When God Answers In Place Of Ra

You scare me with dreams; and terrify me with visions…

I had a dream.


We were males, everyone.

We all, except one, had identical faces – everyone had my face. We all had the same mind, and responded to thoughts in the same manner, like we had some controlling force working behind us. This was the second feature we had in contrast to the man with the distinct face.

I had his face blurred from my view, our view. We couldn’t tell what he was like, except that he was gray-haired, with beards, and with a rod in his right hand. It was midday, the sun was high and we were in a city with red, high hanging  walls.

My lookalikes and I were preoccupied by one thing: Gray. We balefully approached him, with sinister grins, ready to waste him at the nearest afforded instance, with no just reason but that he was different.

As we closely approached Gray, he lifted his hand, his right hand, the one with the rod, and our uneasiness began. Our facial expression became one of lost hope; our grin ceased; we ceased moving, stood immobile, feeling life slowly drain off us. He seemed to crack a smile of contentment.

My eyelids weighed down, shut, and it all went black until I began seeing in flashes, images of people, men, who all looked like me, drowning, sinking, floating, dying. Then, I awoke.

Sufficient unto a day is the evil thereof…

Saline trails on his deeply furrowed face.



The Sea?

He puts a finger to his brow.

Ra, what has come upon us… What have I done this time?

Panting profusely, he beheld the result of his thoughts, his words, his decision; to deny his guts, save his ego, once more be mean, and battle the King…

I should have known {but of course I knew, I just never agreed} the result was going to be the same.

Ten times I had tried, and landed on by back. This is the eleventh and there lingers no hope of a twelfth, one in which I’d gladly surrender my sword: for the result was ever going to be one: defeat.

Through the ages, the men who lived before us, they braved battles by struggles, by swords, by  spears. They cried aloud, shouted, screamed, braved on as they fell. We dissimilarly here stand, held by such terror not even the devil in all his rage can exude; a terror God alone could render: describable by no cry, nor scream; just silence: mind numbing silence, save the whimpers of impending death. And all this, just because I dared stand against the One, with a capital O. The Invincible One they called Him, said He was the I AM. Who ever goes by the name I AM?

The Red walls which not so long ago stood high up on both sides of their foregoing enemies, dissolving into a sea before their eyes as they all but accept their end, the hoary bearded commander up on a hill, rod in hand, up and… Realization sets in.

Oh Ra! This was my dream!

Myself, my men!

The red high hanging walls!


Oh! How much of  a fool I have been! How often I’d seen that rod stretched out, even in dreams and yet chose not to learn leave and live. Now, of all possible legacies, I leave behind the tale of a foolishly stubborn king whose pride strangled the firstborns, whose lust drowned his men.

Standing feels impossible with the trembling in his knees, as he goes down on both of them…

For decades we held them captive. And now our greed, our lust for power, reduces us to a loss of the commonest of them: the power to breathe. Now approaches the moment when victory is far beyond and retreat is far behind, breathing becoming harder as men, horses and chariots are swept, their voices drowned by the onrushing sea. And in these final moments, I hear the sound of the singing of the elect, the ones He, the One, had chosen; far and over on the horizon…

“Baba mi lo n’ilę, maa rin maa yọ”

I am Farao… IsraEl has a God.


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