This was written in response to this week’s #writephoto prompt. And no, I’ve no idea how I ended up where I did.
No one knew the purpose of Rhymer’s Tomb. It stood on its knoll for as long as men had memories and speech to record its presence. It withstood the vagaries of nature and man and refused to give up the secrets of which all who saw it knew it contained. Perhaps it was that obduracy that drew men to its side or perhaps it was some mystic quality that men of old knew without learning. Whatever the magic, men gathered in its lee, taking shelter and protection from its constancy.
Time pocked it but its defences did not crack. Even as rationality overtook instinct, still it resisted men’s attempts to pierce its carapace. Theories abounded and while educated ears deafened many to its draw, there were still those whose ability to hear was not dulled by the lure of education. Those dwindling few stayed, unable to articulate what kept them there but harsh were they in their resistance to rules that dictated their removal.
Two millennium and more had passed since the codification of faith dulled men’s inner ear when the children of the Enlightenment pierced that resilient shell with their scans and rays. What was there within? What pull was it that this ancient structure contained?
Music. No one could understand how it was created but the purity of its chords, enhanced and tonally adapted for the human ear reached a wider audience. And an audience who was in need of mystery at a time of so much unsettling technologically based certainty.
Many tried to replicate these sounds whose wave-borne balm held more and more in sway. And for a time none succeeded. The throngs grew and the clamour for answers began to drown out this alien mystical power.
One man had a theory. He’d held high office, but not the highest; he’d sounded the trumpet of warning before it was common to do so. But he was dismissed. Ridiculed. Until he brought together a group who understood, who produced the music that eased every crisis and calmed every hate. People began at last to see, to understand. This man knew. He had the Answer and it was through this ancient music generated in ways beyond the understanding of ordinary mortals.
The world sighed. It would be alright. Yes they said. We just need to put our trust in Al Gore’s Rhythms rather than the vagaries of the random choices foisted upon us by the all consuming computers and we will be all right.