The Great Workaround or The Other Side of Life

 'Don't be so dense!' Nelida snapped impatiently. 'Dreaming awake should have made you realize that you have, as all women do, a unique capacity to receive knowledge directly.'

Esperanza made a silencing gesture with her hand and said, 'Did you know that one of the basic differences between males and females is how they approach knowledge?'

Slowly and deliberately, she tore off a clean sheet from my notepad and drew two human figures. One head she crowned with a cone and said that it was a man. On the other head, she drew the same cone, but upside down, and said it was a woman.

'Men build knowledge step by step,' she explained, her pencil poised on the figure with a cone. 'Men reach up; they climb toward knowledge. Brujos say that men cone toward spirit; they cone upward to knowledge. This coning process limits men on how far they can reach.'

She looked at me sharply. 'Pay attention,' she warned me and pointed her pencil to the second figure, the one with the inverted cone. 'As you can see, the cone is upside down. open like a funnel.  Women are able to open themselves directly to the source, the source reaches them directly, in the broad base of the cone. Brujas say that women's connection to knowledge is expansive. On the other hand, men's connection is quite restriced.

'Men are close to the concrete,' she said, 'and aim at the abstract. Women, are close to the abstract and yet try to indulge themselves with the concrete.'

Esperanza went on to say that originally women saw no need to exploit their facility to link themselves broadly and directly to the spirit, they saw no necessity to talk about or to intellectualize this natural capacity of theirs, for it was enough for them to put it in action and know they had it.

'Men's incapacity to link themselves directly to the spirit was what drove them to talk about the process of reaching knowledge,' she stressed. 'They haven't stopped talking about it. And it's this insistence on knowing how they drive toward knowledge, this insistence on analyzing the process, that gave them the certainty that being rational is a typically male skill.'

Florinda Donner ~  Being in Dreaming                                   

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Q was half Gospel, half diary, one that traced twenty years in the life of a Cynic teacher, Menippus. Like Diogenes -- the father of Cynicism, who walked about with a lantern in broad daylight, looking for an honest man -- Menippus was a wanderer, no purse, no bag, no sandals. 

                                          

He had lived in Sepphoris, not far from Nazareth, then spent several years with the Nozrim ha-Brit, the Essene community at Qumran -- those who had written the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Keepers of the Covenant. But not alone:

Q was nothing less than a history of the lost years of Jesus' life, his development from ages 12 - 30, all transcribed by the pen of a Cynic teacher.

Pearse sat amazed.

To read the sayings in that context created an images of Jesus he had never seen before:

"When you know yourselves then you will be known, and will understand that you are children of the living Father. The task lies within, the journey yours alone..."

"When you make male and female into a single one, that the male will not be male and the female will not be female, then you will enter the kingdom."

"And so will all instruction and teaching, men and women share equally in perfection. In me, there is neither male nor female."

Jonathan Rabb ~ The Book of Q

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 Wisdom 7:22b-8:1 is a famous passage describing Divine Wisdom, including the passage: "For she is the breath of the power of God, and a pure influence flowing from the glory of the Almighty: therefore can no defiled thing fall into her. For she is the brightness of the everlasting light, the unspotted mirror of the power of God, and the image of his goodness. And being but one, she can do all things: and remaining in herself, she maketh all things new: and in all ages entering into holy souls, she maketh them friends of God, and prophets." 

Solomon as the archetypal wise person, fell in love with Wisdom: "I loved her, and sought her out from my youth, I desired to make her my spouse, and I was a lover of her beauty." (Wisdom 8.2).

The Book of Wisdom 

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"Koje ste religije?" asked the boy.

Pearse was surprised to hear Serbo-Croatian. "I'm a Catholic," he answered in kind.

The boy nodded then pointed to his boots. "Those are good for walking."

Pearse looked at his boots, then at the boy. "Yes.  You don't come from Kosovo, do you?"

"Yeah, Kosovo. Medveda. In the north." 

"Are you a Catholic?" Pearse asked.

"No. Muslim"

"Then why did you want to know my religion?"

The boy straightened up. "When the Protestant priests came to our village to tell us about Jesus, they had lots of money, drove nice cars. The Catholic ones were poor, told us that was the way they were supposed to be." Again he looked at the boots.

Pearse understood. He glanced at the boy's feet, roughly the same size as his own; his shoes with little life left in them. Pearse reached down, untied his laces and tossed the boots across. "How about a trade?"

Jonathan Rabb ~ The Book of Q                                             

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Maurice smiled at Emlyn, seated beside him in his hidden chapel. 'Later we can talk, then we will see, cherie. For now, perhaps we should go back upstairs...I prefer only staying below here when there is someone else above as lookout.'

Em understood.  She helped Maurice snuff the candles and extinguish insence until just the lights behind the stained glass remained.  'And to all a good night,' she intoned, as she mounted the stairway behind him.  'I don't think I've ever felt such a yearning to return to a basement before!'

Maurice laughed low, using only the torch to light their way. 'I know what you mean,' he said, flicking a quick gaze over his shoulder. 'Take care, cherie...we're soon there.'

When they had returned to the ground floor, Emlyn took a seat upon a padded wicker loveseat in the conservatory.  Maurice joined her from the kitchen bearing a tea tray. Em poured for them then sampled slices of apple, grapes and cheese.

'You know,' Maurice began, adding honey and lemon to his tea, 'that the Protestant Reformation took out seven entire books from the bible? I will give you a good Catholique bible, cher. I wouldn't wish you without Wisdom...'

'No, neither would I...' Em frowned. 'I'd heard something about that before. Truly incredible. And so much apogrypha floating about out there as well.' Best not to mention discoveries post-timewalking...for now.

'"Wisdom is glorious, and never fadeth away, and is easily seen by them that love her, and is found by them that seek her..."' Maurice bent to murmur into Emlyn's ear.

Em smiled. 'Sounds to me like Solomon's Song of Songs...' she said, turning to him as she blushed slightly under the spell of Solomon.

'It is attributed to that sage personage,' Maurice replied, putting an arm behind her on the sofa.   'In order, it follows the Canticle of Canticles.' He toyed with a strand of her hair, and bent to kiss her cheek. '"My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the bed of aromatical spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies..."' Maurice plucked a fat purple grape and fed Emlyn whilst he further recited, '"I to my beloved, and my beloved to me, who feedeth among the lilies.'"

'Now, that, is definitely Solomon...' Em inclined her neck backwards as Maurice lightly bestowed breathy kisses upon it. 

'And so it is, ma cherie.' He grinned as he broke a stem of grapes and snapped one into his mouth. 'I will give you the Douay-Rheims version. It was written from the 15-to-1600s at the English college in Rheims and Douay.'

                                     

'The English college? In France...' Em thought, pausing a moment, as she regarded Maurice. 'As part of the Counter-Reformation...'

'Mais oui. The English Reformation was brutal, non? They still have the old houses with the "priest holes". ' He frowned. 'True, the church owned much land then, and it was farmed and worked by the common folk. But, it was usually a fairly equitable exchange: come the harvest, a portion went to the cathedral and minster, and also the farmers had the fruit of their labors.

Maurice continued: 'To be sure, much of the corruption in the hierarchy needed change. Not altogether a bad thing. But apres' Luther, the land went to whatever nobility owned property in the district. The nobels did not have even the conscience or charity of the church. "None for all, and All for Me!' Hence, the Peasant's Revolt. Both in England and Austria.

He sighed. 'Catholics in that time needed to try to save their culture, as well as faith.' Maurice sighed softly. 'I am Canadian. But, I am French-Canadian. Very much so.'

Emlyn was very glad of that. She regarded this intriguing man sitting beside her, a mixture of sage and swain, Plato and Paris...  

'No, the aristocracy never does feel much in the way of compassion towards the poor.' Em agreed. 'As long as people can get away with ignoring them, so they will.' She sunk into that dark thought, considering Kidd, the pirate prince, and his machinations.

'A franc for your thoughts, cherie,' Maurice sat back, noticing Em's ardent concentration.

'You are an enigma to me, at times, I admit,' she replied. 'But I am becoming used to it, the better I know you.' She paused, sipping tea, and decided on a different tack. 'If you must know...I was  surprised by your sangfroid at Gwydion's absurd apparition.'

Maurice huffed softly and smiled. 'A very minor player in a very large arena,  cherie ange.' 

Em was tres' pleased at being referred to as 'angel'.  However, she strayed not far from what plagued her mind of late. 'True. However...I was thinking about something Shannon and I had discovered recently. This also relates to your nephew Alain.'

Maurice sat up pouring more tea. 'I am listening.'

'When we returned home, to Arcadia, I found an old friend of mine, Jethro,  who proceeded to enlist Alain in helping him work a job at which he was employed for Kidd; that is, Alexander Kidd, the pirate's descendant, supposedly.' Em waved away that particular conceit. 'Anyway, Jethro has, on his property, some rather large and deep caves back in the once-volcanic foothills of the Sierra. As you may guess, these are populated by legions of bats.'

'Ah.' Maurice was intrigued. 'Go on.'

'Well, it seems that Kidd had discovered this unfortunately well-known fact about Jethro's farm, due, naturally to Jethro having such a large and mobile mouth...' Em scowled at the thought, and continued: 'Anyway, in short, Kidd is now employing Alain and Jethro to mine the caves for guano, for him. Exactly what for, we aren't sure. But it cannot be anything bon, no?'

Maurice frowned then as well, lying back against the couch. 'I see what you mean. This Kidd, he has the crazy plans to enlist timewalking in changing history, oui? It would seem that those plans are shaping up into something rather explosive...'

Emlyn nodded. 'Shannon set Alain and Jethro the task to find out more about this, if possible, quietly and cautiously.' As Em thought about it, the more agitated her thoughts became. She set down her tea. 'I really should return. I am worried about them, about Jeanne, and this whole mad enterprise!'

Maurice stood with her, taking her hand. 'Of course, cherie. And I would like to come with you...'

Emlyn thought then about Maurice and Jethro. Two strange bulldogs going head - to - head... 'Ah, no...that would not help. Not at this time. It isn't easy to get information out of Kidd, or Jethro either. Probably nothing is forthcoming as yet. But I feel I need to be there, to keep an ear open for what may be coming.'

Maurice seemed to intuit what exactly was going on. 'A bit of intrigue, eh?' He put his arms about Emlyn. 'I understand, ma belle. But keep close watch upon Alain, eh? For me?'

'Of course! I can't let anything happen to our finest fiddle player in the county.' She arose on toes and gave Maurice a farewell kiss. 'I will keep you apprised. It's early days yet.'

Maurice took her hand. 'You WILL be very careful, now.' His eyes searched hers. 'No taking chances! I cannot lose you now when we have only just met.'

'I feel I have known you forever...' Em assured him. A final fierce embrace, and then she blew her amour a farewell kiss and was - gone.

Maurice found himself alone, again. 'These American girls, always coming and going! Mostly going...'                                      

.......................

'About time you got here! Where have you been?' Shannon did not await Emlyn's reply but took her arm and bustled her off, closing and locking the shop door after her.

'Alain is back, with news.' She continued, frowning. 'I only know a wee bit of it, but I will let him tell it.'

They hustled down the street past the greensward that served as a park for Arcadia, and down to that hub of news, gossip and commerce of questionable sorts that was The Bear tavern.                                                  

A fine day spilled a few outside upon scattered rough hewn tables and benches and this was where Alain sat alone at a bench leaning against a spreading oak and slowly sipping a dark brew from his own glass-bottomed pewter mug.

He stood when he spied Em and Shannon in view and waved them over. As Alain and Shannon became intertwined, Em muttered sommat about seeing to refreshments and betook herself inside.

She soom returned with a pitcher of  porter and pasties for all.                                            

'Ta, Em!' Shannon spun round and began to pour.' Em smiled knowing as she did that food and spirits would be needed to distract her from Alain, who smiled and lifted his mug to her. 'Merci Em! I must admit I was feeling the hole in the belly.'

'Cheers!' Em toasted. 'And where's Jethro then?'

'Ah, that...' Alain shook his head. 'I best be telling you all.'

'Indeed,' Em said, knowing Jethro this would not be an easy discourse. She began fortifying herself with pastie.

'It is like this,' Alain began, 'we worked some days with the mining...' he made a face of distaste, coughed rattlingly,  and gulped some brew '...which did not sit well with me. '

'Mon poor cherie, he fell ill from the fumes.' Shannon patted his shoulder in sympathy.

'Oui. So I returned before Jethro. After a day of clearing my head, I was feeling more the thing. Then Jethro passed through town, with a wagon full of guano...' Again, Alain's face contorted miserably. 'Covered, of course, but there is no mistaking that smell.' He shook his head as if to shake off the stench. 'This was driven by none other than Kidd himself, who had outriders, armed with rifles alongside.' 

Emlyn was not happy with this news. 'Go on.'

Alain sighed, and continued. 'They stopped here, at The Bear, and had an early lunch, then kept going. I didn't get to talk to Jethro much, Kidd kept a heavy eye on everyone and didn't let anyone else talk at all. But, I did find out a bit of Kidd's plan.'

'Yes? Tell us, man!' Shannon was as keen as Em for an end to this tale.

Alain smiled an inch. 'Yes. So, Jethro allowed as to how Kidd has a notion to, eh, "manufacture" a sort of bat-bomb and then to ferry them down the Potomac River, to Washington.'

Shannon choked on her beer, coughing. Alain patted her back. Emlyn was frozen in stupification at this elucidation.

Shannon shook her head, waving it all away. 'No, that does not even make sense! How to transport bat dung cross-country? Unless...' Her eyes went alarmingly to Em's. 'You don't think she would try to use the time trails to transport batcrap for the sake of Freedom and Justice For All?

Em's face fell and hit the dirt. 'Oh, Shannon, but I do. I fear just that.'                                        

 CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN:Marvin Gaye What's Going On?https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDK7TiEiMOI

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Secrets Hidden Are Well Known

 "I'm neither a scholar nor historian. I'm a storyteller, and I haven't told you the most important part of my tale yet."

"And what might that be?" I asked, intrigued...

"All I've given you is factual information," she said. "What I haven't mentioned is the world of magic from which those Yaqui leaders operated. To them, the actions of wind and shadows, of animals and plants were as important as the doings of men..."

Florinda Donner ~ Being In Dreaming

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In other words, Peter was at the head of the exoteric "level" designed for the population at large; St.John was literally at the heart of the esoteric teachings...which were reserved to an elite. Which reminds us of the School of Pythagoras, which also had three levels of adepts: the "listeners" who were taught the moral principles of charity; the "cenobites" who learned the philosophy of communal life; and finally the "mystes", or true initiates, to whom the Mysteries were revealed...

In the Gospel of Mary, the text reinforces a conflict between Peter and Mary Magdalene, a separation of thought, so to speak...Peter, with Andrew represents the the orthodoxy of the church characterized by its exotericism and its denial of visionary revelation, particularly to women; Mary Magdalene (with Levi) represents esotericism the 'ongoing process of revelation'.

Francine Bernier ~ 

The Templars' Legacy in Montreal, The New Jerusalem

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Notre Dame de Paris, in particular, is a curious specimen... Not even the Hermetics fail to find in the symbols of the grand doorway a satisfactory compendium of their science of which the Church of St.Jacques-de-la-Boucherie was so complete a hieroglyph. Thus the Roman Abbey - the Church of the Mystics - Gothic art - Saxon art - the alchemistic symbolism by which Nicolas Flamel paved the way...all are blended, combined, amalgamated in Notre Dame. 

This generative Mother-Church is, among the other ancient churches of Paris, a sort of Chimera: she has the head of one, the limbs of another, the body of a third -- something for all.

Victor-Marie Hugo - NOTRE DAME DE PARIS

                                          

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Emlyn stood at the top of the long dark stairway leading down into the cellar. Stone archway, well-worn stone steps beneath. She was not of a mind to venture forth upon them.

'Well, cher Emmeline...you wished to know my secrets, did you not?' And Maurice sighed.

Em stole a glance at him. 'I don't know, now, that I do,' she admitted.

Maurice nodded, and disappeared behind a corner. When he reappeared, he was carrying a lighted torch. Tres' gothique, thought Em to herself. All we need now is a full moon and the howling of wolves...

'Come. Ma cherie, there is nothing to fear, I promise you. I only wish for us to have no secrets between us.' He put an arm about her waist. 'I will hold on to you, never fear.'

Oh, is this where my luck runs out at last? Em had that brief query on her mind as she, with Maurice's strong grip about her, took her first step downward, into...what, truly?                                             

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'Ah. We meet again.' Daryl had arrived at long last, back to Athena's cottage. And once more faced a stone-faced Wolf Star who had opened the door to him, somewhat reluctantly.

'Who is it...?' Luckily, Daryl heard Athena call from inside.  

Wolf Star grunted and grudgingly stepped aside, allowing Daryl entrance. 

'Tis I...a rolling stone gathers remorse, as they say...' Daryl bent to remove his boots before entering the hallway.  He took off his broad brimmed hat as Athena appeared. 'My dear. It is so good to see you. Both.' His gaze included Wolf Star who still looked hatchets and arrows his way.

Athena smiled, genuinely glad to behold her old friend. 'It has been a while.' She reached over to embrace him, studying him closely. 'You walked here?' She released him then and hung up his hat and helped him remove his coat as Daryl set down his meager belongings.

'Ha. Oh, yes. Quite a surprise I found on the trail. You'll never guess who I ran into, in the middle of the woods...'

'First, do come in, cheri and have something hot! There's stew on the stove...' She ushered Daryl into her parlour which he knew so well. Seated before the welcoming fire, Daryl sighed and looked about him, relieved to find not much had changed. Athena remained his good friend whilst Wolf Star wished him garroted and gone, no doubt...

Well, changing his mind could take a little time. Which Daryl now had. 

'Here.' Athena set a tray before them upon her well-worn pirate's chest which served as tea table. Daryl's senses perked up at the scent of a well-seasoned home-cooked stew with freshly baked rye rolls. 

'Now, you can tell your tale while you warm up.' Athena sat beside him while Wolf Star prowled about the room, poking the fire and finally seating himself in the hearth chair.

Daryl nodded, mouth full of stew at the moment. 'How I have missed your stews...this is by far the tenderest meat I've tasted!' He broke open a roll and dipped it into the thick soup.

Athena looked at Wolf Star. 'It's a bison stew,' she informed him. 'Wolf Star brought it from his last hunt. He has been beyond the Great Lakes region and did some hunting on native land near there.'

                                                

Daryl's ears pricked up at this news.  'Wolf Star, you went bison hunting? On your own?'

Wolf Star took his time answering. At last he bent forward and taking another log, added it to the fire. 'No. I was not alone,' he allowed. Daryl waited as Wolf Star sat back, thinking. 'I was with  brothers and uncles of the Chippewaw, Fox and Sioux nations. It was a large hunt, some came from many miles away.' He paused, deep in thought. 'It could be our last hunt for some time. But, winter draws near.'

Daryl finished his stew and bowed his head. 'My thanks to the great bison who gave their lives for our winter stores.' Daryl remained silent for a space. Silence all around, except for the crackle and hiss of the fire. 

At last Daryl spoke. 'I wished to speak with you, Wolf Star, about an important matter. It is a matter of land.' He looked at the Indian before him who sat still as a stone, consumed with his own thoughts, some surely about Daryl, and not so pleasant.

Wolf Star sighed. 'Speak.'

Daryl sat forward, beginning: 'I have much land here, several hundred acres or more. I have been given leave to dispose of it as I will. I wished to talk with you about this. I want to return the land to the people. To your people, the people who first lived on this land. The First Nations.'

Wolf Star actually met Daryl's gaze then.  Still, he said nothing.

'I know you probably are a bit cautious when dealing with whites, and especially, perhaps, with me in particular...' Daryl continued. 'But,' he looked at Athena who remained composed and silent beside him, 'I assure you, it is truth. There are, however, some things about this property that you will want to know.'

'Daryl...' Athena began, 'are you sure about this?'

'I'm sure.' Daryl smiled at her. 'You know  who I met on the trail here? None other than Yeats, looking the spit-image of Gandalf!'

'Mr. Yeats! Indeed?' Athena stared in wonder. '...And?'

'And, he said I may travel now, I am free from my bonds. However, I must never travel alone...'

'By this you mean, to walk the time trails?' Wolf Star put in.

'Yes, exactly.' Daryl addressed Wolf Star, leaning his way. 'You see, these lands are beyond time. They exist in-between. They are...out of the reach of people who live in Time. You would be protected there, always. Away from, well, away from white men. '

Wolf Star's eyes reflected his own wonder. He then narrowed his gaze. 'This is true?' He looked to Athena, who nodded. 'Across the pipe, you swear this?' He asked Daryl.

'Across the pipe, I do swear it.' Daryl assurred him.  Then inhaled. 'There is one caveat, however...the house itself. The house must be kept as it is, in case of need. There are people, like Athena, and Emlyn, whom I would also wish to protect. And they should be able to find refuge in the house, when needed.'

Wolf Star sat back, thinking. 'If we could once more camp in these lands without harrassment...who has need of the White House...?' he murmured to himself. 'I will think on this. There are many true-hearted brothers I would willingly share this news with. However, there are also those who are of the blood, who are not true to it. These, we would keep out.' He nodded to himself. 'I'll need some time to ponder on this.'

Daryl sat back at last, glad to have put his plan to action. 'Take all the time you wish. Time, for us, is no longer a concern.'

                                                  

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With Maurice's help, Emlyn gingerly made her way down the stone stairway to whatever awaited below. At last, Maurice stopped as they reached the cellar floor. 'Wait here,' he told her as he took away the torch and began lighting whatever candles, sconces were scattered about.

Slowly, the dim shadows of below came to life; a candelabra upon a high shelf, a pair of torches upon the wall across from her, and two tall candles which stood before them, on either side of what seemed to be...an altar of some kind...

'One moment...' Maurice murmured, as he pressed a knob on the side of the altar, revealing a beauteous stained glass Tree of Life, somehow lighted from behind.

                                               

Em gasped in wonder at the intricate design and marvellous colors suddenly sprung to life in the midst of shadows. Slowly she advanced, amazed as Maurice continued around the room, lighting more candles and what appeared to be a menorah. But now Em could make out statues as well, beautifully carved in wood...paintings in luscious colors...

'But, Maurice, this is all so lovely!' Emlyn wondered at the mix of esoterica all round. 'The kabbalah, the menorah...is this a combination of Judaism with Hermeticism? It is, well, not strictly Catholic, is it?'

Maurice smiled at her and slowly shook his head. 'And, of course, there's this...' He then strode to the back of the room and again, with the flip of a switch, another beauteous stained glass painting appeared out of obscurity. 

                                                   

 

Stephen Adam 1908  - Kilmore Church Isle of Mull

'This is Jesus with Mary Magdalene; she was to be the apostle who would continue the great work, in Beauty, Truth and Wisdom. Not with the hardness of Peter, the 'rock' who would  hammer out his narrow interpretations upon people's heads! Non, non...'

Maurice led Em to a low upholstered bench and bid her be seated before the window. 'It is beautiful, is it not?' He asked. 'Beauty is Truth and Truth Beauty. We come here to meditate, and to spend some time apart from the world, which can be so harsh and full of condemnation. Jews, Catholics, Gnostics, Freemasons all...and more. All are welcome. 

 'I am now the keeper of this place, somewhere safe, free and protected from those of small minds who would impose their prejudices upon others. There is much in the old city of Montreal that would prove many of our founders came here to escape the iron grip of the Old World.' Maurice paused, gazing about him. ;...The Old Country, with all of its deceit and narrow condemnations.'

  'But, I fear that I may have to give up my guardianship. There are...rumours, about. Either I must leave, or find some other place, somewhere safer, that lies outside of the reach of the black hand of those who would strangle our freedom.'

'Maurice, this is wonderful, what you have created here, a safe haven of such peace. It would be a terrible thing to have this threatened.' Emlyn knew she had nothing to fear from this man, now or ever. She also knew...that she might know of just such a safe haven. A place beyond the reach of Time itself.

'I might be able to help you...if you like,' Em began, thinking quickly. 

CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN. Norah Jones: Come Away With Me

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRHTXFIKfFs 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

La Lys et La Rose

 Roland Barthes said: "what I always found intriguing, is the meaning of cultural objects."...every man-made object contains an intended message...the real meaning of a religious icon, or even just a detail in a work of art, is often rooted in the local cultural fabric at a specific time -- sometimes as old as ancient mythology and astrology.

But in too many cases, the original meaning has faded away...

Yet, some of the "messages" we find in Montreal do not seem to agree with the official interpretations. It appears that just one small missing piece of information can change the whole meaning and may be the key to solving the riddle.

At other times, it is silence that speaks a thousand words -- what is not being said and left between lines or construed in a particular design.  When studied in their larger or deeper context, these symbols, many of which were derived from the Mystery religions, reveal the true nature, beliefs and objectives of the mystics who founded Ville-Marie.

................

...the very old Latin expression sub rosa refers to the "things spoken under the rose" -- things not to be revealed to the uninituated.  

It seems that this (the motto of Quebec: 'Je me souviens' -- was part of the original slogan, "I remember/that born under the lilies, I grow under the rose") was a message reserved for a few readers 'in the know' -- literally a cypher...

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The first few French freemasons settled in Nouvelle-France as early as 1725 (in Quebec City), but the great majority crossed the Atlantic undercover so to speak after Clement XII's decree. These men were high ranking officers, like Ange Sieur de Menneville, Marquis of Du Quesne...

Francine Bernier -- 

The Templars' Legacy in Montreal, 

The New Jerusalem

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"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

William Shakespeare

Romeo and Juliet 

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   Some freemasons who migrated from France belonged to the French obediences and settled in Montreal. The headquarters of the Union Francaise were the meeting grounds of these masons who were in contact with those of the Grand Lodge of Quebec...  

Interestingly, it appears that the masons of the Union Francaise and some of the Sulpicians in Montreal got along rather well.  In 1925, this group gave the Sulpicians the statue of Joan of Arc (canonized in 1920).... 

Edouard SJ Hamon ed. Jean d'Erbree, Ottowa

1883 La Franc-macconerie dans la province de Quebec, 1883

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After Jethro left with Alain in rueful compunction, none too thrilled by their impending efforts to wrestle guano from the bat caves and information from their new employer, Kidd, the many-rumoured mysterious descendant of famous pirate, Emlyn strode with Shannon into town and her shop.

'A fine day it looks to be,' Shannon began. 'Quite a difference from the weather in Montreal.'

Emlyn shut her eyes and sighed deeply. 'Quite.' 

Shannon wasn't letting her off that easily. 'Do you not find it at all odd that Oncle Maurice was rather...accepting, unaffected, eh, breezy -- about all that just happened? One may think that he was not all that unacquainted with dealings with the fey, or having a thunderstorm in one's parlour producing the King of Elfland, or an unreasonable facimile and a very wrathful one at that.'

'Gwydion is hardly all that.' Em waved away such notions. Or was he, though? 'Well, possibly.' She paused, considering. 'But yes, it was rather strange, such  casual compliance on his part...' She had been thinking the same thing, she had to admit.  'I was glad to exit the scene, posthaste.'

'Also,' continued Shannon, obviously not about to let things be, 'for someone who would appear to be a devoted Catholic, his easy complaisance  would be rather amazing in itself;  not only was he accepting of Llew and his sudden appearance and disappearance, but there's the timewalking, the whole of it, and sure'n we're there!' Shannon stopped, frowning, and inhaled, considering Em closely. 'Neither does one find freemasonry and Catholicism amix in the same cauldron, usually. Eh, don't you think ?Em? -- and where are ya now...'

                                             

Em slowed up and turned to face her friend, who, she knew, meant well. Although, just now, Em felt she had not really been ready to face these...inconvenient truths.

'Yes, if you must know,' she admitted. She gazed up at the sky then as if seeking an answer there. 'It does bear consideration. But, I've so much else to deal with, I'm content, for now, to simply go along with it...'

'Right.' Shannon knew when she'd hit a wall. But, she'd made her point and would be satisfied with that. For now. Having come to her wee shop which she'd bought from Jeanne, she reached into her skirt pocket and produced a large key with which she unlocked the door with lovely old oak and brass fittings.

Before entering, she turned to Em, and put a hand upon her arm. 'Don't misreckon me, I do like Maurice, very much in fact, in spite of the wretched religion he seems to be knee-deep in.' She sighed. 'But do go carefully, will you? There is more to that man than meets the eye. Despite his being an eyeful...'

Em had to laugh at that. 'Indeed, he is.' she looked down then, a faint blush betraying her. 'Aye,' she put her hand over Shannon's, 'don't fash yoursel' as Jeanne used to say. I have taken stock of her situation and do not wish to wind up in a similar muddle.'

'Aye, and see that you don't then.' Shannon stood still as the Keeper at the Threshold. 'If I were you, I would have it out with yon Monsieur Duquesne and see if his fair countenance matches what lies within, ya ken? And, sooner the better.'

.......................... 

'On the road again...' Daryl sang to himself as he pushed on down the trail, staff in hand, and further into the back country; but unlike his lengthy lamented foray in to the monastery's grounds, he now knew where he was headed. 

                                                    
         From St.Blaise, he had caught a ride south to St.William, and after a few days of reconnecting with Frere Sebastion and the others, he'd hitched another ride to market and now was able to make it on his own heading further south, back into countryside he was familiar with. Soon, in fact, he'd  enter his own lands. 

Odd thought, that. After owning so little and sharing all one had, as per monastic life, it was indeed most bothersome strange to think of oneself as 'owning' the land. If anyone did own it, it would be the Indians hereabouts, he felt. 

That's an idea, he thought to himself as his boots trod the damp carpet of mulched leaf underfoot, fall turning the corner at last into winter. For some time now he'd felt burdened by the Massachutsetts estate...if he could speak to some native elders perhaps, about the peculiar properties of the place, being outside of time, that is, maybe he could turn it over to them, with the caveat of keeping the house perhaps, for refuge in case of dire need.

He had not been on best of terms with Wolf Star when last they'd parted company...but maybe it would be a way of breaking through that barrier, if he could thus prove his goodwill...

He'd come away from St.William without seeing, or hearing anything of sweet Sister Cecilia...although she had been much on his mind. Wolf Star had no cause for alarm there. Alas.

So captivated was he by his inner world that he nearly ran into the man before he'd known he was there. 

'Sweet Mother of -- Yeats!' Daryl stepped back, his heart pounding. 'I had no idea -- where did you come from!?' He demanded, rather stupified by seeing the otherworldly visage of Yeats suddenly appear out of nowhere. Quite literally.

'My apologies. Desole'...' Yeats couldn't hide a small smile, however. 'I wished to have a quiet chat with you, somewhere private.'

Daryl forced himself to breathe slowly. 'Ah. Yes, well the eastern backwoods would do nicely for that, I suppose. Egad man, you could have a bit of sympathy for an old man now!' Daryl groped his way over to a fallen log, sturdy staff at the ready, and after running a hand over the moss, sat himself gingerly down. 'Welcome to my parlour. Fresh out of tea at the moment, however.' -- Ya daft bugger, he wanted to add...

Yeats looked skyward a half-beat, swallowed his smile and sat beside Daryl. 'Lovely day,' he allowed. 

'Yes, it WAS.' Daryl was in no mood for small talk after having his hard-won equilibrium blasted.

Yeats sighed softly, looking down at his folded hands. 'We have been taking note of you and your intriguing new lifestyle of late. Many hats you have been wearing, indeed. Or hoods.'

'Yes, I'm sure you have.' Actually Daryl was surprised by this admission; although he'd often wondered if that had been the case. 'No offers of help, however, when I was running for my life from Russian thugs or crawling about through a frozen river, half-dead from cold...lost in a dark downpour, wandering desperately through woods for miles...not to mention the bloody BEAR!'

'Oh, we'd have been there, had you really needed us. How do you know that we haven't been helping? You're here aren't you? Not dead yet.' Yeats regarded Daryl with a calm insouciance.

Once Daryl would have become nettled by Yeats' seemingly uncaring manner, which smacked of a certain air of superiority.Yeats was merely trying to poke at him with small pins. But, Daryl had had much larger, sharper instruments gouged into him of late. Now he truly didn't care.  He turned his face up to the sun and closed his eyes, content for the nonce.

Yeats came to the point: 'It is a good idea, giving back the land. It will be a beneficient thing to do, both for yourself and for Wolf Star.' Yeats stood then, gazing down at a slightly nonplussed Daryl. 

'You do know absolutely everything there is to know, don't you?' . 

Yeats smiled. A kind, generous smile. 'Sure. But, so do you. You've just forgotten most of it.'

'Ah, Plato: "all learning is just remembering."'

'Right. Make sure you don't forget it. Now,' Yeats fixed Daryl with a gimlet glare, 'the Council has determined that you be given back your rights to roam freely wherever you choose. And live wherever you wish. And to travel, as long as you are traveling with someone. You may not travel alone, that is still taboo, for you.'

Daryl sat, eyes shut still. Seemingly at his ease. 'So. That is... interesting.' He would have to think on this.

                                                      

Yeats might have been expecting more. A 'yahoo!' at least. He slowly shook his head, now sporting a massive mane of long white hair. Still with those dark eyebrows,  sprouting strands of white here and there, giving him a rather wolfish demeanor. 'Well. Good luck then.' He stood, and put a hand upon Daryl's shoulder. 'Mazel tov!' 

And, in a wink, he was gone as quickly as he'd appeared. 'Oy,' Daryl gently murmured.

................

Emlyn found herself once again, back in Montreal and standing before Maurice's cottage door. She hadn't been able to shake her own thoughts, and those of Shannon's as well, questioning his actions and reactions, and wondering about his motives for such forgiving behaviour, in the light of some outrageous and rather outre' events of late.

Gathering her emerald green cloak about her (the colour beloved of faery, and Oscar Wilde),  she drew herself up and rapped smartly upon the old oaken cottage door. 

No answer. Taking the brass lion's head knocker in hand, she rapped once more upon the heavy door, with a bit more gusto. This time, she could discern movement, shuffling within and the whump! and snap of something heavy closing.  Hm.

The door opened before her. Maurice's glare turned at once to a gentle smile. 'Ah. You have come.' And he stepped back, beckoning. 'So,' he shut the door behind Em, pressing his back against it. 'You have returned to me.' He put out a hand and came to her, taking her in his arms. He held her gently and bent over her head, inhaling the scent of her hair. 'Why are you here with me now, my Emmeline?'

                                                

Why, indeed? Suddenly things like words, thoughts, logic and reason had fled like a dream upon waking. Emlyn had not expected this...this advance upon her emotions. She'd at once entered a region ruled by heart, and not by head.

'I came, to speak with you, Maurice...' she began. 

'Yes?' He inquired. 'I am here. What is it you wish of me?' He breathed his query into her hair, his warm breath like peppermint...

What did she wish of him? A loaded question, and her wishes at this point were not where Em had determined to lead at all.  'Please?' She asked, looking up at him.

Maurice smiled, and at last, released her, leading her into the parlour and bade her sit upon the sofa at fireside. 'Shall we have tea?' He inquired, making Em feel like a schoolgirl again, adhering to proper decorum.  Em nodded, her heart pounding.

As Maurice retired to the kitchen, she stood and began an inventory of the room...nothing unusual here, except the books of course, mostly philosophical and theosophical treatise; histories,  biographies...all were most compelling; many a random sampling of rather notorious alchemists of the day : Roger Bacon, Khalid ben Yezir, Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, William Blake, Nicolas Flamel...

'Tea,' Maurice announced, setting a fine cloisonne service on the table before them.

 'How lovely,' Em couldn't help herself, she did so admire a nice tea set. However...back to business.

                                         
'I haven't had the chance to study your library as yet...' Em announced as she gravitated back to the fireside. 'You have some rather intriguing works here...'

'Do you like them?' Maurice sat and poured, adding honey and lemon to both cups. Emlyn joined him on the couch. 'Yes, I do. Merci.' She took the cup Maurice offered and leaned comfortably against pillows. 'I was studying kabbalah with friends back in San Francisco. We would meet weekly, and sometimes study the constellations as well. My teacher had the most wonderful brass telescope...'

Maurice had an arm upon the back of the sofa and was studying Em carefully, a small smile hovering about his lips. 'I should have liked to have joined you there...under the stars.'

Em took a sip of tea. 'This is very good.' It was. Rich and dark. 'I should have liked that, too. Maurice...' She ventured, '...it would seem you are no stranger to the more, shall we say, esoteric subjects of study, going by yon shelves...'

'Ah.' Maurice set his tea down. ' Yes. Perhaps it is time that we, umm...get to know one another better, oui?' His dark eyes searched her own. 'I also have some questions for you, cherie.' 

                                                    

Emlyn sighed with relief; at last she might be able to come to grips with things. Especially emotions, where Maurice was concerned...but first things first. 

'Yes, exactly.' Em also set down her tea. 'We should take the time to discover if we are on the same page, as it were...'

Maurice smiled. 'The same page, from such intriguing books as you found here, perhaps?' Em nodded.

Maurice stood, holding out his hand to her. 'Come. It is time, I think, to show you something.' Emlyn took his hand in hers and arose, hoping that soon this bonhomme would ease her mind, provide answers to questions that loomed over them both. And then...? Then, perhaps, they would be free to move on to other discoveries...

 Maurice led her down the back hallway until they stood before a large wooden door, and taking a brass key from his pocket, opened the lock and smiling at her, he opened the door and ushered her within...  

Em gazed about her in amazement. 

'This, cherie, THIS, is my library.' Maurice's hand went to a lantern upon a nearby table and lighted it. 'I like to use natural light in here when I am not engaged in reading. Bright light does cause some old items to fade...'                                                       

Maurice went round then, lighting candelabra on tables about the room, and he did open some heavy drapes about a tall window on the wall across from them, allowing sunlight through as well as a rainbow of coloured patterns from a stained glass half-arc above. Em's attention was captured by an old carven spiral staircase with intricate ironwork reaching into the loft on high...

                                                

'This is...like something out of an enchanted cottage in a fairy tale...' Em exclaimed, as she paced about it, gazing upwards at the loft floor. She belatedly realised perhaps she should not have mentioned that particular 'f' word...

Maurice, however, seemed to have moved on from all former remembrances of a certain fey fellow who had come to call via riding the lightning into his humble home.

'Eh, I like it well enough,' he declared rather demurely. 'There are books here I have saved from my grandfather's day.'

Emlyn shot him an appreciative look. 'I'll bet you have. Maurice, I do love it! You know, I worked for many years in public libraries, even in San Francisco for a time...' She wandered among the stacks, blissfully enjoying perusing various artwork upon the spines and covers of beguiling authors and titles.

The tall man smiled then, happy to have found a kindred spirit.  'Ah, but this is not all I would show you, cherie.' He held out an arm, allowing her passage before him across the parquet floor, lined here and there with vibrant soft Turkish rugs. They halted before a small stone fireplace.

'...Just here,' Maurice gestured with his hand beneath the thick block of burled wood which made up the mantlepiece, and pressing some hidden lever or other, a panel of shelves swung outward, displaying a row of stairs, leading down into darkness.

'Your friend Daryl is not the only one with the secret stairway, non?'

Emlyn gazed astonished at what Maurice had just disclosed to her. 'Oh, Maurice...' She was rather confounded by it all. She gazed with wonder at this compelling man before her...was this to be deja vu all over again?  He did admit to being a freemason. Surely there was not another chest full of bones in the cellar here? 

'Well, ma cher, tell me, what do you think?'

Em didn't know quite how to answer...she could only ask herself, who is this man, really?                                             

       CLICK right to listen  ~ Who you really are  

Praise for the high tide, Praise for the seaside, Praise for the sun at high noon. Praise for the lightning, Praise for the singing. Praise the Father sun, And sister Moon Praise for the red dawn, Grass that we walk upon, Praise for the river's whispered tune. Praise for the Wind Brother, Praise for the Earth Mother. Praise the Father Sun, And Sister Moon. Praise the Father Sun, And Sister Moon. Hey-ya, hey-ya, hey-ya-a-a! Hey-ya, hey-ya, hey-ya-a-a!

......................

                      

 

 

                                                

 

                                                             

Peeling The Layers

 Marie did have in her veins the blood of the fairy Melusine, after all, as did her siblings and they all had a magic to them that was visible, something under the surface shining. Like moonstone. Marie too shone with it, the empress now saw that wicked underglow...although she was of course entirely devoid of beauty...she could see that those eyes of Marie's were not at all ugly. They were full of fire. And that was not nothing, the inner fire.

Lauren Groff 

 Matrix

......................

 Maurice's clock on the mantle struck three. 

Suddenly, the sky darkened. Great piles of thunderclouds rolled in over Montreal, and seemed to be drifting toward his cottage. In the distance, a low rumble of thunder began, like a giant's footsteps, slowly trundling nearer...

Alain turned behind him and gazed out the windows. 'Oncle! It looks like the mother of storms has come. Quickly too!' 

Maurice, followed by Em, slowly arose and gathered at the windows as well. 'So near to the water here, it is not uncommon.' He frowned at the roiling clouds massing, purple and slate. 'So fast, though. Strange.' 

Emlyn saw more than mother nature's hand in this perfidious phenomenon. However, she didn't wish to speak of the wolf then see his tail. Not here. Not now.

Shannon sat still upon the sofa, hands clasped, knuckles white. 'I care not for storms with thunder. Or the lightning.'

'Ma cherie,' Alain slid beside her, arm about her shoulders. 'Petit moineau! Ma little sparrow...stay safe with me, see?' 

But Shannon felt frail as a lone lark in a windstorm against the elements bearing Thor's hammer. A Viking invasion from above, she felt this in her Irish heart...from which the mortals below stood little chance. 

The clouds amassed boldly upon the cottage and Em pondered 'a storm' vs. 'to storm', deciding upon the second definition. She softly backed away from the windows. Just in time --

A fine "CRACK!" and flash of light followed by a roaring "BOOM!" shook the wee cottage to its foundation. Shannon buried her head in Alain's chest and even Maurice stepped back, eyes wide.                                                 

Emlyn was shaken, but she was also peeved. Of such antics she'd had previous experience. Maurice came to her side, and draped an arm about her, as much for his own comfort as hers. She boldly held him by his waist. And waited.

The sky darkened as though twilight. And, as if on cue, sure enough,  there before them a pale light began to form, and to grow, until it became the height of a man.  Yet, only an image of a man it was. In truth, it was a fey representative of the Twyleth Teg; in  short, it was verily...                                                           

                                                              

'-- Gwydion.' Emlyn spoke his name as though she'd been handed a box of chocolates and opened it to find only merde, as they say in Montreal.

Another blast of lightning crackled, followed by thunder; but Em had grown tired of these histrionics already. 'Why are you here?' She asked, wearily.

Gwydion looked like a very thundercloud himself, face beginning to purple with wrath. In a shaking fit he unclenched one fist and threw something akin to a necklace at Em's feet. Upon closer inspection, it proved to be a rosary.

She bent and retrieved it. 'Llew's rosary, from the abbey...' She regarded the elf lord quizzically. 'He only kept this as a souvenir, a keepsake.'

Gwydion could barely contain himself enough to speak. 'How DARE you! How dare you send MY son to that, that garrison, that fortress of heartless MURDERERS! Those, lying, merciless priests!' He spat the words which became small sparks from his tongue as his invective grew.

'YOU know better! You know how my people, OUR people were harrassed and driven underground like nothing better than a disease to be wiped out!' Em was stunned to see actual tears from Gwydion's eyes which flowed like small rivers into puddles on the floor. ' It was nothing less than genocide!' 

He seemed almost to collect himself, turning away from the awestruck company for a moment, then he raised his head to the ceiling and moaned...a sound like a wounded animal. His head dropped then and he slowly shook it side to side, murmuring, '...And  I thought to make you my Queen.'

He gathered himself then, pulling his purple cloak about him, raising the hood over his face and looking like bad news come to call again.

'MY son, is coming home. NOW. WITH ME!' His voice was low and threatening with the dark drone of a growl beneath. 'NEVER to return!'

One last burst of thunder, the loudest yet which shook the windows til the company feared their breaking...a great blinding flash and then, silence - like a vacuum. 

No trace remained of the Lord of the Twyleth Teg. No puddles of tears, no rosary, either...although small shards sparkled where it had burst into bits. No one said a word, but the skies slowly seemed to clear and were returned to that of a late afternoon on a typical autumn day.

Shannon raised her head from Alain's chest while he straightened up and swallowed several times. Maurice, to his credit, was still standing beside Emlyn, his eyes wide and gaze still rooted to her, marvelling.

'It would seem...that you are acquainted with this, visitor,' he said at last, recovering a soupcon of sangfroid.

Em regarded him in turn, glad that he'd weathered that particular storm. 'Oh, Maurice, would that I was not.'

.............

Birds in flight. Starlings, swallows, whatever they were, moving in precision, swooping together up and up then down and across the meadow, and up again; Daryl watched and wondered how they managed that trick of perfection in formation.                                                           

His gaze went to his brothers at the abbey then, bending to their tasks in the garden and he compared them with the birds of the air. A bible verse came to him, that they would be looked after, like the lilies of the field. 

Daryl had been working with the abbot all morning on the ledgers and accounts books. He actually preferred kitchen tasks, gardening or even plowing, but his back never seemed to heal sufficiently to suit him to such work for long. So after some long dull hours, he was dismissed to take a break outdoors in the fresh fall air scented with dry grasses and fallen leaves.                                                        

He watched the monks at work from outside the garden's rock wall. As was fitting; Daryl remained outside looking in, although the men referred to him as 'brother' or frere Daryl, he never truly became a novice, much less a monk.

Yet he had been allowed to stay on some months now. Healing his ravaged body and hoping mind and spirit would follow. Although he had found and enjoyed a certain inner peace, it always seemed as though his true self, the deepest part of him, was always apart and watching, as he went through the motions of monastic life. Watching and waiting, perhaps.

Daryl's attention was taken by a lark lurking in the maple tree above him and as he listened to his free songs, he felt a stirring within. Music. Perhaps that was what he had been missing.

Oh, he had enjoyed and been enraptured by the monk's chanting and choruses of song during the Hours. But...there was music and there was music. Bach was not the only genius of classical composers.

Daryl smiled at the lark above him. He tilted his head to the dappled sunlight between the branches and few stray leaves left this late fall afternoon, shading his eyes and trying to locate the winged cantor. But the singer remained hidden. The Song was All.

And Daryl knew that it was time to take his leave.

...............

 Shannon withdrew from Alain's embrace and stood, smoothing her skirts. 'I may be but a country girl, but I know what I know, and it's time I was bound for home.' She gave Emlyn a hard look. 'There's trouble afoot. I feel it in my bones.' 

Alain was on his feet and took her hand. 'I'll stand beside you, cher. My place is with you, as you well know.'

Shannon smiled. 'Aye, well...sometimes women's work is called for, you ken?' She arose on her toes and kissed him. 'But you may travel wi'me.' She addressed Em then. 'You coming or no?'

Maurice mentally shook himself and held Em by the arms, gazing at her. 'It would seem you are needed elsewhere, cherie.' He smiled. 'If only to take care of that poor lad who has that unfortunate for a father!' He slowly shook his head. 'And all you did for him! Sent him to a monastery to abide a while with the brothers, and see the rosary they gave him as a keepsake now lies shattered!' 

He hugged Em to him, then kissed her forehead. 'You did well, what you tried to do for that lad, Lou, was it?'

Em hardly knew how to answer. 'Ah, well, Llew, as in Llewellyn, in the Welsh.' Oh, she wished nothing good for Gwydion, except that he would treat Llew gently in the days to come. 'Perhaps I should return home a while, and take stock...'                                               

                                                 

'Of course.' Maurice had some thinking to do of his own.

And Em decided she would let him think what he will. For now.

....................

And so it was somewhat of a surprise for her to find Jethro awaiting Alain at Mrs. Murphy's upon their return.  'Well if it isn't the wandering minstrel and company!'

'Good to see you, too,' Alain replied. 'What news?'

'We've work for you, pays well also, if you don't mind getting your violinist phalanges dirty.' Jethro took a bite of pear from Murphy's Orchards. 

Alain was cautious. 'How dirty?' He frowned, knowing Jethro. 

'A bit of mining, but nothing like lead or coal. It's out of our caves.' Jethro smiled wide.

'Ugaah...' Alain turned away, knowing about The Caves.                                           

'Oh come now, would you prefer being a pauper to a prince? 'Tis but a bit of guano, it washes off...'

'Alors, the Prince of Merde, then?' Alain was not convinced.

'Jethro, are you mining the bat caves again? Thought you had shut those up.' Emlyn knew about the guano mines, to her disgust. She rinsed off pears and set them in a bowl.

'Oh, well, here's Em, then!' Jethro made a leg and a sweeping bow. 'Back from Nob Hill, eh? To mingle with the shire folk?' He could never resist a dig at Emlyn all the while they'd grown up together. 'I've often wondered if that's 'Knob Hill', with a "K"...'

 Shannon waved her hand and took a pear. 'Ooh, that stuff smells to high heaven...I'll have to scrub you with lye soap on your return!'

'...A promise or a threat, cherie?' Alain queried, grinning. She threw a pear at him, which he deftly caught. He sighed. 'How much?'              

                                

As Jethro took him aside to discuss business, Em and Shannon did likewise. 'I must check back at the shop soon,' Shannon said, taking a pear. 'But I am curious why bat guano is suddenly in demand, ye ken?'

Emlyn did ken, then. 'No. It couldn't be...' 

The lads returned from the pantry with Jethro looking truimphant and Alain resigned. 

'You're off to the Bat Caves, are ye now.' Shannon meant it as a statement. 

Alain smiled sheepishly. 'I cannot say no to the money, cherie. It certainly pays more than free ale at the ceilidh.'

Em was on the alert. 'I see. And who is this mysterious benefactor so greedy for guano?'

'I hear a song in there somewhere,' Jethro looked above, dreamily...'Yes, well if you must know, our patron is none other than our own Jeanne's husband, Mr. Kidd.'

'I knew it!' Em and Shannon said, together, frowning. 'And just what does Kidd think he'll be doing with it?' Em fired at him.

 'He's nay using it for his bloody garden!' Shannon continued.

The men were somewhat taken aback by this sudden volley. 'Hold up!' Jethro put up a hand. 'What's got into you two? I know he's not your favorite person, but what have you against him, really?'

Em took a step nearer him. 'Used to be, he wasn't YOUR favorite, either. What's changed since? Filthy lucre in hand, your hand?'

'What if it is?' Jethro wasn't having it. 'Maybe I'm not the only one to sell out, Miss Knob Hill!'

'Wait, now, just a fair minute...' Shannon stepped betwixt the two, arms out. 'Let's think on this, rational like. Maybe the lads don't know, and don't care, they just want a fair day's pay for fair work, is it not?' The lads nodded, Jethro still fuming, arms crossed.

'Emlyn, back off a wee bit, now, lass.' Shannon urged. 'We want to know what's up with all this, yes? Alright then. We already have two fine men on the job, who have eyes and ears at the ready, aye? We have only to let them do the work, get the pay AND find out what for!'

'Ma cherie, you suspect nothing good in this business?' Alain at least had the idea. 

Shannon took his arm. 'Mon cher, you should know that  Kidd is no one to trust. Oui?' Alain knew all too well...having lost Jeanne to Kidd.

Jethro sighed, taking a seat. 'Alright. It's true that it contains saltpeter...' he looked up. 'And, add a little sulphur and charcoal, and guano goes boom...'

'Exactly!' Em replied. 

'Okay, okay...' Jethro leaned back in his seat. 'We'll be your spies, then. But I can't afford to lose this job! It's paying more in a few weeks than I'd make all year...'

Em didn't press. She knew that Jethro was all the farm had to keep it going now. 'That's all we ask.' She kissed the top of his dark curls. 'I'm sorry. It's just that, that man I find ever more infuriating!'

Jethro looked up at her, taking her hand. 'I always admired your hasty temper, cinnamon head.'           

                                         

 

Em was tempted to squash a pear on his pate but she patted it instead. Which, to Jethro, was nearly as bad; he was always up for a good wrestle...

...............................CLICK below to listen

Tangled Up In Blue: bob dylan 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YwSZvHqf9qM

 

Chapter 41 - Behind The Scenes

 ..::On the face of it, the Grail-related stories (whether of Cinderella, Robin Hood, Sleeping Beauty or Count Dracula) each hold their separate mysteries and enchantments - but it is not generally understood that they all stem from a common historical base which is rooted in the culture of the Grail Kings.

Even though some of the themes have their origins in very old lore, the majority of tales (as we know them) were newly slanted from the Dark Ages onwards - and especially from medieval times, when the Church's persecution of Grail heretics was in full swing, leading to the great inquisitions.

Among the best known of these heterodox Christians (or 'heretics') in the Middle Ages were the Cathars - the Pure Ones of the Languedoc region in southern France. And they, in line with the Dragon tradition of the
Ouroboros Ring Lords, referred to the Messianic bloodline as the Elven Race. As we shall see, the terms elf, fairy, pixie, (Pict-Sidhe), and the like were all  representative of various castes within the kingly succession::..

Sir Laurence Gardner
(A personal introduction given by him at the beginning of the Ring Lords, a Lecture Presented at the Nexus
Conference - Sydney, May 1999.)
     
++++++++++++++                                        

Later that evening, after Shannon had been sent off to a bed and had recuperated somewhat, (and slept off her cider), she was returned to the company in time for a restorative dinner, after which all gathered before the parlor fire and she resumed the tale of her abduction.

'How did you know that it was St.John, though?' Em couldn't recall when Shannon had ever had chance to encounter him. She, herself, had only glimpsed the man that one evening in the Village of Sopa and Fog at St. Cat's.

'Well, Em,' Shannon began, 'it was mostly due to being introduced to the man as "St.John", with talk of nothing but antiques dealing to follow!'

Maurice had brought in (yet more) coffee and Armagnac, however, there were also cheeses and nuts, some bread and honey as well, the perfect gentleman host.
He handed snifters to Shannon and Alain.
  'You mentioned 'excavations' in relation to St.John, oui?' He asked, taking a snifter to Em and joining her on the sofa.

Shannon wisely sipped coffee, leaving the brandy for later. 'Yesss...they did say that.' She frowned in thought a while. 'I wonder...' she paused, '...Kidd and St.John seemed to be positively glowing over news of his "finds". And they were sorting through an old, rather rotten looking chest, I could see nothing in it except dirt and, if you can believe it, old bones.'

Em was instantly on alert. 'Oh no. It can't be!' She had turned pale. 'I wondered why St.John would be dealing back on the west coast, if he were headed to Nova Scotia?'
Em stood and placed her brandy on the mantle piece, and began pacing.

'This entire thing? A ruse?' She was muttering to herself as she rubbed her arms as if chilled.
  'What is it, cher?' Maurice sat forward, concerned.

Em turned and faced them. 'I think now that part of why St.John had taken Daryl away was to get him far from Nob Hill House! So that he could have it plundered later!' She raised a hand, '-- No, hear me out!'

She paused and took a sip of brandy. 'Athena and I had found, at Daryl's, a secret notch on the fireplace that opened a doorway to a part of the basement Daryl did not even know was there!' She gulped the rest of her drink.
  'In that place, which looked like an abandoned laboratory, we found...an old trunk. A dilapidated, nasty old thing...full of dirt and old bones.' Her eyes were haunted as she regarded them. To have all these old, and very personal, skeletons in the closet (or basement), suddenly come to light was hardly something Em had reckoned upon, here and now, especially.
 
Her hands shook slightly as she took her empty glass to her seat beside Maurice.
   'Was there anything else to this "fabulous find" of theirs?' she asked, frowning. Maurice put an arm about her shoulders in solidarity. Comforting, oui, but it also made Em tres' anxious.

'Eh, yes...' Shannon poured more coffee, for herself and Em. 'They seemed dead chuffed over a pair of odd antiques: an old shabby box and a cup...a very nice cup actually.'

                                                                            

'Mon Dieu!' Emlyn had taken to swearing in French now.
'That is Daryl's!' She looked at Maurice, eyes afright.
'Non, it is worse than that! Daryl was only the warden of these objects. They are very very powerful and dangerous! Daryl was nearly killed working with them, and was warned never to use them again....oh, this is bad. When Raimundo and Sebastiao find out...!'

Maurice slowly stood, frowning, and he took Emlyn's hands, lifting her to her feet. 'Will you now come with me un moment, cher? S'il vous plait?'

In a daze, Em rose and followed Maurice. 'Pardonnez nous, une moment!' Maurice addressed the others en route. 'We must have une petite privee' parley, s'il vous plait...'

Maurice led Em back to the conservatory.

He took a chair and sat her down opposite, hands on her arms still, addressing her.
  'Emmeline, you must tell me now: exactly what have you and Daryl been up to? With these antiques? And with a buried body in his basement? Are you in league with some, some nefarious, diabolique cult of some kind?' He leaned closer. 'Tell me the truth now! Vrainment!'

Em was near tears. It certainly sounded that way, she realised...no wonder poor Maurice was unsure about her, the pagan, up to who knew what...

'Oh, Maurice...' her eyes filled up, she couldn't help it. 'Non, nothing like that.' (but was it really?) 'We, that is, Daryl, his trade is dealing in antiques. And he had come upon certain, items, that were, eh...they had certain properties attached to them...' -- To say the least.

Maurice sat back. 'They were most probably possessed,' he stated darkly. 'Or cursed at best.'

'That's what I thought as well, that they'd been cursed somehow...' Em remembered back to her first experience of the Cup, with Daryl and Yeats; reliving the Cathar lifetime in which Yeats as a Soldier of the Cross, had taken the heretic Daryl's head, after they had safely hidden the Cup.

                                                                          

'But, no, we aren't part of any cult...' At least that's not how she would name it. 'We have attended meetings, with some Portuguese friends who also deal in antiques, whom, we believed, might better understand the properties of these objects, and help us deal with them. It was they who warned us to keep them safe and never use them.'
  Em didn't want to think about that.

Maurice released her hands and leaned his head upon his hand, elbow on table, regarding this new side of "Emmeline". She was becoming an enigma. A help or hindrance? He did wonder...
   'Cheri...' he began, '...I don't quite know what to do with you.'

Em bit her lip as tears, unbidden, began to course down her cheeks. She slowly shook her head. 'I, certainly did not wish to cause any trouble for you. I don't know why such...' she waved a hand, indicating "such", 'odd things seem to gravitate my way...'
  -- Maurice handed her a hanky. Monogrammed...she dried her tears and blinked away, embarrassed.

'I want to assure you, though,' she continued, 'that neither I, nor Daryl, or, truly, any friends of ours, would ever be involved in anything dangerous or, as you say, diabolical.' At least, not to their knowledge. But, she knew she was stretching that a bit when it came to Daryl; ever setting foot over that cliff, Le Mat, The Fool..
  However, Em realised had very little experience dealing with Catholics. Surely he wasn't thinking she would be doing deals at a crossroads at midnight...

'Hm.' Maurice wanted to believe her. He wanted it very much. In truth, he had sequestered himself away from it all in his own little world for many months now, and he had found it refreshing to see his young nephew Alain and Em; she had passed all his 'tests' well -- the chess game, the rides in the country, and the last: her attendance at mass with him.
  He had even spoken with Fr.Francis at Bonsecours about her. Le bon pere had seemed to find la mademoiselle perfectly charming...

Well, we will see, then.
  'Emmeline.' He gave a small shake of his head. 'In spite of my reservations, I...' he sighed, 'I do not wish to send you away, never to see you again.' He locked his gaze with hers. 'But if ever I find that you are not truthful with me --'

Em knew that Maurice was a person not to trifle with.
  'Maurice, please believe that I would never be anything other than completely honest with you!' She put a hand on his, her eyes pleading. 'I know we have only recently met, but, I, too, would not wish to be sent away. Please, cher.'

It had been long and long that anyone had called him 'dear.' He knew that emotions could get the better of his reason at times, but he hoped this was not one of them.

'Oui. All right, then,' he sighed. 'Let us return to the others, non?'
  Was he being a complete fool, though? He wondered...

..............

They entered the parlor finding the young couple at play. Alain and Shannon had flipped the chess board and were playing checkers on the other side.

'Oh, diosa!' Shannon swore an oath to the goddess. 'How do you expect me to win when you keep taking my men?'
  Alain merely chuckled.

Em meanwhile, was aghast that Shannon would invoke the goddess. Em knew she was capable of invoking a hel-- that is, a heck of a lot more. Diosa, she thought; if she gets the anti-Pope bit in her teeth, she's capable of tearing down the Church stone by stone...Oh, please, not here, not now...

Shannon regarded Em and Maurice, asking, 'So. What did you and Athena do when you found that, old chest?'

Em resumed her seat upon the sofa. 'Eh...Athena thought that it may have been part of a Masonic ritual.' her eyes went to Maurice who gave nothing away. 'She called it the "Room of Reflection".

                                                                                 

Alain also, was watching Maurice, who stated, 'Oui. That is possible. Bones, a skull, perhaps, are part of the ritual. One meditates upon one's mortality. It is a helpful idea to keep in mind. To aid one in remaining upon the Good Red Road, as our Natives call it...'   With that, Maurice stared hard at Em, who was surprised at Maurice's reference to native customs.

'Oncle is Metis,' Alain said to Shannon. 'His mother, ma grandmere, was Iroquois and Cree.'

                                                                                 

'Truly, Maurice?' Em asked. He nodded, silent. She continued, 'I also, am part Cherokee, on my mother's side.'

'They make a good pair, I think,' Shannon said, soto vocce, to Alain, who agreed. 'I think so, too,' he said, grinning at the older couple, who were flushing red upon the sofa under scrutiny.

'All right, then, let us have it!' Maurice announced suddenly. 'You must tell of how you do it; how do you travel...so --?' He waved a hand in inquiry.

Alain was surprised at this. 'You have not told him?'
He asked Em.

'I have. But, I haven't shown him.' She reached within her skirt pocket. 'Here. It is a mobile emitter. It opens the...time portal.' She placed the innocuous looking metal object upon the table before them. She sighed. 'Shannon has one also.' She paused. 'You still do have it, yes?'

'I do,' she replied, 'it is safe at home. But I...I really don't want the responsibility.'

'I'll take it, then.' Em decided. She regarded Maurice. 'So...if all that was only a part of this Masonic ritual, then why were St.John and Kidd so interested?'

'That's the fly in the ointment, non?' Maurice rubbed his chin in thought. 'Obviously, it is something much more. I think...' he paused, frowning, '...that these are very special bones, perhaps. Someone in particular.'
  He turned to Em. 'You say there was a laboratory in this basement as well, where you found them?'

Em nodded, not wanting to go there at all. Thoughts of her father, the terrestrial one, hovered menacingly in mind.
  Maurice slowly shook his head. 'Non. C'est mal-' he paused. 'Em, this is not good. You also said that Daryl did not know of this room, or the secret passage?'

'Of that I'm quite certain.' Em was adamant. 'He seemed utterly befuddled when Athena and I told him of it. Even when he knew of it, apart from one quick visit with us, he did not go there again.'

Oh, please do not quiz me about Nob Hill House! Em was anxious that M. know nothing about her father the mad scientist; that'd be the 10-ton straw that breaks this budding relationship's back...

But Maurice's mind was churning, trying to tie up disparate ends that were threatening to turn this impromptu coffee klatch into a Mad Hatter's Tea Party.
  Gathering up the remainder of the nosh onto a tray he queried, 'Just who was that rather ginger-haired fellow you spoke to outside of the cafe, Emmeline? The one who brought news of Shannon? Eh...how did he know?'

Oh, diosa! Emlyn froze, wondering what could she say?
Not only did she come packing a mad scientist father, (one of them: and oh, Madonna, please keep Axelis out of this!), but also a half-fey SON...how to explain that one?
  Em's rather 'colorful', 'adventurous' past was catching up with her...her chickens were coming home to roost; only hers were peacocks and dodos and cuckoos...
and they all had just landed here, in rather Catholic Montreal, of all places. Oy.

Before she could think of something innocuous to say, Shannon piped up with: 'Oh! And that's another thing!'
-- Em shot her a wide-eyed look and chanced a small head shake, mouthing: 'NO!'

-- But Shannon had a tale to tell: 'Our boy Llew had been shadowing me! I hadn't even been aware of it, until I'd catch glimpses of him, in Arcadia, at the shop, here and there, just out the corner of my eye, you know...but, in the end, it was a good thing; he let you know what had happened.'

'Ooh, that lad!' Em couldn't help exclaiming. 'I shall deal with him as well, when I get back...'

Maurice looked confused, understandably.
'Just how many people have these mobile units? I am beginning to think the world is full of timewalkers!'

Shannon The Mouth carried on unreservedly:
'Oh, Llew comes by his travels naturally...the fey are adept at that sort of thing. He gets it from his faery father.'

Oh dear goddess, I am undone...Emlyn thought, crumpled. I should have left Shannon with the mad people.  
But, to her surprise, Maurice took this newest bit of outre' folly with relative equanimity.

'Ah.' He glanced at Alain. 'C'est fey. Titania and Oberon, non?' He even smiled at Em. 'Even St.Joan, Jeanne d'Arc, she traffiked with the faeries. During her trials, when she was asked if she would denounce the faery, she refused. She would not lie! Oui, French children are tres' intressant in the Shining Ones. As are all children, everywhere, non?'

Emlyn began to relax, relieved at Maurice's casual acceptance of things fey. Well, indeed, were not many of children's faery tales French in origin? "Beauty and the Beast", for instance? Her gaze went to Maurice, poor lamb. Between the two of them, she was the one feeling rather beastly at the moment. Perhaps she should have examined the 'why' of that feeling more in depth; a passing thought that ought to have taken root.

And then, Alain spoke up: 'Llew is of the Welsh tribes. The Twyleth Teg. They are related to Em as well.'
Em gazed at Alain, horrified. He was smiling! The wee booger! 

                                                                             

'I, oh, Maurice!' She began, 'I can explain...'
'Yes.' Maurice was not smiling. 'It would seem you have some explaining to do.'

-- It was going to be a very long night...                 

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case/lang/veirs - Behind the Armory