An Offering to the
Nephilim
Part one of two, and View one of two
(See: “The Dead Dream,” For View Two)
Goddess of the Rephaim
I am she who wails in the morn
I am she who groans in the night
I am she who lives in the dolman
I am she who once seen light:
I am she who was sacrificed.
No: 2716 (6-13-2010)
“All right, I believe you!” shouted Dr. Christmas Christenson, archeologist from University of Minnesota, “that these dolmens (grave sites) of the Circle of Refaim, are not all graves in particular for the tribe of the Refaim Giants, but the Nephilim in general, that participated with this chief tribe because there are several different styles, yet all similar in appearance, and most likely did solar worship, and consecrated to the old gods the Watchers, of Genesis, and perhaps somewhere along the way acquired knowledge from Babel in building the last stones to the circle to its completeness, and the one we have discovered has proven some of this theory, I wonder if this particular dolmen has an entrance under its floor, that might lead to the river, I can hear its flow through the water?”
Crane, his associate and anthropologist, was somewhat stunned at the length of the tomb, and the discovery of a portion of a skull, belonging one of its inhabitants, the foramen cecum (frontal bone) the part he was examining was the black hole near the center bottom, realizing this foramen varies in size in different subjects, and frequently impervious, consequently outlasting the decay of the centuries (it transmits a vein from the nose to the superior sagittal sinus, which has a clinical importance in dealing with infections of the nose, etc, and brain) his turn of phrase, and verbal tone was that of awe, as the young and handsome associate looked at his past middle aged tutor, and professor, Dr. Christenson, balled, pale featureless, that appeared to be from an endless search for Aliens or Fallen Angels, and never quite finding what he wanted, and always seemingly a bit incapable of enthusiasm because of it—that being, the actual link to this ancient mystery, and its history. And the more he looked at the professor the more he wondered why he thought this mystery was beyond him…understanding he was a trifle unconventional.
“Well professor, what do you think of this discover?” he mumbled, Christianson non-committal to the discovery at the moment.
Christmas not only financed this expedition, but was paying Albert Crane a good salary to be by his side, and so Crane gave him more respect than what he wished to, even though he was a little tired of it.
“My guess is that this person was a female, an offering to the Watchers, the god’s of the Rephaim Circle, the Circle of Og, last King of the Rephaim or giant sect, who lived over three-thousand years, and my guess is it took place around 1500 BC, and it was a female, and I have a notion that it was a certain person linked to a most famous figure in biblical archeology.”
From this monstrous statement of which the female might be, Cane shivered with excitement, thinking about National Geographic, putting his name on the front cover of its magazine.
Hitherto, the whole circle was now explored to the professors liking, it was this one subject he was most interested in. He had completely lost interest in the river that might be below the dolmen. How this was overlooked by past diggings, was beyond the professors scope of thought, but he and Cane had for the most part, stumbled upon it.
Truly, they had made a monstrous discovery, as even Christmas was compelled to admit with enthusiasm for once. But was it who he thought it might be, and if it was could he prove it. Crane, wanted to know who it was, and the parts of the skull that made a difference to the professor were in near perfect preservation. The walls of the dolmen were thick but the ceiling was not all that high, and all around them were heaps of rocks, and dirt.
“This is the very spot, Joshua led his people, their first encampment in Canaan, do you realize that?” asked the professor to Crane.
Then the professor noticed carved within the rocks— deep grooved symbols, astronomical symbols, many lunar, and one of a planet beyond Earth’s solar system, called Moiromma, which the professor knew of, and knew the Nephilim (other giants, and aliens, other than those of the Rephaim Circle) those giants of the Rephaim cult, knew about.
“I believe Crane,” said the professor, “the rituals performed here, were that of blood, and to the aliens from the planet Moiromma, and fallen angels known as the Watchers, and Og, who had children with Noah’s daughters, or that of some linking nobility, with a prestigious bloodline, this being one of them. She was perhaps their last human sacrifice.”
“Yes,” said Crane, “it may well have been so, it makes sense, and that may be why the skull is so intact, because of its latter day sacrifice. Furthermore, perhaps the Rephaim cult, wanted help from the other aliens and never got it?”
Christmas was preoccupied with his own thinking, and emotions, so much so, he barely heard Crane, and this troubled the young anthropologist, as often it did, making him nervous and agitated, and he was still distracted with the illusions of grandeur delirium.
All of a sudden there was a haunting stillness in the air, and some kind of eerie movement, an ebon passing, in shadow form, a cadaverous shape of something moving to and fro and there appeared scratching on the wall from talons, and the sound of footsteps beneath them, surely no humans had even been in this dolmen since the body of the slain, the sacrifice was laid in here some five-thousand years prior. Crane took a glimpse here and there. And Christmas seeing that Crane was worried, said, “In such findings and sites, it is not wise to have your heart set on monitory things, the spirits know, if indeed you do, leave now, because it can bring forth a devious return of that spirit!”
All this did not bring one perplex thought or concern to the face of Crane, “Money, fame, I have no such taxing desires” he proclaimed.
“I hope so, lest you suffer the intrusion of the entity, and perhaps I also,” said the professor, “and it appears as if, it has taken, is taking its position at this very moment.”
Then they both heard a female voice, the language was unfamiliar, and more of a remote echo, coming from a long distance below, with a ripple effect, as if it was from the river underneath the dolmen.
Crane was over joyous, and childlike Christmas, who was more at guard, there was a dark side to this, Christmas concluded within his thoughts, and put the skull back where he found it, and left the tomb; Crane remained in it, picking the item back up. His pores became filled with blood and his body frozen in place, the blood he was losing could have filled goblets—swiftly Christmas stepped back several more feet from the opening of the dolmen, and now he could see in midair the goddess who had been buried there, she smiled with a diabolical grin—as if she was in ecstasy, as if she had been awaken to a great merriment, as if she was vacant of soul and the sacrifice had proven acceptable.
She was, as Christmas had thought, in worlds unknown to man, and surely as she looked at him, she had ancient dreams, aloft in her grave, and now a flicker of fanatic malign, to keep her company for another five-thousand years. (His confrere, looked at him staring out of the opening of dolman, helplessly at him in astonishment, mingled with anxiety, very momentous, dying). She now was beckoning for Christmas to come back into her domain, unnaturally pale, but her beauty was still intact, ill-made but in one piece. Life was back in her view, and perhaps that was the long-sought after sacrifice, or part of it, for the eidolon! To plunge into the living dust, to drain its blood, eat its mind. She was the spirit ancient and unholy, grave with formidable melancholy, now renewed.
Once back in Jerusalem, the police had asked what had happened to Mr. Albert Crane, and was told the story as it was, and one of the officers asked, “How do figure all this?” He was quite amazed. But the professor simply said—as he walked away, “You are essentially unimaginative.”
No. 622 (6-13-20109
The Dead Dream
(Princess Aroxa of the Rephaim)
Part two of two, and View two of two
(See: “An Offering to the Nephilim,” For View One)
Princess of the Rephaim
I am she who wails in her dreams
I am she who groans from the seams
I am she who lays dead in the dolman
I am she who awoke to a voice:
I am she who found her sacrifice.
No: 2717 (6-13-2010)
Princess Aroxa, the youngest daughter to King Og, of the Rephaim, awake from the very moment she heard the whispers of two voices within her dolmen, her tomb just below it, under a layer of rocks. She knew by a brief glance, she had been dreaming, although dead for five-thousand years. She had been sacrificed to the gods of old, summoned, five-thousand years ago, and she dare not disobey the summons, although she had aspirations of her own, as did her sister Tyies.
It had seemed she was but a little while in this sky of empty and unlit crumbling nebulous of a nightmare, or dream world, peering into the stars, down onto shapeless worm like cells, nuclei: DNA in blue semi-circular crystallized dye.
Of all the worlds she was in (and in particular, this eternal dream), now she was awake, opened from the darkness, to the gleaming bright intensely her new moment. Perhaps it was normal for her to dream, maybe everyone does, who’s to say. Or maybe she had died unwillingly, and this was a natural awakening to another’s violating her grave, her tomb. Maybe to get to this point, she was dead and had to go through the dream state to manifest her self—for she withdrew from the dream once she heard the two voices—one unrelenting voice in particular. Yes, she was stripped from life, made into an unknown myth, that was soon forgotten, and to be truthful, whatever she did when she was alive, was of little consequence, as most lives are, but nonetheless she was part of the naked ugliness of the day, part of that reality, but beautiful and alone she was. She only could grab fragments of her nebulous past, old memories of her semi adulthood; she had died at nineteen years old.
With half-formed thoughts she looked about, she saw two humans, phantasms of the Rephaim Circle—she thought them to be, perhaps robbers, surely not guardians, thus, overhanging she whispered a few words to make them respond. The young one looked pleasingly to her sight, likened to a bronze statue, a thick forest of dark wavy hair, ivory teeth, “Can I have him?” she whispered, “I want to dream with him, and him with me? Put him in my dreams,” she pleaded, but to whom I do not know.
As before this moment, she had dreamed of flowers and villages, and other such things—as mentioned before, but never had there been a person in her dreams, she could not picture one, now she could. The older man now moved out of the tomb, the young one was still fascinated with the moment, and she had a right to do what she was about to do, for he had misused her dolman, unsanctified it, made her tomb site unconsecrated, impure, defiled. An accident is one thing, but remaining in the tomb and still holding fragments of her cranial, her skull in his hands was cause for her to snatch him from his abode and take him with her. And she did.
No. 623 (6-13-20109
Nephilim
Part one of two, and View one of two
(See: “The Dead Dream,” For View Two)
Goddess of the Rephaim
I am she who wails in the morn
I am she who groans in the night
I am she who lives in the dolman
I am she who once seen light:
I am she who was sacrificed.
No: 2716 (6-13-2010)
“All right, I believe you!” shouted Dr. Christmas Christenson, archeologist from University of Minnesota, “that these dolmens (grave sites) of the Circle of Refaim, are not all graves in particular for the tribe of the Refaim Giants, but the Nephilim in general, that participated with this chief tribe because there are several different styles, yet all similar in appearance, and most likely did solar worship, and consecrated to the old gods the Watchers, of Genesis, and perhaps somewhere along the way acquired knowledge from Babel in building the last stones to the circle to its completeness, and the one we have discovered has proven some of this theory, I wonder if this particular dolmen has an entrance under its floor, that might lead to the river, I can hear its flow through the water?”
Crane, his associate and anthropologist, was somewhat stunned at the length of the tomb, and the discovery of a portion of a skull, belonging one of its inhabitants, the foramen cecum (frontal bone) the part he was examining was the black hole near the center bottom, realizing this foramen varies in size in different subjects, and frequently impervious, consequently outlasting the decay of the centuries (it transmits a vein from the nose to the superior sagittal sinus, which has a clinical importance in dealing with infections of the nose, etc, and brain) his turn of phrase, and verbal tone was that of awe, as the young and handsome associate looked at his past middle aged tutor, and professor, Dr. Christenson, balled, pale featureless, that appeared to be from an endless search for Aliens or Fallen Angels, and never quite finding what he wanted, and always seemingly a bit incapable of enthusiasm because of it—that being, the actual link to this ancient mystery, and its history. And the more he looked at the professor the more he wondered why he thought this mystery was beyond him…understanding he was a trifle unconventional.
“Well professor, what do you think of this discover?” he mumbled, Christianson non-committal to the discovery at the moment.
Christmas not only financed this expedition, but was paying Albert Crane a good salary to be by his side, and so Crane gave him more respect than what he wished to, even though he was a little tired of it.
“My guess is that this person was a female, an offering to the Watchers, the god’s of the Rephaim Circle, the Circle of Og, last King of the Rephaim or giant sect, who lived over three-thousand years, and my guess is it took place around 1500 BC, and it was a female, and I have a notion that it was a certain person linked to a most famous figure in biblical archeology.”
From this monstrous statement of which the female might be, Cane shivered with excitement, thinking about National Geographic, putting his name on the front cover of its magazine.
Hitherto, the whole circle was now explored to the professors liking, it was this one subject he was most interested in. He had completely lost interest in the river that might be below the dolmen. How this was overlooked by past diggings, was beyond the professors scope of thought, but he and Cane had for the most part, stumbled upon it.
Truly, they had made a monstrous discovery, as even Christmas was compelled to admit with enthusiasm for once. But was it who he thought it might be, and if it was could he prove it. Crane, wanted to know who it was, and the parts of the skull that made a difference to the professor were in near perfect preservation. The walls of the dolmen were thick but the ceiling was not all that high, and all around them were heaps of rocks, and dirt.
“This is the very spot, Joshua led his people, their first encampment in Canaan, do you realize that?” asked the professor to Crane.
Then the professor noticed carved within the rocks— deep grooved symbols, astronomical symbols, many lunar, and one of a planet beyond Earth’s solar system, called Moiromma, which the professor knew of, and knew the Nephilim (other giants, and aliens, other than those of the Rephaim Circle) those giants of the Rephaim cult, knew about.
“I believe Crane,” said the professor, “the rituals performed here, were that of blood, and to the aliens from the planet Moiromma, and fallen angels known as the Watchers, and Og, who had children with Noah’s daughters, or that of some linking nobility, with a prestigious bloodline, this being one of them. She was perhaps their last human sacrifice.”
“Yes,” said Crane, “it may well have been so, it makes sense, and that may be why the skull is so intact, because of its latter day sacrifice. Furthermore, perhaps the Rephaim cult, wanted help from the other aliens and never got it?”
Christmas was preoccupied with his own thinking, and emotions, so much so, he barely heard Crane, and this troubled the young anthropologist, as often it did, making him nervous and agitated, and he was still distracted with the illusions of grandeur delirium.
All of a sudden there was a haunting stillness in the air, and some kind of eerie movement, an ebon passing, in shadow form, a cadaverous shape of something moving to and fro and there appeared scratching on the wall from talons, and the sound of footsteps beneath them, surely no humans had even been in this dolmen since the body of the slain, the sacrifice was laid in here some five-thousand years prior. Crane took a glimpse here and there. And Christmas seeing that Crane was worried, said, “In such findings and sites, it is not wise to have your heart set on monitory things, the spirits know, if indeed you do, leave now, because it can bring forth a devious return of that spirit!”
All this did not bring one perplex thought or concern to the face of Crane, “Money, fame, I have no such taxing desires” he proclaimed.
“I hope so, lest you suffer the intrusion of the entity, and perhaps I also,” said the professor, “and it appears as if, it has taken, is taking its position at this very moment.”
Then they both heard a female voice, the language was unfamiliar, and more of a remote echo, coming from a long distance below, with a ripple effect, as if it was from the river underneath the dolmen.
Crane was over joyous, and childlike Christmas, who was more at guard, there was a dark side to this, Christmas concluded within his thoughts, and put the skull back where he found it, and left the tomb; Crane remained in it, picking the item back up. His pores became filled with blood and his body frozen in place, the blood he was losing could have filled goblets—swiftly Christmas stepped back several more feet from the opening of the dolmen, and now he could see in midair the goddess who had been buried there, she smiled with a diabolical grin—as if she was in ecstasy, as if she had been awaken to a great merriment, as if she was vacant of soul and the sacrifice had proven acceptable.
She was, as Christmas had thought, in worlds unknown to man, and surely as she looked at him, she had ancient dreams, aloft in her grave, and now a flicker of fanatic malign, to keep her company for another five-thousand years. (His confrere, looked at him staring out of the opening of dolman, helplessly at him in astonishment, mingled with anxiety, very momentous, dying). She now was beckoning for Christmas to come back into her domain, unnaturally pale, but her beauty was still intact, ill-made but in one piece. Life was back in her view, and perhaps that was the long-sought after sacrifice, or part of it, for the eidolon! To plunge into the living dust, to drain its blood, eat its mind. She was the spirit ancient and unholy, grave with formidable melancholy, now renewed.
Once back in Jerusalem, the police had asked what had happened to Mr. Albert Crane, and was told the story as it was, and one of the officers asked, “How do figure all this?” He was quite amazed. But the professor simply said—as he walked away, “You are essentially unimaginative.”
No. 622 (6-13-20109
The Dead Dream
(Princess Aroxa of the Rephaim)
Part two of two, and View two of two
(See: “An Offering to the Nephilim,” For View One)
Princess of the Rephaim
I am she who wails in her dreams
I am she who groans from the seams
I am she who lays dead in the dolman
I am she who awoke to a voice:
I am she who found her sacrifice.
No: 2717 (6-13-2010)
Princess Aroxa, the youngest daughter to King Og, of the Rephaim, awake from the very moment she heard the whispers of two voices within her dolmen, her tomb just below it, under a layer of rocks. She knew by a brief glance, she had been dreaming, although dead for five-thousand years. She had been sacrificed to the gods of old, summoned, five-thousand years ago, and she dare not disobey the summons, although she had aspirations of her own, as did her sister Tyies.
It had seemed she was but a little while in this sky of empty and unlit crumbling nebulous of a nightmare, or dream world, peering into the stars, down onto shapeless worm like cells, nuclei: DNA in blue semi-circular crystallized dye.
Of all the worlds she was in (and in particular, this eternal dream), now she was awake, opened from the darkness, to the gleaming bright intensely her new moment. Perhaps it was normal for her to dream, maybe everyone does, who’s to say. Or maybe she had died unwillingly, and this was a natural awakening to another’s violating her grave, her tomb. Maybe to get to this point, she was dead and had to go through the dream state to manifest her self—for she withdrew from the dream once she heard the two voices—one unrelenting voice in particular. Yes, she was stripped from life, made into an unknown myth, that was soon forgotten, and to be truthful, whatever she did when she was alive, was of little consequence, as most lives are, but nonetheless she was part of the naked ugliness of the day, part of that reality, but beautiful and alone she was. She only could grab fragments of her nebulous past, old memories of her semi adulthood; she had died at nineteen years old.
With half-formed thoughts she looked about, she saw two humans, phantasms of the Rephaim Circle—she thought them to be, perhaps robbers, surely not guardians, thus, overhanging she whispered a few words to make them respond. The young one looked pleasingly to her sight, likened to a bronze statue, a thick forest of dark wavy hair, ivory teeth, “Can I have him?” she whispered, “I want to dream with him, and him with me? Put him in my dreams,” she pleaded, but to whom I do not know.
As before this moment, she had dreamed of flowers and villages, and other such things—as mentioned before, but never had there been a person in her dreams, she could not picture one, now she could. The older man now moved out of the tomb, the young one was still fascinated with the moment, and she had a right to do what she was about to do, for he had misused her dolman, unsanctified it, made her tomb site unconsecrated, impure, defiled. An accident is one thing, but remaining in the tomb and still holding fragments of her cranial, her skull in his hands was cause for her to snatch him from his abode and take him with her. And she did.
No. 623 (6-13-20109
No comments:
Post a Comment