10.

Twenty-One Women

The heart of the world is crystal marked by twenty-one paths and one narrow road, thin as a flint blade that the fool walks. The ways of goddesses are devious. Temples fill with temptresses, dark-skinned dancers, daughters, mothers. A man walks alone by his own light.

He comes to the first pylon. He speaks. Lady of terror, whose heart is a wall, mistress of destruction. Lady of alarm, ruin and despair, too-wise bird of no good omen. Priestess and dancer whose words are fires that crackle and spit in a man's face. Lady of rage, she creates nightmares by the thousands. She spins. With a black word she drives back the serpent and the traveller goes on his way. Her name is “Vulture Mother of Terror.”
Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the second pylon. Lady of heaven, cup of flame, courtesan of two worlds, whore of heaven, mother of mortals. Hers is the body of love, milky paps and flesh so vast a man gets lost. She, the lover of every man, every woman, every beast. She, the mistress of no one. She devours all in the flame of her lioness mouth. Her name is “Daughter of Ptah.” Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the third pylon. Lady of the altar, lady of the lotus, great pool of emotion and memory. Two eyes of the world to whom offerings of myrrh are made, she is a heap of dream. She is the flower bursting forth. She is desire, beloved of every god. She is the pleasure and all gods unite with her. Her name is “Noble Sycamore.” Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the fourth pylon. Lady of the knife slashing, bits of flesh in her hair. Lady dancing on earth, vessel of the world. She cuts the throats of her enemies. She uplifts the weary man. Her heart is slight as a feather. She fills the void within with courage. She feeds him, she clothes him, she throws open the door to forever. She provides his escape on the back of a cow. Her name is “Ponderous Bull.” Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the fifth pylon. Flame, flame. Lady of breath, fragrant woman of air, whose words are hot and sweet in his nostrils. No man may come to her. No man may sleep exhausted on her breast. No man may beseech her aloud. No man may stand before her presence. She is eternity, essence, window onto forever. Her name is “Moment of the Flood.” Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the sixth pylon. Lady of light, warm, round, sun-darkened breast. Lady of might for whom men wail and shout. Lady of love, bond of woman to son. None know her height, nor breadth, nor magnitude. No creature ever was fashioned like her. No sorrow was known as deep as the sorrow of those who suckled her. No man or woman ever rose from her arms. She encompasses all. Beneath her robe curls a worm in an empty sky. Turn back, faint of heart, or lie stillborn in her forever. Her name is “Companion of Death.” Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the seventh pylon. Lady of tatters, rags and cloth. Mistress of the robe, clothier of the dead, woman who weeps and hides her weeping. She is widow, concealer, sorceress. She is dew and rain and tears. She sobs into the shroud of the man she loves. He lies still and hears her weeping. What she loves remains secret. Her name is “Beauty.” Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the eighth pylon. Lady of the pyre, fire blazing, whose flame never dies. Lady of the heat, she burns up transgression. Her flame is sharp, her fingers are orange spikes. She speaks with a tongue of far-reaching fire. Her hands are quick. She bums flesh into ash and light. None may pass by or through her without risking death. She is the necessity, justice, awesome power. Her name is “Flame That Protects His Body.” Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the ninth pylon. Lady of the forearm, lady of strength, lady who dwells with snakes. Lady who opens the lion's mouth, who soothes the souls of her priests with her bread. Lady of wisdom and pleasure. She measures the year that travels her girth. She is the tree and its branches. She is the cycle of gods, the aura of light, the river, the field of emerald and turquoise. She is the face of every woman in love, the strength of those who enter her. Her name is “Eye of Her Own Song.” Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the tenth pylon. Lady of thunder whose voice is a roar, who rattles the teeth of men. Lady of the wheel, of the fates, of the fist. Lady of high, terrible laughter. Lady of jubilation in the face of the vulture. She makes men howl in her clamorous presence. She fears no man on earth or beneath. Her name is “Priestess of Heaven.” Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the eleventh pylon. Lady of the repeated slaughter, beastly lady who stamps her hooves, who brands fiends and rebels, most terrible lady of all. A serpent has crawled round her heart. She rejoices on the day of darkness. She stands guard before the gate. She pierces a man with the flame of her eye. She weighs his life in her palm. She speaks not, inquires not. In silence she interrogates a man's soul. Her name is not known. Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the twelfth pylon. Lady of splendor, mistress of two worlds, invoking the powers of both. She commands her soldiers into battle. She chars her enemies with fire. She is the magnificent rising sun, radiant, bright light of the world. She is the gold orb thrust above the hill, sparkle of cosmic mind, god embedded in self. In the midst of her dance she stops, hears the voice of her lord. She speaks not his name, inquires not. In silence she interrogates his soul. Her name is not known. Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the thirteenth pylon. Death. Death. Eternity. Lady Isis gathers his bones together. She marries him unto the grave. She reaches down and draws him up in her two arms. She stretches her hands over his stinking flesh. She causes the waters to ripple, the Nile to rise, the evening star to shine. She awaits his embrace. His face is aglow with white heat. “Magic and Marriage,” “Love and Dissolve” are her names. Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the fourteenth pylon. Lady of the knife, dancing on blood, red dancer, flamingo woman. Hers are the flower in decay, the columns of the temples pulled down, the intrigue of beauty that lies in ruin. Her hands separate the dead from the spirits of the dead. Hers is the hour of hearing catastrophes. In silence she interrogates his soul. Her name is not known. Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the fifteenth pylon. Lady of scrutiny, lady of carnelian souls. She finds reason to make a man miserable. She finds reason to cause a man to scream. She binds him with a cry. With a shout she holds him fast. Her knife slashes through his intestines. She speaks not his name, inquires not. In silence she interrogates his soul. Her name is not known. Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the sixteenth pylon. Lady of the rainstorm, lady of the eye, hastener of the lotus blossoms. She tastes the flesh of dead men, her breath withers the flowers, her red eye foretells the future. She bursts forth, the teeth of a lioness, the power of nature in her belly, the lust for blood. She is the self studying the self. She speaks not his name, inquires not. In silence she interrogates his soul. Her name is not known. Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the seventeenth pylon. A star trembles in the sky. Lady of diminished returns, hacker to pieces, lessener, subtracter, divider. She bums his flesh above a candle. Lady of flame, she binds him in rags. Lady of myrrh and frankincense, she fills his nostrils with herbs. She speaks not his name, inquires not. In silence she interrogates his soul. Her name is not known. Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the eighteenth pylon. Lady of the temple, lover of fire, purifier of sinners. She is heat. She is mother of the whetstone and knife. She lusts for mutilation, for the heads of those who love her. Lady of the temple, the palace, the slaughterhouse. She smells the blood in her nose. She is the back of the head, the eternal dream. She speaks not his name, inquires not. In silence she interrogates his soul. Her name is not known. Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the nineteenth pylon. Old woman whose teeth are broken and brown. Lady of dusk who was once the song bird. She was early light, the rattling seeds of the sistrum, a brilliant moment in time. She spends her days as mistress of flames. Lady of endurance, lady of strength. She holds the power over his mouth. She chants the songs of goddesses. She reads the library of a man's life. She speaks not his name, inquires not. In silence she interrogates his soul. Her name is not known.
Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the twentieth pylon. Lady of the tomb, lady of the mastaba, lady of the cavern. She is the resurrection. She is the sanctuary, the rock in the side of the mountain. She is the wall, the veil, the mask, the sorceress who hides her creations. She carries away the faint of heart. She devours the bread of the corpse, the wine of blood. Her name is “Concealer.” In silence she interrogates his soul. Blessed is the lady.

He comes to the twenty-first pylon. Lady of the universe, lady of crossed destinies, lady of vibrations. She is the name of a man when first it is uttered. She molds his form in wax and tosses it to flames. She brings secret paths. She possesses hidden schemes. She plots a man's life in accordance with divine will. Her name is not known. Her power is greatest. Blessed is the lady.

I am a man whose heart is pure, who walked the paths of darkness, who shone in the houses of the other world, who came back to heaven and on earth bearing light. I passed the mothers, the daughters and the grandmothers of vultures. I have seen the underside of beauty. I have gazed long in Hathor's mirror and seen the hidden faces of goddesses. And I shall go on believing in light, for only light and love denied can make the faces of women so terrible.