I stand upon the sun scorched dunes unattended by my conscious, the
worry of appearance, the stern rigor of rules and protocol.
I drip in sweat from midday heat; I smell the scent upon my brow of
growing passions, burning desire, a yearning to heed the call.
I hear it, I hear it deep within my chest like the pumping of my heart,
like the beating of the desert drum it drums and hums calling softly to
my will.

"Rise, ye desert dweller. Rise to the top of the highest dune, as close
to the sun as the sun allows. Feel the beating in your heart and dance
the dance."

I move swift motion in my heart overflowing, casting shadow near behind
me and the imprint of my dance a mar upon the flawless face of the sandy
floor.
I can not stop, I can not rest, this press upon my chest breaks further
in purest form as I dance the dance of those before me.
I hear it, I hear it, nay feel it deep beneath my feet buried in the
desert sands beating, swelling as the sea changing rhythm as easily as
desert floor shifts dunes.

"Rise, ye desert dweller. Rise, to the top of the highest dune, as close
to the sun as the sun allows. Feel the beating in your heart and dance
the dance."

Blades flashing in the light, banners soaring higher farther, feet in
flight from unseen presence, all focus counted, charted, and marked.
I rise, I rise, I dance for self and grace alone. Unable to do less,
unable to do more lest I deny my own hearts beating, my own hearts call
to dance the dance to move the sands of race and time with patterned
footprints upon the faces of Aetherius.

"Rise, ye desert dweller. Rise, to the top of the highest dune, as close
to the sun as the sun allows. Feel the beating in your heart and dance
the dance."


Penned by my hand on the 15th of Solis, in the year 452 AD.