Yesterday, the day began with a thick gloom hanging over our small city. By mid morning however, the fog had cleared off, allowing the sunshine to create yet another unusually pleasant and warm day for the month of January. Sometimes such pleasant conditions can be a rarity at this time of year--something longed for rather than experienced. Still, they said that the north wind--a strong north wind, and a band of snow were on their way. It was so hard to believe.
By late afternoon the clouds began moving in ominously from the west, blocking the descending sun's rays and casting a renewed sense of gloom over the city. I left the town square long after the darkness had descended. That's when I felt it--a chilling wind surging down the building-lined street, turning it into a wind tunnel--strengthening its icy grip with every gust. After crossing the highway I walked down the steep hill leading into the hallow; where the creek crosses under the road. For a few moments I was below the grasp of the intense wind, but as I began the walk up the mountain upon which lies my cottage--my place of refuge from the cold, I once again felt the frigid gale upon my skin and its penetration through my leather jacket--a barrier against the cold that now felt insufficient. As I reached the wooded areas and the burial grounds that surround my living space, I could hear the moans of the trees- hardwoods stretching, as they swayed in the wind.
Upon reaching the cottage, I quickly re-built the fire and savored the heat emanating from the wood stove. Soon the smell of food filled the air. I was safe from the wind and the cold and settled in for the evening.
The wind produces a variety of sounds. There are times when you can hear the rustling of newly fallen leaves as they swirl and then scatter across the fields and the pavement. Then there is the wind-driven rain that splatters forceably across the window pain--the sound of a torrent of both wind and water. It is a special wind indeed however, that whistles between window and pane and moans along the corners of the abode during the darkest hours of the night. It must blow the right way; it must come from exactly the proper direction; but when it does, it invokes images that most minds do not ordinarily consider--images of long abandoned houses, visions of burial grounds where the spirits of lost souls roam in the night--images of horror!
I don't remember how long I sat in front of the computer last night as the wind howled all around me, but eventually I settled into my warm bed and fell asleep. It was a short-lived slumber however, as the restless gale outside the confines of my abode spread its message: Awaken! Feel my strength. Behold the images I invoke!
I got out of bed and changed the station on my radio, substituting classical music for a popular late-night talk show. Jumping back under the covers, I turned off the light and listened. The topic was Creation and Ancient Origins. Where did we come from, the host wanted to know. All is not as it seems his guests asserted. The Bible is only one part of the mythology.
The wind continued to blow threateningly through the nearby forest--past the grave markers, whistling as I laid there in the dark.
They spoke about the ancient Sumerians, those keepers of secrets dating back into antiquity--the secrets of human origin, of deities--gods and goddesses, dangerous spirits; all of whom even now inhabit other dimensions--the ether regions.
My cat companion, big and fluffy as he is and generally of a nature to spend the nighttime hours outside, declined the opportunity on this blustery night; instead, preferring warmth and protection within the four walls of the cottage. He sat in the other room with eyes open and ears on the alert--watching--listening to the wind and the creaking of the house as it bucked against the tempest.
Eve was not to blame for mankind's downfall, one of the guests pointed out. It's not fair that womankind takes the blame for our state of affairs. The serpent was more than he is now portrayed to be.
The temperature started to drop inside the cottage. I arose again, throwing another log on the fire. This was no night to let the flames get low. The icy wind was penetrating.
Things had occurred in the Pleiades star system. Long ago some of its inhabitants came to Earth from that distant place. The sons of God that took the daughters of men, were not necessarily evil. They had a purpose. As for those who manipulated the DNA of earlier evolutionary manifestations such as the neanderthals, thus paving the way for modern man perhaps 200,000 years ago, the Sumerians didn't say if they were extra-terrestrial or from other dimensional realities.
Restless and stirring yet again, I looked outside the windows to see that a light dusting of wind-driven snow had stuck to the ground, somewhat illuminated by the waning, but still nearly full gibbous moon; though it remained obscured behind the angry clouds. The wind howled and I returned to bed, wrapping myself completely beneath the covers.
During the so-called lost years before he returned to the Holy Land, Jesus studied all the mystical arts in Alexandria they said. He knew the secrets of Sumer. Christianity was divided among two trains of thought. Mysticism was opposed by patriarchy and dogma. Patriarchy won out.
As the northerly gale groaned and whistled mournfully past my windows--just outside the door, its sound filled my mind with images of haunted structures, where ghosts and other spirits still roam. I thought of trees silhouetted in the light of the full moon, swiftly moving clouds running across its face; vampires lurking in the dark.
The radio show ended at its appointed time and eventually, I fell into a somewhat uncomfortable slumber. At the crack of dawn I was awakened by the cat's antics by the door. He was ready to go outside and brave the cold--and the wind. Night turned into day and I arose to make my morning coffee.
It's late afternoon now and the sky is still overcast but with enough clearing in the west to offer a colorful sunset. The wind is still blowing, but is expected to slowly lose its fury. A warming trend will begin tomorrow and more delightful weather is on the way. Still, I for one will always remember the images induced by the sound of the whistling wind, ancient stories of man's origins, extraterrestrials, lost souls wandering in the night, deities that still inhabit other regions--other places, and the secrets of ancient Sumeria.
Copyright © 2012 A.D. Vick, All Rights Reserved