shores of Atlantis never shall see the light of day again. The
shores that were once a part of this world have gone, like many
great things, out of the world. Its day is done, and its glory
has gone with it to the depths. Those that lived in the days of
splendor knew what was to come, but did not rectify the
situation. Pride destroys what we perceive as perfection so often
that it is better to accept flaws and learn than to put them away
so they may not be used against us.
stories are one. One tale united in its true perception of
Atlantis as a society that sought not to embrace its roots, but
rather to cut them off and pretend no connection. Though they are
many, all the women who speak here are of one voice: Mine.
I am the
spirit of Atlantis, and I did not die with my children. I live on
the plains of Salisbury, in the columns of the Parthenon, the
waters of the Amazon nourish my blood, and power that was mine
survives in the few with such a claim to my blood. I will never
have the splendor that once made me a haven for a man imprisoned
by his own power, and I will never have the rich joy of
nourishing my children. I am not gone, for I can never be gone,
but I live now as a memory, myth, and fable.
watched as men play folly to the words of women, and women give
in to the seductions of men with no more than lust on their
minds. I lingered for a time to watch as they departed, but I was
not meant to remain rooted to the ocean floor. I belonged with my
children, as Abraham with his children. Now I face a world where
my name is not known, and my face is hidden. It does not really
matter that the land is gone, for I live while my children live.
So long as one remains I shall too.
there will be a time when the teachings of my priesthood will
fade into the new teachings of this world. They mean no harm, but
they have lost much of the wisdom they once held. Perhaps to
remain only in legend is not so bad for heroes whose works are
escalated to greater than real, but for a paradise such as I it
is naught but speculation. The new world is not so bad, merely
devoid of magic and mystery. I see a time when magic is feared
and reputed to be the work of the devil. Yet, I recall a time
when magic was honor and its rewards pleasure. That time is lost.
I remember when I called out to my children first, and now I turn
to see that I am one with spirit but not the conscious. Whatever
I have become is not so terrible, but is the price of loss
countered by justification? I think not, but the powers that be
have decided it is enough. Perhaps one day they will give back
the wisdom lost to my children, and if not they will let it be
felt even if it is not identifiable. For where I am, they will be