“Apricots,” Albert Joseph Moore, 1866, WikiArt.

Part 2: Emerging Diaspora

“Admitted by Holy Ones we are,” Myrina
Chanted, eyes, arms heaven-lifted, hail of
Thrown stones, she continued undaunted.
“Chariots earth descending, high-flying,
Glimpses of infinity, for we are unwitting,
Blinded by senses, sensations…” Engulfed
In golden light, stones ground fell. “Father
She is divinely protected,” I surmised. “No,
Volonia, stones hit their mark. Bleeding,
Myrina collapsed to ground, breath gasping,
Death awaiting. “Do not attack them, they
Are hate-blinded,” she said of her tormentors.

“Voices are flowers of heaven!” stated Myrina.
“Things undestroyable, unending.” I took her
Into my arms. “May I live within your soul?”
She asked, blood coughing. I nodded. “Do
You love papyric Bone Voices?” Again, I
Nodded. “Say it aloud.” “Yes, Myrina, you
May occupy my soul,” I replied, chest quaking.
“I love what your voices say. We all love you.”
Her pain subsided, “Breathe with me until my
Last breath, in and out. Do not stop.” Thus,
We began, my mouth upon hers, breath
Sharing, blood coughing, tasting, I pulled
Away, wiped her lips with my tears flowing.

“To last breath,” she whispered, her eyes
Distant, body pale, limp. Clutched to my
Breast, foreheads touching, breathing into
Her, and out until, she was no more, except
Myrina was within me, warm presence felt,
Glimpses of infinity, her world beyond,
Heavenly light, Myrina’s place amongst
Clouds. No! Stars! “She is with me, and she,
Her body is no more,” I told father, heart
Broken. Into tomb he carried her, yet her
Followers who witnessed all described,
Pleaded for her body. Alas! All present had
Been transformed, aside for stone-throwers,
Cowards descending into dark declivities.

“Musician,” Albert Joseph Moore, circa 1867, WikiArt.

Thus, with offerings of clothing, blankets,
We shroud-wrapped Myrina’s body, placed
Her upon oxen cart, returned to our village.
Lo! All of us, twenty or more, light-realizing
Tribe, with our families, disciples of Holy
Ones we became, wilderness wanderers.
“We are the Diaspora,” I announced, not only
To our newly formed clan, but to those who
Dwelled invisibly in sphere of upper air,
Beings never discerned until this moment,
Perfection of pure water, blue sky, fiery
Dawn, earth beneath my feet. Lo! In all
Places, large and small, I felt the Divine.

Thus the Diaspora emerges, followers of Holy Ones, trekking across Attic plains,
protectors of ancient papyric verses, known as Bone Voices, now flowing from
Myrina into Volonia, realization rising in Part 3. 

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