THE NEED ANOTHER BODY Hathor to reincarnate
Every night the same dream repeats in a string of endless dream fragments I harass with questions indistinguishable.
The next morning, when the dawn begins to spread its tentacles over the sleepy Alexandria, the office phone is delivered to a ritual uninterrupted calls.
There is nobody on the other side, just a distant rumor of shells, a soft breeze that comes sweeping from the west, whispering without specific words that belong to any known dialect.
I can not hang up, because I am prey to whisper faceless known. I'm just listening to the void of eternity, infinity sound and silence bordering dreams.
So stay for minutes that seem timeless days, lending my ears to "Nothing."
When everything is over and the day goes and with his parsimonious monotony annoying beep when the handset replaces the silence, I feel abandoned, rejected by my unknown lover that produces in me, without rhyme or verse , a deep and selfless devotion.
When all ends I give back to my destination. I close my eyes, clinging to my desk, which is at that moment the only bulwark of defense against the powerful and unknown threat stalking me across the phone and prayers evoke legendary protect me, I serve as an amulet deterrent of incessant murmur across the line.
The minute following my praises rise in the opposite direction, flying graceful and resolute demand that the phone rings again to flood me with their intoxicating sound of the underworld.
Each call is more urgent than the last, peremptory, irrevocable ...
ON IMAGE the goddess Hathor, MOTHER AND WIFE OF HORUS
In my dreams I always travel to Thebes ...
I'm sitting on a throne sumptuous table in front of a large ceremonial the abode of Horus. My appearance is different under the trim of luxury of a palace walls, richly decorated with beautiful paintings depicting scenes from the life of Ra and its daughter, Hathor.
In my dreams exchange to Nahil version antagonist, a pitiful, self-conscious and confidential secretary of a law firm in Alexandria, obsessed with a dream iterative and intrusive noise on the phone.
front of my retinue of servants and priestesses my face shows arrogant, haughty and inscrutable. A lightweight semi-transparent attire of black silk airs of a goddess gives me ... in my dreams, I am the goddess Hathor, goddess of dance and joy, motherhood, music and eroticism.
Fleet in the air the sound of conches, absolute vacuum of eternity fireproof longs survival of oblivion and the expiration of the flesh, the physical human shell.
Along with my faithful maids, fortune tellers, oracles and priests pray in silence and whispered a litany: "Nahil, Nahil, Nahil ..."
feel his agony and despair, the urgency of their prayers. His life becomes extinct, contained in a body that dies, that no longer works, that does not breathe or heat permeates your soul. In my dreams, the goddess Hathor invoking my name and I come to the assistance provided, as I am prey to its thunderous aroma across the phone line.
every night repeating the same dream every night longing to succumb to the influence of the goddess Hathor, to take me to his kingdom, with my daughters, my mediums and my retinue of servants in the house of Horus, with my father, the sun god, Ra.
Nahil DESPERATE TRY TO IDENTIFY THE IDENTITY OF THOSE WHO CALL OVER AND OVER AGAIN, BUT THE LINE IS DEAD, JUST BE HEARD a whisper.
