“There came a bark that, blowing forward, bore
King Arthur, like a modern gentleman
Of stateliest port; and all the people cried,
‘Arthur is come again: he cannot die.’
Then those who stood upon the hills behind
Repeated - ‘Come again, and thrice as fair;’
And further inland, voices echoed - ‘Come
With all good things, and war shall be no more.’
At this a hundred bells began to peal,
That with the sound I woke, and heard indeed
The clear church-bells ring in the Christmas morn.”

     Alfred Lord Tennyson
 
 

A man chose as his profession
The role of a fool for the sake of entertainment,
Thinking that, beyond any other role,
This would be the means to highest spiritual attainment.
However, the fool’s spiritual climb
Made his work more useless for others’ pleasure
(Which is all that people nowadays treasure)
And, thus, he lived in poverty and was shamed,
Although descended from Elystan the Famed
Whose lineage is twice with Arthwys aligned
(As hundreds of thousands have similarly claimed).
Yet as a “contributing member of society” he was greatly maligned.

Often he found himself reborn
Through seeing his thoughts reflected
In Chaos.  And, through vanity,
Often portrayed himself as greater
Than himself and in his tongue
Called himself Tsi-s-qua-s-ka-y
Who could tie all things together
And fly,
And, thus, create peace and harmony
Simply through his flight and euphony,
And, thus, was brought to the edge of sanity.

He then made words and words, so many words
And threw them out to a sea so vast
That they would most certainly be lost
Among the more enticing words and images amassed
And nothing of them last.
Yet, a part of him believed
That the world would change and be relieved
Of poverty, war and crime
Simply though putting out his thoughts - and time.

Meanwhile, in the far away land of Dacia,
Land of the Wolf-People, more war-torn than his own,
Lived a priestess who cast her net
To the sea for one whose vision was like her’s alone.

Her power came through the greatest austerities
Through tearing her flesh against the coral
Of the sea whereby the Great Goddess
Then came to her and gave her the precious
Gift of Her being and the sacred cauldron
Known as that of Cerridwen and the Holy Grail
And she empowered her words
By means of this goddess’s womb
Through their immersion in the cauldron
And then she spun them on her loom.
So that whosoever would them recite
Would become transformed and might
Remain forever in the service of Unul, The One.

The preistess’s net became entangled by thousands of birds
Each representing Tsi-s-qua-s-ka-y’s words
And, by their songs, she knew
(For, by them, she flew)
She had found the one who would share her vision.
Then she wove her magic especially for him
And her words became more powerful than was needed
To win his heart.
Each word by cauldron was made of womanly scent
And by lips infused all knowledge transcendent.
Tsi-s-qua-s-ka-y found what he thought were his own words o’er worn
Become most holy and in another language reborn.
He could now truly see his aripile (wings) and experience his zborul (flight).

The cauldron’s taste also did show
His past rebirths and he then did know
The maiden-priestess as lover, friend
Mother, daughter and other kin.

Thus, the Goddess in maiden form
Caused this fool to become transformed
And become a king.
And his words which formally were pathetic
Had magically become prophetic.
And, as the Great Red Dragon, he took wing
And flew to Heaven.