Archive for Traveller/Adventurer

Gold and an Abdicated King

The third wiseman had been a king, the ruler of a small kingdom far to the southeast of the Roman Empire.  Many years before, he had abdicated his throne to a son and retired to his payrus scrolls, his correspondence and his preparations.  When the time came and the stars were falling into positions, he had had a long time to consider an appropriate gift.  Feeling it was in inadequate but being the most honorable thing he owned, he chose his own gold crown, the crown he had removed to ready himself for a long journey and his role as witness.  Unwieldly to carry, he melted it down himself, had a box created for it and, with small faith his rheumatic bones would complete the journey, he left to rendezvous with his companions . . .

This, of course, was another Glintlit flight of fancy, and yet, as with anything fictional there may be a small amount of truth lodged in our psyche somewhere. 

Gold.  The history behind it is immense.  The latest is the most fascinating of all.  There’s been research to show that microbes could play a role in the development of gold.  That’s life.  Gold is not entirely the cold, impersonal metal that it’s been maligned to be.  Both frankincense and myrrh come from the resin of trees, the sap that flows like blood through the veins of trees, and now we have life at the birth of gold.  It’s taken us 2000 years to find out just how appropriate the third gift was.

This our tribute to gold . . .

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A little bit of not so trivial trivia brought to you by www.glinlit.com.

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Cave Art and the Modern Girl Scout

This weekend was spent making like a snake at Bluesprings Cavern Park in Indiana, slithering in and out of passageways sometimes knee and elbow deep in water, crawling commando style over over rubble rock, or crouched in a room with a low-hanging roof and hearing the surprisingly comforting drip drip of a leaky faucet that wasn’t a leaky faucet but instead water filtrating from the surface a hundred feet above us.  The Girl Scouts and attached adults such as myself ended up tired, dirty and wet, but highly exhilirated.  Changing into dry clothes we spent the night in a large hollow area above a subterranean waterfall, startled a bat hibernating just over our sleeping heads, and came out into the morning sun a little surprised to find the sky so far above us.

The experience has filled my head with a new appreciation for the cave art found all over the world.  (There was none at Bluesprings unless you count nature’s intricate carvings of it’s own natural materials).  Ten thousand years ago, people blew soot around their hands, hundreds of them, and left a highly personal mark.  Kilroy was here; the first Kilroy, long before anyone could write Kilroy, maybe not much longer after human beings learned to communicate by speech, calling each other by names.  Surely these early artists had names.  Naming appears early, often first in our mythologies, and from there a desire to leave that name, to leave a mark.

Sharks. Jets. Mary loves Joe.  This room was funded by a generous donation from Mr. and Mrs. William Smith.  I am Kilroy. I was here.

And here I am, ten thousand years later, blowing ash around my hand to leave a mark.  My name is Denise Thea.  My cave wall is cyberspace.