Deneba Dynamics

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic


The Garden of the GODS


or "a dime for your time, a dime for your time"
by Rick Spisak

I got to visit the garden of the gods, this morning.
The saints were strolling through what might look at first blush, like an inspired sculpture
garden, but each area was laid out in a different style, with unique vegetation and different
styles of sculptural objects. Each section was focused on a particular deity or belief system
populated with living statues (metaphors) of mighty gods and goddesses strolling
magnificently amongst their followers, each surrounded by an area uniquely beautiful and
representative of their beliefs and aesthetic.
Each illumined with showers of scintillating light of many shifting colors and sparkling sprays
of light with unique striking vegetation and draped with costumes of such iridescent glory,
that you realized as the throng crowded and clustered on the moving path that crisscrossed
these magnificent gardens. Some passersby might easily elect, not to stop, not to make their
destined selection of their designated shepherd God or great towering mountain God. We
glided among the gardens the great rain God appeared and passed or the huntress goddess
with her glorious shining flock of dancing leaping deer so fleet of foot yet the goddess
appeared raced and raced with them for glory sake. These sights each one more marvelous
than the next, so astounding and more breathtaking than the next. It came slowly into my
awareness, that while I could easily cruise through these gardens of belief and vision, each
more amazing than the next. Each thrilled though with subtle yet vivifying energy, that I
somehow began to understand that there was one special one ahead for me. And while I
could continue on and on, past Norse gods, and Greek gods and the magnificent myriad
mobile myths of a million million races, there was one ahead that would unfurl its wonders
and speak particularly to me. And what the trial was, or whatever the simpler choice that was
coming, as I would recognize this one, amidst these shrieking magnificent wonders.
Then ahead I saw it, as it rested partially buried nestled deep in the ground and only barely
visible, a massive iridescent disk a "flying saucer" if you will. But buried (seemingly so deep)
that just to enter it, you would be required to step off the moving glory of this ever-flowing
walkway, and step down into what looked at first blush like a very plain yet awe-inspiring
channel carved into the living earth. Yet while still it glowed and pulsed with shimmering
light and magnetic radiance so as to entice its viewer down into its depths, with an emphasis
that promised ... great glory ahead.
As I walked, even flowed, I was drawn deeper and deeper into this glowing breathing "ship".
It came into my mind, that this ship was no more buried or lodged but was instead "docked"
there deep in this sacred garden. As I traveled deeper and deeper into where or what I knew
not, I passed what was clearly a path set with such lights and shimmering with such energy,
that a grand gallery was nearly... almost glimpsed between the curtains at a side corridor's
conclusion and a throng of celebrants were semi-visible through some amazing dancing
translucent curtains, that beckoned and bid the charmed passerby pass this way, the show
was nearly ready to commence, take your seat... My wife said, come let us take our seats in
the auditorium, this will be interesting. I knew she was right, yet...
I knew this was not my stop, I was instead guided to follow the main corridor further down
into inner workings of the ship. Down to where the crew managed such machinery and
guided this glowing living light, these displays for the assembled cohort above. She entered
the auditorium, and I continued down. I passed what looked for all intents and purposes like
a display case with artifacts of such cunning and genius as to confound. Were these scientific
marvels or works of a refined otherworldly hand art objects I mentally stuttered in an
aesthetic exhaustion of comprehension and the beauty and glory of each object, its simple
beauty as an artifact, part light, part crystal, part precious metal, but manufactured in such a
way as to nearly strain the brain with its beauty.
I felt my breast pocket suddenly heavy with change as if someone had slid two hundred
heavy coins into my pocket. Some invisible hand had delivered these coins into my pocket.
Thrusting my fingers into the bulging pocket, I carefully withdrew my fingers which held half
a dozen of these coins. These coins blue and formed from a deep blue crystalline metal sized
and shaped like little dimes with carefully etched yet indecipherable figures and text, I
couldn't quite make them out exactly because of the glowing, pulsating that seemed to drift
in time with the soothing patterns that danced within the walls floors and ceilings.
She helps you, said a kindly old man as he nodded to the figure of a young alien woman,
whose looped bluish-purple braids hung like parenthesis on either side of this otherworldly
Swiss miss whose childlike pale blue face was peppered with purple freckles. They were
perfectly evenly spaced across her cheeks and nose.
She stood still but literally bounced where she stood in place, wanting yet waiting for some
signal to help me. While I stood stunned and awed at this being of such delight, wonder, and
intelligence. I couldn't help but in a moment of earthbound modesty, wonder if I could be
any kind of fit companion or helpmate to such an amazing being. The elder figure pointing a
long finger at my pocket, and then to this bouncing freckled wonder. My hand was still
perched and she said, bouncing in place... I heard intoned as from a deep deep place..."A
dime for some time". "A dime for some time", so down I reached into my pocket, wrapped
my hand around two dozen of these blue beauties, these small but heavy coins and pressed
them into her palm, and she smiled... and bounced higher on her heels saying "a dime, for
some time", "a dime, for some time".


Submitted: August 14, 2019

© Copyright 2022 RW Spisak. All rights reserved.

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