The Sea Witch

A Rose Among The Woodwose


John Presco

Copyright 2019

“The Reverend Mr. Wilson appears again at the mansion of Governor Bellingham and questions Hester about her right to raise the little girl.  When he asks Pearl who “made thee,” Pearl astonishes him by replying that she was plucked from the wild rose bush by the prison.  After this response, the Reverend Wilson feels the child should be taken from Hester, believing the mother wishes to “make a mountain bank of this child.”

John Webb Evered asked Mary Dyers one more time if she would repent, or die. She said she would not repent. As Captain of a Artillery Company, it was John’s duty to take her life. He put a noose around Mary’s neck, and she was no more.

When I read this for the first time this morning, I gasped! Is John, kindred, via the Webb family? When I looked at his chart I was dumbfounded. Evered is his wife’s maiden name, and, the name Webb is described as an alias. I have never seen such a thing, and I have looked at many family trees. What I suspect, is, the Webb family did not want to be identified with the hanging of Mary, for several reasons.

What if she was a witch, and this Puritan family feared a reprisal? Would it involve spellcasting and cursing the Webb family up and down the family tree? The dead can be cursed! The name Richmond is thrown in a unique way that has to be a device to confuse the Coven, who had to be Quakers. Many Puritans became Quakers, and thus they own family trees recorded in Bibles? There are vast land grants being handed out. John Webb is given a large tract of land, and founds several towns. He is a person of renown. John and Rebecca Evered survived a harrowing encounter with a hurricane about the ship ‘James’.

My great, great, great grandfather came to America when he was fifty-two. I was appalled to learn he participated in the death of Quakers. He trained to be a lawyer and the Inns of Courts. There were personal attacks upon his style of preaching. I am seeing John in a new light. There was a usurpation taking place that was secular in nature.

John Wilson was one of the ministers who assented to the hanging of Quaker missionaries for their religious beliefs. He participated in the deaths of Marmaduke Stevenson and William Robinson in 1659, and later Mary Dyer in 1660.

John’s tree and history – is cut short – when it should be highlighted and thorough. Consider the trees the LDS are collecting in order to save the dead! The Mormons believe Jesus came to America – before the Christian church was founded by Saint Paul, who hunted down members of the first church – and went on several voyages! The Nazarites were the Judges in the Bible, some of them were women. Did Jesus bring women to the New World – who stayed here? Have the souls of the world been coming to America?

I just discovered the Mormons believe the Carthaginians came to America. This is astounding because Rena’s kindred were Mormons who hail from Denmark. I marvel at her almond eyes. I have compared her to Jezebel who was demonized my later day scribes in the reform of Jehu, I believe.

Rena’s three sisters were models, and had blonde hair. King Ahab had good relations with Moab Royalty from whom Jesus descends. The falling out with Moab appears to be blamed on Jezzebel who came from Sidon, where Tripoli is located. Jesus makes contact with a Samaritan prophetess.

Rena did not get along with school girls for many reasons. Most were Christians who did see Rena as a witch because she had no parents and was brought up by her grandmother. Note the black cat. My cat-friends were seen as demonic by the Kimite Klan who are made up of very ugly women. I’m sure beautiful Jezebel is their No.1 enemy.

Rena’s I.Q. was around 180. What ever real complaint Irene Victoria Christensen a.k.a Rena Easton, harbors against me, she can complain no further for I have placed her name next to Shakespeare. An oceans of poems sail the seven seas inside Rena’s skull. We camped for fifty days in the forests of Northern California. She was like to Pearl, a Bohemian Wild Child………….a Rose among the Woodwose!


Pearl is Hester Prynne and Arthur Dimmesdale’s daughter. Pearl lives on the outskirt of town with her mother, ostracized by the rest of the children in the community for her mother’s sin of adultery. Perhaps because of this ostracization, Pearl develops a close connection with nature, and Hawthorne frequently associates Pearl with sunlight and the forest. Hester dresses Pearl in radiantly colored clothes, which seem to mimic the ornate scarlet letter and stand in sharp contrast to her own clothes. Her character represents the archetype of the innocent, free-spirited, and innately good child which the Romantic authors often wrote about in their poems and novels.

Considered by many of the townspeople as a “demon offspring,” Pearl is like an “elf-child”—curious, wild, independent, and unafraid of authority. Mature beyond her years, Pearl questions the world around her. Even at a young age, she is drawn to Hester’s scarlet letter and frequently touches it, even putting it back in place when it falls. When she meets Dimmesdale in the forest, she questions his intentions. He kisses her on the forehead, and she runs to the brook to wash it off, demonstrating her rejection of authority.

At the end of the novel, the seven-year-old Pearl transforms. Dimmesdale collapses on the scaffolding, and Pearl finally accepts him as her father. She kisses his lips, and “a spell [is] broken.” The narrator declares that Pearl would “grow up amid human joy and sorrow, nor forever do battle with the world, but be a woman in it.” From a defiant young “elf-child,” Pearl transforms into a woman, marries into nobility, and moves to Europe.

Abigail Shakespeare (Webb)

Birthplace: Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire, England
Death: 1595 (79)
Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire, England
Immediate Family: Daughter of Sir John Alexander Webb, Jr. and Margaret Webb
Wife of Richard Shakespeare
Mother of Anna Green; Margaret Shakespeare; Robert Shakespeare; Richard Shakespeare; John Shakespeare and 3 others
Sister of William Webb; Sir Henry Alexander Webb, I; Mary Agnes Arden and Agnes Webb 

Another thing that jumped out at me, is, the name John Eyre (Ayer). Jane is feminized John. When I met Rena Easton, she was reading ‘Jane Eyre’. In getting to know her, she told me, her and boyfriend did dabble in Witchcraft in Grand Island Nebraska. After we found each other again, she sent me a long letter she wrote on Christmas Day. I sent her a long letter, back. When she tore this letter into tiny pieces, and presented it to Deputy Sheriff, Dan Mayland, of Montana, she also gave him a copy of my letter that she recorded from memory. She also copied from memory the letter she sent me! Mind blowing! The Puritans of Salem would frown on this – and then your trial begins!

In my conversation with Dan, I asked him if he believed Rena owned such a powerful memory, or, did she make my letter up? Rena had filed a stalking order against me. I told Dan I don’t have her address, nor a phone number?

“This is our first communication in over forty years! Aren’t you out of your jurisdiction? I am going to contact my Congressman, Peter DeFazio, and present him with  the idea I am being harassed. And, this is a witch-hunt!”

This is 2014 before our President was accused of abuses he says he did not commit. Poor Dan. He was young, and admitted Rena had it out for me. That night, I had a dream. Rena’s living room is filled with men wearing red hats. She came around the back, and kisses me…………….goodbye. I surmise that she has befriended by Evangelicals who go to the church close by. She shared my letter with them, thinking it was very beautiful. I suspect the pointed this paragraph out to her – and they found it demonic! “Psychic searches” are of Satan, or, so the say! Mind you, Rena is very jealous of other women, and I tell her I shared my dream with my first girlfriend. Big mistake!

“Over a year ago I began a painting of you. One night after I lie down to go to sleep, you lie down next to me. You were seventeen again. I jumped out of bed. For a month you appear by my side as I walked. When I went to a movie, I was not quite alone. I told my friends I have a very friendly – and beautiful ghost.

“Do you think she is dead?” a friend dare ask.

I began a psychic search for you, to feel where you were. What had become of you? I wondered if you were held a prisoner of a abusive and crazy man who had to have you all to himself. I saw that you were in a very dark dungeon. I wanted to free you. I was heart broken when I could not. I have never known such emotions. I don’t know if anyone ever has. I had to stop working on your portrait.”

I am now leery of women after my wretched experience with the Krazy Kimites Klan, who invoked the name of Wiccan Alley Valkyrie in order to bring fear into my heart. Because my ancestors took part in the Salem Witch Hunts, I am going to present the Mayor of Springfield a report, that will give evidence to the truth I was the subject of a modern day Witch-hunt! The question is……how did they find me? It is my belief Witches are hiding amongst the Doomsday Cult of John Darby, so they can use the power of Jesus, and the congregation, to suck the soul and life out of their victims in a Vampiric With-hunt!

What I suspect, is, there was inbreeding amongst the Webb and Wilson family, who are kin to the Shakespeare family. The result is a mutation of people who own very high I.Q. s and a photographic memory when it comes to the English Language. The women especially had a way with words that involved getting in touch with Ancient Muses, that in the New World – broke out of their confines! The Nine Muses were free to roam the vast wilderness, and loved their contact with the Native American Spirits.

When the Puritan men failed to protect the women like they were protected in England, they pulled their energy together. The result was, they got in touch with a very powerful Jinn, and the Ancient League of the Sea Witches! Rena told me she has memorized a million poems.  Sea Witches own the harp of Orpheus and the beautiful voice of birds. Rena has a beautiful voice. You can hear it in her writing, where no letter is connected.

Because I fear for my life, from the Evangelic Wiccan of Springfield, and the Bellite Wiccan of Eugene, I feel it is vital to get my information out in order to save the United States of America, and, the British People! I have found evidence Thomas Jefferson contacted the Sea Witches that dwelt in many cities along the Atlantic Seaboard in order to train sailors and soldiers who sailed with Commodre Issac Hull in America’s War against the Caliph of Tripoli. This war was not approved by Congress, because he never sought their approval. War ships were built in secret as far as South Carolina. They set sail in what amounts to The Last Crusade!

I will contact Mayor Christine Lundberg, and inform her my very improtnat American History is under attack by Wiccan Thugs. That this history is fighting for its life in a modern day city, is an outrage! I will also send my report to the Mayor of Eugene, warning her about the Witchy workings of Councilperson, Emily Semple, who is an Anarchist She -Devil, and ally of Alley Valkyrie and Belle Burch. Emily is a former Slug Queen.

Below is my Sea Story ‘The Birth of Venus’ that I recorded my reading of. I sent a copy to Rena Easton. I have not transcribe the last part, where Venus is reborn.

In 1970 I wanted to ask Rena to marry me. She anticipated this, and told me she was too young and had just begun to live. She married Commodore Ian Easton when she was thirty-five years of age. There is a reason for this union. As you shall see. Alas, I own proof Commodore Hull is one of my great grandfathers, making my bloodline one of the most famous in American History. Rena, was terrified of the sea. Why? I think she had a calling.

I want to thank Niel Laudati and Mayor Christine Lundberg for responding to my cry for help. They will forever be a part of this amazing history.

Enough for now. Let us hear a rallying cry! Rally round our Lady Liberty – Lads! For she is the great Sea Witch, Rosmarina, who saved Europe form the dark force that gathered in Tripoli. Away! Away! Away!

Seer John

President of Royal Rosamond Press

Springfield Mayor <>
To:John Ambrose
Sep 29, 2018 at 7:38 PM

Mr. Ambrose,

I’m. Sorry you don’t feel safe. I will see if the police can stop by and check on you.


Isaac Hull (March 9, 1773 – February 13, 1843) was a Commodore in the United States Navy. He commanded several famous U.S. naval warships including USS Constitution (“Old Ironsides”) and saw service in the undeclared naval Quasi War with the revolutionary French Republic (France) 1796–1800; the Barbary Wars (1801–1805, 1815), with the Barbary states in North Africa; and the War of 1812 (1812–1815), for the second time with Great Britain.[1] In the latter part of his career he was Commandant of the Washington Navy Yard in the national capital of Washington, D.C., and later the Commodore of the Mediterranean Squadron. For the infant U.S. Navy the battle of USS Constitution vs HMS Guerriere on August 19, 1812, at the beginning of the war, was the most important single ship action of the War of 1812 and one that made Isaac Hull a national hero.

  • Captain John Evered (ca.1611–1668), also known as Webb, was one of the first Europeans to settle what is now known as the Merrimack Valley in Massachusetts, specifically the town of Dracut, which Evered named

John was born in Wiltshire, England around 1611, to father John Webb (b.1580) and mother Rebecca Evered. He was baptised in 1612 in Bromham, Wiltshire.

In his early 20’s, he, his brother Stephen, their oldest sister Hannah and her husband John Ayer (Eyre) and children, on June 3, 1635, set sail for the New World, aboard the ship James.

I am reading Hawthorne. About time!

Sea Horse

The dark horse
is in the ocean
Grey-silver manes
around the sun.
The hollow horn of the eye
plays chords out to sea
which sets adrift my father’s boat
of wood and colored scales
to catch the blue fish of the mind
The setting sun
like a golden ring
he places upon one hand
and brings home his days catch
crystal colors upon the sand

Jon Presco

Copyright 2013

The Ocean

Nathanial Hawthorne

The ocean has its silent caves,
Deep, quiet and alone;
Though there be fury on the waves,
Beneath them there is none.
The awful spirits of the deep
Hold their communion there;
And there are those for whom we weep,
The young, the bright, the fair.

Calmly the wearied seamen rest
Beneath their own blue sea.
The ocean solitudes are blest,
For there is purity.
The earth has guilt, the earth has care,
Unquiet are its graves;
But peaceful sleep is ever there,
Beneath the dark blue waves.

Just as he uses true historical figures as characters in his story “Young Goodman Brown,” Nathaniel Hawthorne writes into his narrative of “The Scarlet Letter” the “stern divine” John Wilson, a minister who came to America in 1630.  A strong figure of Puritan intolerance he appears in Chapter III in the first scaffold scene. However, Hawthorne describes him in such a way as to suggest his Puritanical ineffectiveness and punitive nature:

withal a man of kind and genial spirit….an attribute [that] was…a matter of shame than self-congratulation with him….There he stood, with a border of grizzled locks beneath his skull-cap; while his gray eyes, accustomed to the shaded light of his study , were winking, like those of Hester‘s infant, in the unadulterated sunshine.  He looked like the darkly engraved portraits which we see prefixed to old volumes of sermons; and no more right than of those portraits would have to step forth, as he now did and meddle with a question of human guilt, passion, and anguish.

Alluding to the judges of the witchcraft trials, Hawthorne suggests the Puritanical sanctimony in the Reverend Wilson who admits that he overrides the concern of Mr. Dimmesdale that it is a wrongdoing to question her in “such broad daylight, and in the presence of so great a multitude.” But, Mr. Wilson, continues, he has explained to Dimmesdale that the wrongdoing is in the “commission of the sin, and not in the showing of it forth.”  He, then, bids the Reverend Dimmesdale to step forward and question Hester.  But, despite his pleas, Hester refuses.  Mr. Wilson cries “more harshly than before,”

Woman, transgress not beyond the limits of Heaven’s mercy!

The Reverend Mr. Wilson appears again at the mansion of Governor Bellingham and questions Hester about her right to raise the little girl.  When he asks Pearl who “made thee,” Pearl astonishes him by replying that she was plucked from the wild rose bush by the prison.  After this response, the Reverend Wilson feels the child should be taken from Hester, believing the mother wishes to “make a mountain bank of this child.”

When Roger Chillingworth suggests that they guess the father of the child, the “good Mr. Wilson” suggests that it would be “sinful” to pursue the matter; better to “pray and fast upon it.”  Mr. Wilson does not appear again until the second scaffold scene in Chapter XII, and then he does perceive Mr. Dimmesdale through the darkness even though Dimmesdale barely restrains himself from speaking:

The venerable Father Wilson continued to step slowly onward, looking carefully at the muddy parthway before his feet.

And, finally, in the third scaffold scene, “the venerable John Wison,…stepped forward hastily to offer his support” to Reverend Dimmesdale, but the young minister “repelled the old man’s arm.”

Symbolic of Puritanism and its ineffectiveness in assuaging the soul, the Reverend Mr. Wilson is part of the tableaux that present the punitive character of Puritanism and its ineffectiveness.

About William Richmond-Webb

From the Early Richmonds page:

William de Richmond (alias) Webb – William lived at Draycott Foliott, Wiltshire, and was married to Joan, daughter of John Ewen of Draycott. His will dated March 28, 1502 states:

“In the name of Gode amen. The year of our lorde Gode 1502 and the 28 day of March. I, William Richmond, otherwise called William Webbe, being whole and stedfast in minde make this my testament and last will. First I bequeath my soul unto almighty Jesus, to our lady his blessed mother and to all the blessed company in heaven, and my body to be buried in the parish church of Swyndon.” . . .Bequests to the poor of the same church: to the cathedral church of Sarum (Salisbury): “to the priests of the parish church of Swyndon to pray for me and for all my descendants souls.” Bequests “to each of my godchildren: To Johanna my wife: to Thomas Richard, William Sr., Richard (my youngest son), Henry, Christopher, William Jr. my sons and Alice and Ann my daughters.”. . .”The residue of all my goods and chattels not bequeathed, my debts and bequests being content and paid, I give to Johanne my wife, and to my children not married to be equally divided by them and, if it fortunes any of them to decease, then their share to be divided among them that liveth; and I will that Thomas Richard and Richard my sons be myn executors of this my last will for my soul’s health and repose and I make Wm Wroughton, gentleman overseer of this testament. (signed) William Richmond als Webb”

The Birth of Venus


beach21Sitting on the shore, watching my beloved Rena Victoria go into, and come out of the water, was my inspiration for ‘The Birth Of Venus’ that was written while I was living on the McKenzie River.

Several days later I recorded my story on tape. The next day Marilyn showed up with the latest Enya tape ‘The Celts’ that I spliced into my story. There is another half still to be told.


The Birth of Venus

Jon Presco
Copyright 1988

In the time before the coming of Man, before he learned to count the stars in the Heaven, and name the Seas that surrounded him, there was a morning star that danced in the deep blue sky at dawn’s first light. This was the time when wisdom and thoughts were not in man for he was not created yet. But there was whisperings in the inky night, and hushed tales reaching earth from distant stars, and in great tales yet to be stored in the hold of the moon, whose round sails traversed the sky, its sails adjusted and trimmed to the moods of the months and seasons, but not to the moods man, for even the gods did not have their whims as yet.

Then there was talking amongst the great rocks that buttressed into the sea, so deep and ancient the voices that only the seagulls could hear them and amass took flight over the horizon. There were rumors in the pounding waves as they marched to the shore that eternity was coming to dwell on Earth, and until then, only the breaking waves could count it. And they consulted the prophets in the rocks who had no form, who let the great waves take them bit by bit and turn them into sand till they fell like colossus back into the sea. But they were not vanquished for they dwelt in the spirit of all the land and had the wisdom to know they were not immortal, that their demise would take almost forever. But by then they would be wise, almost as wise as the gods, and by then, they would go wherever the gods would lead them, like dust captured in the tails of comets, they will follow.

But this rumor would not abate, for they did not understand the nature of it, from where it came, or where it would wend. Even the fish in the sea became agitated, and the shellfish wiggled deeper into the sand as if a great storm was brewing.

“Ahh!” the wisdom in the sea and rocks sighed with relief. “It is a great storm the god have in store for us. So, this is the nature of the rumor. But, we have withstood the greatest forces the gods have hurled at us. We can survive any tempest. Let it come and do its worst.

But in the Night they became aware it was longer, and the rumor would not desist. Now the birds on the land, and the song in the tree began to understand, and the great fatherly Night was awoken. Stroking his jet black beard, where gather a thousand stars, his deep piercing blue eyes searched for the offender, the rebels, so he might blot them out then file their existance atop the mountain tops pressed in stone. So many great bragarts had come and gone.

“What is it that awakens all that should be asleep, what nocturnal song is this that steals the Earth’s deep slumber, that wakes me falsely before it is time? Best not let the rising sun catch you at such play; for he is jealous of what you do when he is away. I his grandfather am too old for this ruckus, and I am left in charge of you like a nurse maid. Now return to your sleep, and be patient.” he ordered.

There was grumbling in the sea and rocks who were insulted by the Night. For their wisdom was treated like the buzzing of insects, and collectively they protested.
“Perhaps it is better for you to retire old man, and take your insults with you. For you are never here to see who you are really talking to. You are blind to how beautiful the world really is, and how great is our drama that unfolds at the signal of dawn’s rainbow, the ribbons of celebration that herald the arrival of your golden grandson. Oh how festive we can be, how young and eternal as we rejoice, as the color of the world returns – and the turquoise sea crashes like symbols upon the majesty of the cliffs!”

And now the animals joined in this rebellion and the Night gave out a great “Hush!
Quiet you fools. I have seen your antics. I have seen them reflected in the moon that appears in the day. It is my mirror I hold, for as you know I am full of curiosity. I might be senile and forgetful, but not as forgetful as you. The language of my time appears distorted, but not as distorted and forgetful as your dreams. Now to sleep with your arrogance, for you know I forget nothing. In your sleep I am your master, and it all comes back to haunt you. The ghost of your days are false, as is the false dawn.

Now for those whom sleep can not return to, I will have my daughter sing you a lullaby of the morning. For she is like a mother who has risen early to do her chores. She lights the little candle in the sky and her brightness clears the sleep from all who behold her. She is like my dear daughter. Who speaks ill of her? I will not ever give her away. She is too precious to me. To pure and shy. What goes on in the day is none of my business, or hers. It is full of arrogance, just as the Sun is. And even from him she shys away.

So come my daughter, and sing a quiet refrain. You are dutiful and prompt. You are patient and kind. Come, and sing a song about humility.”

But as the great Night turned to retire, his daughter did not sing. And this filled the Night with dread. Had she rebelled against him too? He was afraid to look fearing the mockery of the earth, for her creatures were now in frenzy of whispering that gave the Night a chill on his back.

“Look oh fatherly Night. Your daughter is gone. She is not there”

All beheld this were sad and alarmed, for they knew the Night had spoken wisely. Was this the rumor they had heard that was now a Nightmare; for all who beheld her were calmed by her beauty and her fresh young steadiness, and above all, her loyalty. Her song and her voice were liken to the Angels – who visit the earth.

Now the stars waning in the sky twinkled with confusion, and they beheld from their perch a great black cloud rising from the middle of the sea. And suddenly the sea was tossed into a tempest, and even it was afraid, and the sea is never afraid. And it embraced the wise souls within the rocks who hugged the rocks like a frightened child, but could not hold on, and slid back into the churning froth.

The trees on the edge of the land were trying to flee from the cloud, shuddering in fear. Their roots held for a little while, and then they were felled. The creatures on the land ran for cover, but the shrieks of the storm that ran faster they, and were in their dens before them, filling them with dread. The birds on the cliffs, and the rocks could cling on, and like leaves from a great oak they were plucked and carried in a great vortex around the black beating wings of the cloud that made the sea go where it did not want to go. Even the great fish in the sea were turned round and round. All but the clam was not safe.

Then there came from the menacing cloud and a bolt of lightening that turned the night into day. The Night cried out; “I am blind!” And the sea let go a terrible moan as a bolt of lightening pierced its depth, its ever present darkness, and not even the clam was spared as it tried to burl deeper into the sand, and was struck one mighty – but gentle blow.

The storm now went upon the land and raised havoc with those things who had never seen such fury. It struck angrily at the ground, and from it rose angry men, the first men. And they saw the tempest they were born into and the devastation around them. And the wisdom that had dwelt in the great rocks, flew from their crying mouths, saying; “This is a cruel land!” And they took felled trees to the sea and made rafts of them, then sailed away.

At first light, all was still and quiet. The sea had lost much of its voice that now filled the mouths of the captains of the ships, they using the wisdom that now found a home in them, commanding as the sea had done the new living things to make their crafts sturdier and defy the sea itself.

And they were wise enough to flea from the reach of the rocks that tried to pull them back and embrace them, jealous now that they were wise enough to avoid them. And they pointed to the stars who were startled, but pleased, as the wisdom from the captains declared them their only friends. But the stars were in morning and in unison asked the Night; “Where pray-tell is our sister? Why do you not let her come out and play with us?

Then came a warm wind from over horizon. It was the last sigh of the Night, and from it flew a Kite and it spoke of this rumor that had stirred the whole world; “Love is coming.”

“Love! What is Love?” And the world turned to the Night as he wearily receded over the land.
“I don’t know. Don’t ask me.” But from then on humanity would ask this question of the Night, in the night, and in a hushed embrace find the answer.

Even the captains at sea suddenly found themselves asking “What is Love?” and sat on the prow of their ships looking at the first light of dawn, then up into the heavens where once rose a beautiful star who the Night named Venus, whose lovely calm song and beautiful dance was yet to be beheld by men. If they had heard and seen her then they would know the moment they lay eyes on her, before the sea, the great rocks, the birds, the fish in the sea even suspected there was such a thing, that she was Love. Deep down in the core of all things they knew they were humbled; for with the coming of Love was a better and more endearing idea of what Eternity is. Only the Night knew this was the Truth. For only eternity could take a beautiful star out of the heavens, and as he sadly turned and beheld the pink ribbons in the sky that pulled from over the sea the great star that was the Sun, he whispered. “And only Eternity can put a star in the heavens.” But where oh where was his granddaughter?

There was a hush upon the land, but for the birds who rose early to tune the harps in their song. The wings of the great storm were now billowy giants in the sky, its mountainous peaks lit in the purest white, the finest gold, and decorated with the most heartwarming pinks and violets. This was the throne room of Zeus, the new god born to rule over men and their chaos. But, he was nowhere to be seen. No one dare ask after his fury for answers to the questions that haunted them. Perhaps the youth, the Sun know. In his delight, and in his daylight would come an answer. For something else had come to dwell on Earth….The Unknown.

“What will become of us? What is our Fate?”

Lying in a tide pool was a scallop shell it too exhausted by the storm. But suddenly the two halves opened up to expose the deepest and blackest pearl, and all gasped. For it was blacker and deeper then the blackest night. Then it began to turn a deep blue, deeper then any blue in the depths of the sea, or in the last light of the day. Then came a song so frail and faint all things hushed but the birds in flight. Only their flapping wings could be heard, but they now went into a glide circling to hear the song like an angels. And this song put a spark in the black marble of their eyes, and it shown like a star as they now beheld one resting in the shell.
Venus my daughter, rise!” Spoke a voice from deep the cloud. And it spoke as all the drops of rain, now as one. And the earth filled with the musical quality of the rain, and the sky cleared. It was the song of all questions yet to be asked “Do you love me?”, now joined as one in the answer, as they answered the song of Venus as she grew and rose from the shell, a dutiful maiden, always with a song in her heart.

She was beautiful, in a form not unlike that of men. But hers did not boast, defy, command, but had received the best qualities that wisdom deigned to create. Her form was as reasuring and comforting to the life around her as she was when she was a star in the sky. All that beheld her beauty was well pleased, for she was as perfect a compliment one could pay to life’s majestic design.

Then Venus began to dance. She saw all things as a mirror to reflect the beauty she felt, and she reflected it back. In the motion of her form her hands imitated the waves. Leaping, she mimicked the plumes of the waves that were thrown high into the air by the rocks. Her hair was like the wings of an albatross in graceful slow-motion flight as she pranced like a horse into the water, then arching her back, she dove into its depths. Her strong tapered legs like mating porpoises raised her to the surface. Then, standing in the pristine sea she wiggled her toes like fish playing with other fish, all the time not letting go of the two halves of the shellfish that born her.

Suddenly she heard a quiet voice inside her, and looked brightly about to see what other wonders were before her.
“Oh, Daughter Star. Tell me why you hold those shells so tight, and never let them go?”

Venus looked up and beheld a sliver of moon peeking at her in the sky, and asked;

“Is it you who spoke to me and gave me a name?”

“Yes Venus I did. We are dear friends. I have cradled you since the dawn of time.”

Venus smiled at ther lofty faraway friend, and then dearly at her shells.

“I carry these shells for they are my mother and father and I care about them so very much.”

Venus closed her eye as the world sighed at her innocence. She now knew who she was talking to. It was the Dream in the Night, the dream of long ago that took her places she could not go, but somehow, she knew those places well. For the day-moon was whispering all its secrets to her, reassuring her, that life would always be a wonderful mystery.

About Royal Rosamond Press

I am an artist, a writer, and a theologian.
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1 Response to The Sea Witch

  1. Reblogged this on Rosamond Press and commented:

    A man who died and saw God, who then restored his life after showing him his lineage, would be born unto this religious and patriotic line that founded America. Did Jesus found a Democracy? Was he for Equality? Yes, and I am about to prove it. There is nothing left to do.

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