As the furor unrolled, the familiarity of Lebanon drew me back to a past life:
I sunk on the battlefield against the desert jackals, dazed, as they swarmed around me:
My soul slipped past my lips, 2,000 years to the past -
I remembered
Everything:
The Asherah grove at the heart of the temple of Our Lady is full of olives and grape vines, in the sacred heart of our worship. Men come to do penance to the Goddess, worshiping us as the qadesh leads them into the bosom of the Mother. I often go to the well at the temple's courtyard and wish upon the moon reflected in the still waters. She is beauty in the grips of Yahweh, bosom companion of our Heavenly Father.
