The tribe gathered at the foot of the monolith. The silence of the night was matched, and only softly interrupted by their nervous breathing. The elders were preparing their totems and other vestiges of the last ceremony.
(more) The last ceremony. It was thought to be a myth. It was assumed that it was indeed the last ceremony. The scribes had foretold of an era when there would be another. But no one had ever believed that it was real. A real thing. Something that they should have paid more attention to, something that they should have tried to learn and understand.
The maps to the stonehome and the tribal artifacts were mostly intact. The locations were cryptic and some of the landmarks had been moved, removed, and replaced. The modern had stamped it's gaudy, soulless presence over everything that was held dear to the ancients.
They stood around looking and feeling self conscious. They learned the incantations but were unsure of the correct pronunciations. They practised the dances but their stiff modern bodies found it difficult to gyrate and curl into the awkward flow of the movements.
But they tried.
They owed it to the generations that had been before. The ancients who had suffered and toiled to maintain their sense of self. They fought nature in it's many forms. They warred with their rivals, they tamed the beasts, and they married themselves to the elementals.
They began again. They fought back the urge to give in, give up. They tensed and twisted into a final attempt, and threw themselves into it. Having nothing left to fear they shed all self awareness and became one with the ritual.
The sound grew from deep inside the earth and brightness shone from the sun, but from the stone that began to speak.(less)
She ran her hands over the strings lightly. A soft squeak escaped as she placed her fingers against them. This simple wooden structure held melodies left uncreated, anthems that would fill the room. Lark smiled as she placed the violin beneath her chin and played her songs wild and(more) free fill the room. (less)
Channeling the gods of gibberish he barked and sputtered pronouncements for the congregation encircling their divine conduit with hands fluttering overhead and soft praises issuing from their lips. Speaking in the tongues of man he had little to say, but with the power of the eternal puppeteering his larynx he(more) was a bodhisattva. The instructions worked his legs as well, bending his knees and stomping his feet. His eyes rolled back and his head ticked side to side at odd intervals like a broken metronome. But somewhere between the disjointed syllables, the beats of his tattered shoes, and his twitching neck a rhythm developed. Before long the congregation was clapping along and singing a wordless chorus. They danced around him as one, drawing the divine energy from his spastic body, and joined the mindless choreography of existence. (less)