The Historian’s Tale, 5041 AD

They say there was a type of human

Aeons of the ancient world ago

Whom they called Woman.

Who remembers why,

But it is rumoured,

It was something like a goddess

And connected, if it can be properly believed

With the bringing forth of life itself.

You ask me who believes such folly

Or how could such a strange thing be

But there are stranger things

Than we can see

Through science or philosophy.

There was a word used to describe this human;

‘She’

And in her body,

Do not be alarmed,

There was a living place

Where human life could form.

No, no, She wasn’t a machine.

The strange thing was,

This life was personal.

SHE was not a vessel,

But most intimately made,

To be so sensitive,

That something called relationship

Was possible for her.

Yes, even with the tiniest things.

They say, in legend, even with

The Unseen things.

I speak a heresy, I know

‘All things detectable by our machines

Are all there is

And these we take

And forge them to our purposes’

I know our creed.

And yet

I cannot help but wonder at the fact

‘She’ was not forged by us.

No, no, I can assure you

‘She’ was not conceived by man.

You are astounded

Yet, if tales be true

The strangeness pushes further on.

Beyond the coming of the perfect androgyne

And the Many Gendered, now Ungendered race,

There was a time when humans had

A chance

To look at Otherness in a human face

And all was not constructed in an image

We’d defined.

There was a moment when our thoughts went upwards

Outwards, inwards,

Who can say to where

But how I long to find..

I am a shape that’s built for no one.

I can only dream

That somewhere in the ancient past

There was a place where we, as humans

Knew there was a

Mystery

In between.

What that’s

My children?

Ah indeed those old forbidden words.

Do not erase the words I speak

For when they take me, old historian

No one will know the secret

That was left behind

But you.

Sarah de Nordwall 22nd March 2014