Atop a gathering of pregnant pauses stands the glimmering pale light of the mystic man. Healing sutras and incantations abound within the swirling soup of his consciousness though his modest dress balances the embellishment of his spirit.
He appraises the specter lodged into the soul of the afflicted. A wild display and a cresting burst of kinetic possession, the flailing of the limbs silences the crowd as he, step after step, glides closer to the source of the commotion. His sandals barely touch the floor of impacted dirt. Hands now outstretched, he gently places the heels of his hands upon the temples of the possessed.
A widening of eyes now appearing lidless, the afflicted plants his feet firmly and a quick grasp of his enemy’s wrists startles entranced spectators. Although appearing to struggle with the taut pressure of twisted twine, indeed with elbows and knees trembling, His Holiness remains composed with the proof of The Blessing.
“Amun-em, I caress thy spirit…”
“Off, off, off, you servant! Thou hath no influence within this cloister!” as a violent exhortation.
Simply placing his thumbs over the eyes of the afflicted, the lids close as if by self-command and his knees relax as His Holiness leads him to a genuflect.
Presented now to the masses is a divine portrait. The healer manipulates the will of the weak and hapless vagrant placed into a submissive form. Blinding light bounds through film covered windows and illuminates this new scene of deliverance.
To the masses:
“Go now and recount what you have seen to all you meet. Reach both hands towards the realm of gentle Amun and give everything of yourself to the divine. Every moment has been written, every tale has been told, and you must live each day according to it’s will…”
“Amun-em, Bless you all…”
And then, like a host of dragonflies, he disappeared into the damp morning and forevermore became our waking breaths.