His Serene Highness Yust II Oberon, The Faery King (thefaeryking) wrote in realm_o_the_fae,
His Serene Highness Yust II Oberon, The Faery King

The Dead Can Dance, Ask Them

In the Narco-lepsy that accompanied the repair of Our heart, the Faery King's naked body laid upon the table, as though lying in state, with surgical gnomes tinkering with arteries, veins, monitoring heart rate, administering king sized amounts of narcotic to ease the pain that the Second Oberon, who was surely feeling the consequences of living by his heart.

In the dream state His Y-Ness was visited by his old friend and fellow pirate, Ignacius. To explain my friend would take too much time and the point would be lost. Ignacius is not human, yet, never the less, he is alive and his presence pulled me through a difficult moment. causing me to dream back generations.

The two of us were locked in an empty drawing room of an old Victorian home, with empty bottles cluttering the windows, windows which could not be opened. Ignacius stood there, cussing in his cloak, borrowed no doubt from Maegdlyn, as it bore her elfin etchings.

The message was clear, Ignacius wanted me out of this place and the old spirit wanted The Faery King safe. I have never seen him so agitated.
Finally the dice covering his eyes flew into the door, blowing it open.
The sky was clear and beautiful, with a lunar eclipse and when I turned to thank my old friend he was gone and when I awoke, my drivers license was gone. Not to worry, Ignacius always returns that which he borrows, sometimes giving you a little extra something, out of courtesy. He is a polite pirate when not too loaded on rum.

My old Pirate friend reminds me of the spirits that seem to guide me. We, my ancestors and I, are one.

Perhaps it is the poet who wrote a passage 4,000 years ago, the artist who painted a cave in the Neanderthal region of France, the Mongol King, who vanquished his enemy, standing in a saddle or the the Viking warrior, who discovered a new land, out of need, saving his people from starvation, by discovering new land.

The ancestors dance for our victory, because their sacrifice bears fruit in our survival. They live on within us. Why not honor them in our prayers for their acts great and small, which lead us in our lives? I am proud to be of them.

Do we deify them in our reverence, by acknowledging that they took an active role in our ability to live or do we just respect them, because we know how hard it is to live for ourselves and others? Does it really matter?

In my father's eyes and upon his knee, I felt and saw generation, upon generation of my father's people and in my mother's womb I felt the feelings of her ancestors. In my love of God, I feel it all and it is sublime.

Ignacius, wild spirit that he is, seems to love me and he can borrow my things anytime he wishes.

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