Xerxes- A short glimpse of one moment in-between

 

A short glimpse of one moment in-between

This glimpse of a stoic image is purchased with both love and fond memories. We were a young family. My father’s wives were young and beautiful. My brothers were agile, mischievous, delighted in their freedoms. My sisters were soft and gentle. Yet precocious and often nosy. These were the fond moments. When days were long and productive. When fruits were falling from the trees and all hands were needed to gather and preserve and eat to their fill.

In these in between moments. When the men were home for a time from their pursuits of war and the women and children were complete. These were the moments that weave a tapestry of the ideal life. Good and plentiful food. Children with not a care in the world. Wives comforted with merely a simple glance from their men. Music played. Poetry written. And nights spent in great company beneath the stars.

Now for one specific scene. The men were home after a months long journey east. The small battle nearly forgotten. The early summer harvests begun. Busy moments ensued. Father called for a feast. No occasion. Just a simple feast. Mother and her sisters were joyous. Although the preparation for a feast consumed a whole day the results were always worth it.

An early morning hunt produced rabbits and a small doe. The gardens were alive with green herbs and radishes and onions and root vegetables small and tender. Fires were lit. The meat was roasted. The dishes prepared. The tables set out in the courtyard. Flowers collected by the younger girls were wrapped into wreaths and garlands. And why not? Life is meant to be celebrated. Sweets were prepared with thin and delicate pastries drenched in chopped nuts and warm honey.

Everyone ate. Talked. Laughed. Hours passed. The sun set. The children ran and giggled. The older boys talking loudly of manly pursuits within range of the lovely young ladies. These lovely young ladies smiling and making eyes at the young men. All in a perfect end to a perfect day. And when the scraps were removed and the tables taken down and the fires reduced to dim orange waves on thick heaps of charcoal. Everyone was satisfied. Complete. A day well lived.

These are the moments that could be once more. These in-between moments could become the every moment. It is the way life is meant to be? It is an intriguing wonder.

Copyright 2023 Terran Cognito

Xerxes - The Roles of Men

Xerxes, image from Wikipedia,
altered slightly in photoshop

The Roles of Males

Young Persian males were raised by their own mothers, aunts, and grandmothers for the first few years of their lives. When toddlerhood faded boys were sent to elders and wise men to be trained in reading, writing, the arts, astronomy, and more. Afternoons and evenings were spent running, playing, as well as working in the fields and barns alongside the men.

Concurrently when they reached early manhood around age 14 these lessons and chores were reduced and the training in the skills of war were begun. Archery, horsemanship, spear throwing, and leadership skills were amoung the top desired skills of course. There was little time allotted for the pursuit of girls.

Men were trained in battalions of 100. These battalions were led by the highest officials in the village or town. Training concluded by the age of 20 if not called to war before then. The call to arms to train with the battalion was made monthly and lasted only two days. This kept the men strong and agile.

When not training men were employed in various jobs. Tending to the field was beneath no one and at the time of planting all hands played a role. Tending to the stallions. Care of the chariots and carts. Merchants. Craftsmen. And of course full time guards and soldiers.

Men took wives soon after they completed the rigorous first training. The young lovers kept house with the girl’s parents until the first child or two came. It was then that a separate house was prepared and it was here that a second wife was taken. This second wife moved into the home with the young family but maintained her own quarters of a room or two. The number of wives a man had could vary. He could also take concubines that he did not marry. Divorce was rarely sought in a Persian household.

Given fortunate circumstances a man could live into his eighties. His heirs could number in the hundreds at the time of his death. The goal for every Persian man was to have as many sons as possible. Persian men held this as the measure of their success.

Copyright 2023 Terran Cognito

Xerxes - The Sons of Darius

 

Xerxes.
Image from Wikipedia, with added photoshop clarifications

The Sons of Darius

The multitude of sons of Darius is owed to his good health. His endless vitality. His love of beautiful women. And most importantly his Persian lineage and loyalty to the bloodline. You find 11 sons. I share that there are 20 or more sons that are known. To call them lesser sons is a misnomer.

Any known son of Darius was treated with the utmost respect and placed in powerful positions within the ranks and within the household. Most were sent out at emissaries and became leaders with regional authority and jurisdiction or commanded great armies. But recall that only the sons of the important bloodlines were treated to the complete royal life. That included my brothers by my mother and her sisters.

The three eldest brothers and sons of my father’s first union were thick and sturdy like their mother’s father the landowner. Built for strength and endurance. Of these the youngest was my first friend. Only two years older than I he was the one who desired my company and allowed me entry to their childhood games. He was kind and generous and I enjoyed his company. The older were tolerant of me but protective of their own mother and this often caused some strife between us.

In our early years none of us knew of the internal struggles to come with the death of our father. But let us remain in our youth for a bit longer now. Allow me to group the brothers with their mother’s in mind. Recall my father took many wives. He also made unions with other women both wittingly and unwittingly.

My mother’s sons were to become the full sword and shield of the Achaemenid bloodline. Her own father was a son of a son of a King of Kings. That in itself strengthened the family hold on the Persian throne. Her lineage was enough removed from the original to only be strengthened by the union with my father. The sons of Atossa were revered the most and this was known throughout the lands.

Our younger brothers were treated as younger brothers are often treated. Teased. Taunted. And loved. My mother’s sisters gave Darius four more sons. Four more heirs to secure the Achaeminid line. The irony is these wives also gave Darius most of his daughters and therefore most of his troubles. Recall that Darius was a good and strong father who doted on his heirs. He left the raising of his daughters to their mothers. And this makes for another story at another moment.

A handful of sons were the result of Darius’ travels. These unions might last a month but not much longer. When a son was later born Darius was alerted by those loyal to him and the son and mother were brought into the palace. Most were content with this position.

As in most families there is a stray or two and this is true in the instance of our extensive family. Two of my father’s younger sons left never to return. The first was the son of a woman with whom Darius had only one child. The fortunate union between the two was a brief encounter in Darius’ travels east farther from the reach of his own loyal men. When Darius learned of this son years later he sent for the mother and child to be housed within the palace. The son was treated well. The mother was treated well. When the son came of age the mother returned to her people. The son remained for a short time. He left later never to be heard from again.

The other wanderer was born from a fraught union. His mother the daughter of a Commander in Darius’ army. A union created on a chance encounter after a well placed dinner. The daughter young and enticing to the rarely satisfied Darius. The Commander was unhappy with the mix. The daughter was delighted. Purposeful. Ambitious. She gave birth to a healthy boy but when she learned there was no place in the palace for her beside Darius she disfigured her own child. The damage was irreparable. This young woman was swifted away by her father so that no retribution would be made by Darius. The child was raised in the palace. His every want and need was attended to. His desire was near isolation and the company of only one or two scholars to quench his unending thirst for knowledge. He left in the night. Unaccompanied. Never to return.

Although Darius sent others to follow and to trace the path of these young sons. No word was ever received of the final destination of these prodigal sons or of their individual destinies.

There of course are endless stories of the lives of the sons of Darius. It is within these records that I desire to provide an image of the moments that are a summation of the lineage. Details too many to share here. The sons of Darius gave sons to the Achaemenid line and within these numbered well into one hundred grandsons. Thus lives the evidence that the lineage of the King of Kings did not die within the house of the Achaemenid. Persia lives on to this moment.



Copyright 2023  Terran Cognito

XERXES - My Mother: Atossa

 

My Mother: Atossa

My father called her Attoples. (Uh-top-o-leez). She was his third and favorite wife, Atossa, daughter of Cy-rees the Great. Although more wives followed. This one union brought Darius I, great pleasure. Great joy. Great progeny. And magnificent lineage to seal the throne of his empire for generations.

Atossa was lean and limber and of course very beautiful. She was sharp witted yet cool tongued and this gave entrance to the conversations of men. She was soft yet determined. Never cruel but pragmatic. Warm hearted and comforting to those close in her circle. Circumspect with those not yet familiar.

History has not been kind to her. The Greeks have written of her with some disdain. Flawed is that text. She was a great confident to her brother. He trusted her alone with advice. This gave outsiders and unfamiliars improper ideas about them. It was innocent. That is all to be said of that now.

Her first love was indeed my father. Poor woman. She was young. Royal. Courted by many royals from far away lands. Darius I wanted her. Cy-rees was pleased with the union. Atossa was delighted also. The nuptials were swift, the gift exchanges accepted with gratitude and off the couple went to share time alone. It was during these moments that I was conceived. In love on her part. In desire for a fine lineage on his part. That made for a very acceptable beginning, as he treated her very well always.

As their union expanded with more sons, Darius trusted her more and more with his royal business. Lands, food stores, education, arts, celebrations were all now part of her day to day responsibilities along with caring for young sons.

Her life was complete. Full. She was forever doting and disciplining her sons. Proud yet open to all support from others of their best upbringing. She was a staunch disciplinarian. Furtive was the son that thought he could sway her when he was wrong. When right, she was stalwart and doting to her sons.

Life in the company of Atossa was always full of pleasure. She was bright and thoughtful. Her sons adored her. Her daughter wanted to emulate her. Her two younger sisters admired her without jealousy as they too joined the royal house of Darius bearing him more sons.

It was this family unity and support that provided for a wondrous childhood. We children were supported and spoiled and cared for above all else. These days provide memories that to this very moment of now warm my heart.

Atossa was integral in my entrance to manhood. She selected those who would train me. She worked with those who provided my classical education. She warned off any who would cause me misdirection or harm.

There is more to the story of Atossa. For now. I leave her here to rest. Let us visit her once again as we explore more together at another moment.

Transmission Notes from Denice: 

Sept 20, 2023

 

Terran: Do you get a feel of his voice when he communicates?

Denice: Yes. His voice is deep powerful. His tone is sublime. He has been through it all. Sharing the good parts in between feels very important. 

 

Denice: I had a visit from Atossa the other morning. Quick visual with two moving images.

Denice: First, she had her long hair down and was in a formal coral colored gown with a full skirt that was textured, or embroidered with designs and had a three-quarter length sleeve matching. She had a few small white streaks in her hair. She twirled a bit to show me her gown and smiled.

 

Denice: Next, she was dressed in a pale pink American style women's sleeveless dress, matching shoes, and her hair was pulled back in a bun. She walked to me and patted me on the right shoulder. She was smiling.  

Denice: No audio with either video*. Feels like the second image is her now.  

*Terran note: "Video" is our term for telepathic images that are in motion like a movie.  I get them as well but I am not as skilled at it as Denice is. They also can be from multiple "camera angles which one can rotate through for a better view.  I sometimes struggle for the right words to use, as this is not remote viewing in the military sense of it, with blind targets.  This is often full on 4K imagery if you will for the image definition quality.  This is not blind men in Plato's cave describing an elephant.

Copyright 2023 - Terran Cognito 

Xerxes - My Father: Darius

 

My Father: Darius

As is true in the beginning of most unions my young mother adored her strong and handsome husband. Their time alone was cherished. He adored her as well and gave her every attention possible when two are in the beginning of a new union. That is true and accurate. What is also true and accurate is that the first, initial adoration between the two was short lived. Darius had a shorter span of adoration than most men of his stature and when mother became with child – me – father began to show attention to other women quite quickly.

But this story is not of my mother’s treatment. Rather this is the story of Darius. The side unseen by human eye. This is true of most great ones who are only chronicled by their enemies for historical purposes. So this story of Darius is the side unseen.

We began with his journey out of the wood. Post battle. Separated from his men. He was the leader then of that battle. His men were decimated. He was alone. He journeyed past the field of the benevolent landowner who befriended him. Joined his household through his recovery. And married the eldest, most beautiful of the landowner’s daughters. That much we have said.

What was not yet shared is that these moments with this benevolent host and his gracious family changed the life of the Great Darius sure and well. Darius was treated with kindness and respect but this was not the luxury and constant support of which he was accustomed as the son of a king.

It was on this bucolic land that my father gained insight into the human condition. It was on this plot of farmland that my father gained insight into the ingenuity and possibilities of the human mind. It was in this healing and rustic environment my father created his vision for the future of Persia.

It is true my father was the third king of Persia in his immediate line. It is true and accurate that his title known far and wide was ‘King of Kings’. This was not a self-given title by those who reigned before him. The title was the gift of the ancient Asian empire of Zheng to my father’s third father before.

Darius grew in these moments of solace to be a thinking man. To imagine the great possibilities that innovation and architecture could bring to Persia. He imagined buildings and bridges and even boats as he healed his body.

Returning now to his time of my birth, Darius was a strong and influential guide in my upbringing yet he left the daily duties of care and decisions to my mother. By my first year my father had already taken another bride and created new life within her. My mother was not slighted by this move as the bride was her own dear sister.

The country estate was booming with family and friends and Darius was well pleased. It was from here that he met with his advisors to plan the great cities of Persia. These cities are known Persepolis. Tynad, Senchort. Lesser known are Tylama, Bagzhat, Meliopor. All lost to historical function now. Deserted and desert. But known and loved in our lifetime.

To continue with the pleasing perspective of Darius. He was strong. Vital. Innovative. Loyal to his bloodline. Considerate of the women in his life. Discrete. Temperate. And often solemn. His story is told by those who feared him and by more who abhorred him. As is true of most great ones, the absolute story is rarely known.

Copyright 2023 - Terran Cognito

Xerxes - One Story: The Girl in the Apricot Gown

 

One Story: The Girl in the Apricot Gown

When the road ends and one turns to look back. In complete reflection. All that remains are the stories. And that one single truth is absolute for all who have come before us. And all who follow.

These stories of my life in Persia are not limited to me. The expanse of history and lives well lived precedes me. And follows me. My stories are but a small scene in a larger tapestry. Let us share one such scene now.

I return to the girl in the apricot gown. Standing barefoot in the stream. Pale streaks of sunlight peaking through the heavy canopy dropping diamonds on the water for her to admire. She tucks her long hair back. She looks over her shoulder at a small bird chirping on the nearby bank. Smiles. Chestnut eyes smiling.

Recalling the scents and sounds as I lay there under cover of shade on the eastern edge of the stream behind her, I am complete. The scene is heart filled. She does not notice me and I do not give away my place. On that particular day.

There is an opportunity that follows. I hid once more. I waited. Watched. She moved. She sang. She was delightful to behold. I leapt forward, but she moved swiftly, not aware I was behind. Was she even aware of my presence?

There is a moment to share here of my previous transmissions. If you feel inspired to include a short vignette of that waterfall and sweet water stream so many aeons ago?

I share this image. She was older. Long brown tresses loosely flowing and caught in the slight breeze. She was looking down at her feet. I did not have that vantage. That view from her eyes.

My eyes were locked on her through the greenery. The foliage fluttering in unison with her immaculate hair. Her garb was a pale orange. Not the color of a ripened peach yet not as subtle as the heart of a passion fruit.

Yes. We had the luxury of both fruits in our abundant orchards. Though you may not find a source external to this telling.

I watched. I had begun the turmoil of manhood. Youth was forsaken now. I often wandered to my hidden refuge after the rigorous training with broad sword.

I crawled forward. Silently as if i was a hibernating snake. Slow but with purpose.

I lifted the branch of a small oak. Sycamore. It matters not that particular detail. I caught the scent of her. Foreign. Delightful. Unlike the women of our compound. Unlike any female i had ever met.

Her feet were bare. I did not have the moment to search for her sandals. The hem of her gown was soaked in the stream. Darker than the rest. A small thin swath of fabric danced with her brown locks. But not in any rhythm i recognized.

She hummed a tune. Softly. Elegantly. Sweetly. To say she sounded of the angels would be fool hearty. All beauties sound like an angel when the young male heart first falls upon one.

I waited. I watched. My heart lept as she slipped through the soft waters and up and over the opposite bank.

She was gone! And then I was after. There was a noise from behind. I did not turn to see the maker. I only moved forward. Into and across the small expanse of cool water. Up and over the tufts of long grass.

She was gone. It was instant. Not a sound ahead to follow.

It was for me to retreat to the call of my brothers behind me then. And I leave this moment. This visual here.

So I return to the years previously discussed. There was so much laughter and love shared. And again I say how the children and the youth were spared from the pain and suffering that would soon part the curtains of our adolescence and young adulthood.

Before the call to train. Before the call to separate the warriors from the workers. We stayed fit and full with days filled with movement and wonderful foods. Not a worry ahead for any young boy or perhaps even young girls. Although I reiterate that we did not wander with the girls. The natural separation flowed without quandary. It was a simple divide of purpose and of pleasure.

It occurs to me now this was perhaps even by design although never stated. Was it the guise of the adults to whisper this convoluted separation without advancement? Perhaps. Perhaps it was the nature of our culture. To ease the children into adulthood. To prepare the youth for the formidable future.

I share this thought now. Perhaps no one is ever free from the designs of others?

This retrospect is fraught with danger that spoils the divinely delightful youth of our Dear Persia.

There is more. Yet I leave you with this image. In all that is. I am Xerxes.

To continue as the moments flow and my recall is in play, I will share one more scene of the girl in the apricot gown. I feel now that I will not reveal her name. That gives more pause to the reader. Mystery? More that I protect her value through these words and the historical documents once in writing.

This day she was in blue. Soft, gentle, flowing blue. Lighter than the sky or the sea. More of the bird’s egg in a spring nest. Sitting on the same bank that I had before hidden my presence. Her scent still intoxicating. Her eyes still chestnut with flecks of pale sunlight sparkling when she smiled. I approached without hiding. Sat beside her. I gave her my name. She did not respond

Birds sang in the distance.. Sunlight streamed through the canopy. The stream hummed a beautiful tune to set the scene for our first encounter.

She was my first beloved. Even before that moment. I was not yet a complete man. Though I felt manly. She was not yet a complete woman. Though she was ahead of me.

Our soft spoken exchange is private and will remain so always. She was breathtaking for a young one like me. She was perfect. We made one and only one arrangement. We would meet on this bank once more. I was to bring a blanket and some wine. She was to bring some fruit and some bread. And although we did not know it at that first conversation. We would share a moment that would not ever be forgotten. And is now documented for history.

And that is where we must leave the reader to notice and wonder? Imagine the encounter. Indeed the encounter was more than anyone could ever imagine.

Copyright 2023  - Terran Cognito

Xerxes - The Battles and the Wars

The Battles and the Wars

Little tribute will be paid to these topics. Enough has been chronicled about the loss of life and the general horrors of battle. It is no more. The lessons have been learned. To reflect any more would pay an undeserved honour to the idea of conquest. Of rampage. Of burned out lives ruined forever.

Instead let us share the moments in between and pay our focus here. The moments of reunion. Of complete and utter joy at the return of loved ones from months and years on the road far too far away from home.

The image of the men returning by ship. Grand vessels sailing across turquoise waters to the rocky precipice and sandy beaches and safe harbours of loved ones. The healing. The grace. The gratitude. The feasts and parties and long, long embraces.

The aging women. Nearly broken with grief and longing, with crooked shoulders bent over pots in wait for a son or even husband. Stews prepared daily for the inevitable return. The young mother with a new young son, greeting her husband as he lofts his heir into the sky with joyful play, delighted to meet this new one.

And daughters, on hearing the news of the return of fleets, gather daisies and violas and pink roses, creating wreaths twined with ivy to decorate the doors for the festive reunions. Of barrels opened and casks opened and fires far and wide roasting deer and mutton and perhaps even that cranky old ox that refused the plow for the last time.

Of music. Oh the music! Lute and lyre. Harp and drum. The tambourines. Of poets reveling in the coins granted to write of the returning heroes. Music into the night and morning. Dancing of old and young. Hand in hand, arm in arm, swinging and trotting to the beats ringing throughout the place.

And days later when the reverie slows, the families begin to fall into the old routines. The injured, healing quietly in the care of their own. The fallen remembered with love and tenderness in honour of their far away graves.

And weeks later, after seeds are planted and all are tended to, it is the moment to move forward. Plans made. Ideas fermented. Families and friends and neighbors safe and satisfied for the moment.

These are the moments to remember. The moments in between the wars. To give honour to those who tended the hearths while the warriors were gone. To give gratitude for those who returned. And to carve memorials to those who did not.

Copyright 2023 - Terran Cognito