The Telling of the Priestess Alia’s Trance Through Song
“She rides the sandworm of space! She guides it through all storms. Into the land of gentle winds.Dune Messiah, Frank Herbert
“When religion and politics ride the same cart, when the cart is driven by a living holy man (Baraka) nothing can stand in their path.”
From the Teaching of the Bene Gesserit
Alternative ending of Dune
“Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites 24 You blind guides! You strain out a gnat but swallow a camel.
“Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence.
“Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean.
“You snakes! You brood of vipers! How will you escape being condemned to hell?
Woes on the Teachers of the Law and the Pharisees, Matthew 23
This is one of histrofigs 25mm miniatues from their Blasted Planets Special Figures line. I finally got some paint on it. I reviewed a few of these miniatures back here and here.
Abbot Saxtus recites one of his favorite rhymes found within the many scrolls archived at the abbey gatehouse.
“This wind’s icy breath o’er the land of death
Tells a tale of the yet to come.
‘Cross the heaving waves which mark ship’s graves
Lies an island known to some,
Where seas pound loud and rocks stand proud.
And blood flows free as water,
To the far northwest, which knows no rest,
Came a father and his daughter,
The mind was numb, and the heart struck dumb,
When the night seas took the child,
Hurled to her fate, by the son of Hellgate,
The dark one called The Wild.
You whom, they seek, though you don’t speak,
The legend is yet to be born;
One day you will sing over stones that are red,
In the misty summer dawn.”
"Agon’s eyes were fixed upon the altar before him apparently in an ecstasy of contemplation, and mine were fixed upon the small of his back in another sort of ecstasy. Suddenly he flung up his long arm, and in a solemn and resounding voice commenced a chant, of which for convenience’ sake I append a rough, a very rough, translation here, though, of course, I did not then comprehend its meaning. It was an invocation to the Sun, and ran somewhat as follows:—
There is silence upon the face of the Earth and the waters thereof!
Yea, the silence doth brood on the waters like a nesting bird;
The silence sleepeth also upon the bosom of the profound darkness,
Only high up in the great spaces star doth speak unto star,
The Earth is faint with longing and wet with the tears of her desire;
The star-girdled night doth embrace her, but she is not comforted.
She lies enshrouded in mists like a corpse in the grave-clothes,
And stretches her pale hands to the East.
Lo! away in the farthest East there is the shadow of a light;
The Earth seeth and lifts herself. She looks out from beneath
the hollow of her hand.
Then thy great angels fly forth from the Holy Place, oh Sun,
They shoot their fiery swords into the darkness and shrivel it up.
They climb the heavens and cast down the pale stars from their thrones;
Yea, they hurl the changeful stars back into the womb of the night;
They cause the moon to become wan as the face of a dying man,
And behold! Thy glory comes, oh Sun!
Oh, Thou beautiful one, Thou drapest thyself in fire.
The wide heavens are thy pathway: thou rollest o’er them as a chariot.
The Earth is thy bride. Thou dost embrace her and
she brings forth children;
Yea, Thou favourest her, and she yields her increase.
Thou art the All Father and the giver of life, oh Sun.
The young children stretch out their hands and grow in thy brightness;
The old men creep forth and seeing remember their strength.
Only the dead forget Thee, oh Sun!
When Thou art wroth then Thou dost hide Thy face;
Thou drawest around Thee a thick curtain of shadows.
Then the Earth grows cold and the Heavens are dismayed;
They tremble, and the sound thereof is the sound of thunder:
They weep, and their tears are outpoured in the rain;
They sigh, and the wild winds are the voice of their sighing.
The flowers die, the fruitful fields languish and turn pale;
The old men and the little children go unto their appointed place
When Thou withdrawest thy light, oh Sun!
Say, what art Thou, oh Thou matchless Splendour—
Who set Thee on high, oh Thou flaming Terror?
When didst Thou begin, and when is the day of Thy ending?
Thou art the raiment of the living Spirit. {Endnote 16}
None did place Thee on high, for Thou was the Beginning.
Thou shalt not be ended when thy children are forgotten;
Nay, Thou shalt never end, for thy hours are eternal.
Thou sittest on high within thy golden house and
measurest out the centuries.
Oh Father of Life! oh dark-dispelling Sun! "
Chapter XIV the Flower Temple, Allan Quartermain
This picture is of an old Brigade miniature I completed sometime ago. I believe the old gent is 28mm tall.
‘“I had nearly five thousand volumes in my library at Rome, but after reading them over many times I found out that with one hundred and fifty well-chosen books a man processes, if not a complete summary of all human knowledge, at least all that a man need really know.”’
Abbe Faria, The Count of Monte Cristo
