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Brought to the Judge

July 7th, 2014 at 1:34 am

  The spirits are confounded and in utter chaos at what has come about.

  We walked into the Holy temple, to the great judge several years ago to talk on behalf of someone.  The dream was ferocious and I awoke sweating, shivering and 

choking for air for my time among the dead had been very lengthy.  I was called upon to link this world and the next, to do a great favor.  the spirit clung to my arm 

fervently as we plead the case before a being enrobed in black with a powdered face.  There were many fineries in this place; great and massive oil paintings of 

events which were notable to the world, tapestries of Coates of arms with names embroidered on them, gold trimmings on the benches and pews, cherry wood panels 

covering every windowless wall, and only a small opening in the  ceiling allowed a heavenly light to flow through on our heads.

  An agreement was reached, and I never knew what it was for many years to pass.  One day I realized we had went to the great sky to plea for a living person and 

an error they had made be forgiven.

  Disrupted in horror as I lay sleeping weeks ago and haunted by dreams of encasement in dark places, the spirits whispered a sorry secret to me as I found myself 

between the light and dark of my slumber.  

  The old master had done great sin against me; something had been raised against me as a hand is raised to a child; the child struck for no reason.  

 The souls of long ago have risen from their earthy graves to introduce themselves and make my acquaintance.  They are images in my dreams but I connect with them 

through my promise to the spirit I have wedded; the ghost bride clings to her life from the dark to the sunrise, for the task which has been set upon her head is a 

tremendous one; a task which may at last break and kill her.  

  Oh, happy garden of eternity please forget not to welcome me when my hour arrives for the pain is terrible and haven't much strength left to fight all which has been 

brought to my battlefield.  

  My hours in the sun have passed and the light has become grey and uncertain. The tides are angry, lightening fires the sky.  

  Dreaming of what had past in Bilbao long ago--young beauty was captured and drained of all life and glamour until she was thin and old.  Frail hands were 

strong enough to aim the cross-bow at the old master as he paraded through town in a blue coat of expensive cloth, piercing his evil heart, and he fell over 

a rope in which caught his body.  The rope was strung between two close buildings to deter the carriages from passing.  He'd fallen over this rope with both arms

hanging before him.  No art piece could have been more intricately planned, dangling about, head hanging forward, once flaxen hair turned to a rusty brown of 

wavy locks which were tousled by  the wind that day.  

  No judge had come to claim her neck in a hanging, for the villain had been killed.  

  The dream of the judge of the mighty skies brought us to the bench to plead that no head had been claimed, but senseless foolery and nonsense.  The dame 

has now paid the price in this lifetime for the villain she killed for us back then.  A senseless hanging; a life soured and spoiled in the wake of the bottom of a cup.  

 We haven't any more magick in our black bags to cause a miracle, so we lift our eyes to God and pray the psalms of old.  

  The judge of the great sky denied us access last night.  We stood on the courtroom marble outside the massive door, but  we were granted no entrance.  

  Spirits are now gathering from the lineages to plea with us.  They acknowledge me, and I them, for my wicked step-children have wedged themselves into 

a ravenous corner.