[Fragment 26A, Ba-d]

A.E.M. Baumann

© 2018



Buy the book on Amazon ---


About The Knossian Oracles


Note to the Reader



The Knossian Oracles

      Περὶ Ποιητικῆς . . .

            1   2   3

      Daedalus in Tartarus

            4   5   6

      L'Origine, Salomé I

            7   8   9   10   11   12   13   14   15

            16   17

      L'Origine, Salomé II

            18   19   20   21   22   23   24

      The Night Sea Crossing

            25   26   27   28   29   30

      The Garden of Venus


      The Incantations of Isis and

            32   33   34   35   36   37   38   39

      Imago Dei

            40   41   42   43   44   45   46

      The Seven Dreams of Paris

            47   48   49   50   51   52

      The Axiom of Maria

            53   54   55   56   57   58   59   60

            61   62   63   64   65   66   67   68

            69   70   71   72   73   74   75   76

            77   78   79   80   81   82   83


And the Light Falls, Remir




      The Occult







      Table of Fragments

      An Incomplete Bibliography




to Hatter's Cabinet Main Page



There is a small, mountain village in Japan, in the north of the island of Hokkaido. In the village, an old man, a man of years more silver than the hairs that float about his head, crosses a stream. The stream, said to be named after a horse birthed in its waters some five hundred years before, a stallion made famous by carrying a warrior of local legend into a series of victorious battles, said also to be named for the water spirit who helped the mare through a difficult foaling, is fed by the mountains that shadow the village, and is cold for the melting mountain snow.

The old man crosses the stream by a footbridge that is as old as the village, that he himself, for the whole of his adult life, has kept and repaired as has been needed, and ornamented as has been his want. He walks slowly, silently, knowing where to step to keep the planks from speaking out of turn. The only noise is the burble of the water flowing around the posts, the buzzing of the dragonflies hovering over the reeds, and the chirrups of two tree frogs hidden therein, talking to each other from opposite banks.

There is a breeze, that miles away, at the coast, is a wind in which two hundred and three kites, of colors to rival the Emperor’s gardens, of shapes to rival the constellations, of tails to rival all the obis in Sapporo, are flying on tactile lines of energy, controlled by and controlling responsive, potent hands. About the bridge, where the wind is but a willful breeze, the air is instead and likewise filled with as many thousands of flittering cherry blossom petals as there are kites over that distant shore.