Elephants in Livingstone, Zambia

Almost a year ago to the day, I flew up on business to Lusaka, the capital of Zambia, and took a slight detour down to Livingstone on the banks of the beautiful Victoria Falls. 

I am a proud African citizen.  I was born and brought up in South Africa and am blessed and privileged to have lived in Ndola on the Copperbelt in Zambia for five years.  I am just as blessed and privileged to have this magnificence right on my doorstep, to visit whenever I please.

Join me, if you will, and I hope that, through me, you can vicariously experience one moment in time which will stay with me always.

A colleague met me at the little, very rural, Livingstone International Airport.  As we were driving to the hotel, he stopped on the side of the road.  I didn't at first understand why but, a crash from in amongst the trees on the side of the road on which we'd stopped, alerted me soon enough.  A herd of elephant was ambling along enjoying the lush vegetation.  We thought, at first, that it was a small herd which had broken way from the herd which lived on the Zimbabwean side of Victoria Falls (Vic Falls to locals).  We were so mistaken, this was no break-away group.  This was a herd of more than 100 strong and was led by a matriarch who was, honestly, one the biggest elephant I've ever seen and I've seen a lot of them.

From the photographs, which were taken with my smartphone, so have none of the normal enhancements one can achieve with a camera, it's easy to be mistaken about how close the elephants actually were. However, if you look at the vegetation and the tufts of grass in the foreground, you can see that, even when the elephants were still at a bit of a distance from us, they were already fairly close.  Here, there is one tiny copse of trees between us and them.

Across the picture in the background from left to right are elephants walking trunk to tail

I don't know how long we watched as the herd moved slowly along.  I could have stayed and watched them for hours.  

A juvenile bull elephant enjoying his afternoon tea

Here's a young bull elephant, ostensibly oblivious to us, enjoying his meal.  He was, however, very aware of our presence but was happily chomping away so wasn't interested in us.  We kept a close eye on him and were ready to reverse out of there the minute he stopped eating.  Juvenile bull elephants are very unpredictable and if he had decided to charge our truck, he was that close (only a few dozen metres) that he could have trampled us in no time.  Also, with the herd all around, if he felt threatened, he could quickly and easily have alerted the rest of the herd and there's a good chance I wouldn't be here to tell the story. That's my arm in the rear view mirror on the bottom right of the photo.

More of the herd, passing by us.  They were really, really close.

Elephants are seldom in a hurry and this herd was definitely out on a leisurely afternoon stroll.  From the photograph it appears as if there is only one single line of elephants.  I don't know how many deep they were walking but I would guess that they were at least four or five deep.  Once again, you can see how very close they were to us.  

The magnificence of it will be etched in my memory forever.  

Elephants milling around, enjoying themselves in the mid-afternoon, African sun

The vegetation was tinder-dry, as you can see.  Here and there are patches of green but for the rest, it was extremely dry and brown.

Zambia has a sub-tropical climate and is extremely hot all year round.  As in the rest of sub-Saharan Africa, we locals speak of having four seasons in a year but we really only have two - summer and winter.  In Zambia even these two seasons aren't clearly defined.  Winters are so hot that the only real difference in the seasons is that it rains in summer.

As an example, in winter, on a 'cold' evening, one would, at most, put on a light cardigan.  Winters are also exceedingly dry and rains only begin towards the middle of November, and perhaps earlier in the month if one is very lucky. To give you an understanding of how hot it is at that time of year before the rains arrive. There are very real health hazards. I don't mean hazards such as the anopheles mosquitoes which the rains bring with them and which carry malaria.  They are also a real danger but what I'm referring to is the heat. October is referred to by locals as 'suicide month' because the heat is so unbearable that people's blood literally heats up so much that it affects their brains.  There are more suicides in October in Zambia than in all the other months combined.

Due to the extreme heat, for a lot of the year, Zambia is dry and when I was up in Livingstone at the end of September last year, the vegetation was a reflection of exactly how dry the winter had been that year. Everything was sparse and brown except for patches of green here and there.   The Zambian countryside is a vision once the first rains fall - and that's a misnomer if there ever was one; the rain doesn't 'fall' in Zambia, it pummels the earth in solid sheets.  As the first rains hit the parched earth, one can almost see the new growths forcing their way through the soil and into the light.  Myriad hues of green appear out of nowhere and are liberally sprinkled with all the colours of the wild flora which spring up almost overnight.  

This photo is the only one I didn't take myself but it does give an idea of the rainfall.  This is typical of a 'shower' of rain  in Zambia.  When I lived in Zambia, we never considered even trying to drive in the rain. The two metre deep culverts which ran alongside all major roads, filled to overflowing in less than half an hour and torrents formed and became raging rivers where the road dipped, even slightly.  That's a lot of water.  Floods are a regular feature during summer and the average rainfall is 200mm per month.

Zambia - first rains of the season

A lot of very big animals - thankfully with their backs to us - up close and personal

We eventually drove away when it became obvious that the matriarch was intent on taking her herd across the road and, besides not wanting to upset her, if we'd stayed where we were, we may have been in danger of being trampled.

That evening, at sundown, we were sipping drinks on the banks of the Zambezi overlooking the Victoria Falls and watching hippo gambolling in the shallows but, that's a story for another time.

This is Africa at its very finest.  

Hurting People

There are hurting people all around us but we don't see them.  

It's not that we don't literally 'see' them, it's that they hide away so well within themselves that no one would ever know that they are broken.  Is this because of shame; shyness; arrogance; pride; self preservation; or of something else completely; and is the cause of it something we should even care about?

I don't think we can ever know how another person feels. 

What we can do is treat our fellow beings with respect and dignity in a manner in which we ourselves would like to be treated.  Perhaps in this way, we, at least, will not be guilty of breaking a person down to the level where they feel that they are worth nothing in life and that life is worth nothing to them. 

If we can just treat people with empathy and respect, we can prevent so many lives from feeling or becoming lost because as different as we all are, we are all God's children and all of us have a purpose and are someone in His eyes.  We don't have to agree with everyone.  That is an impossibility.  There are people with whom I, personally, vehemently disagree but I do try to not treat them in a disparaging manner.  The Bible, that wonderful (still best-selling book after all these years), tells us that even when we are faced with our worst enemy, the way to treat them is with love.  

"But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven; for He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust" (Matthew 5:44-45). 

"Therefore "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him a drink; for in so doing you will heap coals of fire on his head." Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good" (Romans 12:20-21).

God treats all of us equally and adjures us to do the same.  I'm not sure that I have the resolve to do so, yet, if I  could just care a little more; if we could just be more respectful, perhaps so many heartaches like this one could be prevented:

Reflections of a Life Lost

It's been months since I was made redundant from a job I loved.  It's been months of thinking and praying and trying to understand what I did wrong because, clearly, I must have done something terrible as I was the only one affected and the way it ended was the worst experience of my life. 

I've been trying to understand why this has hit me so hard at this point in time.  It doesn't make sense.   Surely, I should have gone through this pain at the time?  Surely by now I should have got over myself?  Surely shock can't possibly last this long?  Surely I can't have been in denial all this time?

I've been trying to understand why I haven't shed one tear until today and why, quite honestly, I can't now stop crying.  This is a very strange phenomenon for me.  I'm made of sterner stuff.  I rarely cry for anything which affects me directly and, until today, I can't remember when last I did.  I do lapse at times when I think of others' hurts and my eyes will leak and overflow a little but not like this; not like this.  It's as if the well of water within me is determined to force its way out until its last drop is spent. 

I've been thinking back over these months and looking at all the initiatives in which I've been dabbling; because, in truth, 'dabbling' is what it has been.  I haven't seriously started to do anything meaningful.  Each time I think about actually getting going on a project, my inner core seems to shut it down.  It's almost as if I'm trying to sabotage myself because my inner self knows that I'm merely fooling myself into thinking I can actually achieve anything worthwhile.  

This is not a good place for me.  It needs to end.  Somewhere deep inside is the strength I need and with God's help, I'll draw it out.

What happened to the person I used to be?  The person I was who honestly never let anything get me down; who stood firm in my resolve and who always did whatever it took to stay on track?  The person who was so incredibly strong?

That person appears to be no more. 

In place of the me who used to be, is this shell of a person; always smiling, it's true but, beneath the smile, there is a void, a chasm of nothingness. 

Is this how it is to be?  Is this what I've become?  Nothing?  

It feels like it. 

9/11 - 2 Millions Bikers to DC

On 11th September 2013, a group of Bikers from across the whole of America rode to Washington DC to show solidarity for those killed on 11th September 2001 (9/11/2001) as well as the four killed last year in Benghazi (9/11/2012).  

The rally was organised in less than a month and, according to DC police, there were in excess of 1.2 million Patriot bikers who rode through DC on Wednesday.  This rally was also in response to a 1 million muslim march which was organised on the same day.  Interestingly, the 1 million muslim affair received permission whilst the bikers did not.  Given that the muslim march was to occur on the anniversary of the 9/11 atrocity, the insensitivity (or by design) of the muslim march must be considered.  Americans will never forget what happened that day or last year and stirring up emotions of this kind are destructive, to say the least.

The media, known as the MSM, or as Sarah Palin calls them, the LSM (lamestream media) in America did not give one second's coverage to the story of more than a million riders converging on the capital at all.  Oh I'm not correct there.  Fox news had a 28 sec clip which stated that thousands of bikers were riding through DC.  I suppose, if one thought about it very hard, 1.2 million could be broken down into thousands.  

Here's another interesting fact.  The road cameras in and around DC were looped to show no traffic at all and some of the loops even had snow covering the ground. There was no snow in DC on Wednesday.  What those who have the power currently will do to shut down voices of dissent.  Sheesh!

I've been keeping a watch on America for quite a while because it is true that, 'as America goes, so goes the world'.  We see this in global economics all the time.  Politically, the past five years have definitely demonstrated a turn from strength to weakness for America, to the extent that Russia's Putin is now playing the American government for all its worth and, clearly, loving every moment of it.  It has even got to the stage that Americans (and a lot of them) are openly saying that they trust what Putin says and not their own government because their president and his administration do nothing but cover up and lie.  That's a serious indictment.  

In light of my concern, I wrote a poem which is particularly apt after Wednesday's show of strength by all the Patriots - all the Bikers and all those who supported them; and particularly in view of how those who are truly weak in their power have done everything they can to negate its impact. 

I share my poem now as my small tribute to the great stance everyone who participated in Wednesday's bike ride have all taken. May God Almighty lay His healing hands on America.

REVOLUTION TALES

Civilisations gladly evolve
To embrace tolerance as a right
Yet tolerance is its own weakness
Unless protected by the strength to fight

This has always been true

Real tolerance can only truly exist
Where it is found manifest
Among equally-minded strengths
Bound in mind and spirit at least

This will always been true

Those weak-willed who envy the strong
Will always exploit where they can
To gain a power they do not have
Using whatever means open to them

Deeming such privilege to be true

Civilisations sadly evolve
To provide the deceitful with a right
Power to corrupt compassion gained
To misuse such ‘weakness’ as they might

This will always be true 

Assert your strength and power
Protect your values from aggression and crime
Regain your right to fight for right
Or too much will be forfeit over time

Be bold or this hell will come true
For you

Getting Better and Getting Back

HAPPY FRIDAY THE 13TH
(such a lucky day)

I thought after my previous post that I would be up and about in no time.  Well not exactly 'no time' but certainly sooner than now.  That was not to be and it's taken an inordinately long time for me to get somewhat back to 'normal' (although I probably shouldn't use that word.  I've never been accused of being 'normal').

I'm so glad that, in the words of the legendary Beatles, 'I'm getting better all the time'.  I still have days when I'm completely 'wiped out' and doing anything; anything at all, even making a cup of tea, is a major chore but those are becoming fewer and fewer and much further in-between.  I hope that by the time I see the doctor on the 5th October, he will be able to tell me that I am perfectly fine and that I will actually feel fine.

In fact, the last stanza of The Beatles' song 'Getting Better' says it all:

GETTING BETTER

It's getting better all the time.
Better, Better, Better
It's getting better all the time.
Better, Better, Better

Getting so much better all the time.

Thyroids are nasty little beasts, I've discovered.  No one can see any problem; there are no outward signs to indicate that something is wrong; and yet, what chaos they cause.  Pffft - no thyroid will keep me down... :)

Here's something else about which I'm ecstatic.  

Although I so wanted my book to be completed months ago, I am now down to the last two chapters to be written before I can say it's done.  Those of you who've read what I've done so far with my book, 'Escape From Mount Vilipend', will understand the enormity of this.  It's the first book in a long epic fantasy series; set in a world unlike any other; with many, many convolutions which all do, indeed, tie up in the end of the book.  

I have been putting out feelers for an agent.  This is quite a difficult task as there are no publishers of the fantasy genre in South Africa so I have to look further afield to Britain or perhaps I should even consider one of the other countries such as Canada, Australia or New Zealand.  I haven't considered America because I write in Queen's English which is quite different in many respects from American English.

I've been looking for a cover artist too and, hopefully, will find 'the one' to give the cover the look and feel I want.

Please keep your fingers crossed for me on both of these very important issues.

Blessings

I have a Thyroid

Here's my first post in absolutely ages - just to let you know what has been happening in my life.  My sabbatical took a sharp turn in the road.  I have not spent the time writing to complete 'Escape from Mount Vilipend' as envisaged; I have been battling with a difficult health problem.  A pain in the neck actually - literally...

It appears that I have a thyroid - together with approximately 7 billion people in the world.  However, my thyroid has been misbehaving.  Who knew what this tiny butterfly-shaped gland could cause so much trouble?  The classic description of someone who suffers from hypothyroidism is that it "usually goes along with a slowdown in metabolism and can include fatigue, weight gain, and depression, among others."

I'd like to unpack this bundle a little further, if I may?

The 'fatigue' is something I fully understand.  My fatigue has been so intense lately that I have been going to sleep absolutely exhausted between 8pm and 10pm; waking up still exhausted at 6am and then having to go back to sleep at about 10am for up to 3 hours not because I feel tired but because my body fully refuses to function any longer.  This is most unusual for me as I have, in the past, been quite comfortable with 6 hours sleep a night and I've never, never had to nap during the day.  I cannot explain how debilitating this is and how a simple word like 'fatigue' certainly doesn't describe even a minute part of the whole.  I am so grateful that I am not working at the moment.  I can't even begin to think of what life would be like if I were.

'Weight gain' is also an interesting phenomenon which many may attribute to incorrect eating or exercise regimens.  What does one do when one is eating all the 'right' foods and doing the recommended exercises and still the weight keeps piling on?  When every avenue seems to have been exhausted?  When the medical practitioner sends one off to a psychiatrist because the 'problem' must surely be in one's head? Because exhaustion coupled with weight gain is, 99% of the time, psychosomatic and is a result of depression.  What does one do when this avenue fails hopelessly and one begins to feel totally out of control?

'Depression' as it is described as sad and weepy is not necessarily the way depression manifests.  Sometimes it shows itself as an absolute lack of emotion of any sort.  It is at this stage that one has lost hope and merely subsists rather than exists.  This is what happened to me.  I felt no joy, no sadness.  I was subject to neither anger nor calm.  I became an empty shell.  It was this more than anything which alerted me to a problem.  I did think that it was a form of depression and that the exhaustion and weight gain were symptoms of the depression.  I didn't for a moment think that the depression was a symptom of a physical condition.

As for the 'among others' - that list seems to be quite endless.

Well, I eventually found a different GP and, on advice from a friend, asked for my thyroid to be checked.  This was about two weeks ago.  The result was staggering.  The standard range for TSH (Thyroid-stimulating hormone) levels is between 0.3 and 3.0.  Mine was a staggering 7.84. 

I am now on treatment and, while it will take a while for my levels to normalise; in a couple of months' time I should be back to my usual 'Energiser-Bunny' self.

If you're feeling particularly tired, have problems with weight gain or are feeling depressed for no discernible reason, have your thyroid levels checked.  It may save you a world of discomfort and worse.

When I checked, I have the following symptoms of hypothyroidism, as detailed by the Merck Manual, the American Association of Clinical Endocrinologists, and the Thyroid Foundation of America:

• I am gaining weight inappropriately
• I'm unable to lose weight with diet/exercise
• I feel fatigued, exhausted
• Feeling run down, sluggish, lethargic 
• I have puffiness and swelling around the eyes and face 
• My skin is extremely
• I have pains, aches in joints, hands and feet 
• I feel depressed 
• I feel restless 
• My moods change easily 
• I have feelings of worthlessness 
• I have difficulty concentrating 
• I have more feelings of sadness 
• I seem to be losing interest in normal daily activities 
• I'm more forgetful lately 
• I can't seem to remember things 
• I have no sex drive 
• I am getting more frequent infections, that last longer 
• I feel shortness of breath and tightness in the chest 
• I feel the need to yawn to get oxygen 
• My eyes feel gritty and dry 
• My eyes feel sensitive to light 
• My eyes get jumpy/tics in eyes, which makes me dizzy/vertigo and have headaches 
• I have strange feelings (and pains) in neck or throat 
• I get recurrent sinus infections 
• I have vertigo 
• I feel some lightheadedness 

I've been on my meds for nearly two weeks now and still have bad days but not every day anymore and these appear to be getting less and less frequent.  I can't wait for the day when I actually fell well because this is like having got over the flu.  I'll know when I'm well and, at that stage, I'll let you know too.  I only hope it's not too long in coming.

Time-out Update

Hello, Everyone

It's been almost a month to the day since I've blogged but, as I intended to do, I have been working away on finalising my book.  It's been mostly 'mind' work as opposed to getting the words on paper, although I have written a further ± 8,000 meaningful words (not much in a month).  I suppose that's to be expected given that creating worlds isn't always the easiest thing in the aspects and universes to do...

I have to thank Alex Nader so much for reading the manuscript so far and for his invaluable inputs.  It's quite difficult to be objective about something to which one has given birth but, Alex's critique was always constructive and, happily for me, he was also very positive about the story even saying that it drew him in.  That's such a joy to hear.

I also had the privilege of reading the manuscript for Alex's second book in his 'Beasts of Burdin' series, Ty Down.  Alex will be able to give you dates of the publishing of both his first and this book.  I haven't read Beasts of Burdin but if it's half as good as Ty Down I can highly recommend it.  Ty Down is a fast-paced, sitting-on-the-edge-of-one's-chair, kind of story with more than enough twists and turns to satisfy most people (certainly me).

Well, that's all I have for now and, as I still have my head squarely in Faeré, I'll see you all again in a while, at which stage I'll have the time to visit all your blogs.

A sabbatical of sorts

Head down and concentrating...

A fellow blogger who, if he wishes, will identify himself, is very kindly reading through 'Escape from Mount Vilipend' and giving me his feedback. This, in turn, has given me the impetus I need to get the story finished. 

What it does mean though, is that I'm going to cut back severely on my blogging time so that I can keep my thoughts focused on epic battles and more in the Realm of Myths and Faeré.

Please bear with me and wish me luck.  I promise that, after I'm done, I'll be back in full force...

A very Proud Mother

I'm so very proud of my sons.

Apart from the usual things which make a mother proud, my boys have teamed up with a couple of other musicians and their band has finally found a name: "Two Steps Left".

Last week they put up a couple of their songs on Reverbnation (you can listen to them by clicking on this link) and, in their genre, Indie, they're already ranked Number 1 in Johannesburg and about 580 internationally.  Their sound is quite different and, although the recordings they've done are only 'garage' recordings, their sound is still very fine indeed.

Ahh, this so does my heart good...

The only picture I have at the moment is of Ross, singing his heart out.  When I have pictures of the others, I'll share them.

Ross, Lead Singer of Two Steps Left

Faith Reflection Day

Life happened yesterday so the continuation of Joseph's story-poem falls to today.  In fact, as I have so much going on in my life at the moment, I'm putting up the entire story.  I'll use my Sundays for other Faith Reflections and other ways to give thanks to The Lord for all that he has done and continues to do in my life.

JOSEPH

The days were short when I was young

And the nights so very long

I suppose every child feels that way

Not wanting to sleep, waiting for day

I knew each evening with my very first yawn

That there was an awfully long wait until dawn

My father, Jacob, had many children indeed

Twelve sons as well as some daughters to feed

We travelled the desert as many did before

With goats and sheep, pots and pans galore

Ever aware and listening out for our God's command

Waiting for Him to reach out His Holy Hand

I knew I was special and as I grew older

My boasts became louder, my actions bolder

My father loved me dearly, set me apart

And I traded on that love from the start

Today I'm not proud of the taunts I threw

And I understand my brothers' point of view

It was the cloak which upset them the most

"How many colours, what style" I'd boast

Then I started on those fateful dreams

They as the stars, bowing to me it seems

I knew it was a vision from The Holy One

And I know now that what was, had to be done

Yet what shock and torment on that fateful trip

When they grabbed my cloak and made me strip

I felt sure then that my dreams were wrong

That I'd misunderstood God's words all along

How could so precious a child; so loved; so good

Be killed for 'pranks' like a common 'hood'?

No thought in my head at the time for prayer

When I felt that knife move clean through my hair

My energy was turned purely to me, my life

Could I stand the pain?  Anguish was rife

Then - the pleasure of a short respite

When the quarrel began - 'Killing's not right!'

My relief was short-lived as I was to see

A goat was caught and tied to a tree

Then it was slaughtered and wrapped in my cloak

The sight and the thought made me cry and choke

My suffering turned then to my father with fear

The pain and hurt would be more than he could bear

My emotions felt like a strip of rawhide

At once being stretched, pulled and plied

The moment things seemed to be under control

Hope would be dashed - a knife splicing my soul

I couldn't understand The Lord's mighty plan

My life appeared to be finished before it began

Their eventual decision was finally made

While I sat in the pit awaiting that fateful blade

A caravan of traders asked for water from the well

Then saw me and asked Reuben for how much I'd sell

The solution struck my brothers with blinding light

I was sold into slavery, went meekly without a fight

The glory and beauty of my first position

Kept me feeling that I liked the boy's last decision

My days as a shepherd came abruptly to a halt

I worked well for Potiphor, even cleaned his vault

Because I had always been very eager, fit and willing

I found the work exciting, stimulating, compelling

I didn't know much then about women and men

Couldn't understand Potiphor's wife's strange yet

She wouldn't leave me alone, asked odd-seeming things

One day she called me to her room to find her rings

As I stooped to search for the rings on the floor

She screamed, tore her clothes, rushed out of the door

I struggled within myself for long time afterwards

To understand the meaning behind her foul words

Even now knowing why I was sent to prison

Even knowing and comprehending the reason

Is hard.  I was so young, so completely innocent

How could Potiphor even think I would be indecent?

With hindsight, that oh-so wonderful ability

To see everything in perspective, so very clearly

I know Potiphor's rage was for his wife

And my sentence imposed to prevent household strife

Yet I cried for days in that dark, dingy cell

Trying to understand and not doing too well

I can say quite honestly, I grew up in the 'clink'

Believe me, it's really much harder than you'd think

But resilience has always been my middle name

Especially when fighting back is much more than a game

God's ways are not man's ways in anything He does

He used me when I was down with nothing more to lose

There were two inmates whom I'd met and befriended

A butler we called Abel, a baker known as Ed

They had both for some reason incurred the King's anger

Were also both aware of their imminent danger

We were all swapping reasons for why we were there

What we had done and what our chances were

Abel revealed his concern about a dream he had had

Shuddering at the worst parts as if he were mad

As he finished his story I knew what would be

He'd be out of gaol in not one day but three

Even though his sire was full of wrath

He'd get no more than a strict telling-off

Before Ed even started, a throbbing pain struck my head

And I closed my eyes momentarily and sat on the bed

His demeanour was arrogant, quite out of character

Probably spurred on by his friend's answered prayer

I wondered at the change until he told his tale

Which started off stormy and ended on a wail

How could I tell him? But I knew I must

What I saw was bleached bones lying in the dust

Of course he scoffed, asked who I thought I was

Dreaming up horrors and making his ears buzz

Could I not have also given some glimmer of hope

Why did I have to upset him?  He started to mope

As you've read in your Bible it is no folklore

The interpretations God gave me were absolutely sure

When the guards came to release him, he gave a shout

Abel promised he'd do what he could to get me out

After a time I thought God didn't love me anymore

As had happened in my life so many times before

When rumours of nightmares, dreamt by the king

Reached my ears, I wanted to shout out and sing

At last I'd be out of this dark dingy hole

What a relief to the spirit, food for my soul

Yet still I waited, waited and waited some more

My enthusiasm died as I stared at the door

How many times do we try to push forward God's aim?

How many times I was  guilty of preempting his plan

And here I was doing my own thing yet again

And blaming Him for my suffering and pain

What an arrogant young upstart I'd become

With more nerve than a Roman and then some

When the call finally came for my interpretation

I was filled with awe and not a little hesitation

But never being one to tremble in my boots

I stood straight and proud though chained hand and foot

As I listened intently to what the king had dreamt

Aware of his advisers' hatred, I yet stood unbent

The seven-year interpretation you all know so well

Showed once again how God had used me in my cell

Because as each new revelation came sprouting forth

God spoke directly of His compassion and wrath

The 'good years' came first which to me was testimony

That however harsh His judgment, He yet showed empathy

I suppose you could call me a 'man for his time'

Certainly one could never envisage my miraculous climb

Still I worked like a trooper - I worked like a dog

Getting all the mills ready - cog upon cog

As new storehouses grew throughout Egypt each year

The common folk scoffed - said 'we've nothing to fear'

Needless to say, God's Word is always true

After the first two years of drought, the panic grew

At first only near neighbours, then those from far away

Poured into Egypt day after day seeking wheat and hay

When Jacob's sons arrived one day to plead for food

I remembered stars and moon bowed down and it felt good

Oh My God has a wonderful sense of the ridiculous

Not one recognised me - they thought me out of their class

I even gave them clue after meaningful clue

But even so there was not one of my brothers who knew

How I chuckled when I kept Benjamin and said

'Throw away the key' until Reuben cried 'Take me, I'm dead!'

When I asked him what he meant by his strange remark

His eyes filled with tears and his face became stark

'My father Jacob, my liege, is an old, old man

Who has already lost his most beloved son

Now Benjamin soothes his aching, broken heart

And he will die if Benjamin is thus set apart

How could any man, let alone a son, a brother

Not respond to that cry. Oh, how I loved my father

I have to tell you though, after my family arrived

I rubbed their noses in it, made them eat every word

Made them very aware of their subjugated position

Then laughed with them and we started on God's Mission

How I love my God, who know and understands all

How I marvel at the way He engineers a rise then a fall

Working His miracles to suit His Holy purpose

Healing, supplying, listening - there's nothing He'll miss

Take me as an example - I was an arrogant brat

And just look at what Our Lord made out of that!

Escape From Mount Vilipend - Chapter One

Good Sunday Morning

June Autumn Colours in Johannesburg

Before I get on to my Faith Reflection Sunday which I'll post a little later, I decided to post the complete first chapter of 'Escape From Mount Vilipend' and ask for some help if you have the time to read it over the next while.  

'Escape From Mount Vilipend' is the first book in an epic series called The Daighacaer (Day-gar-care).  It is essentially a battle between The Darke which is determined to destroy The Lighte in Faeré; and The Lighte which will do anything it can to prevent the evanescence of Faeré which will be the outcome, should The Darke prevail.

Would this chapter entice you to read further?  Do you have any suggestions on making it more exciting or appealing?  Do you have any other comments?

I have a thick skin but please be constructive.

It's written in United Kingdom English, so some spelling (and possibly even grammar) will be quite foreign if you are from the US.  Also, I'm including a Pronunciation and Description section at the end of each book. I may write an explanatory book at the end of the series which will provide more insight into why I chose the names, as well as where I got my inspiration for the many strange creatures and bizarre occurrences.

________________________________________________________

[The Introductory poem to the book]

Escape from Mount Vilipend

Book One of The Daighacaer

Faeré

In the Realm of Myths and Faeré

                                                                  Our Fantasies             

Live their lives

In the Realm of Myths and Faeré

Our very dreams

Come true

In the Realm of Myths and Faeré

Because Times are

Time survives

In the Realm of Myths and Faeré

Knowledge of Ages

Continues

In the Realm of Myths and Faeré

Lighte dwells in truth

As Darke deceives

In the Realm of Myths and Faeré

I live my life

With you

 ______________________________________________________________

[Chapter One]

1.      Caliginor

Spawn of The Darke

The word spread

As each was attacked

Countless hurt

Many more dead

Shocked horror

On dragged feet

Turned from their homes

Into the street

Among that mass

Depravity stalked

In a forfeit soul

Filled with hate

Deranged venomous

Darke-spewed hate

Craving demanding

Innocent blood

An unholy sacrifice

To profane intent

Sombre faces

Sat and stared

As yet more

Stared

Blank dead

Stares

But

One debased visage

Masked The Darke

That day

One vacant void

Hid his

Damned core

One spewed from The Darke

At his Master’s bid

One semi-mortal glaze

Sneered

The grimace of death

One soulless

Spawn

Was

Death!

  

“Spectre!  I will see you!  Now!”  roared The Darkenighte. 

The Darkenighte, who was not known for patience, paced up and down his chamber for a few moments waiting for the Spectre to appear before him.  When it became obvious that there was to be no response, the command was repeated and its roar took on a life of its own.  It slithered and echoed around the chambers of Vilipend until, eventually, the slight figure of a Spectre glided slowly, too slowly, to the intense frustration of The Darkenighte, into The Darkenighte’s chamber.

“Where have you been?  You are late!” snarled Caliginor, The Darkenighte.  “You know what happens to those who presume to ignore me.” 

The Spectre simply continued to stare at Caliginor.

“You will learn to regret your disrespect, Spectre.  Many before you have died; many more after you will do so too, because I will find a way to dispose of you Spectre, of that you can be sure!”

Still the Spectre said not a word as he waited for The Darkenighte to finish his tirade. 

“Look long and deep into this visage, Spectre.  Do you have the courage to tell me that it looks like it belongs to someone who would care, for one instant in time, whether anyone or anything, including you, lives or dies?” barked The Darkenighte. 

There was a momentary break.  Then, in a roar which surpassed even the previous intensity of the furious tirade, the boom emitted by one simple word flew through the chambers and out into the corridors as if it was itself trying to flee the horror of its initiator.

“Look!”

The discordant bellow of The Darkenighte’s rage resounded and reverberated throughout Mount Vilipend.  It continued for such an interminable period that, even in the deepest recesses of the Under Chambers, prisoners and grolls alike shivered and cowered in a vain attempt to protect themselves from they knew not what, only who. 

The Darkenighte shook in his rage at the apparent disinterest of the unwelcome individual in his chamber. 

In a fury, Caliginor spun around until the Spectre was standing in front of him and was forced to face him.  The Spectre continued to nonchalantly look out into the perpetual dark which enveloped Mount Vilipend.

The Spectre, still in slow-motion, looked up into what The Darkenighte euphemistically had called a visage.  His expression remained non-committal as he slowly examined the features of The Darkenighte as he had been ordered to do.

Caliginor’s black eyes burned red in their cadaverous sockets.  His emaciated skin looked as if it had died life-ages previously and was intent on keeping up the pretence of maintaining a wasted face in­tact.  What passed for a body was so putrid that anything which, in a fit of insanity, may have indeed considered the thought of tearing the extremely powerful Caliginor apart, would find that ‘tearing’ was entirely unnecessary.  The body was merely a decrepit receptacle; a disintegrating decomposition of biological decay.  What superficially could have passed as a body of sorts was merely a crooked, broken carcass covered with various layers of putrefying flesh and skin.  The breath, which spewed forth to form spurts of acrid steam as he spoke, stank with the reek of aeons of bloody gore and decay.

Caliginor was proud of his appearance and enjoyed the looks of horror he constantly received.  However, much to his displeasure, his appearance had not the slightest affect on the Spectre; currently the only other occupant of the chamber.

The weasel-faced Spectre, who lightly skimmed the surface of the floor as he swayed to and fro in his ethereal form, merely looked straight at Caliginor with what appeared to be totally disinterested disdain.  He still said not a word. 

The Spectre knew The Darkenighte well and he knew The Darkenighte’s temper even better.  It was a temper which the Spectre had far too often seen being used to discipline those of Caliginor’s minions who had the misfortune to have fallen out of The Darkenighte’s favour.  It was a temper which promised indescribable horrors; long, lingering and unbearable horrors. No being had ever, or could ever, withstand it, neither darzim nor mortal.  No being, that is except for the Spectre who, despite The Darkenighte’s threats, refused to be intimidated.

*

Outside of the mountainous stronghold which was Caliginor’s preferred abode; chosen by him to replicate his home in the UnderDarke; an incessant blizzard pelted the ground.l  The midday sky may just as well have not been day; the sky remained perpetually dark.  The Lighte never intruded into the Darke land which Caliginor had made his own. 

Fierce gusts of icy wind whistled like sirens through the unprotected cavities.  The accompanying lightning flashes flared in an un­remitting display of eerie dark because these lightning flashes were not those experienced within the Realm of The Lighte; these lightning flashes shone with an intensity of a deeper dark even than the dark of the sky in which they played.  Black Lightning of The Darke was another of Caliginor’s peculiar creations.  The ceaseless charges caused the rolling thunder to echo forever throughout the dead and blackened mountains. 

The ice was comfortable succour to Caliginor’s person. 

Of all things to which Caliginor had for time without end been accustomed, he had most categorically enjoyed the glacial cold; that incessant and intense cold which, even as it kept it intact, made his skin crawl.  Icy cold which he had, for so long, enjoyed within the frozen dominion of The UnderDarke.  He had laughed when he first heard that mortals within the realm of The Lighte believed that the UnderDarke was a furnace of everlasting fire. 

‘Fire provides Lighte’ he snarled.  ‘No Lighte would dare intrude within the deepest recesses which are the UnderDarke; the personal realm of The Darke.  How infantile these mortals are!’

Thinking about The Lighte within fire, Caliginor knew that he would never be able to, nor would he ever tolerate a situation where he was forced to endure any form of heat or light for too long. 

*

Although the room in which the two fiends met was covered in layers of ice, neither individual felt the slightest discomfort.  Where Caliginor stood, palls of steam rose from his putrid flesh, and the condensation caused it to hang, uncertain, but only for mere moments.  It almost immediately formed myriad impromptu stalactites and stalagmites, which in many instances pierced Caliginor’s flesh and caused him to shiver in an abstracted, rousing frenzy. 

Caliginor distractedly sliced at the stalactite nearest him and watched it fall to the floor.

“Speak Spectre!  I would know the reason for your failure!” boomed Caliginor once more.

The quiet voice which emanated from the Spectre was almost inaudible from within the resonating echo of Caliginor’s words. 

“Darkenighte, the contaminate within the odour darzim was working.  It should have killed the mortal Heir Prince.  It would most certainly have killed the Heir Prince except that, for some reason completely unknown to and not understood by me, the darzim just disappeared.  It didn’t merely leave the Heir Prince’s presence of its own accord, Darkenighte.  It completely vanished.  It was as if it had never existed.”  The Spectre shook his head as if to erase his thoughts.

“That is not possible!  Do you take me for a fool?  Do you?  Do You?”

“No, Darkenighte.  That I would never presume to do” said the Spectre, whose voice still remained calm and unmoved by Caliginor’s shrieks.

“That would have meant that the odour darzim was unsummoned, Spectra.  Unsummoned!  Do you understand the magnitude of what you are saying?  Unsummoned!”  Without pausing, Caliginor continued “You know as well as I do that it is simply not possible to unsummon such a darzim” thundered Caliginor and the whole of Mount Vilipend and its occupants shuddered once more. 

“You and your minions must have assembled the elements incorrectly or, the more likely reason, you didn’t imbed the correct instructions within the summoned odour darzim.” 

Caliginor’s fury had stewed and simmered throughout the hours he had been contemplating why the Heir Prince was still alive and what had gone wrong with his plan.  His rage intensified through knowing that the shadow darzim which he himself had summoned to bear witness to, and, even more importantly, to ensure the odour darzim’s success, had itself been soundly defeated. The shadow darzim's instruction was to ensure the death of the Heir Prince, even if it, itself had to become involved.

When what remained of his summoned darzim eventually returned to him; what he grudgingly and unwillingly witnessed with his own eyes was as thorough a vanquishing as he had ever before come across.  Certainly far greater than he himself had ever managed to achieve; and that infuriated him even more.

The shattered shadow darzim had lain within Caliginor’s chamber quivering and convulsing as if it was a mortal being. 

Seeing the incomprehensible destruction of the darzim infuriated Caliginor into a whirlpool of rage which threatened to overcome him.  

“That was My darzim.  How is this possible” shouted Caliginor to no one and everyone.  In his entire mortal existence, that had never happened.  It was not possible to vanquish a darzim in the manner which he was personally witnessing.  It was simply not possible.  It could not be allowed to happen either.

*

“The Heir Prince is still alive?”  Caliginor had shouted as his shadow darzim half sat, half lay in front of him “What are you doing back here?  You were supposed to intervene if necessary, that’s the reason I summoned you”.  The shadow darzim cowered further against the wall.  A darzim cowering was so unexpected that Caliginor, who knew he would get no satisfactory answer from the darzim, kicked at it in utter fury until it finally stopped moving and withered away to nonexistence in front of him.  He felt no satisfaction from his actions; not like he did when he tortured mortals, but the situation was different, mortals died and, if Caliginor was involved, died horribly; a darzim was immortal and its vanquished essence would merely return to the UnderDarke to be reformulated as The Darke saw fit.

“Someone will suffer for this failure” he had vowed when the darzim was no more.  Caliginor desperately wanted that ‘someone’ to be the Spectre who was now standing calmly in front of him; but not yet.  No, not yet.  The Spectre was still needed.  The deadlock and the obvious necessity for patience, which Caliginor had never previously needed nor exercised, did nothing to improve The Darkenighte’s temper.  The fact that his very own, personally summoned, shadow darzim had been vanquished at the same time as the odour darzim had been, was entirely irrelevant.  

The Spectre, Weda’Sel, had failed him.  He would suffer.  In time he would suffer not only for his failure but, more importantly, because Caliginor so desperately wanted to see him squirm.  Caliginor had already waited aeons to punish the weasel-faced shape-shifting Spectre, for nothing more than that the Spectre did not fear him.  He would bide his time for a while longer.

“The Heir Prince is not strong enough in his own power to overcome a darzim, unless there was some fault which was inherent in the odour darzim, Weda’Sel” continued Caliginor, whose voice rose to an even higher crescendo with each word he spoke until it reached a crescendo as he shouted the Spectre’s name.  “You were the only one who knew what the order was.  You must have altered it in some way!”

“Darkenighte, everything was done exactly as it should have been done” replied Weda’Sel, still unperturbed.  “The summoned odour darzim was capable of a trail of destruction which would have had the most horrific of consequences.  You, yourself know that an odour darzim is a weapon of immense power which can disperse its infectious contaminate instantly from within its vapour.  It is precisely because you know this already that you ordered that the odour darzim in particular be summoned.  It is well-suited to killing thousands of mortals within very short periods of time.  We did everything exactly according to the correct summoning.  As you instructed, the power of all that essence was concentrated to kill only one - The Heir Prince.  Your shadow darzim would have immediately let you know that the odour darzim was at its most effective when it arrived within the sphere of the Heir Prince.”

Caliginor didn’t react as the Spectre revealed his knowledge of the summoned shadow darzim.  Anyone else would not have noticed the tiny twitch above Caliginor’s right eye, which had slightly more flesh than the rest of his brow; but Weda’Sel noticed it.  He, in turn, didn't show any sign of having noticed that telltale twitch.

“Do Not pretend to placate me, Spectre!”  Caliginor’s fury, at his loss of vantage as well as having been taken aback by the Spectre’s awareness of his darzim, was causing him to shake with rage.  “And then make use of the mortal expressions ‘trail of destruction’ and ‘the most horrific of consequences’!  It makes me believe that you have no stomach for the task at hand.  It most definitely makes me believe that there is little doubt that you did have something to do with the odour darzim not completing its task.”

“I have been your subordinate for these many aeons, Darkenighte.  There would surely be no honour to me, or value to you, if I were to suddenly turn towards the Deities of Lighte.  They are two where you have the advantage of living within the unified strength of one.  The force must lie with you.”  The incongruity of comparing Caliginor with Deities did not occur to Caliginor, nor, it appeared, did it occur to the Spectre.

“Your tongue is slippery, Weda’Sel but what you speak, does in some way have the feel of openness about it.    It would not be rational of you to think to try to fool me with devious words, however.  What you report is not fact; it is presumption and presumption is not to be believed by any sensible thinking being.”

Weda’Sel looked long at Caliginor as if digesting The Darkenighte’s words and then bowed low. 

“It is as you have said, Darkenighte.  The odour darzim’s disappearance will be investigated by me in person.  I personally will bring the report to you, Darkenighte and you have my word on it that the report will be punctual and factual.”

“Go then!” thundered The Darkenighte “and do not return without verification; but do not think to absent yourself from me for too long, Spectre.  If you do and I become disturbed once more about your lack of loyalty, I will find you wherever you are and instantly send you through the hills of the corpse serpent where you will wander in the mazes of the dead for eternity.  You will not remain on this plane to either exasperate me or to try and explain to me your absence of any evidence.”

“I understand, Darkenighte.  I will retire now to seek out the cause of the darzim’s unsummoning.  I shall return without delay.”

As Weda’Sel started to retreat, Caliginor forcibly pushed past him and, as he did so, he brushed up against Weda’Sel and then stalked to the portal in the middle of the chamber. 

Caliginor did not fail to notice the ever so slight trace of revulsion which flickered through Weda’Sel’s features as his rancid body made contact with the spectral form.  His lips snarled as he smiled to himself at the revulsion on the Spectre’s face.  “Perfect!” he thought.

Weda’Sel in turn saw the snarl and smiled inwardly.  He had cultivated just the look of revulsion he knew Caliginor would have expected from him.  He would never let Caliginor know that he had long since become inured to the sight, vile odour and ravings of The Darkenighte.  Nor would he ever allow Caliginor to know that there was other more serious knowledge which he did have concerning the unsummoning of the odour darzim.  Knowledge which did, indeed, bother him. 

Not for an instant did Weda’Sel wonder even vaguely at Caliginor’s blatant physical contact with his spectral form.  He was not particularly surprised by it.  He knew that, at any opportunity, Caliginor would have vented his violent anger on him physically if he could.  That he couldn’t do so was a protection for which Weda’Sel was extremely grateful.  Through the sheer frustration of seeing the Spectre but not being able to physically vent his anger on him, The Darkenighte had perfected his ability to at least physically make some contact with the Spectre many aeons previously, although it was not something in which he found any pleasure.  In fact any contact with the Spectre was one of the very few things which actually revolted The Darkenighte. 

Each time Caliginor achieved his physical contact of Weda’Sel’s spectral form, Weda’Sel felt the extent of Caliginor’s revulsion and his innermost satisfaction sometimes almost threatened to show itself on his features.  He was, however, very careful to ensure that that would never happen.  As Weda’Sel left the chamber, he thought absently about how long it had been since he had stopped being shocked at or revolted by anything that Caliginor said or did.

Weda’Sel had always known that Caliginor genuinely saw himself as elevated so far above all other mortal life that his having in any way to interact with mortal life was his own form of perdition.  

*

“Under-chambers!”  The command was barked as Caliginor kicked at the plinth, his altercation with Weda’Sel out of his mind for the moment, but most certainly not forgotten.