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Home  l  Writing

Sacrifice at the Hypogeum

Submitted by Dennis Siluk  l  December 09 2005  l  Viewings: 6315

 
Part I

A young man, named LH, came from the small country called Malta, to pursue studies at the University, who had but a little money in his pocket, settled in an apartment near by the University. The young stranger, for very few knew where he came from, became studied in the great art of diplomacy, recollected that one of his great achievements would be to be an occupant of the very prestigious order of the Knights of St. John. He became marked with intellect and cultivation, but little warmth of heart.

Nothing seemed to exceed his intentions of gaining more knowledge in every known area of science, the arts, international law, and economics, which seemed to grow in his path, no matter which way he walked. In all his observations in regard to discovering the whys in life, he left no leaf or blade of grass unturned. He also studied the gods of the past; the Giants that once roamed the small islands of Malta and Gozo. Never-the-less, in spite of his good looks, and deep intelligence, he had no part in intimacy with the female or male species of earth (referring in part to sex). On the contrary, he avoided their actual touch or direct inhaling of their odors. Such as a savage beast, or deadly snake, or evil spirit would do, should he allow a moment of being vulnerable to an enemy? In the many temples one might find him sitting between 5000-year old stones, as if he was the king, and he was in his thorn room.

It was quite frightful to the young men who knew him to see this air of superiority, and cultivating of a human being, if indeed he was one. In addition, his distrustful composure, made him on one hand noticeable to a good many dangerous onlookers. During one evening while at the Hal Saflieni Hypogeum, an underground burial chamber, hollowed out of soft limestone about 4100 BC [or 6100-years ago], rediscovered in l902, a Maltese archaeologist heard him crying out:

Here I am, my father. What would you have me do? It was a voice pleading of a son to a father, as if deep hues of orange and purple filled his intonations, perfumes of a scant one never smelled before filled the ancient stone coffin.

Yes, answered LH I need your help, so He cried even louder.

Soon there emerged from around a stone structure the figure of a young woman, arrayed with as much beauty as a splendid king with precious stones like flowers all about her. And with a bosom so huge and vivid that one turn of her would have been too much for a human man to walk away. The archeologist still hidden behind a window-door of sorts next to the Holy of Holies, of which he had a three-quarter view, put his hand over his mouth and starred motionless. This temple was not like the open air ones on Malta and Gozo, such as the Temple of Ggantija, 3800 BC, or Hagar Qim, 3400 BC, or the Tarxien temple of 3000 BC; this one was three stories below the earth.

As the archeologist looked on him knew this young man was worshiping someone. It had been known in the area as the Cult of the Dead, linked to Mother Earth. This person was calling out to his ancestors--and now, now a beautiful young woman. What next. The chill of the place was taking away his energy, his health. The archeologist thought to himself: this young mans fancy must have gone morbid, for he took the woman, as she was willing to be taken, laid her like a ram or sheep in front of him. She then handled her sexual parts as would a person wanting to be aroused, and inhaled his odor several times, which he did not avoid.

(So saying, LH), as she lay in front of him:

See how many needful offerings required to be done to our chief, and treasure. My life might pay the penalty of your demand. Hence forth, I fear, this woman will not be enough. And gladly will I undertake whatever you have for me.

Cried the woman, as she bent towards the center of the Holy of Holies, in front of LH, as if he were the Son of God, and opened her arms and legs to embrace LH. He said with a soft voice:

Yes my sister, it shall be my odor, which is to you as the breath of life. I shall reward you with, as it would be with mortal man, kisses. Then, with all the tenderness in his manner, which was strikingly expressed to his father as he looked straight ahead as in a trance, she delighted her body as the plan seemed to require, or sacrifice, and rubbed her eyes tears from her eyes and like a good daughter, took out a danger from her womb, and gave it to LH. Like Abraham, he took the knife and pushed it deep into her heart; killing her instantly.

As the archeologist fell backwards, not making a noise, stunned, he too wiped his eyes, but for a different reason, to insure he was seeing what he was seeing. Then he looked around the corner again. But there was no woman when the archeologist looked back. NO light. Whatever were these errors of fancy on his judgment? Was the sun of the upper world making him see shadows of the night in the underworld?

Thus, moving away from the window, he becomes sleepy. He quickly went to the upper floors, into the museum area, and then run to talk to a security guard, stopped point blank in front of the young man [LH]. Stuttering he could say nothing. As if he was a little ashamed to find him standing next to the stranger in a matter-of-fact stance.

The young man rejoiced in saying, Your heart: dreams can cause many to defects, be careful. True, thought the archeologist, so true. In the course of the day he paid his respects to his fellow workers, and went home early. He was an elder man in his 70s and knew he needed rest, after such a trying experience. The professor as he was called, apparently during the night had a heart attack. He kept the young man in his mind, going over and over the events of the day, the twenty-minute ordeal. When his wife of 40-years tried to wake him in the middle of the night the professor did not respond with any anticipation, or movements to show life.

She was quoted as saying to the media:

The truth is, my husband had a disease of the heart, and should have died years ago. I was quite inquisitive when he came home very tired this afternoon, smiling, and told me a story. And said, God forbid, its time.

What she didnt tell the police was what her husband meant, which was: as he explained to her: It is the hour, the dread of terror that the pit of the abyss where demon and angelic beings are incarcerated, and have been waiting to be released. He explained to his wife, The destroyer was in the Holy of Holies, at his place of work, he had seen him in person.




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