A chief scribe from ancient Maya-times visits my dreams. He sings:
The Day is the Stage. No one escapes the Stage, although no one escapes the Now, either. Sleep seems for rest, dreaming for knowledge. Everything is one. Star-Father & Earth-Mother dance our hearts. All action is art.
The shape of the Stage changes with the Seasons. As do the dreams. Sets of Days vary as well. Rhythm is. With my pipes I write on stone. With my tears I color stories.
In the dreaming I was told we would not be remembered well, for a shape of shapes fades – time elongating and contracting. The Mother would be Lost.
Who can live without the Mother? When the long count ends, the Mother returns with fury. I would hope to have another life at that time. In the dreaming the rhythm of the future goes so fast it blinds the dreaming-sight.
If I look back, also blinding light, slow dancing with His Lover the Moon. In the future the star-fires that burn are human, and the gods&goddesses will take us back home … all the Way Home.
I will wait. I will not be alone.
for a visit to an Egyptian priest: