahura Mazda. The Zoroastrians, for example, and Mithraists. Ahura, asura, it is the same name.
There are still Zoroastrians today, and the Mithraists gave the Christians a good fright. But in this same story, those Hindu divinities -- they were mostly female by the way -- where called Devis. In India, the devis are gods of good. In Persia, devis became gods of evil...
All this is probably some vaguely remembered account of the Aryan invasion that pushed the Dravidian's, my ancestors, to the south. So, depending on which side of the Kirthar Range one lives on, Vega supports either god or the devil."
"Devi"
Carl Sagan
Contact
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After a late supper that evening, Daryl brought coffee and calvados to
Athena who was stretched out comfortably upon the parlor sofa before the hearthfire.
'Merci' Daryl,' Athena was full of frittata and ready to relax. 'And my complements
to the chef.'
'You are most welcome, cara, of course,' Daryl set the tray between them on the tea table and took his wing chair, crossing his feet upon the hearth.
'Ahh, I so have missed this...just the simple life...harvesting new herbs from the garden, cooking simply, eating simply. That St.John, I don't know how he manages all that rich food he stows away so prodigiously. I could not live like that.'
'You were all bone and angle as a kid, I recall,' Athena mused. 'Fat had no chance to accumulate; you chased it off.'
Daryl frowned at that. 'St.John has others to do his chasing for him...'
They sipped silently as Daryl bestirred the fire. Athena was eyeing the obscure little piece by the hearth that hid the trigger to the secret stairway. Best keep that to herself a bit longer, she decided. Plenty of time for more intrigue after Emlyn returns. Whenever that may be...
'It bodes not well, Yvonna's so-called partnership with St.John,' Daryl was leaning forward, poker in hand, still frowning at the fire. 'He is using her, her Russian connections, only to get what he wants...'
'Is not Yvonna getting what she wants, in return?' Athena began cracking walnuts from the basket by the fireside.
'Perhaps, but at what cost? St.John's contacts and methods leave much to be desired in the way of legality. I do not wish to see her land in some snake nest of trouble down the road...' Daryl jabbed at the fire logs. 'Perhaps I could get a letter to her also; just a general, gentle warning. Send it through her niece Anna. She seems to be a capable little person.'
'"Little person"? She is of small stature?' Athena wondered now. He made it sound as though she were a leprechaun.
'She is young,' Daryl clarified. '20's perhaps, at most. Not tall or statuesque, like Yvonna. But, good for the ballet. I did note she has a nice foot. Yvonna was rather tall for a dancer.'
Daryl replaced the poker and sat back, calva in hand. 'I'll get a note to her manana. Nothing wrong in just putting the suggestion to her of being cautious, when dealing with that old recreant St.John. And, to request a meeting with me upon her return...'
Daryl sighed softly. 'I feel it incumbent upon me to steer her clear of St.John; it was all my doing, introducing them...I had no idea I'd not be around to keep an eye on things.'
'I must admit I am curious about the letter you sent to Emlyn, via St.John...' Athena remarked impetuously.
'Oh, you are, are you?' Daryl's brows reached new heights. He poured a dash more of the amber liquid into their glasses. 'If you must know, I told her I was home, awaiting her arrival. That...I was well, and planning to remain here, at home. And to do my duty by her and by the Order.'
'"The Order"...yes. We have both had dealings with them...' Athena swirled her calva. 'Is Raimundo's Order the same as Yeats' old one? -- And Jack's as well, I believe... Hard keeping all these secret societies straight.'
'I believe...they may have some tenets in common.' Frankly, now that he thought on it, Daryl had to admit he wasn't sure.
'One thing I do know, it is decidedly at odds with whatever society that the Professor and Frank were messing about with here...' Daryl regarded his calva, remembering the rather jarring incident he'd been transported into via one of his recent workings gone awry; when he'd found Frank in the basement being demolecularized by some savage machine of the Professor's.
' Yeats or Axelis would know more about all of this,' Daryl allowed. He then glanced to Athena, 'However, they're not saying.'
'I noticed. Axelis at least, keeps his own counsel.' Athena smiled to herself, recalling her brief interactions with those enigmatic gentlemen.
'What, exactly, IS Axelis? You're the librarian. And you've had time to study, him.' Daryl nearly said, 'the creature'. 'I proffered a few ideas Em's way, but she was offended, I think, when I mentioned the Nephilim as a possibility...'
Athena did not think it so odd. 'Not a bad guess, actually,' she remarked, surprising Daryl. 'I did muse upon that as well...frankly, I'm not all that concerned about his origins. I do trust him though, to do the right thing. Was he always thus? I also have the feeling that he was at one time, perhaps far past, not so trustworthy an entity. So, your Nephilim designation fits as well as any.'
Sighing, she offered, 'I suppose Yeats is also rather sparing with any information he may impart your way?'
Daryl snorted. 'Like the proverbial Sphinx...' He stood and stretched, regarding the portrait of Rossetti's Magdalene above the mantle piece.
Capturing Athena's gaze he declared, 'He took off my head once, you know.'
'I heard, something about that. From Emlyn I believe.' Athena wondered that he would be talking of this now.
'Yes. It was back when we were on opposite sides of the Albigensian Crusade. ' Daryl
inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaling, he rubbed the back of his neck. 'I happened to be on the losing side...'
Athena 'hmm'd' to herself...'It is hard to see our Yeats in that role. Defender of the Faith, eh?'
Daryl nodded, and seated himself next to Athena. She shifted her legs and curled up on her corner like a large white cat; made all the more so by her faux-snow leopard robe.
'Yes. He did say that experience was what changed him then. After that, he gave up his position as head of the Order and left this world, to be with Thelene.' Thelene; she of the Tuatha de Dannan...
Daryl hung his head, hands clasped. Athena knew what he was thinking: why not himself, and Anara, in that other world, and together? But it was not meant to be.
'That was genocide,' Athena pronounced. 'And that is Truth; rarely pure and never simple, to paraphrase Wilde....but there had to be something more to it than just Phillip the Fair owing the landowners in the south money, or the 'threat' of gnosticism to the Church...don't you think?' She finished off her brandy. 'Men, women, children, by the thousands, tens of thousands, fell to the iron law of the 'god of love', and the 'mercy' of the Church of Rome...'
'What do you mean, ma cheri?' Daryl leaned back in his corner and tossed an arm across the sofa back, facing Athena.
'Well, you do know the legend of the Magdalene is rife throughout the south, from Marsielles outward, on into Italy and Spain and beyond.' Athena continued.
'The Black Madonna, black to signify 'hidden' or eclipsed, worshiped throughout the Langedoc -- so beloved by your gypsies! -- statues and paintings famously celebrate the Magdalene and her daughter Sarah; Sarah of the Gypsies -- and supposedly Yeshua ben Yoseph's daughter as well.'
'Those were, are the rumors...' Daryl agreed, pouring more calvados . 'Indeed, being around thirty years of age, and 'teacher, master' would be the interpretation in Greek of 'rabbi' ... as such, a Jewish male , a rabbi the age of Yeshua, would have been married, and rather earlier than age thirty.'
'Yes, well, the Powers That Be were making sure they eradicated any of the surviving bloodline, then! A threat indeed; to the whole mish mash of hastily cobbled 'gospels' written by men who never knew the purported man called Jesus, 30 years, or 100 and more after his supposed crucifixion...and, where were the apostles, after? It was reported that the Magdalene, the women, went to his tomb. While the apostles were off on a fishing trip! Truly bizarre stuff.'
'"It has served us well, this myth of the christ," the church fathers have been quoted as saying,' Daryl agreed. 'And, you know that in the Koran, it is written that Jesus was not dead when he was taken from the cross. In Islam, Jesus is hailed as a prophet. Like many of the Jewish prophets and contenders for the title of Messiah that were about at that time. But not a god. That was added probably at the Council of Nicaea in 300 AD. All of the bible can be read as myth and metaphor, like the Greek or Egyptian tales of the gods.
'And there is as much that is beautiful and admirable there, as there is abominable and terrifying, as well as shameful...purely power plays. The heavy hand of the Church was not giving up their infallible power over the world; remaining ever ready to wield the sword against nay-sayers.' He sighed. 'Like myself...'
'You were not alone in that. Not then, and not now.' Athena reached back and took Daryl's hand in solidarity.
'Thank you, cara,' Daryl leaned up, kissed her hand. 'I appreciate your sympathetic ear.' He looked troubled then. 'I just wonder how Emlyn is going to take my disappearance. And return.' He looked down. 'I just, don't know...perhaps, she would rather I had remained...disappeared.'
.........
Waiting, again...
At the liminal edge of dawn, Emlyn and Sebastiao were eyeing the jungle, awaiting the return of Raimundo, or of a new sailor to substitute for him if, not finding the mambo, he had to take Alice farther east tonight .
'"The human heart is like a ship upon stormy seas, driven by winds blown from all four corners..."' Em quietly quoted Luther, feeling rather pious suddenly.
'I do have some experience sailing, you know...' Emlyn whispered to Sebastiao, who regarded her with one tired eyebrow raised.
'Indeed?' He questioned flatly. Then hiding a smile, he turned back to his scoping out the foliage. 'Ah. With your Capitan, eh?'
'Well, yes. And Raimundo.' Em huddled for warmth under a brightly woven cotton Mexican blanket she'd found on board, surprisingly soft and warm for its light weight.
'I am sure you are able and eager, but your services won't be necessary, I am fairly certain,' Sebastiao, the capitan here, assured her. 'Weather will remain fair, and winds favorable for our homeward journey. We should be able to take you all the way home, to the City docks.'
Em was more reassured now; though always energized by her two friend's company, she had to admit she was beginning to lag a bit after being up all night and traveling so long.
A decent hot meal, bath and bed was her new siren's song. Oh, but it had all been worth it, even for a glimpse of Alice again. Sheer relief seemed to have taken all the spunk out of her.
'Here he is, Raimundo returns!' Sebastiao had the rope ladder over the side as Raimundo pulled forth the dingy and began rowing their way.
...............
'So, you found the mambo, then?' Emlyn helped Raimundo on board.
'Sim.' He smiled a tired smile Em's way. 'All is well. Those two got along like sisters!
Alice wishes to stay and to learn the voudoun way from Queen Cecille. '
'Oh, I am glad!' Em was. 'She will be staying in Mexico then?' That would have her closer...
'Ah, yes, for a while. ' Raimundo and Sebastiao began unfurling sails and preparing to weigh anchor. 'Cecille had mentioned something about heading up to New Orleans for a while.'
Hm. New Orleans. That would take them farther east... But knowing Alice would be in Mexico for a while, who knows? Perhaps she would be able to visit sometime.
'But, for now,' Raimundo paused in his activity long enough to take Em by the shoulders, smile and say, 'Let us get you home, no?'
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'It is rather early, Monsieur!' Anna was at the shop door, in answer to Daryl's relentless rapping. An entire hour until luncheon and cafe' opening! The nerve...
'Yes!' Daryl muscled his way in, slinking bonelessly through the door, slippery as a cat, 'I am so glad you could see me, Anna...' He removed his hat, running a hand through dark, wet locks as Anna regarded this damp desperado.
'I can see that you are here too early.' Anna was not amused. 'Luncheon will not be served for another, oh, at earliest, a quarter hour yet! Why, ze zoup --!'
-- Daryl took her elbow and lowered his voice...'I apologize, truly, for rather ambushing you like this...but I wish to speak with you, about your aunt.'
Telling herself that Aunt Yvonna will return and that this wild man will be her problem soon enough, Anna collected herself and closed the door behind Daryl.
'Very well, Monsieur!'
And with that tilt of her head upward, lifting the slightly retrousse' nose high, Anna resignedly led Daryl through the shop and into the restaurant proper. . .cursing this interruption to her morning as '...sheer solecism, a putsch!...the very idea...,' she muttered to herself as she snatched a towel and ostentatiously swept it about a table and stood back, arm stretched toward it in regal offering: 'You will sit.'
Daryl sat.
'Sergei, tea, please?' She asked, tightly, over her shoulder.
Daryl stood, again, and held the other chair for her. 'Mlle?' He attempted to display some belated manners now. Couldn't hurt...
Anna sighed and looked at the chair as if it held a noxious puddle on the seat. At last, with a long-suffering glance Daryl's way, she took her seat. Daryl removed his overcoat and draped it upon an empty chair, of which there were many.
Clasping her hands before her, Anna studied Daryl intently. 'Oui, Monsieur? I am here.'
'Ah, yes,' he began, feeling rather on the spot now. 'You see, well, I have a letter here, for Yvonna, your aunt, and I was hoping that, you might be able to see that it reaches her.' He proffered the envelope, then slid it along the table toward her.
Anna made no move to take it, but gazed upon it as if it were an offending insect.
'In Sitka, Monsieur?' She slowly shook her head. 'I do not know...I can make no guarantees...boats come and go, seas, weather, there is much that can not be relied upon!'
'Yes, yes...I realize all that...' Daryl began, but Sergei had returned with the tea, wheeling a sizeable tea tray with steaming samovar to table. Placing delicate china cups and saucers before them he poured, and then, handing the cups about, bowed and disappeared, silent and efficient as an automaton.
Daryl paused a moment, inhaling the dark earthy scent of strong black tea.
'Sweet, with lemon,' he smiled at Anna as he prepared his cup.
'Ah,' Anna allowed her composure to relax somewhat, as she too, took some lemon. 'You do not follow the English way to drench good tea in milk, then?'
'Not usually, no. Although when visiting, England or Canada, I will sometimes. For the ambiance.'
Anna was shaking her head again, although a smile hovered about her lips.
'Ginger scones. With hazelnut.' She offered the covered basket from which wafted the warm spicy scents of lemon, nut and ginger.
'Speciba, Anna.' Daryl had relaxed somewhat as well. Breaking bread, always a good way to disarm the enemy, or the recalcitrant niece, he mused to himself.
'So, no, I would not be expecting anything,' he returned to the letter at hand. 'But I feel I must make an effort to reach her, as soon as may be.'
'If I may ask, Monsieur --'
'-- Daryl, Anna, please.'
Anna sighed again. Americans. Always wishing to be...chummy. 'Very well, Monsieur Darrrryll, then, what is the hurry? Is anything amiss?' Any threat to her aunt or her aunt's business was something Anna felt incumbent upon her to find out.
Daryl sat back, regarding the young fille. Her gaze was serious, astute.
'Very well...in short, mlle, although I have dealings with Monsieur St.John, I would not advise a friend to trust him.'
Anna smiled slowly then, and daintily sipped her tea. 'Ah. Monsieur Daryl, you need not to worry...Aunt Yvonna does not trust him either.'
A sudden interruption in concert sounded about them -- clocks in the shop all striking the hour of eleven o'clock -- cuckoo clocks, Grandfather clocks, ormolu, everything but a water clock or sundial gave voice to the start of the luncheon hour.
'I must be off. But stay, do!'
Daryl placed a gentle hand on her arm, 'You will come and finish tea, with me, when you have the time?'
Anna was looking over her shoulder at Sergei and the other waiters, anxious. 'Yes, yes; if there is time! I must go -- !'
Like the ringmaster in a circus, Anna orchestrated the luncheon rush, seeing to reservations, samovars full of hot tea, entree's ready to be served, tables and settings properly placed and, at last, bringing a large arrangement of roses and lilies of the valley which she set upon the reservations desk from which she captained her 'ship'; her aunt's tea room. At last, she threw up a hand, and called, 'Ready? Avancier!' and Sergei opened the doors...
Daryl viewed all this with an air of amused surprise, to see how industrious and efficient young Anna was in this running of her aunt's enterprise. No more than two or three tables at first, but Anna assured him that today would be a busy one.
'Friday,' she explained. 'And fish is on the menu, of every possible sort...' She took her seat, waving Daryl down as he attempted to stand for her, and refilled her tea cup. 'It is cold now,' her winsome wee nose crinkled in disgust. 'Sergei!' She waved a fair hand his way and a fresh hot samovar was ordered.
'Now.' Daryl's hand was upon her arm once. 'Sit, please? Not so busy now, until folk are off work at noon.'
Sighing, Anna nodded, and the second samovar sidled soundlessly alongside the table. She allowed Daryl to refill their cups and hand hers to her, smiling.
'So. You were saying , Yvonna does not trust St.John, then?'
Anna sipped, and smiled wryly. 'Ah, Monsieur Daryl...mais non.' She fluttered a white wrist encircled with ruffles about as if to chase away crows. 'One has but to glance the man's way to see he is of a duplicitous nature. '
'Indeed.' Daryl's eyebrows reached his brow, surprised that the women were not taken in by St.John's ostentatious displays of wealth and command. 'Mendacity is the man's middle name. But what tipped you off?'
A soft chuckle from Anna, who shook her head slowly, slightly. 'But, it is obvious, monsieur.'
Daryl's sideways smile was back. 'Women's intuition, is it?'
'You may call it that if you wish...' Anna refilled her cup, returning a smile. 'More tea? I hope you do not mind, I opted for jasmine this time...'
...............
Watching all this wrapped in silence, she simply couldn't believe her own eyes.
All this, Emlyn had spied from her entrance at the threshold of the restaurant. She could hardly believe it! -- Daryl!
...And having tea, if you please, just as casual and indiscreet as could be.
Where was Yvonna in all this? And who, just who was this, this, little person, whom Daryl was handling with such familiarity? Just see the two of them! -- Smiling, giggling, and having TEA, together!
Em had stood there, taking in the friendly little scene with both eyes open wide...(was this where Daryl had been, all this time?) Oh, she had missed nothing; the quiet speech between the two, as if sharing secrets, the gestures, the way Daryl touched the girl's arm with such propriety...and the young girl herself; so prettily attired in her lace and ruffles, not an ebony hair out of place...
Emlyn looked closely at her hands, not quite clean despite her scrubbing (and dishwashing in the galley), and her clothes a bit worse for wear after having slept in them, traveled in them, by boat no less.
She ran a hand along her hair, and could tell it must look a fright despite her attempts to corral her red and riotous masses into a semblance of order, long strands were escaping their hold...
She had been so hungry, despite a hasty bite at their early morning launch, she bethought it wouldn't be so out of place to stop in at Yvonna's before the lunch crowd, it wouldn't be too busy, and, she thought she would be here, among friends...
-- Without a word, she turned on her heel and fled that cosy, terrible scene...
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CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN: Drifters, Dreamers and Desperados Like Me -- Tim Ryan
Desperados Like Me - Tim Ryan
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