“Portrait of a Young Woman,” George D. Mirea,1887, WikiArt.

Part 4: Voices from Clouds Calling

Inked smudges on parchment, Harawah was
First of ancient gateways Symerya and Dolius
Must reach, guiding landmarks, to ruins of
Ancient temple site. “This place has many
Names,” Dolius advised Symerya, “all sacred,
Holy to generations who followed desert god.”
He fixed his eyes on hers. “Know this: From
Here forward, there is no turning back, no
Returning home, pilgrimage in dedication to
God, faith and obedience tested. By all things
You will be judged, words and heart, doubts,
Fears, if holy messenger you will be.”

Symerya fell to Dolius sandaled feet. “There
Is much I have not shared,” she said, tears
Flowing, heart quaking. “For as much as I
Listen to and for this ancient God, he receives
My prayers.” He lifted Symerya to her feet.
Into her robes reaching, she gave Dolius her
Papyri scrolls. “Yes, all you say is true. From
Day I found parchment, I began writing. He is
With us, everywhere. There is no turning back,
My pilgrimage to place which he has named,
Too holy for me to say aloud, except as ‘Place
Of Prayer’ or simply, ‘The Place.”

Desert dunes unfolding, camels in caravan,
Riding wave motion, Symerya’s journey began,
Dark robed as Bedouin guides, water and food
For three days, brutal sun and heat, chilling
Nights, for Symerya soul’s crucible, prophet-
Forging fires, trail of solitary souls. “I have
Been taken by God, as if dead,” Symerya papyri
Penned. “For I am no more who I was or used
To be. Daughter or child, meanings naught,
As I seek wisdom of God, not as unapproachable
Agéd, white-wooled man, but living deity who
Understands, knows by deeds and hands,
Blessings and mortal ills of earth.”

“Twilight, Vallée de la Cluse,” Henry William Banks Davis, 1863, WikiArt.

Evening campfire light, Dolius read Shmerya’s
Passages. More than runaway adolescent girl,
Deific voices called from clouds, sunlight
Streaming, divinity over-watching. “Darkest
Nights, sky deepest blue,” she wrote, “clouds
Radiant by golden gleams, move not away
But remain just out of reach, hillside-lingering,
Beckoning me to climb rising winding paths.”
During twilight hours, Symerya into desert
Wandered, searching for God’s thunderous
Light. On starry horizon, they over-temple
Lofted. Lo! God had ushered his chalice
Of wisdom, Symerya, divine messenger.

Here, we have learned more about Symerya, her spiritual journey,
meeting her guide, Dolius, their pilgrimage to 
“Place of Prayer.”
Who or what does Dolius represent? Perhaps someone 
“knows by deeds and hands, blessings and mortal ills of earth?”
Thanks for reading and for your kind comments.

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