Woman

The least of men are destined to swallow gravel in punitive merriment; yet even the greatest amongst warriors can scarcely effect more than to glance upwards at an all too familiar phantom; a vision which jolts us all back to the blessed days before our tumultuous eviction from the wombs of our mothers. Few men have journeyed forth and not been blinded by the countenance of the emblem of wisdom, magnificient companion of the Crone. What better entity to dazzle the heavens with the paints of creation; what better soul to weave the joys and sorrows of our unending existence into the patchwork of our gods? In her comfort and succour, perhaps even the unawakened twin of our immortality, that insatiable collector of flashbacks, deja vu, deja vecu, that doppelganger lurking behind the veil of our pointless realities, may slacken the pace of his eternal march, and peer through the ultimate curtain of the stage we hail as our lives, and afford us all a glimpse of the tyrants we gyrate our clownish hips for!