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QUESTIONS to ponder....

NOTE TO SELF...

scattering of brain storming thoughts...

  How many panels are there? what are the measurement of each skin-panel? what is the collective length of the scroll and the cover wrap section? what was the length of the wrap around tie string of the scroll? and what was the length of the capped arrow quiver case that 'originally' held the scroll? how large was the hole where the case was buried? how large was the small alcove area at the rear of the cave? the fake wall of the rear of the cave was created how? how come no one else discovered the fake wall?
how does time travel work? She uses herbs mentioned in the priestly rituals; what herbs? Lucid dreaming? tie in? She appeared in the current/future time... just happened to be there? popped in? sound? 
If Christopher uses the same method, and meets her in a lucid dream can he time travel backward as well??
What about Jacob and Stewart?  They had the dreams... jumbled parts and their sharing gives a complete picture of the shared dreaming experience of "their" grandparent's meeting; what about the brothers - Were they reincarnations of Calan and Fayendar? how did they seen them in their dreams? were they visions of their own past lives???

THE RIVERSTONE DREAMS: Series

THE RIVERSTONE DREAMS: Part I

THRIYEL: The Legacy Tome

THE RIVERSTONE DREAMS: Part II

JACOB'S CATHARSIS: The Nephilim Age

A fantasy novel series by

David DeLane Snow

Part I

  An epic, biblical-esk volume of eight books, canonized into a single collection. 

Part II

 The story about how the translation of an ancient text brought two long lost brothers together.

The Dark Crystal SERIES

...

TNA NOTES to self

///////////////////The Dialogue of: The Book of Dreams: ////////////////////

My name is Miriam.

I live in the city of Uruk

I enjoy visiting the ford of the Branny River, it’s where I draw water for my family.

We do not live in the city but outside the walls in our tents as has always been our custom.

My mother told me nothing of my father.

He was a man of another family and wife, but loved her all the same on occasion.

He was not around when I was a suckling babe and a forgotten, unnamed memory in my youth.

I was the last Keeper of the Nasilian Skin Scroll;

that most cherished relic among the Bedouin people of Slavath.

After the war which destroyed so much, their Words fell to other carriers.

My grandmother’s mother, then down to me in turn.

Never before the devastation were women entrusted with the contents of the case.

We became the forgotten curriers of the Remembered’s silent-voice.

If you truly are beyond this sleeping realm of Krilleeos, then I give it to you.

After my husband’s father saw us through the great purge I buried the case.

Like the dead, I set upon its resting place the four-cornered eyes of the divine.

Concealed beside their Sea in its smallest chamber for you to find.

My father-in-law cursed the age we left, and Japheth knew not of the skins.

Four years after I buried our past my husband died;

a year and a day later I met you in Krilleeos.

If you …... shall know of the Nasil-Remembered;

that we will not be forgotten after the world’s purge either.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

@@@@@@@@@THE END@@@@@@@@

Christopher went to see the gazebo but got there in time to see it collapsed by a bulldozer.  On the other side of the rubble he saw the woman from his dreams.

  Arlene asked Jacob, “Hun, wasn’t your grandmother’s name Ablgail?  Jacob?”

  His face had lost all expression as he huge eyes suddenly began squinted, she could tell his thoughts were perplexed, she asked again, “Jacob, your father, what was his wife’s name?”

  Slowly turning to Steward, whose own jaw had gone lax as well, “Christopher’s second was Abigail.  Father’s mother was ---.”

  Steward answered, “Miriam.”

The Book of Dreams v-VIII

THE BOOK OF KINGS:    THE TALE OF Moran (and Cora):

 Moran was heading through the Bedouin encampment of Slavath.  He and his wife Cora enjoyed bartering for goods like pottery and blankets.  Cora’s mother, Mina was with their daughter Leah worshiping in one of the temples of Lindol, so they enjoyed their outing by themselves.  

 Turning to enter one of the many market-tents, Moran began fighting his way through palm tree leaves, entangling branches of fruit trees and the crowds of pushing and shoving people.  The market was filled with screaming for this and everyone yelling for that.  The entire camp was a drowning sea of chatter and noise.  Out of all the bustle, pushing and shoving it was a wonder that Moran even felt a light tap on his shoulder.

 Just as the fluttering wings of a hummingbird had stopped and landed on him the sound went mute.  Moran was all alone in silence.  Moran suddenly noticed he was seated at a Gazebo.  In front of him, he recognized the whitewashed stone-model of the city of Mithar.  The Map Garden and Mausoleum was in the other direction, near the citadel's southern gate.  The torches were not lit, the winding stream and pool were filled with sand and all the plants of the park were leafless stalks that had been long dead debris.  Overhead the skies were shimmering like embers rising from an evening fire.  From the north boiling clouds were darkening with an approaching thunderstorm.  A cold shudder ran through Moran like a shadow, even the bird was no longer on his shoulder.  He was alone in the world.  He stood to his feet in a panic, and upon whirling about saw the park was restored to its grandeur of beautiful greenery, flowing water fountains and flickering torches beneath brilliant blue skies.  Standing at the entrance of the Map Garden was a beautiful young woman in her mid-twenties that he had met in his dreams a few weeks earlier.  She stood there smiling at him wearing a thin, white gown with the walls of Mithar as a backdrop.  Her bright red hair was accented with yellow ribbon, and bangles adorned her ankles, “Hello, my friend.  It is well seeing you again.  I am pleased you are no longer displeased with me.”

 “I was never upset with you, Miriam.  I’m beyond happy you are alright,” Moran exclaimed!

 “See here, soon you must stop where you are searching, my friend and look in the caves in the west, for there amid several jars shall you recover The Scroll of Dreams.  I am sorry you lost your sons, but they will be the heirs of Thriyel.”

 “Thriyel,” Moran was bewildered by everything she was saying, but mostly about the word.

 “Legacy - my father’s lore, and more when you find it.  But the Scroll and box of Searfym is lost to us all, I am saddened to say.”

 Hoping to discuss these things possibly later, Moran felt compelled to ask her, “Miriam you said you had to die and that everyone else deserved it, but why?”

 “To appease the angry demands of the just God.”

 “God?”

 “The Priest-King of Mithar has lead us all to our doom.  See!  For even now The White Prophet comes with the boiling heavens.”

 Moran looked and up and through the blur of boiling blackness - he opened his eyes to his family gathered about a bed covered in pillows and several people he didn’t know.  A bald man covered in facial tattoos, he knew to be Judge-Shadol, tribal ruler of Slavath.  He told Moran, “You gave us all a fright thinking you had crossed over from the land of the living, my friend.”

 “A camel kicked you to the ground, father, and you hit your head on a tent peg,” his daughter answered his bewildering question of why he had been sleeping for two hours.

Cora leaned in asking, “You weren’t dreaming about her again were you?”

“Something horrible is coming!”

…………………………………………………………………………………….

The Book of Dreams iv-VIII

THE BOOK OF JUDGES:    THE TALE OF Laurance (and Norah):

 Laurance found himself walking out of the darkness of arching, woven tree branches. Leaving the tunnel he came out into a wide snow-covered, woodland glade.  A light snow flurry was still falling.  Yet, amid the cascading flakes was a growing array of butterflies even as the white trees were slowly turning green before his eyes.  He began holding his nose even as he continued to walk to the middle of the clearing.  He could the snow crunching beneath his feet.

 Behind him, a girl’s voice called out, “What are you doing?”

 Turning about, he saw an ornately carved gazebo in the middle of the now snowless, green woods.  With a nasal voice he answered the young woman in her teens, “Pinching my nose to see if I can breathe or not.”  

 “Can you,” she asked while pulling the hood back of her white cloak.

 “Hum… yes.  Ha, yep I’m dreaming.  It’s one of those ‘reality checks’ in Lucid dreaming I read about,” he laughed knowing she wouldn’t understand.

 “Lucid - never mind; it’s things like that which I find so interesting and different about you.”  The teenager adjusted a leather strap that went was across her chest, “You were going to ask me something last time?”

 Going up the three steps and taking a seat across from her he asked, “So, Miriam what are you carrying a tube?”

 Bringing the case about and setting it across her lap, she answered, “It is a scroll and a very old one.  It’s a precious thing in our family.”

 With raised brows, the older man looked intrigued, “How interesting.  What is it about, if I may ask?”

 With her fingers she carefully slid a polished, pine wood peg through a smaller strap and began to remove the round cap from off the top of the arrow-quiver like device, “It’s our family history.”

 Laurance leaned forward watching the red-headed young woman slowly remove a tight roll of yellowish-hide from the container, “Sounds fascinating.”

 After she untied two long, wrap-around leather stripes, Miriam held it up and began unrolling the scroll for him to view the tattooed lettering, “This is the Irreplaceable Scroll of all my Mothers.”

 His eyes darted about soaking up the details and texture of the material, saying, “It - it looks incredible; like - skin, what kind? Deer, sheep?”

 In a solemn tone, she declared, “It’s made from the skin of all my mothers, which is why it’s called irreplaceable and is very precious.”

He quickly sat back on the gazebo’s wooden seat, “Sounds very morbid!”

 “Mor-bid,” She didn’t understand the word?

 “Disturbing interest in death,” he informed.

 Rolling it back up, Miriam looked a little disappointed and hurt, “We all die, Laurance.  Don’t you think your wife Norah wants to be remembered?  Don’t you want your daughter Cora to remember who you were?  Your stories and the heroic things you did in life?”

 “Yes, of course, but - but we don’t keep or carry the skin of our dead with us. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

 “I am not the one offended.  Do you not even honor your dead loved ones or the rulers of your tribe,” she looked perplexed and interested.

 “I suppose things work differently where I’m from.  In this time period - “

 She gave him a beautiful broad smile, “There is no time here in Krilleeos.  All we have is this brief experience because this too shall pass and soon be forgotten.  I’m happy to see you again.”

 “Which is why you keep the tattooed skin of your people, I get it.  I’m  thrilled seeing you to; you’ve grown up so fast, Miriam.”

 “Our mothers are very precious to us and it’s how we count the years of remembrance and the things worth holding on to.”  Miriam smiled, watching the snow beginning to flurry again as butterflies appeared from them on the railing about the gazebo.  “I was wondering where you were,” she said to one of the butterflies that turned into a hummer bird and sat on the man’s shoulder.

 “Thank you for seeing me. I guess it’s time for you to die now,” he said and the light snow suddenly gave way to a torrential downpour of rain, and they were both standing on a deserted beach watching a ship off in the distance.  

 “Yes, I’m sorry,” she replied while wading out into the crashing waves.

 The man woke up crying and very distraught as his bewildered wife tried to calm him back to his reality.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Dreamer are you awake?

THE BOOK OF DREAMS……………………………………………………………………………………

  THRIYEL: The Sacred Text was a collection of eight volumes. In each of these Books, there is a main character who has a dream about a woman in white.  The woman is not mentioned in any of the genealogies or other stories present in the Epic nor even referenced anywhere throughout the work of Thriyel.  The Woman in White is only mentioned in dreams.  All the main characters ‘are brothers’; [CODE; meaning: The Book of books are “brother” volumes in a greater work].   All the main characters are married, and their wives are the daughters of the woman mentioned in the following dream; [CODE; meaning; The Book of books are all interrelated “wife” events in the same world].  In and of themselves these collective stories are referred to as: ‘The Book of Dreams,’ but there is no such book as per se found in the cannon volume of Thriyel.

.....

The Book of Dreams iii-VIII

……………………………………………………………………………………….

THE BOOK OF NAMES:    THE TALE OF Stephen (and Leeann):

   A light breeze blew through the trees making the yellow-green leaves shimmer, giving the sun a chance to shine through.  Its brilliance made the Spring afternoon all the more beautiful just as the young girl dressed in white came from a pathway into the clearing.  A hummingbird flew over and landed on the gazebo’s banister beside the man who turned around to see her approach the steps, “Hello, Miriam, I haven’t seen you in a while.  I was hoping I would, I was going to ask you a question.  It’s nice being able to see you again.  You look a little taller than the last time.”

 She smiled at the man’s greeting, “Have I grown up so much in a year?”  Her freckled face blushed that he even noticed.

 The older man’s eyes widened with surprise, “It’s been a year already? Felt like last night.”

 The turn of her head gestured back to where she’d come from, “I was getting water from the river for my family, and sat down for a moment.  Seems like I’ve fallen asleep again, Stephen.  Strange that I’m even aware I’m here in Krilleeos with you.”

 Turning back around in his seat and looking through the carved struts of the gazebo, admiring the lush area, “Well, I know the feeling, my wife Leeann would love it here, and my daughter Norah would absolutely adore this gazebo, and all these wildflowers.”

 Stephen’s eyebrows questioned what the hummingbird was whispering to the little girl after it flew onto her shoulder.  She asked with a frightened look, “Flowers?”

 He pointed out into the field behind her, “Yeah? There were yellow flowers a moment ago before it started raining.”  Suddenly his expression contorted into one of utter disgust as dead, bloated bodies littered a water-logged plain with no trees in sight.

 Suddenly they were both standing side by side among the corpses, with the ten-year-old asking the man, “I guess you think we deserve all this, too?”

 He woke up screaming, drenched in sweat.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

The Book of Dreams ii-VIII

THE BOOK OF TALES:    THE TALE OF Phineas (and Andrea):

 Phineas Omar the son of Stewart was in an awful hurry.  His seashell trinkets sold every time he took them, and he was sorely in need of coin to repay his debts in order to purchase the ship he wanted.  He and his wife Andrea, and her daughter Leeann would sail the coastline of the world in their old age instead of laboring or begging on the streets.  Phineas had left the seaport city of Kathos and was heading to the citadel of Mithar on foot as his horse had been stolen three days before.  Having left early in the morning he wished not to be late before they closed the main gate, for he knew it remained opened only to outsiders for as long as the midday hours lasted.  If there was some unknown problem the guards would shut the place tighter than a drum, and he would be left with having to find a place to sleep for the night until the Market opened again the following midday.  He would rest easier on the return trip.

 Climbing over a rise in the road Phineas could see a great distance down the lane and saw that the way was blocked by a gathering of people.  A melon cart had lost a wheel and fruit was scattered everywhere.  People were helping to replace them and helping themselves even as the farmer was desperate in retrieving his goods and shouting at the thieves all the while trying to repair his cart.  Phineas shook his head at the laughable sight.  Helping or going around the whole mess would be an upset to his time schedule either way, and in that moment all he could hear was Andrea’s voice in his head of how he should not have to spend an extra day in Mithar.  His wife disliked the bustle of the big city life.  Strangely it was in that moment that Phineas noticed a small footed path off the road to his left, and from the rise could see it took him passed The Map Garden that was close to the Southern Gate.  He would sell his goods at the smaller market and still get coin enough, but he liked the larger market more.

Being that it was still early morning, a fog he’d not noticed moments before had rolled in across the land just as Phineas was making his way down the thin footpath.  The light haze soon after became a dense wall of gray that enveloped everything, and soon even his hand in front of his face was difficult to see.  So, Phineas stopped in his tracks for a moment hoping the heaviness of the mist would lift.  The moments were passing too slowly for his liking and time was wasting away.  Suddenly, something even stranger happened.  It seemed all sound had been snuffed out except for his beating heart.  From the quiet stillness of the world in that fog, he caught the distant sound of a child’s laughter.  A little girl he thought.  In taking a step forward the old man could tell the fog was giving way, and through it, a faint treeline off in the distance could be made out.  The further he went Phineas Omar realized he was coming to an open clearing in a wide forest about him.  His mind wondered at how he must have taken a wrong turn, for the woods were miles away and far behind him, nevertheless he pressed on.  The more steps he took the clearer his vision became and in fact he was now standing at the clearing’s opening.  The circle of trees enclosed a beautiful sight before him.  A smile came over his face.

 A faded thin haze of fog was still held mere feet above the ground before Phineas, and just above this was the most inspiring sight he had ever seen before.  Dragonflies.  Dragonflies were darting about everywhere, feeding, mating, and even skating on the surface of the fog itself it seemed.  Yet, in the middle of it all, directly in the center of the field, just about the spectacle of racing incests was a single, brilliant colored hummingbird.  It was floating in midair.  Phineas was awestruck.  Somehow time was meaningless to him in that strange beautiful moment.  He stood there taking in the scene with all its buzzing softness.  He found himself moving toward the middle of the glade.  As he slowly walked forward, the still darting-dragonflies parted a pathway among themselves, from him to the hummingbird that stood unmoving in the center of his view.

 Phineas could feel himself almost holding his breath.  His smile broadened the closer he came to the shimmering thing.  The closer he came the more he could make out the details of its tiny fluttering wings.  Did it smile back?  It stayed where it was, poised in midair before the man who continued to approach.  Just as his reaching fingers were about to touch its long beak the hummingbird flew off with the laughter of the young girl from behind him.

 Turning about, Phineas saw a gazebo now stood at the very entrance of the glade where he himself had just entered moments before.  It was a beautifully carved structure made of twisting limbs and glowed with the radiance of a full moon on a cloudless night.  On the mid-steps beneath its roofed platform was a young girl no more than nine years old.  Pale skin, brilliant red hair and wearing a long white cloak with its hood up.  She laughed again and then spoke to the hummingbird that now rested on her shoulder, “Well, hello there you are.  I see you’ve brought a friend with you this time.”

 Phineas informed the little girl, “I’ve walked this way many times in the last thirty years and have never seen this place before.”

 She smiled a reply, “Even so, you have made your way to Krilleeos nonetheless.  I am Miriam.  Often I come here and find wanderers like yourself.  But you are by far the most different of strangers.”

  Phineas objected to everything, saying, “Krilleeos?  Never heard of such a place.  Where is this?”

  “How interesting, and yet here you are.  Stay a while more, and tell me of yourself.”  Then, listening to the bird whispering in her ear, the child giggled again, “Yes, I know, all men have a strange way about them.  But I am inclined to like this one, he’s most interesting.”

  A moment later and the old man found that he had fallen asleep and was still sitting beneath an oak beside the road.  The farmer was still struggling with the wheel on his cart and so Phineas got up, well rested to help the fellow fool along his way.

……………………………………………………………………………………….