+ Ancient Landscapes, Bakewell Jail, Ben's Bit, Doomsday series of books, esoteric psychology, Silent Eye School
Ben’s Bit, part twelve – Cold Governance
by Steve Tanham
Ben’s Bit, part twelve – Cold Governance
There’s something about the door that terrifies me. I suspect that it’s still unlocked. But I won’t try it to see. To try it would risk some fragile things. If it were locked and I had maintained my belief that Roger Sylvester, my new gaoler, being a good man, had left it open as a rebellious gesture against a system that had incarcerated a fellow good man, then something gentle and precious would be dashed against the old stone walls of Bakewell Gaol.
If it were not locked, then I would have doubted my picture of the new and honest man…
So, I don’t try it… I just look at it from the bed across my cell.
I must have drifted off. I am brought back to consciousness by the arrival of my new gaoler, so I can’t say whether he has unlocked the door or not. When I look up, sleepily, he is standing over me and smiling, dressed in a tracksuit, with a stopwatch on a lanyard around his neck.
“Good to rest, Ben,” he says, genuinely. “But not too much – exercise time!”
It’s said in a quasi military tone – navy induced, no doubt, and I realise that the comfort of having a fellow human being for a gaoler is to be tainted by the fact that he’s probably an exercise nut. He escorts me through the old corridors of the largely empty gaol and out into the central quadrangle which forms an exercise yard. “Can’t beat regular exercise, Ben, for lifting the spirits.” he says as we enter the yard with its lines of lichen streaked dripping red brick.
For the next forty-five minutes he ‘joins’ me in a suggested series of short sprints, push-ups, sit-ups and squat thrusts. He’s hardly breaking sweat, but I’m perspiring profusely. By the end of our exercise period, I’m wet through and gasping for breath.
“Give it time, Ben,” he laughs, “you’ll be amazed what a daily work-out like this can do for you!”
‘Daily’ my mind screams. I’ve moved from a decaying psychopath to a fitness nazi!
Grateful that it’s over, but acknowledging that I actually do feel better, I follow Roger Sylvester through the corridors, and am delighted when he turns towards the shower block. I’m glad for the opportunity, as being clean has always been very important to me. He opens the heavy painted creme door with the old, frosted glass panels, and nods me in.
“You should find everything you need in there,” he smiles. “Including a new ‘uniform'” he half snarls the word, sympathetic to the effect that such de-humanising objects can have on someone in my position. “I can only bend so many rules, Ben, you know that…But I’ll give you some privacy.”
I nod, grateful that he’s prepared to bend any rules, and enter the shower room, peeling off my sweat-streaked overalls.
The sanitised room is cold. Its Victorian black and white tiles forbidding and stark. But the hot water that follows is a refreshing delight and I have no complaints… not till the flow stops, suddenly, and I look around for the cause…
The Governor is standing by the far wall, his hands on the master stopcock. He’s smiling like a prize fighter would, who, standing over a knocked-down opponent, senses victory in the other’s disorientation.
I’m standing in a shower room and not lying on a canvas boxing ring. But it feels the same. I’m immobilised under an open bank of shower heads, naked and dripping. The cold of the cell is invading my former shroud of steam…and there’s literally nothing between my skin and the man I fear even more than Dr Grey.
He pulls over a battered wooden stool and sits, halfway between the stop-cock and me. “Thought we might need a chat, Ben.” he says casually, as though all this is quite normal for a Friday morning.
It’s a casual, black suit he’s selected for the occasion, with a matching black polo neck. “Like it, Ben?” he asks, fingering the cuffs. “Couldn’t help noticing how you admired my suit when we last met.” he smiles, cruelly. “Bet you have a few nice suits at home?” It’s a cruel reminder of a past that now seems impossibly distant, as well he knows.
“Ben,” he says, shaking his head as though he needs to clear his mind. “we need to clear up one or two bits and pieces…” I feel like covering myself with my hands, in case my bits are the ones he wants to clear up, but I don’t. I’ve learned about fear and how much of its paralysing force is in the mind, long before it’s in the body.
He looks over my body, taking his time. It’s a pale shadow of his triangular muscularity, with its well-tanned surface and perfect poise. But, grateful for small mercies, I can see there is no sexual element to his visual invasion. He’s just curious as to how fit I might be.
“I’m glad you take such a close interest in those in your care.” I drag out the word ‘care’ into a sneer.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about, Ben,” he says slapping his well-dressed thigh. “Gets us nowhere, that sort of attitude!”
Before I can think up something clever that a naked man in a shower might say as a riposte, he continues.
“Why’d you do it, Ben? The three of you–” His eyes have finished with the strip search and he’s content to bring his eagle orbs to look into mine. “Just mischief…? did you get drunk and decide it would be a wheeze?” He shakes his head. “Nope, it wasn’t like that, was it, Ben?” he stands up and strides to the raised edge of the shower platform. “There’s something deeper going on here, and we think you’re all part of something bigger – much bigger!” He raises one arm in what looks like preparation for a blow, but then diverts it to scratch the back of his neck. I decide not to ask who this ‘we’ might be.
I flinch, anyway…and then a miracle happens. Through the crook of the Governor’s elbow I see Roger Sylvester enter the shower room, carrying an extra towel. His relaxed gait and calm smile freezes as he glimpses the scene before him.
“What the hell’s going on here?” he shouts.
The Governor purses his lips and nods, realising his little exploration has come to an end. But he seems un-phased by his subordinate’s intrusion. “Just having a little chat, Roger, that’s all.”
“Little chats like this are likely to be misinterpreted,” says my gaoler, icily.
The Governor turns. “Oh, I don’t expect there’ll be any mis-interpretation between you and me, Roger. Despite any misgivings we might have once had about the past…”
I have no idea what that means. But it seems that Roger and the Governor have history, and, from the Governor’s confident stride as he leaves the chequered room, he has no doubt that he can command the gaoler’s obedience, if he needs to coerce.
But the prematurely grey-haired man walking calmly across the shower room floor does not look like he’s about to be intimidated by his superior, regardless of any history.
“Sorry, Ben,” he says, “That was way out of line…”
“No harm done,” I say, gratefully accepting a warm towel and wishing I were sure the words represented the truth.
“Trouble is,” says Roger. “The bastard still thinks he’s in sub-Saharan Africa…”
———————————————————–< to be continued-
Ben’s Bit is a continuing first-person narrative of the character created by Stuart France and Sue Vincent, which may bear some relation to the author of this story, Steve Tanham, their fellow director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness. In their book, Scions of Albion, Ben is arrested for his overly enthusiastic part in a mad escapade, and the other two are nowhere to be seen . . . For more, enjoy their Doomsday series of books, and the new series (Lands of Exile) whose first volume, But ‘n’ Ben is now available in Kindle and Paperback. Click here for details.
Index to Ben’s Bits:
Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven,
Sue Vincent describes her and Stuart’s perspective on Ben’s imprisonment: Part One, Part Two
The Doomsday Series of books by Stuart France and Sue Vincent
The Silent Eye School of Consciousness – a modern mystery school.
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+ Greek Myths, Hercules, Higher Mind, Journey of the hero, Labours of Hercules, Mystery Schools, myths and spirituality, Silent Eye School, Uncategorized
Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee, part 49 – The Questions of Balance
by Steve Tanham
Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee, part 49 – The Questions of Balance
.Alexandra.
“I can see you’re brimming with ideas,” said John, looking at me slyly, over the rim of his coffee cup. “But perhaps you’ve not connected them all?”
He was right. But I sensed an uncertainty in him, too, about the myth of the boar. As though it still held much that he hadn’t been able to fathom. This made me feel better, so I launched into the well-filled, but unconnected islands of meaning I had been able to glean.
“Well, firstly, the whole myth is to do with balance.”
He nodded. “Safe ground, I think… and Libra is most definitely about balance, justice being a result of seeing things from that state…”
“An inner state – she’s blindfold..” I breathed out some of the tension. It annoyed me when I got screwed up about something so trivial… but was it? Were these things of myth not the very terrain of our inner lives?
“Heracles loses one kind of balance – he gets drunk in Pholus’ cave,” I said. “Intoxicated might be a better word, I’ve no idea why…”
“An abuse… a poisoning of the natural faculties?” John offered. “or an loosing of the ordinary consciousness, and the opening of an inner state? You could justify both but remember that the wine was a gift to the Centaurs from Dionysus…”
I nodded, “And yet certain symbols are repeated in the myths, which suggest a common, inner meaning, possibly depending on the context?”
“Yes, definitely,” he said
Growing in momentum, if not confidence, I continued, “And yet wine–and the vineyards that produce it, are revered as spiritual symbols, too?”
“They are, indeed,” he smiled. “So much so, that the red wine is directly equated with the very blood of Christ by the church…” He paused, reflecting. “…and the inner meaning of wine is a higher form of understanding–higher than stone or water which came lower in its scale, so to speak…”
“But this wine causes him to kill two of his most loyal companions – the Centaurs!”
“Who are?” asked John, leaning forward as he did when we were narrowing in on something important.
“Who are half men and half horse.”
“And we’ve met horses before, have we not?”
“Oh yes,” I said seeing a chink of light in the cave ahead… or was it an oncoming train…”The wild mares, which Heracles had to tame… symbols of uncontrolled thoughts, as I recall?”
“Yes,” said John. “So we can assume that Centaurs, who we will meet again, have a significance in their upper and lower arrangements?”
“In many ways the perfect outer form,” I whispered. “I often wish I could have the stamina of a horse to carry me around the weary streets of London…”
“And in a sense you do, with your wonderful legal mind – the product of all its training and discipline?”
I thought about that. And the Centaurs were a good force in the land of Heracles, and he had killed them because he had become intoxicated with something he craved – the lower form of wine. I continued to give voice to my thoughts, lost in an internal reverie, “And this wine was meant to be drunk only by the Centaurs, when together, in a form of communion!”
“Which, presumably, lifted them, as good communion does, to a higher place within themselves–and collectively.”
I felt a rush of love for the Centaurs, and looked forward to a future reunion with them. They seemed to be wise beings, perhaps more limited than Heracles in potential, though not in pub behaviour…”
He smiled. “They’ve always had a place in my heart, too.”
“It’s a battle for balance, then,” I said, getting enthusiastic. “fought in two arenas – the place where the wrong wine can intoxicate to the point of killing friends who are the epitome of balance; and the high ground where the only way to catch the unregenerate animal is with artifice – the right use of the mind…”
“And Heracles triumphs?” asked John.
“Well, yes…” I responded, sensing that I had the inner grasp of the thing, if not the right words to describe it. “…by humour as much as anything else. He drives the exhausted animal down the mountain and amuses all below with the spectacle.” I sipped the last of my coffee, lost in my thoughts. “Perhaps he turns it into a parody by making it human-like, while showing that it can never be so…”
“It could even be a visual apology to the Centaurs,” John said, “showing a man atop the wild beast of the boar – a lesson learned?”
He watched me cross the last few feet of my mental process.
“He triumphs by being human, within which, by the grace of something very high, all things are forgiven, once wisdom is grasped…” I fell silent.
“Sometimes, you astonish me…” said John, ordering two celebration coffees from a smiling Rose, who, strangely, was just passing our table.
(Image – composite by author. Underlying monochrome image of Libra figure: http://www.signs4half.com/libra-zodiac-sign-symbol-premium-removable-wall-decor-decal/)
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Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee is usually published on Thursdays.
©Copyright, The Silent Eye School of Consciousness, 2016.
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Sue’s beautiful rendering of the St. Valentine story…
In a plastic bucket beside the counter sat a dozen roses, each one individually wrapped, slightly faded, but with their heads held firmly erect in the stiff plastic. Each one would doubtless be bought and, given their garage location probably as an afterthought, along with the milk and petrol, and taken home to a loved one as a token. For many, that would be the extent of their expression of devotion for another year. For many recipients, it would mean the world. It was a sad sight.
On the 14th of February, across the western world, florists, jewellers and chocolatiers make a commercial killing as lovers and hopeful romantics celebrate St Valentine’s Day. Few of us are immune from interest in this date. Some pay court and show their hearts to a loved one, some stand firmly in the camp that sees the celebration simply as a money-making scam, while…
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+ Esoteric Meaning of Myth, guided mystical walks, Mystery Schools, myths and spirituality, nature, Spirituality, Uncategorized
Silent Eye Summer pre-Solstice Weekend 2016
by Steve Tanham
Shake off the Winter blues – Anticipate the Summer ahead and book now for the Silent Eye’s 2016 pre-Solstice weekend, “Whispers of the West” to take place in the ancient landscapes of Pembrokeshire, West Wales, June 17-19, 2016.
We will base ourselves in the ancient Celtic city of St David’s near to the cathedral, whose site dates back to the 6th century. St David’s will be the main focus of the Sunday morning walk and talk. The ancient city offers a good choice of hotels and well-priced guest houses as well as a choice of restaurants.
From the magical traces of the ancient Druids, through the splendour of St David’s Cathedral to the modern and unchanged landscape of Pembrokeshire, the weekend has much to offer.
We will be conducted by a local member of the Silent Eye School who knows the landscape and its history well.
Our outline itinerary is:
17-19 June, 2016
Friday Afternoon 17 June
Drive to Whitesands beach – ice cream
Walk to St David’s Head – hut circles – Coetan Arthur burial chamber
Dinner in St David’s
Saturday 18 June
Drive to Newport via Carreg Samson and Carreg Coetan Arthur burial chambers
Walk up Carn Ingli for magnificent view
Drive to Pentre Ifan – the most impressive chamber in Wales
Drive to Nevern church – Ogham stones – bleeding yews
Drive to Cwm Gwaun for a drink at Bessie’s pub
Drive to St Gwyndaf’s church at Llanwnda near Strumble Head
Dinner at The Sloop in Porthgain or St David’s
Sunday 19 June
Walk to St Non’s – new chapel – old chapel – well
Walk to Cathedral and Bishop’s palace
Lunch in the refectory
Walk along to the bridge and up Quickwell Hill
(If people want to stay into the afternoon there is a lovely boat trip round Ramsay Island)
The cost to attend the weekend is £50.00. Hotel and meals are not included in that figure and those attending need to make their own accommodation arrangements.
Register your interest via email to rivingtide@gmail.com
(Images from Wikipedia, used under Creative Commons license)
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River of the Sun, chapter 15 – The Intimacy of Enemies
“I am not always the brutal man I portray,” said Rameses, lying to one side on Neferaset’s bed and sipping his wine. “Authority must be established before a new situation is allowed to develop. The seed must be placed, not where it might fall, but where it should grow.”
From the floor rug, where she sat, cross-legged on a simply mat, the high priestess replied, “Your dying father had no qualms about how we conduct ourselves. He chose me for the role…long ago.”
There was a touch of bitterness in the Regent’s tone when he replied, “He chose many people, priestess…! My father did a good job of restoring Egypt’s borders, too; but my kingdom will be many times the size of his. After me, the world will look on my works and wonder at the mind that built them. I will take this Egypt and make it into something truly mighty!”
Someone as close as the black beetle crossing the floor of her chambers might have seen the flicker in her eyes, but Rameses did not.
“You lay great store by the mind?, Chosen of Ra” she asked, in a soft voice.
“Doesn’t everyone? You have not achieved your status without much use of the mind?”
“True, Chosen of Ra, but my status is lowly compared to yours. Also I must understand, and use, the emotions of those in my care. Emotion, used wisely, can perform miracles.”
“So can fear…” Rameses smiled. “…and you can drop the ‘Chosen of Ra’ when we are alone. ‘Majesty’ will suffice.”
“The high priestess rose to her knees and bowed. “Yes, Majesty.”
“Good,” said the King-in-Rising. “Now that we are beginning to understand each other, let me ask you a little more about this mysterious island. Why are you so revered, and why is this place so shrouded in mystery?”
“I think it is simply because we are a recently established temple, Majesty.”
Rameses uncoiled his resting body like a snake, bring his feet to the floor and towering over his prey. “You ought to know by now that I will not be satisfied by such half truths!” he snarled. “There is a core of something new, here, priestess, and it goes beyond the stones of your temple! – I am not alone in finding it so, and I mean to uncover its heart.”
There was complete calmness in her reply. Her eyes were distantly focussed, as though listening to a conversation far away in place and time. “Its heart is the right word, Majesty. We seek only to rejuvenate the spirit of the worship of Isis, as we believe this has become stale.”
“Stale!” the Regent was still angry. “More like mummified! So, yes, I can see your goal – and yet you actively revere and portray the Gods of Amun-Ra, with the twin aspects of Khonsu and Mut. Would it not have been simpler to use Isis herself?”
“Isis is there, Majesty, in the shadows. Our work is to make her a fitting mother to all the female Gods, re-uniting her with her distant origins.”
“And what of Horus then?” The royal temper was abating, soothed by the soft voice of the high priestess.
“Are you not the incarnation of Horus?” she asked, with wide eyes that emphasised her devotion to the traditions. “The most ancient of the royal Gods? And, in using Khonsu and Mut as the lower aspects of Amun-Ra himself, do we not honour and obey the direction your family has set to finally rid the world of the legacy of the Heretic King, Akhenaten–the man your forebears have erased?”
Rameses found himself distracted by the dread word. “Akhenaten – the Heretic! Do you not know that even to speak his name is punishable by death?”
Neferaset answered carefully, “If you had designs on my life, so soon, I would be dead already, Chosen of Ra…” the mistake that wasn’t slipped unnoticed into his consciousness.
A flicker of a smile crossed the tight lips as Rameses realised how artfully he had been softened. He moved his hands down his shins and leaned towards her.
“Know, then, that should I ever find that you are harbouring the slightest sympathy for the words or thoughts of the sun-drunk madman, your end will be slow, public and without the slightest mercy. Do we understand the game, Priestess?”
In answer, Neferaset slid, submissively, towards Rameses, taking and kissing his hand. The Regent pulled back with surprise; then gazed down at his hand, looking uncertain.
“Perfectly, Majesty.” said the high priestess into the silence between them.
Rameses found his heart was racing. “Isis has a worthy practitioner of her magic here . . . and you must know that I want you!” But he was less sure than his words suggested. There was a feeling that she was occupying a place in his mind that no-one had entered before.
Neferaset loosened the ties on the front of her shift. “Then take me, Majesty! I will not resist such a royal command!” Her eyes were challenging; there was a hint of a smile.
Rameses was felt both aroused and endangered. He shook his head, slowly. “You play too well, priestess. I will not take you like this–offered to authority as a temple concubine would be–and you know it!” He swept his arm towards her. “Away! But, I will have you, and willingly, before our encounter is over.”
Neferaset slid back along the floor to her mat. She picked up her goblet and drank some of the wine, never taking her eyes from the King-in-Rising. “Then, I await your guidance, Majesty…”
Rameses felt he had been caught off-guard. He drained his wine, and stared back at the woman who both intrigued and unsettled him. Returning to his military mind, he said, “So let me make our game of greater value. There are two in my company who are as clever as you and your brother. One is my old teacher, Menascare.” His face lined with the pressure of contrasting emotions. “Though nearing the end of his useful days, he is yet mighty in the ways of wisdom and coercion.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Before I groomed and promoted Obion, he was in line to be partner to my schemes until his comfortable death in the palace at Pi-Rameses, but lately…his mind is distracted by something–and Obion has seen his chance.”
“You mean to pit them against each other?” asked Neferaset, her eyes unblinking.
“Foolish woman,” Rameses lashed her with the word. “I mean to pit them against you, your brother and the Vessels of your impudent temple! But not in a simple way…I love strategy games, high priestess. I hope you do too?”
“With the price of failure being my virtue and probably my life, I have little choice, Majesty.”
Sensing victory, Rameses slid off the bed and joined the high priestess on the crumpled mat. He took her unresisting hand and returned the kiss. “I am not new to the skills of love, high priestess; I would ensure you enjoyed our lovemaking. Of course, should I find your own enjoyment insincere, your death would be suitably cruel…”
Neferaset closed her eyes to the sadistic image. “And am I the only one in the middle of this game of high consequence, Majesty? Or does my brother, Anzety, share this fate?”
“Your brother? Of course not!” Rameses smiled, happy at the confirmation of her naivety. “Why, your chosen young Priest is the centre of it all. It is far more effective to target someone else who is loved by another – ask Obion, the Talatat of Fear, how well that works! And I can see how much affection you have for the boy – and he for you…”
Rameses watched the beautiful eyes close as the priestess swallowed, hard, in the face of the picture of what was to follow. He pressed his advantage, putting as much severity into the words as possible. “You will complete his initiations before the full moon and he will emerge triumphant or broken – and this will be on your head, alone.”
Neferaset looked at him with pained eyes. “Three days! So little time, when it should take a whole year! But that is a cruel thing to do to a young man without fault!”
“No, it is not!” said Rameses, enjoying the hunt for the mind and heart of this challenging woman. “It is a suitable sport for the King-in-Rising, and an appropriate response to an intriguing woman who sets herself, however subtly, in the way of the Royal Will! When the moon is full and you have failed, then cruelty may play its part…”
Neferaset pulled herself straight and calmed her breathing, as she had done to face the onslaught in the temple. “Very well Majesty, you have your Royal hunt. But I have one condition?” Her eyes did not waver in the face of his deadly gaze.
“You would place conditions on the man who will shortly be your King?”
“Yes, just this – that you release the apprentice priest to sleep, now.”
Rameses reached out to take Neferaset’s goblet. He drained its contents, daring her even to think of objecting.
“You play like a girl, Priestess! You could have extracted so much more from me than this!” The wide grin split the cruel face. “But yes, I agree to your terms, though you sold them cheaply! Now I will leave you and sleep in the company of my soldiers…”
Rameses stood to go, straightening out his warrior’s clothes. “I will give Menascare and Obion their instructions.” he smiled. “Separately, of course–we can have our games with them, too!”
He retrieved his cloak and swung it around his wide shoulders.
“The duty soldiers will ferry me to the bank of the great river in the morning. Once there, I will take provisions and a horse from your stables. I have need of my own company. These events are portents of much to come.” He fastened his cloak at the throat. “Did you know I was building a tower not far from here in the hills beside the desert? They will speak of the stark beauty of this tower when I am long gone…”
He strode to the door, then turned to look at the high priestess one last time.
“I am here, not just to study, you, High Priestess, but to oversee my tower’s completion. It will be a monument to my father. I will return when I am ready, but you will not know when…”
Neferaset rose and bowed. “Then we will see it as a test to be ready for you this time, Majesty.”
Rameses was enjoying himself. He looked down at the woman before him, savouring the additional authority his height imparted.
“I do not see how you could be ready under these circumstances, priestess. That is the whole point of my game – to see you kept off-guard, to expose your naked reactions within your broken temple…”
The moon was bright overhead as he stepped out beneath the stars. He began to walk towards the quarters of the Talatat, but changed his mind. Instead the King-in-Rising loosened his cloak and pulled it up around his head and shoulders. He crossed between the twin pylons into the sanctity of the outer temple buildings. There was no-one on guard. The smashed doors still hung at an angle on their ruined hinges. Lights burned inside the temple, but the sacred space had only one occupant. The apprentice priest was sleeping by the punishment block on which his head should have rested. Instead his head was cushioned by a garment that Rameses recognised as belonging to Lord Mensacare. Obion’s sword was nowhere to be seen…
Rameses shook his head. The encounter with the priestess had drained him. “Sleep well, young man,” said the King-in-Rising, feeling strangely sympathetic. “There will be tests enough in the days ahead. I am not always a monster…”
He looked down at the rich purple cloth beneath the boy’s head and shook his own.
“Menascare, you old fool…” he spoke into the air of the temple. “Did you think I wouldn’t know… or didn’t you care?” He walked towards the temple door, still speaking the thoughts in his mind. “How joyous your company was in the days of my childhood; and how deadly to my ambitions it now is…”
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Index to previous chapters:
Chapter One – Gifts From the River
Chapter Two – An Agony of Sunset
Chapter Three – The Dark Waters
Chapter Four – Touching the Sky
Chapter Five – The Fire Within
Chapter Seven – The Crystal Air
Chapter Eight – The Unchosen Darkness
Chapter Nine – The Priestess Calls
Chapter Ten – Darkness at the Door
Chapter Twelve – Above and Below
Chapter Thirteen – The Binding Voices
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Introduction to River of the Sun
In April 2015 a group of people gathered in the Derbyshire hills to enact the Silent Eye’s annual Mystery Play, entitled, The River of the Sun. The five-act mystical drama formed the backbone of that Spring weekend, and told the fictional story of a clash of ego and divinity set in an Isis-worshipping temple located on an island in the Nile, during the the fascinating period of the 19th dynasty, the time of Rameses the Great.
The 18th and 19th dynasties were a time of upheaval for ancient Egypt on many levels. The reign of the ‘Heretic King’ Akhenaten saw Egypt’s religious structure torn apart, as the revolutionary Pharaoh became what Wallis Budge called the ‘world’s first monotheist’; re-fashioning the power of the many Gods with one supreme entity – the visible sun disc, the Aten, for which Akhenaten, alone, was the high priest. Many have pointed to the failure of the ‘herectic’ Pharaoh’s politics, but few have doubted the sincerity of his religious vision. He will, forever, remain an enigma.
Whatever the nobility of his goal, the actions he took were ruthless, and included the shutting down of the annual deity festivals which were the sole point of ritualistic contact between the ordinary people of Egypt and their locally-worshipped gods. In addition, Akhenaten paid little attention to the domestic and military affairs of Egypt, allowing the country’s enemies to encroach on its borders, greatly weakening Egypt’s power at that critical time for the region.
After Akhenaten’s brief reign, culminating in the Pharaoh’s mysterious death, shadowy military forces took control of Egypt, instigating the 19th dynasty in the persons of Rameses I and, soon thereafter, Seti I, whose throne name derives from the god Set – often considered the ‘evil one’ because of his slaying of his brother, Osiris.
Seti I is judged by modern historians as having been one of the greatest-ever pharaohs, yet his importance in the 19th dynasty was eclipsed by the actions of his second son, the brilliant Rameses II, whose long reign of over sixty years included much self-promotion and the alteration of Egypt’s recent history. Both Seti and Rameses II (Rameses the Great) were passionate about the evisceration of the last traces of Akhenaten’s ‘chaos’, as they saw it.
But, although, by the 19th dynasty, the the ‘Son of the Sun’ was long dead and the buildings of his embryonic and doomed city of Tel-al-Armana were reduced to rubble, something of that time remained in the Egyptian consciousness. A new kind of connection between Pharaoh and God had been established, one which elevated mankind, if only in the being of the Pharaoh, to be someone who ‘talked with God’. It was, at the very least, a bold experiment and, though the world would have to wait until the 19th century to re-discover the ‘erased’ pharaoh, the philosophical waves of that period rippled out and dramatically affected the way the incoming 19th dynasty had to repair the worship of the Gods, uniting the people of Egypt under a trinity of Amun-Ra, Khonsu and Mut.
Our fictional story is a tale of politics, friendships, mind and faith. It is set against an historically accurate background, and at a time when Rameses was due to take the throne from the dying Seti .
Returning to Thebes in his swift warship, crewed by his fearsome Talatat mind-warriors, Rameses decides to mount a surprise night-time raid on the island-based Isis temple which has prospered under the sponsoring reign of his father. Rameses suspects that the inner teachings conducted by the revered High Priestess and Priest conceal views that relate to the thoughts of the heretic Pharaoh, Akhenaten. He plans to insert himself and his warriors of the mind into the islands’s Spring rites as the high priest and priestess begin a cycle of initiation for a chosen apprentice priest who has proved himself worthy of special advancement.
The resulting clash draws everyone, including the young Pharaoh-in-Rising, into a spiralling situation where each is forced to confront their own fears as well as living out the roles which life has allocated them. River of the Sun is the story of a spiritual and political encounter from which none emerge unchanged, including the man who will shortly be Pharaoh, the mighty Rameses II, whose secret name for himself is ‘the unchosen’.
Through the eyes and minds of those surrounding the chosen priest and the ‘unchosen’ Pharaoh, the River of the Sun takes us on a tense and compelling journey to the heart of power and its eternal struggle with truth.
The chapters of the book will be serialised in this blog. The finished work is planned to be available in paperback and Kindle in the Spring of 2016.
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River of the Sun, serialised here, and its associated images, is the intellectual property of Stephen Tanham and is ©Copyright material.
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+ Greek Myths, Hercules, Higher Mind, Journey of the hero, Labours of Hercules, Mystery Schools, myths and spirituality, Silent Eye School, Uncategorized
Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee, part 48 – A Balance of Power
by Steve Tanham
Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee, part 48 – A Balance of Power
.Alexandra.
“Another confusing one to make sense of – yes, I know!” said John, looking at my slight scowl, as I sat down to the freshly brought coffees. “But, as we’ve seen, re-telling the story can help to prompt the right questions…”
I had no idea where the sudden angst had come from. He never put me under any pressure; just made suggestions that, usually, opened a door in my own thoughts. Why was this one different? I sipped some of my coffee and traced the feeling of unease… And then it was there, and easy to define…
“Killing people – Heracles is always killing people!” I said, with some vehemence. “I know he’s not a real human, but, honestly, if he was he’d be locked up as a psychopath by now!”
“Yes, ancient wisdom tales tend to be violent… but are the victims really people?” John asked, smiling. “And emotion is good, by the way–it releases energy for our use, hopefully not for violent purposes!”
He drank some more coffee, blowing over the surface to cool it, and appearing to smile, ruefully, at the memory of last week’s burnt skin. “So who dies?” he asked.
I took a slow breath, letting the unwarranted anger subside; then began, “Heracles’ task is to capture the Erymanthian Boar, which has savaged an unnamed part of the country.” I thought for a moment, because the re-telling had triggered another link. “In some myths, the boar – one down from the lion in the hierarchy of admired ‘beasts’, attacks vineyards, a pristine image of cultivation.”
John nodded, “And is that it – that’s all he has to do?”
“Not quite,” I said. “Confusingly, he is also told to ensure he takes the time to ‘eat’ as well, suggesting that this task is going to be a breeze.”
“And is he armed?” asked John.
“That’s a good point,” I replied. ” No less a person than Apollo gives him a new bow, but, in some versions, he leaves it behind because he feels it will increase the chances of him killing, again – a mistake he’s determined not to repeat…” I snorted “… as though that made a difference once the wine got into his head and he starts swinging that deadly club of his!”
“Another use of a blunt instrument, then?” John said, smiling at me before continuing with, “Wine? Who did he drink wine with?”
“With Pholos, a centaur – half man and half horse,” I replied. “But the wine was neither his nor Hercules’ to drink.”
John widened his eyes, “Whose wine was it, then?”
“It belonged to all the centaurs–a gift of the Gods– and only to be drunk when they were gathered together.”
“So why did Pholos allow it to be drunk?”
“Because Hercules was half mad with the smell of it, and Pholos didn’t want to be inhospitable with the famous warrior… perhaps?.” I replied, trying to think on my feet. “And Chiron, another famous and wise centaur joined them in the party, after pointing out that they were acting against the rules!”
“But, Heracles was there to catch the wild boar, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” I answered, “And after the brawl wherein he murdered the two friendly centaurs, who were only drinking with him, he did so, by setting a trap high on the mountain near the snow line – and proceeded to show off by walking the boar down to the town by holding its hind feet and making it descend on its front limbs…”
“Hmm,” said John.
“Oh come on, uncle John, do one of your summaries for me… throw me a few clues!”
“Wily niece…” he said, narrowing his eyes and draining his coffee. “Still…. think Libra, the month of this Labour, and also think of the related symbol of the blindfold woman set tall and apart, holding the scales. Why is she blindfold? Is it just that ‘justice is blind? Think of the two centaurs he killed under the influence of the wine, who were they? Did either of them have a prior relationship to Heracles? Think about the way Heracles captured the boar – was it his usual club led style? Also, remember that Libra is the seventh month of the zodiac.. what changes in the movement from six to seven?”
He looked at the empty cup of coffee and, clearly considering another, sighed.
“No… got to go,” he said, getting up and kissing me on the top of the head as he had since I was a child. “Most of all, remember that I don’t have all the answers… there may not be definitive answers to the myths, as their creators are long gone… but their other-worldly skill is written in the tales. Always remember that, they were meant to do something to the opening mind…”
He was just opening the door when he called back, “And did he eat?” I turned to look at him, then laughed. “No, actually, he didn’t. He got drunk, instead…”
I mused on that and watched him leave. I knew I’d miss the old curmudgeon during the coming week.
(Image – composite by author. Underlying image of Hercules the child, from Wikipedia, public domain licence)
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Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee is usually published on Thursdays.
©Copyright, The Silent Eye School of Consciousness, 2016.
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The Silver Fox banished the night-dark wings of Crow and called forth flame from the night. Holding aloft the staff one final time, the fire leaped magically to light the banner…
The crowd came closer, seeking the light and warmth of the braziers, called by the music…and strangely garbed… And behind them, the victorious Giant… the Green Man…
As the flames grew, we saw that another of his kind held the banner…and in the shadows the Foxes prowled, waiting their chance to regain their place…
…for here, the snow-faced dogs of winter still held sway. But not for long… the drums and pipes called to the Foxes…
…and the battle was joined, red and white, as the flames leaped and the rain fell… But the Green Man looked on… his was the victory this night.
The drums marked their footsteps and every blow and feint… a deep heartbeat, the cadence…
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It was still full dark when I left…it will be a while before dawn and I coincide again on the drive back from the north. I miss those intimate moments when the first rays of the sun creep over a horizon strewn with ancient stone… and no-one else is in sight. This morning, there was just the blackness and the vague, sulphurous haze on the edge of vision that marks the towns and villages, glimpsed as you pass over the wide, empty moorlands.
On the roads I travel, there is no other light until I pass through the sleeping habitations of man…only that which I bring with me. As I left the hilltops, the trees and hedgerows shelter the road and I was struck by the difference made by the headlights of the car.With the lights on full beam I can see a fair distance ahead, but the blackness beyond…
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River of the Sun, chapter 14 – The Flood
Rameses, second of that name and the one in rising to the throne of Egypt, looked through the widening gap of broken, bronze doorway and fixed his eyes on the woman frozen in shock in the East of the temple.
As the shrieking of torn metal desisted, he held out his warrior’s arms to push the smashed halves of the portal apart. Through the widening gap the regent could see that the eyes of Neferaset had located his face, and was staring in disbelief out of her desecrated world.
He had faced many enemies in close combat, and knew how to read the faces of those who were opposite his blade. The same look of despair greeted him now.
There was shock in the dark eyes on the other side of the wrecked temple space, but there was no terror. Well then, he thought, here’s one who can think in the space between the heartbeats…
He stepped into the temple, flanked behind by Menascare, his former mentor, and Obion, the commander of the Talatat guard. As their leaders entered, those Talatat warriors already secreted in the temple full of priests stepped forward and drew their swords, pointing them at the respective Vessels in the inner ring of figures.
“Who would dare enter a temple of the mysteries when the lights of initiation blaze across the great river?”
It was the voice of Anzety, the foolish brother of the high priestess. Slower than his sister, he had reacted before examining what was already in his eyes, but still unravelled to thought. Rameses drew his sword and was about to step forward to kill the high priest, when Menascare, in a most unexpected action, ran from behind Rameses’ right shoulder to bring the flat of his own sword down on the back of the neck of the offending man.
The high priest slumped to the floor, unconscious. Rameses looked to the East, expecting womanly outrage. Instead, the high priestess had come forward and was kneeling to the East of the altar, her hands pressed flat to the floor, as was her bowed head.
“King of the Coming Sun,” she entreated the regal invader, in a voice more steady than it should have been. “may he live, prosper and be healthy; Rameses, Justice of Ra, Chosen of Ra, this temple begs your forgiveness that we did not know of your arrival!”
Rameses looked at the prostrate figure and laughed.
“Well done, High Priestess! Our actions would have thrown many a warrior from his chariot, let alone a mere priestess.” He smiled, cruelly before adding, “But it is we who disturb your temple…” He watched and admired as she composed herself to reply, desolate amidst the ruins of her dreams.
When it came, her voice was small but steady. Her head still faced the floor, not daring to look up at her royal oppressor, “The elect of the Gods could not disturb, Chosen One! How may we serve you?”
What an astonishing woman, he thought! I must make this last…
Rameses walked around the outer wheel of the temple in the path of Ra. He was no stranger to the design of such spaces, but preferred the halls of justice or the battlefield. Religion held little attraction for him. Yet even he was struck by the beauty of this temple. As he walked, hand on his sword, he looked around at the figures–vessels and visitors alike, who lined his path, each one frozen in the calm and deadly sweep of his vision, all kneeling, heads bowed, before him. Only his Talatat remained standing, conditioned to his rules of engagement. Tired of examining the ruins of ritual, he came to stand before the high priestess. “Rise to your knees,” he commanded.
She did so, pristine and mute, silently waiting his wish…. but strangely unafraid, he thought, smiling. What a prize!
“News travels as quickly as the Great Boat of Ra, High Priestess. I hear, daily, of the wonderful sense of life here; of its insight and things seen, ‘as new as the dawn of Ra in the East’, from those who visit this place. Should I not, then, care to visit it myself?”
He knelt to face her, in a display of savage possession, bringing his face to within inches of hers.
“Is the King-in-Rising to be denied the last moments of his years of wandering freedom, before the golden chains of kingship weigh him down, forever?” He wasn’t expecting an answer…
The man’s voice came from behind him. He turned, angered that his toying with the high priestess had been interrupted, to see a dazed high priest rising to his knees, struggling to speak, “Chosen of Ra,” he coughed. “You find us unprepared for the glory of your visit, though not your divine presence. Give us a little time to arrange this sacred space, that it may be fitting for your arrival among us!”
“You will know when I want to speak with you, priest!” cursed Rameses. “Keep your precious silence or I will have Menascare wield the blade as it was meant to be used…”
Before him, a more attractive voice pulled him away from the directed anger. Neferaset had closed her eyes but was still speaking. He recognised how well brother and sister were defending each other – despite the force lined against them.
“Chosen one, that is my–”
“–Your brother, yes, I know…”
He watched as she straightened her spine and adjusted her breathing, opening her eyes after the third in-breath.
“You come with a challenge then, Chosen of Ra…” Neferaset said. “…or we would already be dripping red beneath the blades of those who broke down our temple doors?”
Rameses smiled at her guile and twisted his head like a snake – something Menascare had taught him as a boy, a clever action that seemed to break the flow of events – introducing a form of chaos into an exchange…”They said I would not be disappointed with you, priestess,” he said. “When those of my Kingdom simper and slide on the ground like meek serpents, how refreshing it is to find someone – and a woman, too – who knows how to stand and look into the eyes of Pharaoh!”
In reply Neferaset looked deep into those royal eyes, and inclined her upper body towards him, mirroring his snake motion. “Like this, Chosen of Ra?”
Rameses laughed with admiration, “Exactly so, Priestess,” smiled the Pharoah-in-Rising. “My spies tell me that you run a wondrous and sacred island here, in the middle of the Great River.” he raised a hand to trace his forefinger across her brow, stopping in the middle of her forehead. “Although your temple is small in years, its fame has spread far.”
The finger began its motion, again, and completed its track across the space over her eyes. “My special guard–the Talatat around you here…” he waved his arm to indicate the warriors who had moved one step nearer the temple’s centre. “…are specially trained, though we can come to the details of that in the morning. I think you will enjoy the nature of their specialities – I’m told you have a fondness for the old ways, like my beloved but often misguided father?”
At the mention of Seti, the priestess pulled herself straighter, in what he took to be a gesture of respect. Very revealing, he thought…
She chose her words, carefully, “Your father, Great Seti, He of the God Set, Beloved of Ptah, always approved of our ways, Majesty!” she straightened out her arms to indicate the sweep of the temple. “He granted us the charter to found the temple of the Divine Feminine on this place when it was just a rock..”
Rameses nodded. His eyes hid a rage inside. When he spoke it was in a low voice. “My father is dying, Priestess – you know that. That is why this will be my last such journey for some time. I mean to take advantage of it!”
Still in her kneeling position, the priestess bowed, saying nothing. Again, she surprises me, thought Rameses. Then he yawned, deliberately, indicating that he was becoming bored with his welcome.
“I am tired, High Priestess. And these,” his hands mirrored Neferaset’s sweeping movements. “the elite of my guard, must be exhausted. You will find us food, drink and your best rooms, I hope?”
Neferaset didn’t even blink. “You will have our own dwellings, Majesty. We will sleep in the company of the Vessels.”
Rameses nodded, glad that his violence had achieved its first goal. “Good. So, let us abandon our games and retire.” He rose to his feet and only then noticed that a boy priest was kneeling, oddly, to one side of the central part of the temple. He drew the priestess’ eyes over to the figure. “Why is that boy kneeling that way and not facing me?”
Not waiting his approval, Neferaset rose and went to stand, protectively, by Amkhren.
“Majesty, your arrival interrupted his initiation as a new priest of this temple.”
“And why does he not face me, now?” asked the regent, in flat tones.
“He is under my command, Majesty – as part of his initiation. He will fail if he answers to anyone’s voice but mine.”
Rameses smiled and walked the short distance to study the apprentice priest.
“I like that – and I cannot fault his courage! I have seen such rituals before…” With that, he picked up the flail and brought it down, harshly, on Amkhren’s back. The young man remained still and endured in silence.
Rameses barked a command, “Obion – to me!” The head of the Talatat elite guard marched from where he had been standing to join Rameses.
“Majesty?”
Rameses addressed Obion, but continued to look down at the priest. “Pick up that sword. Hold it over his neck, ready to strike.”
Obion took up an executioner’s stance and brought the heavy Khopesh down to touch the skin of Amkhren’s neck. The boy remained silent, despite his obvious terror.
Rameses spoke, softly, as though sharing a jug of beer with his military chief, “Obion, what is the penalty for one who puts high priestess above the King-in-Rising?”
Obion’s response was immediate, “Death by the sword, Majesty!”
“Then do it!” said Rameses.
This time, it was the voice of Menascare which cut through the temple’s hushed silence. “Chosen of Ra–” the older man was walking anticlockwise around the outer circle to come and stand near to them. “–if we are to examine this temple and the minds of its priests, then we could find no better means of so doing than to watch how it conducts this initiation… to which they will be committed and not able to make changes.”
Rameses spun and snarled at his old mentor, speaking for the benefit of Obion, “He’s right of course. Though only he could engineer a situation where his own life would not be made shorter by saying it…”
Rameses turned to look around his beloved Talatat guards, all watching in silence. “Very well, Menascare! But let us introduce you…” Rameses swept his gold-laden arm around the full temple, taking in priests and soldiers, alike. “Brothers and Sisters of the Black Land, meet Lord Menascare, friend of King Seti and my former mentor….Oh and did I say? No? – Also creator of the Talatat, my very talented guardians…whom he now detests…”
Leaving this revelation to settle, Rameses put his hand on Amkhren’s head in a mock-fatherly way.
“Your neck is spared, young Priest… for now,” Rameses’ smile was sadistic. “though, since your obedience to the High Priestess has wedded you to this position, you can stay here, for the rest of the night… Lord Menascare can guard you, personally…”
Menascare bowed to Rameses, taking the sword from Obion, who returned to the West of the temple.
Neferaset’s voice finally faltered, “Must we torture him in this way? He is young and has done only that which was commanded – do you not endorse such behaviour to those above him?”
Rameses enjoyed the moment. Savouring the breach in her perfection. So she cared about the boy!
“Torture!” he said, darkly. “You know nothing of torture… come, high priestess, escort us to your rooms and I will take wine with you and tell you how I intend to torture the Hittite spies who were foolish enough to venture into our borders at the last full moon!”
Rameses took Neferaset’s arm. He noticed that the touch made her shudder. That will do for the beginning, he thought.
“I promise you, priestess,” said the King-in-Rising; loud enough for all to hear. “that we will not sleep until the sun rises, again…”
Ignoring what he knew was temple protocol, he propelled the high priestess down the centre line of the broken temple space. Through the hushed and shocked silence, he could hear someone sobbing. He turned to see an old woman trying to suppress her sorrow.
“Why is that woman crying?” he asked.
“She is the boy’s grandmother, Chosen of Ra,” said Neferaset.
“Grandmother! By the Gods, you have assembled quite a circus, here, Priestess! Your wine better be good!
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Index to previous chapters:
Chapter One – Gifts From the River
Chapter Two – An Agony of Sunset
Chapter Three – The Dark Waters
Chapter Four – Touching the Sky
Chapter Five – The Fire Within
Chapter Seven – The Crystal Air
Chapter Eight – The Unchosen Darkness
Chapter Nine – The Priestess Calls
Chapter Ten – Darkness at the Door
Chapter Twelve – Above and Below
Chapter Thirteen – The Binding Voices
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Introduction to River of the Sun
In April 2015 a group of people gathered in the Derbyshire hills to enact the Silent Eye’s annual Mystery Play, entitled, The River of the Sun. The five-act mystical drama formed the backbone of that Spring weekend, and told the fictional story of a clash of ego and divinity set in an Isis-worshipping temple located on an island in the Nile, during the the fascinating period of the 19th dynasty, the time of Rameses the Great.
The 18th and 19th dynasties were a time of upheaval for ancient Egypt on many levels. The reign of the ‘Heretic King’ Akhenaten saw Egypt’s religious structure torn apart, as the revolutionary Pharaoh became what Wallis Budge called the ‘world’s first monotheist’; re-fashioning the power of the many Gods with one supreme entity – the visible sun disc, the Aten, for which Akhenaten, alone, was the high priest. Many have pointed to the failure of the ‘herectic’ Pharaoh’s politics, but few have doubted the sincerity of his religious vision. He will, forever, remain an enigma.
Whatever the nobility of his goal, the actions he took were ruthless, and included the shutting down of the annual deity festivals which were the sole point of ritualistic contact between the ordinary people of Egypt and their locally-worshipped gods. In addition, Akhenaten paid little attention to the domestic and military affairs of Egypt, allowing the country’s enemies to encroach on its borders, greatly weakening Egypt’s power at that critical time for the region.
After Akhenaten’s brief reign, culminating in the Pharaoh’s mysterious death, shadowy military forces took control of Egypt, instigating the 19th dynasty in the persons of Rameses I and, soon thereafter, Seti I, whose throne name derives from the god Set – often considered the ‘evil one’ because of his slaying of his brother, Osiris.
Seti I is judged by modern historians as having been one of the greatest-ever pharaohs, yet his importance in the 19th dynasty was eclipsed by the actions of his second son, the brilliant Rameses II, whose long reign of over sixty years included much self-promotion and the alteration of Egypt’s recent history. Both Seti and Rameses II (Rameses the Great) were passionate about the evisceration of the last traces of Akhenaten’s ‘chaos’, as they saw it.
But, although, by the 19th dynasty, the the ‘Son of the Sun’ was long dead and the buildings of his embryonic and doomed city of Tel-al-Armana were reduced to rubble, something of that time remained in the Egyptian consciousness. A new kind of connection between Pharaoh and God had been established, one which elevated mankind, if only in the being of the Pharaoh, to be someone who ‘talked with God’. It was, at the very least, a bold experiment and, though the world would have to wait until the 19th century to re-discover the ‘erased’ pharaoh, the philosophical waves of that period rippled out and dramatically affected the way the incoming 19th dynasty had to repair the worship of the Gods, uniting the people of Egypt under a trinity of Amun-Ra, Khonsu and Mut.
Our fictional story is a tale of politics, friendships, mind and faith. It is set against an historically accurate background, and at a time when Rameses was due to take the throne from the dying Seti .
Returning to Thebes in his swift warship, crewed by his fearsome Talatat mind-warriors, Rameses decides to mount a surprise night-time raid on the island-based Isis temple which has prospered under the sponsoring reign of his father. Rameses suspects that the inner teachings conducted by the revered High Priestess and Priest conceal views that relate to the thoughts of the heretic Pharaoh, Akhenaten. He plans to insert himself and his warriors of the mind into the islands’s Spring rites as the high priest and priestess begin a cycle of initiation for a chosen apprentice priest who has proved himself worthy of special advancement.
The resulting clash draws everyone, including the young Pharaoh-in-Rising, into a spiralling situation where each is forced to confront their own fears as well as living out the roles which life has allocated them. River of the Sun is the story of a spiritual and political encounter from which none emerge unchanged, including the man who will shortly be Pharaoh, the mighty Rameses II, whose secret name for himself is ‘the unchosen’.
Through the eyes and minds of those surrounding the chosen priest and the ‘unchosen’ Pharaoh, the River of the Sun takes us on a tense and compelling journey to the heart of power and its eternal struggle with truth.
The chapters of the book will be serialised in this blog. The finished work is planned to be available in paperback and Kindle in the Spring of 2016.
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River of the Sun, serialised here, and its associated images, is the intellectual property of Stephen Tanham and is ©Copyright material.
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Ben’s Bit, part eleven – Aspects of Power
by Steve Tanham
Ben’s Bit, part eleven – Aspects of Power
“Ben, I’ve got some good news and some bad news…” The Governor of Bakewell Gaol is enjoying himself, but there’s a deadly edge to the calm exterior manner.
We are sitting in the ‘interview room’. We being the redoubtable Dr Grey, looking smug; his sexy assistant, Miss Goodnight of the Heels – nee Golding, who is not looking at all happy; a man in his forties with prematurely white hair whose name I’ve yet to discover… and the boss of the meeting, the hitherto absent Governor, whom I’ve just met.
But there’s something wrong with the Governor… He’s very tall, at least as big as Yellow Eyes, who often misses these ‘operational’ meetings. He’s built like a soldier… or possibly a mercenary, were I to refine my description. He has massive shoulders, and eyes that look like they’ve been plucked from a golden eagle… and he wears one of the most expensive pinstripe suits I’ve ever seen. He is, as Wen would have said, terribly corporate… and I find that strange for the Governor of a small gaol in the depths of darkest Derbyshire.
As though urging my mental appraisal to get a move on, the Governor continues, “Did you get that, Ben?” he smiles to clear the air. “Good news and bad news?” Then he makes a small barking noise, which I take to be a triumphant laugh…
“I’m all yours,” I say pleasantly, trying a new tack of playing the obvious idiot. I try to copy his smile exactly, but I don’t have enough teeth, and make a lopsided mess of it.
He studies my action, minutely… and files it away for future reference. “Good!” he brings his hands together and rubs the palms as though we’re going to make a fire. “So, in the interests of levity – which I don’t suppose you’ve had much of in here,” his wide grin is almost infectious… almost. “which…” he stretches the word till it’s as ridiculous as the kind of limo I can see him riding in. “… would you like first?”
I can’t believe it’s a question. “I can’t believe that’s a question,” I say neutrally, as though we were discussing Derby County’s football results. Dr Grey looks delighted that I am trying my old tricks on someone he clearly expects to squash me. Miss Goodnight, however, pitches slightly forward in mirth and pretends to cough. Dr Grey misses it, but the Governor doesn’t–and the look he gives her has a long steel blade in it. For a second she holds his glare – and goes right into my mile-high bucket list. Then she drops her gaze, but not before running it over my left thigh in a gesture that no-one but me clocks. Oh my, I think, Oh my….
One thing that twenty-odd years of running a company taught me was that you’ve got to keep them guessing, never play the same persona too much, switch it around, mess it up… a lot.
“But enough sparring,” I say, looking back into the eyes atop the pinstripe from the sombre power base of my grey prison overall. “Let’s have the good news, ” I say, cheerfully. “Then we can close off with the bad, and a commiserating latté… what do you think?”
I lean forward – something that nearly got me killed with Yellow Eyes – and gaze at him, as though I want to have dinner with him and his gorgeous suit.
His gaze never falters… he looks back at me as though he wishes we were alone together… and not in a good way… and the tiny tick I’ve just noticed on the right side of his tight lips tells me that he will make every effort to ensure that happens, one day soon…
The left thumb traces the perfect crease of the collar line on the mohair-rich suit. “Okay, Ben,” he says, in a voice suddenly turned very soft – it’s obvious he can do it, too – “Let’s do the good news…” the teeth have fixed themselves into a snarl. “We’ve caught up with your accomplices!”
It’s a shock.
For several seconds I picture poor Don and Wen, hunted and cornered by the dark forces at the command of the pinstriped army of the Knights of Severity, of which the Governor is just an adjunct… but then I focus on what he has just said: We’ve caught up with your accomplices! There’s something wrong with that sentence; in fact there are two things wrong with it. I hold up the first two fingers of my right hand and present the palm as though making a secret sign to him – he seems temporarily shocked at the gesture, and I file it away, pulling back the hand and peering at it to make a visual joke of its apparent potency.
“Two things…” I say, pleasantly. “Who’s ‘we’? And secondly,” I let my aggressive and secretive fingers march forward again. Opposite me the snarl returns. “‘caught up with’ is different to ‘caught’…” I continue. “and, anyway, how can you catch what doesn’t exist?” I realise how close I’ve been to the edge, and how cleverly he built the tension so that I would miss it…
But he wasn’t expecting the rebuff of logic, and seems happy to pass over my preposterous posturing of being alone at the scene of the crime and moving an ancient stone in an action impossible for a single person, even with tools.
“Ah, Ben,” he smiles. “What’s the point playing games, anymore.” I can tell he’s sliding the ace down the inside sleeve of his pale, blue shirt. “Surely Don and Wen would understand that you’ve been through enough?”
It’s a hammer blow–that their names are known, but I cling to my remaining handhold – that ‘we’ was a strange construct under these circumstances. Its demolition doesn’t take long.
“And as to your first point,” he says, looking very smug. The Chief Constable is a close friend,” he leans back in a chair, a chair I’ve suddenly noticed is both leather and new. “In fact, we play golf together…. so there’s your ‘we’.”
“And the bad news?” I manage, weakly.
“Ah the bad news,” he says, looking like he’s about to light a cigar. “Poor Graham Rumins–your former guard, here, I believe you called him Yellow Eyes–most amusing… has suffered a seizure and we’ve had to retire him.” He looked at me as though I have achieved a minor victory, but one which can easily be sacrificed in the greater game. “He won’t be back. I’m afraid; instead–”
The quiet man with the premature grey hair interrupts, “–Roger Sylvester,” he actually gets up to come over and shake my hand. “I don’t know the full facts of how you got here, Ben, but I’ll do my best to ensure your inappropriate stay is as comfortable as I can make it…”
The pale blue eyes that have lived through much are steady. They are full of integrity. I was not expecting this intrusion of reality into this madhouse of elsewhere power-politics, apparently centred on me. “Thank you,” I say sincerely to the new face. In reply, he simply nods, and looks across at the Governor in a very strange way…
“That will be all, Ben… for now,” says the Governor. “Don’t leave the country, will you…” he chortles, then barks, again, at his own joke. “We still have the firearms charge to pursue, not to mention the detailed analysis Dr Grey and his assistant want to carry out on your state of mental health… apparently, there are rumours that your ‘unconventional’ actions contributed to the collapse of your former guard?”
Roger Sylvester, my new gaoler, takes me back to Cell One. He opens the old door and ushers me in. He’s about to close it behind me but stops, leaving it half open. “Don’t suppose you fancy a cup of tea?” he asks. Mute with shock, I nod and he walks off down the corridor to get it himself, leaving the door still open.
When he returns, a few minutes later, he has two mugs of steaming tea and an old fashioned game of solitaire, wrapped in a clear plastic bag, which he lays on the bed. “Marco left this for you,” he says. “So don’t invent a way of breaking out centred on an ingenious use of white marbles…please…” Then, noting my smile, he looks at the wooden board and its old muslin bag of pieces.
“Used to be in the navy,” his face creases with what looks like an ironic smile. “Good game for passing the time – can teach you all sorts of things…”
With that he leaves with his tea. But I don’t hear the door lock.
<See index below for other parts of this story>
———————————————————–< to be continued-
Ben’s Bit is a continuing first-person narrative of the character created by Stuart France and Sue Vincent, which may bear some relation to the author of this story, Steve Tanham, their fellow director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness. In their book, Scions of Albion, Ben is arrested for his overly enthusiastic part in a mad escapade, and the other two are nowhere to be seen . . . For more, enjoy their Doomsday series of books, and the new series (Lands of Exile) whose first volume, But ‘n’ Ben is now available in Kindle and Paperback. Click here for details.
Index to Ben’s Bits:
Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten,
Sue Vincent describes her and Stuart’s perspective on Ben’s imprisonment: Part One, Part Two
The Doomsday Series of books by Stuart France and Sue Vincent
The Silent Eye School of Consciousness – a modern mystery school.
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+ Greek Myths, Heracles, Hercules, Higher Mind, Journey of the hero, Labours of Hercules, Mystery Schools, myths and spirituality, Silent Eye School, Uncategorized
Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee, part 47 – Mother and Child
by Steve Tanham
Image source see below
Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee, part 47 – Mother and Child
.Alexandra.
“I’m not sure, but I think it centres around the child,” I said, as Rose brought our coffees.
John looked thoughtful–so thoughtful he sipped his coffee prematurely and burned his top lip.
“Ouch!” he grumbled, obviously hurt. “Sod it…” He bent to put the overly-full coffee cup down, but it slipped in his fingers at the last minute and some spilled onto the table. He looked, speechless, at the result. “Made a hash of that, then,” he muttered, mopping up the spillage with his napkin.
I stared at him and laughed. He was normally so controlled. “Unlike you, that!” I said.
“Go on,” he said, ignoring me, He licked his burnt lip and frowned. “I agree; the child is very significant… and Heracles, is he significant?”
I considered the question; how could the central character not be significant? “Well, he just makes a mess of the whole encounter with Hippolyta, doesn’t he?”
“Yes he does,” said John. “But, technically, he achieves his goal?”
“He does, but…” I responded, leaning forwards. “…and this seems to be at the heart of it–he treats it like a military mission and completely misses the most subtle parts of it, even though the Queen of the Amazons had already decided to help him, and all he had to do was accept the gift that was waiting–a gift he really needed!”
John nodded and blew on the top of his diminished coffee, taking no chances this time. “And he realises that he’s done it all wrong and that the doing of it was just as important as achieving the goal; he knows that he shut out so many benign possibilities in the way he acted…”
“But he redeems himself by saving Hesione and, eventually passes on to the next labour?” I asked.
“He does,” said John. “but with a heavy heart, as he had once before, remember?”
The image of the wild mares came back to me – the sad death of Abderis through Heracles’ neglect of his younger friend’s plight. “Are they connected?”
John looked at me over the surface of his, now shallower, steaming drink. “Very much so, I would say…”
“As though he is beginning a new stage of his spiritual training!” The image had flashed into my mind, un-thought, from somewhere deeper. The feeling startled me… and then I chuckled, with what felt like a tiny stream of joy. I blurted out, “Mission! It’s all wrong era-wise, but the word I used is the key–he’s completed his basic training as a disciple and now has to move on to something more fundamental, something deeper, something that really changes lives.”
“Like a fresh cup of coffee?” said John, his eyes twinkling with delight at my breakthrough and smiling at Rose when she offered. In times gone by I would have found the trivialising gesture irritating, but now I could see that it contained a lot of love, that he was using it to carry me to the next waypoint in my revelations.
“So, where does Heracles ‘go’ next?” he asked, then added, conspiratorially, “You’ve already said it…” He rolled his hands, urging me to keep up the momentum.
“The Child…” I whispered it, not sure of its full implications, but knowing it was right.
“The Child, yes,” repeated John. “And how do you make a child?”
“Well, apart from the first bit,” I smiled at my absurd reduction. “you have to be a woman!” The words were out before I realised their significance. “The Amazons–” I said. “They were all women, of course, specifically emphasised in the story; and their Queen could make the Child because she had the girdle; which bestowed love and triumph through adversity.”
John was grinning at me with something like glee in his eyes. Rose had placed the tin tray with our fresh coffees on the small table and was also smiling.
“Weren’t they warriors, too?” John asked. “Hence Ares – Mars?”
I was getting excited with the chase. “So, these warrior women are special in that they can undertake, through their Queen with her girdle of Venus, the generation of a special Child?”
“Yes,” said John. “But only the Queen comes out to meet him, by the side of that Great Sea. Not understanding, he kills her in the struggle for the magical girdle which was to be bestowed on him, anyway…”
“So what does he do now?” I asked, quietly, breathing over the new, hot coffee.
“Ah,” said John, doing the same. “It depends on who’s got the girdle doesn’t it?”
(Image – Joan of Arc Triptych, Nicholas Roerich, click here for origin)
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Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee is usually published on Thursdays.
©Copyright, The Silent Eye School of Consciousness, 2016.
Sun in Gemini 
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