Once Upon a Time, in a Timeless State of Mind…

Jack, the Pumpkin Headed Son of the Earth, was up upon an oak tree creating with a cloud. He flicks a part of the cloud here, tosses another chunk of it there, spins and shears and smears and sculpts it to produce the word:

NOBLE

He swipes to complete the bottom leg of the “E” and his balance disappears. Jack, the Pumpkin Headed Son of the Earth, falls; and then hugs his hooking arms around what appears to be an elongated horse ear. He slides his way down to spy out that it is.

Jack: You are an oddball, aren’t you? Tell me, what is your name and why dost your 2 ears reach to the clouds in the sky?

Horus the Horse: Noble sir, I am Horus. Whilst it dost appear noble and divine to un-hearing ears, I must relay over to you that this blessing is weighing on my heart rather heavily. You see, Noble Sir, these flying friendly creatures that are called “birds” are alluded to mistaken my ears for the mothering tree. Hear me and feel my feelings: my ears are always in the air, and so the breeze is forever felt, and so the birds I doth not feel. And by the time that I do realize the landing, there is already a nest and an egg laid. And so, Noble Sir, I am to not ever prance about in my travels, but am to trot a foul walk that is excruciatingly slow – so as to not break the egg in the nest.

Jack: What can be done, Horus?

Horus: For If only I could see into the Heavens, I could shake the birds off before they lay claim and lay egg.

Jack: You have asked the Gods?

Horus: Nay.

Jack: I have.

At this mystical moment, through the cloud that spells NOBLE, lightning strikes Horus’s eyes – vanishes them – and then creates one large eye: a Golden Disk.

Horus: Oh.

Eye of Horus.

Jack: What do you eye, Horus?

Horus: A war.

Jack: Betwixt?

Horus: The Arya Golden Crows and the Pralaya Blackbirds.

Jack: I will scale to see the scale of war.

Jack climbs Horus’s ear: Lo, a foul fowl war – where acorns are used as ammunition, and sharpened sticks are spears and swords.

BEWARE: 1 nest with 1 Golden Egg sits perched on the peak of 1 ear; and 1 nest with 1 Black Egg sits perched on the peak of 1 other.

Arya, the Golden Crow, lands on Jack’s shoulder.

Arya: What do you espy, my Noble Son? It is what you know to see; a foul fowl war. I am Arya, the Queen of the Arya Golden Crows, and what you espy with your eye and the Eye of Horus is an end-time prophesy in the skies of my space. It is the Noble Ones vs the Ignoble Ones; the Enlightenment vs the Darkness. For you see, my Noble Son, the eggs that doth sit at the points of each ear are both a symbol of hope and despair. For the one that lay on the right ear is mine, and the egg that lay on the left ear is Pralaya’s, the Blackbird Queen. It is said in both of our scriptures that when this day is to come, whichever egg cracketh First, shall seize to live in the next world’s age.

Jack: What can be done, Arya?

Arya: Tell Horus to follow the Golden Feather. It will guide you slow, but it is a noble labor to always keep moving.

Jack: Festina Lente.

Arya: Hasten Slowly indeed, Noble Son.

Jack slides down Horus’s ear and sticks the landing on his back.

Horus: Noble Sir, I dost not see a gold feather.

Jack: You are a Hare, Horus? Dost you not know that the Turtle wins the race? For the Hare dost break on account of the lead, but the Tortoise that dost move slow dost never stop moving.

At this golden moment, the Golden Feather dances down from the heavens and pauses at the Eye of Horus.

Horus: Oh.

It then proceeds to travel slowly south, and south Horus & Jack go slowly.

Horus: For only Wiccans build their abodes of log.

The Golden Feather slaps itself to the log-door of a log-cabin, and stays.

Jack: Well then, it is the Wiccan we must see.

Jack knocks; the Wiccan answers.

Wiccan: Such tall ears you have, you are magick in disguise.

Horus: Wherefore art thou, Magick? There is a war amongst my ears and an end-time prophecy that I am a part of.

Wiccan: All things are magick, especially the rare ones.

Jack: The Golden Feather has lead us here.

Wiccan: Well then, allow me to introduce myself. Gentlemen, I am Wiccan White. And whilst I dost not know what you dost need, I dost indeed know that you were sent for something from me. And whilst I dost not carry much as I am a simple man with simple taste, I dost possess one thing that is richly valuable – which I have many a supply. Well then, without missing a second second, I present to you my gift of power for your empowerment. (pulls out leaf) Behold, it is a rare breed of its kind. For it lives and never dies; survives and never fades – do feel it. It is warm like the sun.

Jack: (takes leaf) It is warm like the sun.

Horus: Oh God.

Jack: What do you eye, Horus?

Horus: It is a world gone mad. The Pralaya’s are attempting to shatter the Arya’s golden egg, and the noble Aryas are fending them off. Perhaps if I take a knee I will help the Gold Team out.

Jack: Or perhaps you will destroy them. Let nature take its course now, that we may write our own destiny later, when Fate’s Time is due.

Wiccan: Depart, Gentlemen. It is a noble labor to always keep moving.

The Golden Feather unsticks itself from the door and then proceeds to travel slowly south, and south Horus & Jack go slowly.

Horus: For only Witches build their abodes of feathers.

The Golden Feather slaps itself to the feather-door-slap of a feather-hut, and remains with his fellows.

Jack: Well then, it is the Witch we must see.

Jack whistles; the Witch comes out to play.

Witch: Aha! You are a symbol! Oddball you are, you are hope and despair in the dark, and the doom that is upon the world in the sky is on your head. With my mystic-eye I eye out that the Chakras on your body are unlit. For you are lazy, Horus. And you doth not move all that much; so be it you are a tree. For even a tree dost grow tall in the sky; so as to not move sideways or left – he grows up. But you, you dost not grow at all – you suffer. Your mind, it dost not spin or swirl or twirl – it is stiff and halted and miserable, and you are not but a tree but a deadened stone.

Horus: You are a cold, cold Witch, and judiciously harsh. But you are right; I deserve my sentence. If only I could have just kept moving in my past, I would not suffer the consequences of stoning myself until death. This symbol atop my ears – it is tragic Armageddon for the sky-birds, but it is the end of my world before my world ends, as I dost not even grow up like a tree, and am perhaps as deceased as a deadened stone.

Jack: What do you wish, Horus?

Horus: I wish to run.

Jack: Witch, wherefore art thou your gift of power?

Witch: It is in the Noble cloud, Noble Son.

Horus: Oh God.

Jack: What do you eye, Horus?

Horus: The eggs are rumbling.

The Golden Feather removes itself from the feather-hut and guides them forward and back to the beginning. Jack climbs up Horus’s ear, grabs a fistful of the NOBLE cloud and makes his way to the peak, where chaos ensues…

Pralaya: Satan reigns!

Arya: God’s Justice will be served!

At this divine moment, Jack covers the Black Egg with the leaf that is warm like the Sun, and sheathes the Golden Egg with the cool noble cloud.

DEVIL’S DEVASTATION: The Golden Egg hatcheth First; and then the black.

Pralaya: Satan reigns!

Arya: God’s Justice will be served.

GOD’S JUSTICE: The Golden Egg hatcheth a Pralaya Blackbird; and the Black Egg hatcheth an Arya Golden Crow.

Jack: Fate’s Time is due.

The Pralaya Blackbirds drop dead to the Divine Ground, turn into Divine Dirt, and get whisked away with the Divine Wind. The Arya Golden Crows ascend to a New World.

LO, HEARKEN: The newborn hatchlings in the nests remain in the nests.

Jack: Oh God.

Jack slips down to Horus.

Horus: (chakras lit) I’m God.

Jack: You run?

The Golden Disk of the Eye of Horus spins.

Horus: I spin.

Jack: It is a noble labor to always keep moving.

Horus: Noble indeed, Noble Sir.

Horus sits on the shell of a Grandfather Tortoise, and travels in that way. And so, Aesop’s fable holds true: 

Aesop: The Tortoise wins the race.

 

ECCLESIASTES 9.11: ‘The Race is not to the swift.’

 

Abracadabra.

 

 

COPY @ 2019 JACK O’LANTERN