Dream Scene

Jasmine and Honeysuckle mingled in the spring night air. A woman wrapped in silk fabric that breathed the fragrances and sifted the coolness of the breeze onto the fine hairs of her skin, moved through the night with silence and grace.

Hues of blue from the moonlight coated everything but the lights from the candles and oil lamps glowing orange from windows and crevices.

She made no sound, even from her sandals as she glided past pools with night lilies blooming in open-petalled embrace of the blue moonlight. The street became a path into the trees and all orange lights were now only spots in the distance. Had anyone seen her they would have found their breath taken by her beauty. Had they heard her speak they would have been astonished at her eloquence and wisdom. More so, that her voice conveyed a strength, depth, and confidence not ordinarily present in a woman's voice. It was captivating, magnetic.

Though completely covered, her hair was past her waist and every inch curly by nature and ebony in color.

Her spiritual family called her Solace of the Eyes. Some said those eyes had a mask made of light. Those who had seen this light had seen her fully expose her face, an act that was to be the harbinger of women's freedom and rise from oppression world wide for coming millenia.

Clutching a small wooden box containing a roll of parchment, she slipped through the trees and into the darkness as a sprite. The path was one which she had worn and was easily followed even in the dark for she dared not bring a lamp.

The intoxicating breath of the flowers, the lilies and the moonlight stirred her mind and moved her heart to spill forth poetry in her head as she sped along the path to her destination. Poetry to be read and understood in the language it was originally written. Poetry that would remain hidden until such time as the human heart could withstand its beauty and power. Poetry that could “transcend the murmur of syllables and sounds and rise above words and letters”… poetry borne of love beyond the understanding and grasp of the mind of common man ….until…. five centuries past the telling.

But it was not poetry in the scrolls concealed in the intricately handcarved, sandalwood box. It was not letters conceived in romantic euphoria whose secrets could not be exposed.

If the pen is mightier than the sword, and if words and thoughts are more powerful than bombs and cannons, she carried that which was more powerful than the strongest earthquake, tornado, monsoon, hurricane, tsu nami, flood, or lightening.

The papers she held were vibrating with energy, rumbling with their own forces, nearly alive with their own breath, for they held the words of an Authority sent by God. A Messenger sent after 500 years of waiting and to reign for the next 500,000 poured forth onto these Holy Scripts words that would guide all of mankind for 10,000 generations.

Power such as this, is a threat to any cleric, or government based on religious dogma.

Her life was in danger with every breath she took. She delivered the Writings to waiting souls stirred alive to the point of eagerness to die for such a Cause. The threat was so great that 10’s of thousands did die, including the beautiful poetess Tahirih.