A STORY OF MOSES
I Knew The One You Call Moses ~
Chapters I & II
I knew the one you call Moses. I did not know how his name would be remembered in the ages not then born, but strangely are the threads of destiny woven by the Lords of Light. What man can know how the stars are sustained in the north by the light and the air? So how could I know that the silent boy, who sat alone by the lotus pool of his mother, would be remembered when the Pharaohs of the land would be forgotten, or that his name would be spoken by people as numberless as the sands of the desert, even though his burial place remained unmarked by any cartouche and his mother’s name be erased by the hand of the Pharaoh.
ART : ‘Blossom To Stars’ ~ Wen Hsu (Right)
In youth the spirit in the body seems to ebb and flow. It stays not in a steady course, as does the spirit in the body of a man. So it was that the sorrow ebbed from my heart and changed to joy as I led the animal forth, with the hand of the boy laid inside my own as the kernel lies inside a nut. Warm was the little hand and still. It made me tremble to think that but a short time had passed since it lay trustingly in the flower-like hand which had trembled at my touch.
“Come back, my son,” the voice of my father was still in my ears. “Return, my son, to lighten the years when age may lie upon me like a grey dust clouding the vision of my eyes. Return when Ra-sem-she, of the clear vision sees the way is safe. Learn from him, my son, learn from him the ancient truths of old Egypt, and the ways of the other worlds.”
“What of the boy?” I had asked. “What of Osarsif? Will I bring him back?”
Softly came his answer: “He will return. Now I have seen him with my eyes I know him to be the boy in the dreams which trouble my head during the hours of the night. He goes under the protection of the Gods, and in their light he will return. Many dangers beset his path. This have I dreamed, for he will be a man without a country of his own.”
These words entered my mind, to be remembered in the years when the boy became a man and went forth from my land without any place for himself or for his people; but at this time the words sank into the sand of my busy thoughts and were forgotten, as quickly as water does when it sinks into the dust.
My spirit was joyous as we set forth in the quiet night from the gate used by the servants. I knew how good it was that we left the palace when all were wearied with the feasting made to honour the first-born child of Pharaoh’s favourite. The dancers would slumber with weariness and the guards were heavy with the wine given by the servants who sought to please them. No one would challenge a youth and a child with an ass but lightly laden. Any (one) who saw our going would think we left to be well on our way before the rays of the sun thrust swords of heat into our bodies, and that we had but delivered to the King’s kitchen our burden gathered from the fertile earth.
I watched the set star and guided our course as my father had told. Sweet was the scent of the night air, vast and lonely was the world in which I travelled for the first time, not as a boy with my father, but as a man with a child prince in my care, and the warmth of a man’s love in my heart.
Osarsif laughed as the silver of returning day limmed the outlines of palm trees against the skies. He stood with me to face the sun as it appeared and repeated with me the prayer of greeting to Ra the Lord of the Light, for so his mother had taught him to do. I thought of her and knew she faced the sun through her own gate and offered her prayers to Ra for our safety. Osarsif ran and laughed with joy as the rays made beautiful the land. I knew then that he had been afraid in the silence of the night. The touch of my hand had kept his fears distantly, as the dark is kept away by the steady flame of a lamp.
ART : Hieroglyphics @ The British Museum in London, UK (Left)
In the cool of the morning, we ate some of the food stored in the baskets on the back of the ass. We let the animal search for its food and water at the side of the river. We were young the boy and I, and this was the first of many journeys we were to undertake. As the years passed, the cords which bound our lives were to be twisted into closer knots, but we did not know then of this. O lovely years of our youth; even now the remembrance of them is like a song in my heart!
Many songs my heart has learned to sing since that first journey. Songs of sadness and of death; of struggle and of fear. The song to Moses when he went forth from Egypt. The song to my “queen” when my soul found her in the world of shadows where she waited for my death, that we might go together to the Land of Light. This song which I now sing as I tell to you of my story, that the world may remember me, and may know how it was with Osarsif and how it was that he was not alone as he went upon his way.
What do I remember of the temple at On? (The biblical On was Heliopolis to the Greeks. Until recent months all that had been in evidence of the sacred city of the sun was the red granite obelisk which still stands in the fields near the airport, six miles out of Cairo. Daily Telegraph report in 1967). The beautiful buildings shone in the light of the sun. In the night they gleamed with a radiance hidden in the heart of the stones. The temples were given another name by the men who later came to live in my land. The name was Heliopolis, which meant in their tongue, the place of the sun. This was a good name, for Ra, the great Lord of Light, was honoured there.
“The Place of the Sun” were the words used by us all at that time, and the same as the name used by the common people who knew not that Ra, the Lord of Light, was the maker of the sun, and not the sun itself. It was enough for them to give homage to the sun by which their fruits were ripened and their lands made fertile. But for myself and those who were in the temple, it was all beauty and wonder to know that in the silence of the inner temple the Lord became apparent to those who had the clear sight for seeing, and the strong soul for understanding what was seen.
The silence of the temples overcame me when first I entered. At the court of Pharaoh, I could hear the sound of men’s feet and the stamp of horses’ hooves in their stables. The sound of the guards’ voices and the trumpets were always in the air, the golden trumpet notes announcing the going and the coming of the King were always in my ears, as well as the sound of harps and winged instruments in the courts of the musicians. Laughter was there and the crying of infants, and the silvery notes of women’s laughter. Sometimes, too, my ears heard the scream of slaves under the whips, and the groans of prisoners in torment. I had grown from child to man amongst such multitudinous sounds. My ears knew what each meant and what was happening. But here in the temples my ears heard nothing but the whisper of feet on the pavements and the vibrant sound of sistrums at the times of prayer.
It was strange to live in so silent a place, but so it was. The priest who took my father’s seal looked at me with eyes in which a peace like still waters seemed to lie. He said to me: “You, yes, even you, may learn the truths of the Spirit, for you have been chosen to lift the cloak of loneliness from the soul of Osarsif, lest in his loneliness his mind become clouded with melancholy, or the weight of his destiny bow him to the ground. While he is a boy-man you must be a brother to him. So you will learn the same lessons and make the same travels until the cord of love which is twisted between you shall be slackened by the Lords.”
Because I loved the boy I dared to ask: “What is his destiny? Will he become the King?”
The wise old priest looked not at me, with his eyes like clear, still water. He looked far beyond and through me. I knew that he tried to pierce through the veils of time. When he spoke his voice was like a sigh: “I know not yet. It is enough that he is here and must learn to be a man fitted to master other men, not with a whip or a sword, but with a will made strong by the mastery of self.”
So it was I passed into the temple with the boy. The great silence of the place enfolded us both as the arms of a mother enclasp her infant in safety and peace. What he learned, so did I learn. Where he went, there went I too. Those who he saw, I saw also, but the arts in which we were instructed were not those of the King’s court.
We learned how to listen to our own breath, and to change the rhythm till at last we could command our heart to send our blood coursing through our veins quickly or slowly at the command of our will. We learned how to breathe till hunger no longer gnawed at our stomach like an animal demanding meat. That was a hard lesson, and long was it before that I could let pass days without eating food and dreaming of it.
My stomach was a fierce animal in me that would not be tamed, but the boy conquered his appetite and made me so ashamed that I breathed and thought until suddenly one day it was over. As I sat there in complete stillness a lightness filled my being, warmth my veins, and joy my heart. After that I could eat or not, and my stomach desires were at peace.
Often have I thought since that time that all men should learn this mastery. There are many ills due to gluttony, and many madnesses come to man when because of famine there is little food in the lands. It is true, too, that when a man has mastered his stomach his will grows strong. He can then command the beasts of the wilderness and they will obey him, not because they fear his cruel lash but because they feel his inward strength.
I was glad in the later years that this lesson in self-mastery had been learned, though when it began the boy wept as the days passed and no food was given to him. I went to see the priest, with my anger burning like a fire in my heart, when I saw him weep. I said in my anger: “He is but a child. He needs food to make strong his growing body. I will send to the King’s sister and tell her of your wrong deeds to the boy.”
With what strange peace did the priest quench the fire of my anger He smiled at me like a man does at a child. He looked into my eyes with his tranquil gaze, and the flame died in me as in a lamp when the oil is exhausted.” You know not what you say,” he said. “The boy is no child, but a great spirit reborn from the old land of Mu. (A continent, surviving knowledge of it is in old legends.) He uses a child’s body but he will subdue the hunger in his stomach long before you will be able to sleep when yours is empty of food. He must be master of his body, for only so can he learn to be a master fitted to complete the work he began in the ancient land of Mu.”
I knew the priest spoke well. No man could look into those gentle eyes and doubt the truth of what he said. Anger had raised the cloud which had obscured my vision of him. A fire creates smoke and no vision is clear when its clouds are like a veil in the air. I went away and sat for a time in the little garden near the temple where the ancient records were treasured, for I needed to think. All people in my land knew of the rebirth of spirits. The wise men could sometimes tell what a babe would be when he grew to manhood, for they would look at the position of the stars when the birth took place.
Never had I heard when the boy was born nor yet what the wise men had spoken at this time. My father had not spoken of any record regarding his birth, although he was the Keeper of the archives and he had sent me to teach the child the writing signs. Could it have been that his records were hidden and secret because he came from Mu? Yet why should this be? We knew in our land that the men of Mu had raised the pointed pyramid and had carved the man’s (the Sphinx) face out of the rock, so that forever the sign of the living soul should face the east and greet the sun as it blessed the land with light. My father had taken me to see this great face of a man, with the body of a beast, gazing peacefully over the land as a sign that though the waters of the ocean had covered the old lands of Mu * (“The lands of Mu, the lands of the West, that land of Kui, and the biblical Garden of Eden are one and the same.” ~ The Lost Continent, by James Churchward.) * yet did the spirit and the truth still survive.
In the old archives I had seen the fragile writings which told how the men from Mu had come to my land. I was aware the knowledge of old Egypt was the truth known in Mu, before it sank below the waters of the ocean which has since been called the Atlantic Sea. Was the spirit of the boy from Mu? I thought about his curling hair, and the strong limbs so unlike any child of Pharaoh’s. A chill seemed to fill the little garden and I shivered in the warmth of the sunlight. In my soul grew a fearfulness as I wondered what destiny could call him into life once more. What events would carry him beyond my care? I was aware of something too great for my understanding. What had the boy to bring to pass that he must first learn to be master of himself?
As I thought about it, I knew why it was that the priests no longer named him Osarsif, but by the one which meant the man from Mu, beloved of Ra, the Lord of Light. The name used in the temple was Ra-mu-ses, but later the ignorant bondmen would not pronounce the name of Ra, and called him Muses. Even then their tongues were stiff and Mu-ses became Moses of the golden staff.