The Secrets of the Grail:Mehr’s Incredible Journey

It was in the Gardens of Babylon through yet another Middle Eastern stargate in Iraq that I met Shammuramat, Queen of Assyria in 809 BCE, about 500 years before Alexander conquered Persia.  This extraordinary woman, upon her husband Nimrod’s death ruled Assyria, Armenia, Arabia, Persia, and Egypt for forty years.  She was the one who it is rumored built Babylon with its beautiful and famous gardens.

 

When I arrived in Babylon with Raphael and Marida to meet her, she was working in her gardens.

 

“Woman from the future I have much to show you,”

 

She said enthusiastically as we approached her where she was kneeling in front of her plants.

 

She was wearing a diaphanous green dress cinched at the waist with one shoulder bare; a stunningly beautiful woman in her late forties with long African hair that was still black and skin that glistened like an eggplant.  She was extremely tall and well-muscled and looked as if she lifted weights.   She wore a silver chain around her neck and on it was a dove in the shape of an arrow.

 

She grasped my hand and embraced me.  The strength of her grip was bruising but tremendously invigorating.  Her breasts were large and met mine as our chests engaged.

 

I looked around me with amazement at multiple trees that hung by roots that were embedded in an upper terrace rather than in the earth.   Under the trees were stone columns carrying beams of palm which were nourishing the roots and fibers of those trees.  These structures also seemed to be full of earth in which other trees were planted, which did not hang but stood upright bearing all manner of fruit including large orange persimmons.  Additionally around the trees were many plants and brilliant flowers.  This gave the impression to visitors of being under the garden as well as in it.  All was well irrigated by streams that flowed downwards onto roots and earth.   There were many terraces above the initial columns which supported the entire structure that was made of bricks and a kind of stone cement.

 

Shammuramat lead me firmly by the hand among the terraced gardens, with Raphael and Marida following behind, and started to show me her plants.

 

“Here,” she said picking up a large green leafed plant, “is one we use for aromatic baths.”   

 

Like a brilliant dragonfly, she led me from plant to plant and showed me flowers from which she said she made cosmetic and healing plasters.  Then she took me to trees from which she was harvesting resins that she said she would later use to heal wounds.   The array of teas in her herb garden were astounding, the only ones I recognized were chamomile and mint.  

 

As we moved from plant to plant, she suddenly begged to wash my hair and produced a small vial with a deep red liquid in it from the bag she carried on her shoulder.   She placed me on a stone near one of the streams that ran down the side of the garden, poured icy water on my head that felt surprisingly pleasant in this hot climate, and washed my hair with a liquid that smelled of pomegranate noir.   When she had finished and after she had dried my hair briefly with a brightly colored linen cloth that she also took from her bag, she made me reach up to feel my hair :

 

“It feels like ironed silk.””I told her, upon which she smiled and her entire face shone with pride. She then gave me a small onyx pot she had taken from her bag and told me:

 

“I add essential oils that are scented to this cream s made with animal fat that I melt and filter through pieces of linen.  It is to keep your skin young,” she smiled as she handed it to me.

 

“At other times,” she continued, “ I will add flavored plant oils and extracts to the same cream for healing wounds and many other internal ailments.”

 

Raphael and Marida had been watching this carefully when Marida said:

 

“Great Queen, I have heard that as well as being a skilled alchemist and chemist, that you are also a military genius.  I understand that you carried a sword in battle with your late husband, and attacked the flank of many a besieged city with your generals.”

 

Shammuramat smiled and flexed her arms reaching out as if she held a sword. 

 

“In the heat of battle I have killed many a warrior, and was glad of it to save my life and those of my men,” she said.

 

I told her:

 

“In my world women cannot fight in battle with our men.”

 

Her eyes opened wide.

 

“Why is that?”  She asked me.

 

“I don’t really know why, I think for a number of reasons.   Traditional attitudes make us uncomfortable with the idea of women fighting and dying.  Also they think we’ll interfere in some way with male bonding and distract our men.  .

As I was talking she started to laugh and threw her arm around my shoulder squeezing it hard.

 

“Well,” she said, “I have a message for your men, women are always very distracting as you say, but they are also strong and brave fighters and great military strategists and leaders.   We are mothers, wives, scientists, architects, and we are also fierce warriors.  The fiercest you will ever see or know.  What we lack in strength we make up for in cunning and strategy.”

“In all revolutionary and underground movements women fight along with men, it becomes a necessity, and they are well respected and lauded for their efforts,” I added.

“That is good to hear,” she said.

As we talked she led us to a beautifully laid table under an arbor of hanging trees.

On it sat platters piled high with rice and different meats in rich sauces flavored with cloves, cardamom and cinnamon.

We ate the food on silver plates with our fingers.  Soft linen towels lay near them that were wet with mint water, on which we wiped our sticky hands.

After we ate our meal she offered us thin bread dough spread with nuts and honey that had been baked in an oven.  It was very like baklava, but had a smokey flavor and was thinner.

As we ate our meal we drank fruit wine and talked of many things.  She was a fine woman and it saddened me that history had never sufficiently highlighted her accomplishments.

“I know in your world they wonder if I existed,” she said “Well, now you have met me, tell them that I do.”

After the meal a serving woman brought a baby to her which she suckled at her breast without any self-consciousness. 

“A child from my lover, a young, Libyan warrior of great strength and gentleness,” she said smiling.

The baby was a creamy color with big dark eyes and a fuzz of hair on its head. It reached up frequently to squeeze the skin of its mother’s breast.

“Some have called me the whore of Babylon,” she said smiling, “but as you see I am no whore.”

“Oh that,” said Marida, “that is from the priests and prophets in their old testament.  Women do not come out well there.  Too difficult to think of them as leaders, warriors or prophets, and to name them so.  All their great religious leaders from history are men and their God is male as well.”

“But how can that be?” she said. “A male without a female has no resonance.  Neither of them has completion – they are but two sides of a golden coin.”  She smiled as she looked at Raphael and Marida and drew a circle around them with her hands.

Raphael then spoke for the first time.

“I am not a human male who concerns itself with females,  Djinn or otherwise”.

“But has Eros perhaps clouded your eyes, my lord celestial being,” she asked teasingly pointing at me.

“As you know my dear Queen, it is impossible for me to manifest Eros when I am with humans. Have I been commanded to share my essence with her?  Indeed I have, in what we call a joining.  Her consciousness and soul is large and old,  and has the feel of metal on silk.”  He smiled.

“And will you join with me, Raphael?” she asked

“I cannot, as you already know, magnificent Queen,  even if I  wished, since I have not been commanded,” he said.

“And if I order you to do so?”

“I still cannot,” he deferred, smiling gently.

“No matter spirit,” she said trying to tempt him, “tonight my sweet young lover’s thighs will be between mine, both above and below.”

Raphael as always smiled enigmatically, and then he touched her shoulder.

Take a piece of me with you when you join tonight as human.  Consider this my gift, it will be the most erotic act you have ever known.”

All this time Marida was watching quizzically, and then she leaned over and touched the Queen’s other shoulder as well.

“Smoke and fire from me tonight as a gift for your lover.”

Raphael then got up and stretched his very tall form, taller than the Queen’s and said looking down at her:

“Sadly we must bid you farewell, beautiful Shammuramat.”

He bent down and drew his lips across the baby’s forehead, whereupon it gurgled and grabbed his hair, which he gently disentangled.

Then Shammuramat, Queen of Assyria and mother of Babylon rose and held me close kissing me long and hard on the lips.  Her lips were large and soft and sensuous, and it was the first time I had kissed a woman in this way. 

Finally she let me go and said, “May the spirits of your dead walk with you always.”

“May you prosper and defeat all of your enemies now and in the future,” I replied

Then the three of us walked out of the hanging gardens of Babylon through our stargate, and I took my onyx pot filled with cinnamon-colored face cream with me.

 

It was in the Gardens of Babylon through yet another Middle Eastern stargate in Iraq that I met Shammuramat, Queen of Assyria in 809 BCE, about 500 years before Alexander conquered Persia.  This extraordinary woman, upon her husband Nimrod’s death ruled Assyria, Armenia, Arabia, Persia, and Egypt for forty years.  She was the one who it is rumored built Babylon with its beautiful and famous gardens.

 

When I arrived in Babylon with Raphael and Marida to meet her, she was working in her gardens.

 

“Woman from the future I have much to show you,”

 

She said enthusiastically as we approached her where she was kneeling in front of her plants.

 

She was wearing a diaphanous green dress cinched at the waist with one shoulder bare; a stunningly beautiful woman in her late forties with long African hair that was still black and skin that glistened like an eggplant.  She was extremely tall and well-muscled and looked as if she lifted weights.   She wore a silver chain around her neck and on it was a dove in the shape of an arrow.

 

She grasped my hand and embraced me.  The strength of her grip was bruising but tremendously invigorating.  Her breasts were large and met mine as our chests engaged.

 

I looked around me with amazement at multiple trees that hung by roots that were embedded in an upper terrace rather than in the earth.   Under the trees were stone columns carrying beams of palm which were nourishing the roots and fibers of those trees.  These structures also seemed to be full of earth in which other trees were planted, which did not hang but stood upright bearing all manner of fruit including large orange persimmons.  Additionally around the trees were many plants and brilliant flowers.  This gave the impression to visitors of being under the garden as well as in it.  All was well irrigated by streams that flowed downwards onto roots and earth.   There were many terraces above the initial columns which supported the entire structure that was made of bricks and a kind of stone cement.

 

Shammuramat lead me firmly by the hand among the terraced gardens, with Raphael and Marida following behind, and started to show me her plants.

 

“Here,” she said picking up a large green leafed plant, “is one we use for aromatic baths.”   

 

Like a brilliant dragonfly, she led me from plant to plant and showed me flowers from which she said she made cosmetic and healing plasters.  Then she took me to trees from which she was harvesting resins that she said she would later use to heal wounds.   The array of teas in her herb garden were astounding, the only ones I recognized were chamomile and mint.  

 

As we moved from plant to plant, she suddenly begged to wash my hair and produced a small vial with a deep red liquid in it from the bag she carried on her shoulder.   She placed me on a stone near one of the streams that ran down the side of the garden, poured icy water on my head that felt surprisingly pleasant in this hot climate, and washed my hair with a liquid that smelled of pomegranate noir.   When she had finished and after she had dried my hair briefly with a brightly colored linen cloth that she also took from her bag, she made me reach up to feel my hair :

 

“It feels like ironed silk.””I told her, upon which she smiled and her entire face shone with pride. She then gave me a small onyx pot she had taken from her bag and told me:

 

“I add essential oils that are scented to this cream s made with animal fat that I melt and filter through pieces of linen.  It is to keep your skin young,” she smiled as she handed it to me.

 

“At other times,” she continued, “ I will add flavored plant oils and extracts to the same cream for healing wounds and many other internal ailments.”

 

Raphael and Marida had been watching this carefully when Marida said:

 

“Great Queen, I have heard that as well as being a skilled alchemist and chemist, that you are also a military genius.  I understand that you carried a sword in battle with your late husband, and attacked the flank of many a besieged city with your generals.”

 

Shammuramat smiled and flexed her arms reaching out as if she held a sword. 

 

“In the heat of battle I have killed many a warrior, and was glad of it to save my life and those of my men,” she said.

 

I told her:

 

“In my world women cannot fight in battle with our men.”

 

Her eyes opened wide.

 

“Why is that?”  She asked me.

 

“I don’t really know why, I think for a number of reasons.   Traditional attitudes make us uncomfortable with the idea of women fighting and dying.  Also they think we’ll interfere in some way with male bonding and distract our men.  .

As I was talking she started to laugh and threw her arm around my shoulder squeezing it hard.

 

“Well,” she said, “I have a message for your men, women are always very distracting as you say, but they are also strong and brave fighters and great military strategists and leaders.   We are mothers, wives, scientists, architects, and we are also fierce warriors.  The fiercest you will ever see or know.  What we lack in strength we make up for in cunning and strategy.”

“In all revolutionary and underground movements women fight along with men, it becomes a necessity, and they are well respected and lauded for their efforts,” I added.

“That is good to hear,” she said.

As we talked she led us to a beautifully laid table under an arbor of hanging trees.

On it sat platters piled high with rice and different meats in rich sauces flavored with cloves, cardamom and cinnamon.

We ate the food on silver plates with our fingers.  Soft linen towels lay near them that were wet with mint water, on which we wiped our sticky hands.

After we ate our meal she offered us thin bread dough spread with nuts and honey that had been baked in an oven.  It was very like baklava, but had a smokey flavor and was thinner.

As we ate our meal we drank fruit wine and talked of many things.  She was a fine woman and it saddened me that history had never sufficiently highlighted her accomplishments.

“I know in your world they wonder if I existed,” she said “Well, now you have met me, tell them that I do.”

After the meal a serving woman brought a baby to her which she suckled at her breast without any self-consciousness. 

“A child from my lover, a young, Libyan warrior of great strength and gentleness,” she said smiling.

The baby was a creamy color with big dark eyes and a fuzz of hair on its head. It reached up frequently to squeeze the skin of its mother’s breast.

“Some have called me the whore of Babylon,” she said smiling, “but as you see I am no whore.”

“Oh that,” said Marida, “that is from the priests and prophets in their old testament.  Women do not come out well there.  Too difficult to think of them as leaders, warriors or prophets, and to name them so.  All their great religious leaders from history are men and their God is male as well.”

“But how can that be?” she said. “A male without a female has no resonance.  Neither of them has completion – they are but two sides of a golden coin.”  She smiled as she looked at Raphael and Marida and drew a circle around them with her hands.

Raphael then spoke for the first time.

“I am not a human male who concerns itself with females,  Djinn or otherwise”.

“But has Eros perhaps clouded your eyes, my lord celestial being,” she asked teasingly pointing at me.

“As you know my dear Queen, it is impossible for me to manifest Eros when I am with humans. Have I been commanded to share my essence with her?  Indeed I have, in what we call a joining.  Her consciousness and soul is large and old,  and has the feel of metal on silk.”  He smiled.

“And will you join with me, Raphael?” she asked

“I cannot, as you already know, magnificent Queen,  even if I  wished, since I have not been commanded,” he said.

“And if I order you to do so?”

“I still cannot,” he deferred, smiling gently.

“No matter spirit,” she said trying to tempt him, “tonight my sweet young lover’s thighs will be between mine, both above and below.”

Raphael as always smiled enigmatically, and then he touched her shoulder.

Take a piece of me with you when you join tonight as human.  Consider this my gift, it will be the most erotic act you have ever known.”

All this time Marida was watching quizzically, and then she leaned over and touched the Queen’s other shoulder as well.

“Smoke and fire from me tonight as a gift for your lover.”

Raphael then got up and stretched his very tall form, taller than the Queen’s and said looking down at her:

“Sadly we must bid you farewell, beautiful Shammuramat.”

He bent down and drew his lips across the baby’s forehead, whereupon it gurgled and grabbed his hair, which he gently disentangled.

Then Shammuramat, Queen of Assyria and mother of Babylon rose and held me close kissing me long and hard on the lips.  Her lips were large and soft and sensuous, and it was the first time I had kissed a woman in this way. 

Finally she let me go and said, “May the spirits of your dead walk with you always.”

“May you prosper and defeat all of your enemies now and in the future,” I replied

Then the three of us walked out of the hanging gardens of Babylon through our stargate, and I took my onyx pot filled with cinnamon-colored face cream with me.

 

It was in the Gardens of Babylon through yet another Middle Eastern stargate in Iraq that I met Shammuramat, Queen of Assyria in 809 BCE, about 500 years before Alexander conquered Persia.  This extraordinary woman, upon her husband Nimrod’s death ruled Assyria, Armenia, Arabia, Persia, and Egypt for forty years.  She was the one who it is rumored built Babylon with its beautiful and famous gardens.

 

When I arrived in Babylon with Raphael and Marida to meet her, she was working in her gardens.

 

“Woman from the future I have much to show you,”

 

She said enthusiastically as we approached her where she was kneeling in front of her plants.

 

She was wearing a diaphanous green dress cinched at the waist with one shoulder bare; a stunningly beautiful woman in her late forties with long African hair that was still black and skin that glistened like an eggplant.  She was extremely tall and well-muscled and looked as if she lifted weights.   She wore a silver chain around her neck and on it was a dove in the shape of an arrow.

 

She grasped my hand and embraced me.  The strength of her grip was bruising but tremendously invigorating.  Her breasts were large and met mine as our chests engaged.

 

I looked around me with amazement at multiple trees that hung by roots that were embedded in an upper terrace rather than in the earth.   Under the trees were stone columns carrying beams of palm which were nourishing the roots and fibers of those trees.  These structures also seemed to be full of earth in which other trees were planted, which did not hang but stood upright bearing all manner of fruit including large orange persimmons.  Additionally around the trees were many plants and brilliant flowers.  This gave the impression to visitors of being under the garden as well as in it.  All was well irrigated by streams that flowed downwards onto roots and earth.   There were many terraces above the initial columns which supported the entire structure that was made of bricks and a kind of stone cement.

 

Shammuramat lead me firmly by the hand among the terraced gardens, with Raphael and Marida following behind, and started to show me her plants.

 

“Here,” she said picking up a large green leafed plant, “is one we use for aromatic baths.”   

 

Like a brilliant dragonfly, she led me from plant to plant and showed me flowers from which she said she made cosmetic and healing plasters.  Then she took me to trees from which she was harvesting resins that she said she would later use to heal wounds.   The array of teas in her herb garden were astounding, the only ones I recognized were chamomile and mint.  

 

As we moved from plant to plant, she suddenly begged to wash my hair and produced a small vial with a deep red liquid in it from the bag she carried on her shoulder.   She placed me on a stone near one of the streams that ran down the side of the garden, poured icy water on my head that felt surprisingly pleasant in this hot climate, and washed my hair with a liquid that smelled of pomegranate noir.   When she had finished and after she had dried my hair briefly with a brightly colored linen cloth that she also took from her bag, she made me reach up to feel my hair :

 

“It feels like ironed silk.””I told her, upon which she smiled and her entire face shone with pride. She then gave me a small onyx pot she had taken from her bag and told me:

 

“I add essential oils that are scented to this cream s made with animal fat that I melt and filter through pieces of linen.  It is to keep your skin young,” she smiled as she handed it to me.

 

“At other times,” she continued, “ I will add flavored plant oils and extracts to the same cream for healing wounds and many other internal ailments.”

 

Raphael and Marida had been watching this carefully when Marida said:

 

“Great Queen, I have heard that as well as being a skilled alchemist and chemist, that you are also a military genius.  I understand that you carried a sword in battle with your late husband, and attacked the flank of many a besieged city with your generals.”

 

Shammuramat smiled and flexed her arms reaching out as if she held a sword. 

 

“In the heat of battle I have killed many a warrior, and was glad of it to save my life and those of my men,” she said.

 

I told her:

 

“In my world women cannot fight in battle with our men.”

 

Her eyes opened wide.

 

“Why is that?”  She asked me.

 

“I don’t really know why, I think for a number of reasons.   Traditional attitudes make us uncomfortable with the idea of women fighting and dying.  Also they think we’ll interfere in some way with male bonding and distract our men.  .

As I was talking she started to laugh and threw her arm around my shoulder squeezing it hard.

 

“Well,” she said, “I have a message for your men, women are always very distracting as you say, but they are also strong and brave fighters and great military strategists and leaders.   We are mothers, wives, scientists, architects, and we are also fierce warriors.  The fiercest you will ever see or know.  What we lack in strength we make up for in cunning and strategy.”

“In all revolutionary and underground movements women fight along with men, it becomes a necessity, and they are well respected and lauded for their efforts,” I added.

“That is good to hear,” she said.

As we talked she led us to a beautifully laid table under an arbor of hanging trees.

On it sat platters piled high with rice and different meats in rich sauces flavored with cloves, cardamom and cinnamon.

We ate the food on silver plates with our fingers.  Soft linen towels lay near them that were wet with mint water, on which we wiped our sticky hands.

After we ate our meal she offered us thin bread dough spread with nuts and honey that had been baked in an oven.  It was very like baklava, but had a smokey flavor and was thinner.

As we ate our meal we drank fruit wine and talked of many things.  She was a fine woman and it saddened me that history had never sufficiently highlighted her accomplishments.

“I know in your world they wonder if I existed,” she said “Well, now you have met me, tell them that I do.”

After the meal a serving woman brought a baby to her which she suckled at her breast without any self-consciousness. 

“A child from my lover, a young, Libyan warrior of great strength and gentleness,” she said smiling.

The baby was a creamy color with big dark eyes and a fuzz of hair on its head. It reached up frequently to squeeze the skin of its mother’s breast.

“Some have called me the whore of Babylon,” she said smiling, “but as you see I am no whore.”

“Oh that,” said Marida, “that is from the priests and prophets in their old testament.  Women do not come out well there.  Too difficult to think of them as leaders, warriors or prophets, and to name them so.  All their great religious leaders from history are men and their God is male as well.”

“But how can that be?” she said. “A male without a female has no resonance.  Neither of them has completion – they are but two sides of a golden coin.”  She smiled as she looked at Raphael and Marida and drew a circle around them with her hands.

Raphael then spoke for the first time.

“I am not a human male who concerns itself with females,  Djinn or otherwise”.

“But has Eros perhaps clouded your eyes, my lord celestial being,” she asked teasingly pointing at me.

“As you know my dear Queen, it is impossible for me to manifest Eros when I am with humans. Have I been commanded to share my essence with her?  Indeed I have, in what we call a joining.  Her consciousness and soul is large and old,  and has the feel of metal on silk.”  He smiled.

“And will you join with me, Raphael?” she asked

“I cannot, as you already know, magnificent Queen,  even if I  wished, since I have not been commanded,” he said.

“And if I order you to do so?”

“I still cannot,” he deferred, smiling gently.

“No matter spirit,” she said trying to tempt him, “tonight my sweet young lover’s thighs will be between mine, both above and below.”

Raphael as always smiled enigmatically, and then he touched her shoulder.

Take a piece of me with you when you join tonight as human.  Consider this my gift, it will be the most erotic act you have ever known.”

All this time Marida was watching quizzically, and then she leaned over and touched the Queen’s other shoulder as well.

“Smoke and fire from me tonight as a gift for your lover.”

Raphael then got up and stretched his very tall form, taller than the Queen’s and said looking down at her:

“Sadly we must bid you farewell, beautiful Shammuramat.”

He bent down and drew his lips across the baby’s forehead, whereupon it gurgled and grabbed his hair, which he gently disentangled.

Then Shammuramat, Queen of Assyria and mother of Babylon rose and held me close kissing me long and hard on the lips.  Her lips were large and soft and sensuous, and it was the first time I had kissed a woman in this way. 

Finally she let me go and said, “May the spirits of your dead walk with you always.”

“May you prosper and defeat all of your enemies now and in the future,” I replied

Then the three of us walked out of the hanging gardens of Babylon through our stargate, and I took my onyx pot filled with cinnamon-colored face cream with me.

 

2 thoughts on “The Secrets of the Grail:Mehr’s Incredible Journey

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