does anyone know of other sites where one can ask questions about the society's prophetic errors and other doctrinal objections?
i have so many questions and don't wish to be troubled with triggered responses and other aggrevations.. thanks in advance,.
7
You can try here if you like.
[url]www.freeminds.org[/url]
These people monitor H20 pretty closely and when something comes up there they usually put it up on their site. H20 has tons of stuff archived and I'm sure someone there will be glad to direct you to even more sites. Here is a link to H20
[url]www.cyberpass.net/~h2o/wwwboard/hourglass2board.html[/url] I hope that gets you there...
ah, gather 'round, ye olde companions, gather 'round the dying light and while we imbibe the last of this good ale and say a fond farewell to this day the french knight will tell you a tale that was told to him whilst he was in a far away land.
i remember not the teller of the tale other than he was one who seemed convinced of the account, perhaps one who witnessed the strange events i am about to recount to you.
here is the tale, judge for yourself.. in the third year of the reign of good king beltheheezar it came to pass that spring at long last sprang upon the countryside and the long, bitter winter which would not be soon forgotten was now a thing of the past.
(cont'd)
-------
The chamber at which the stairway terminated was enormous. Huge, gilded, stone arches supported a massive ceiling. The arches rested on colossal, fluted columns that seemed to go through the floor, presumably to the very foundations of the castle. Small, arched openings in the wall held burning torches which illuminated the great hall but also emitted the foul smell of burning oil when lit at dusk. For now plenty of light spilled in from the shuttered openings on the outside wall. The floor was tiled with a mosaic pattern of multi-colored brick and thick, rich looking wool rugs --any one of which would have bought room and board at the finest inn for a lifetime --were everywhere. The heavy boots of the soldiers made not a sound on the rugs and soon they stood before a heavy, scarlet colored, velvet drape. The entourage stopped and the soldiers withdrew into a side room, leaving only Ahad and his two captives.
The drape slid back and the traveler found himself looking at an old man seated on a magnificent chair atop a platform at least eight feet off the floor with wide steps leading up to it. It was a wondrous sight, intended to awe the observer and humble the one approaching. It was not the first time the traveler had seen a throne. He dropped to his knees even before Ahad did and dropped his head.
"Ahad." The old man said. "What is this stranger doing before my throne?"
"Your majesty." Began the captain of the guard, "This wandering" --slight pause-- "minstrel happened by just as the princess was being accosted by some rift-raft. He killed one and wounded the other."
"Were they armed?" the king asked.
"Yes, sire."
"Hmm, a minstrel, you say?" The king muttered softly.
"Yes, sire. That is his claim." replied Ahad.
"And what say you...minstrel?" The king inquired of the traveler.
"I am a minstrel indeed, your majesty, and I would perform for you."
"You presume too much, young pup." Ahad injected.
"He has earned the right, don't you think." The king said.
"As you wish." Was Ahad's reply.
"Show him to suitable quarters, Ahad, while I deal with my unmanageable daughter."
"By your command."
Ahad walked off and the traveler followed two steps behind, easily matching the long strides of the large man before him. They veered off into an opening close to the place they had entered and once again traveled down a long hall only much wider. Doors lined both walls and the traveler's keen senses could feel the presence of humans behind those bolted doors. Beautiful tapestries hung from the tall ceiling and an occasional painting could be seen in the various alcoves that appeared now and then. Tremendous chandeliers holding hundreds of large, scented candles illuminated the way. No smelly oil lamps here. Ahad stopped in front of a door that looked no different that all the ones they had passed, pushed it open and the traveler followed him in.
The room was larger than the entire tavern he had performed in the night before and one of the four closets was larger than the room in which he had slept. A huge, canopied bed full of carvings of birds and beasts sat in the middle of the carpeted floor. There was a valet with a face bowl of rosewater, two spittoons, and a china chamber pot. Two very ornate and overstuffed chairs rested against one wall on either side of a window, with a cushioned bench seat. On the adjoining wall and between the doors of the two closets was a secretary with writing paraphernalia. The dresser was huge, made of a very dark wood and ornately carved with figures of snarling beasts with clawed feet and wild, screaming winged things with long talons and sharp beaks. The metal mirror --made of highly polished silver-- was of excellent quality as were the colored glass vases and jars that decorated the dresser top.
The traveler made his way to the window and looked out of the soda-glass. Swinging out the two hinged panels he leaned out and examined the rough wall made of hewn stones set in mortar. He had seen better work but then the rough surface would make it easier in case he had to make a quick decent. He closed the window and looked upon the canopied bed with some amusement and then promptly made a pallet in a corner and curled up. He always had difficulty sleeping in cramped quarters, preferring the open air and the sounds of the night in his ears. He had resigned himself to a long night when he heard a gentle rapping on the hardwood door. With one cat-like motion he sprung to the center of the room, grabbing the ever-present staff, recently returned to him by Ahad's orders, that was leaning against the bed post. He twirled it, letting it find its balance in his hands as he took two steps toward the door, knocked the bolt back with the staff and dropped into a half-crouch. The door swung open slowly and as it did, he drew the staff high over his head.
"You would not hit me with that would you?" Said the white-clad female standing before him.
"Who are you and what is your business?" He demanded.
"I am the king's gift to you this night."
"Take your leave, I have no need of a whore this night." He said not unkindly.
"As you wish, my lord, but the king will not be pleased."
He thought about that for a moment. He relaxed and lowered the staff. So the night would not be so long after all. She was beautiful, no more than fifteen or sixteen. Her skin was smoother than the polished silver mirror and was the color of alabaster. Her long, silky hair glowed like burnished copper and smelled of myrrh and frankincense, clearly she was groomed and kept for one purpose, to entertain the king's guests. The traveler took her by both hands and led her to the pallet.
ah, gather 'round, ye olde companions, gather 'round the dying light and while we imbibe the last of this good ale and say a fond farewell to this day the french knight will tell you a tale that was told to him whilst he was in a far away land.
i remember not the teller of the tale other than he was one who seemed convinced of the account, perhaps one who witnessed the strange events i am about to recount to you.
here is the tale, judge for yourself.. in the third year of the reign of good king beltheheezar it came to pass that spring at long last sprang upon the countryside and the long, bitter winter which would not be soon forgotten was now a thing of the past.
Is it morning already? Hmmm... so it is! Well, on with the tale:
--------
With slow, careful deliberation he eased himself out of Shi-ke-oontah lest he draw unwanted attention to himself. He picked up his baggage, slung it across his shoulder and followed the figure at a discreet distance. Soon one of his suspicions was confirmed. Two men dressed in the nondescript garb of vagabonds fell into step behind the young woman and although she continued to look about her, he could tell that she was completely oblivious to her pursuers. He closed the distance between them all the while being very careful to avoid detection by the cautious waylayers. The chase went on until they approached the outer fringes of the city. The young woman turned down an unpaved street and headed for what looked like an old abandoned garden behind a deteriorating stone wall with a rusty, iron gate falling off its hinges. Once at the gate she turned around and the two jackals pursuing her stopped and began talking to each other as if completely unaware of her presence. She regarded them for a moment or two and then dismissed them from her mind and stepped into the overgrown garden. They quickly darted in lest someone see them at their foul game.
A close look at the now abandoned gardens revealed that they had once been grand indeed. Flora from far away had been brought here and meticulously set in place, tall, flowering plants here and low, green ferns there. Aromatic plants were set among brilliantly flowering perennials, all hedged in and outlined by evergreens. Fountains served as centerpieces although they were now covered with moss and lichen. Scraping away the vines and dead leaves one could see intricate geometrically patterned brick work that wove its way throughout the garden, a path to guide one through the botanical wonders that once flourished here. It was at such a fountain that the young lady stopped and then carefully sat on a nearby stone bench and dropped her hood.
"Well!"
Startled, she jumped up from her seat and starred wide-eyed and horrified at the two culprits before her. She clutched her cloak tightly about her in a defensive gesture.
"What have we here, Bilhi? A plump, juicy, little dove ready to eat." The vermin laughed and their big bellies shook.
With a quick movement uncharacteristic of his size, the speaker snatched the cloak from the young woman, knocking her down to her knees. They laughed again, much amused at her terror and helplessness. She wore a fine, white, linen dress that was accented with blue thread at the throat and hem. She made no attempt to rise, her breath was short and her eyes wide in horror.
"I think I shall take her first, Bilhi. You are far too crude of a fellow to appreciate such a dainty morsel as this." More laughter.
Neither scoundrel heard the footsteps behind the fountain for indeed the finest hunting dog would have had trouble detecting them. Nor did they see the vines or bushes move for the young traveler moved barely disturbing the air about him. Just as the bolder of the two moved forward to perform his cowardly deed they saw the young man step out from behind the fountain.
"Perchance you gentle sirs would care to dine on this morsel." He said with no mirth.
"Uh?" The bigger of the two muttered.
The young man quickly, and with the grace and fluid motion of a dancer, moved between the jackals and the girl. With one hand, and without taking his eyes off the scum before him, he lifted her to her feet and gently pushed her back. She retreated to the fountain, spellbound by the drama unfolding before her. The one who had been doing all the talking decided that it was time to dispose of what was keeping him from his quarry. He lunged at the traveler only to have his impetuousness rewarded by a swift crack on the head by the ever present staff. He fell to his knees, holding his head in his big, hairy hands. The other one was taken aback by the swiftness and severity of the traveler's actions but he soon recovered and reached down into his boot for a wicked looking blade which he began brandishing. A wild gleam came into his eyes as he slashed the air while advancing on the traveler. If the young man was concerned he certainly did not show it. He deftly danced away from the man still holding his head --there was blood running between his fingers now-- and twirled the staff first in one hand and then the other, all the while putting as much distance between them and the young lady as possible. She stood as if frozen in time, completely terrified at what was unfolding in front of her eyes and yet compelled to watch it. At last the traveler stopped and waited for the buffoon to make his move. Wild-eyed and snarling he thrust the blade at the traveler who, with no apparent effort, quickly turned, allowing the knife to pass a mere inch from his chest. The momentum of the thrust carried the attacker past him and into a tangle of dried vines. The man, startled and enraged by the action, turned and grasping the dagger by the blade raised it high over his head and threw it at the traveler. The young woman screamed at what she was certain would be the end of her deliverer. The traveler merely moved his staff in a lightning-like fashion and knocked the dagger harmlessly into the grass. The traveler smiled and with an economy of motion twirled the staff once more and then holding it as a lance plunged the end of it into the chest of his would-be assailant. The staff never penetrated the rib cage but the force of the blow was sufficient to render the thug unconscious amid excruciating pain.
He turned on one heel and dropped to one knee before the young lady.
"My lady." He addressed her. "I do hope you are unharmed."
"Oh my!" She exclaimed.
He sensed a presence behind him. Quickly he rose to his feet and whirled around, dropping to a half crouch. Before him was a compliment of soldiers with drawn long bows aimed directly at him. Their captain stood with arms folded across his chest. He eyes swept the scene. The first victim was, of course, dead now. The other would be unconscious for at least an hour.
"Drop that staff!" Ahad ordered.
The young man complied and allowed himself to be taken into custody. The young woman explained to the surly Ahad that the traveler had just saved her life but he spoke not a word in return. The young couple were escorted to a curtained carriage and then began what proved to be an hour long trip. The traveler was quiet and despite a couple of feeble efforts by the young woman to initiate conversation, he remained silent. He as pleased with the situation as it was for it suited his purposes well. What the young woman had been after or why she was in the garden at the time was not relevant to him now.
Eventually the carriage stopped and they were escorted out and through a maze of hedges and low stone fences which finally opened up into a courtyard. Looming high above the moderately sized trees was a stupendous castle that seemed to reach into the very clouds themselves, rising out from behind a wall twice the height of any tree in the city. After a brief pause, a guard detail relieved their transporters and, headed by Ahad, led them toward the castle wall. There was the ever present moat and drawbridge which was being lowered as they approached. The bridge was narrow, maybe six feet or less. That was by design so that a charge against the castle would bottleneck at this point. The gate was itself a maze of right angle turns and narrow passages, not very conducive to an all out attack by an army. At one point they had to actually stoop to continue through. A large courtyard greeted their emergence from the gate, paved with brick in a basketweave design with spewing fountains and fish ponds scattered about and amid lush gardens immaculately kept. The traveler's keen eyes detected breaks in the brick pattern which were undoubtedly secret passages that would allow the castle guard to travel underground and emerge at these points to perhaps get behind an invading force should one get this far. There were also niches in the wall where archers could perch and pick off their enemies far below. The arrived not at the main entrance to the castle --for that was always reserved for visiting dignitaries-- but at a rather inconspicuous, wooden door overlaid with iron which opened up into a hall that was, for security purposes no doubt, also long and narrow. At the end of the hall they began climbing a winding stair case made of hewn stone which narrowed slowly as one climbed until, at its very top, only one person at a time could thread his way through it.
ah, gather 'round, ye olde companions, gather 'round the dying light and while we imbibe the last of this good ale and say a fond farewell to this day the french knight will tell you a tale that was told to him whilst he was in a far away land.
i remember not the teller of the tale other than he was one who seemed convinced of the account, perhaps one who witnessed the strange events i am about to recount to you.
here is the tale, judge for yourself.. in the third year of the reign of good king beltheheezar it came to pass that spring at long last sprang upon the countryside and the long, bitter winter which would not be soon forgotten was now a thing of the past.
I had hoped to finish the tale this knight but I fear that the ale has taken it's toll and I must submit to it's pleadings and take rest. But I shall, in the morrow, relate more to you of this strange tale.
The French Knight
ah, gather 'round, ye olde companions, gather 'round the dying light and while we imbibe the last of this good ale and say a fond farewell to this day the french knight will tell you a tale that was told to him whilst he was in a far away land.
i remember not the teller of the tale other than he was one who seemed convinced of the account, perhaps one who witnessed the strange events i am about to recount to you.
here is the tale, judge for yourself.. in the third year of the reign of good king beltheheezar it came to pass that spring at long last sprang upon the countryside and the long, bitter winter which would not be soon forgotten was now a thing of the past.
(cont'd)
They both stopped their antics and while one held the boy by his collar, the other made some lewd remark about what they were going to do to the stranger as well. The young man made no reply but in a very fluid and deliberate manner approached the two bullies and when he got only a few feet from them he began twirling the staff in a very deliberate and slow manner. He stopped and took a stance in a slight crouch, feet spread apart and staff held high over one shoulder. One of the thugs pulled out a wicked looking dagger and sprang at the young man who at once quickly and deftly sidestepped the much larger man. There was a dull thud and a cry of pain as the staff was brought to bear against the small of his back, the impact and his own forward momentum crashed him against the stone wall and he fell unconscious to the dusty ground. The young man twirled the staff as he spun around and once again took his stance before the other ruffian. The man snarled in a most unpleasant manner, dropped the young boy and pulled out a short sword with which he made several threatening gestures toward the immobile stranger. He charged the young man much in the same manner as had his ill-fated cohort. This time the young man's staff entangled he attacker's legs and the bully went face down in the dirt. He quickly recovered and raised the broad-bladed short sword only to have it knocked out of his hand by that infernal staff. He made a move toward it and was rewarded with a sharp whack on the outreaching hand. He let out a loud yelp but forgot about the blade for the moment. He made a dash for the open street but once again the staff came into play, this time to his neck and he fell to the ground once more. Time and again the big fellow would rise only to be reproved by the staff until at long last, in great pain and out of breath he begged for mercy and the young stranger stepped back and allowed him to leave.
"You have saved me and my belongings, I am in debt to you." The boy said.
"You owe me nothing, boy. Go your way and stay clear of these back streets."
"What is your name that I may tell my parents of my deliverer?" He asked.
"I am a traveler, a minstrel and there is no need to speak any more of this."
He left the boy and picked up the belongings he had left for the moment and resumed his trek to find a tavern. He found one at the edge of town, approached the innkeeper and asked if he might earn a meal, a drink, and a night's lodging with a song or two. Although he had money from the market square, he preferred to pay by entertaining with his talents. The cash was for when there was no time for such things. The innkeeper was a pleasant enough fellow and agreed to the bargain. A minstrel was almost always welcome in a tavern where his peculiar talents were appreciated as perhaps nowhere else. Unlike the traveling merchants which were all business, the minstrels brought joy and humor in their happy songs and witty tales of faraway places, a welcome break from the drudgery and ordinariness of the everyday life. The night wore on and if the day's travels had wearied the young jester he never allowed it to show as he kept the laughter rolling and, much to the good pleasure of the innkeeper, also the ale. He kept his audience until exhaustion and the alcohol reduced them to staggering zombies and amid loud protests and upheld tankards of splashing ale, he bid them all a good night.
He helped the innkeeper tidy up, took his meal of cold meat, bread, and ale and gratefully allowed himself to be led to a room in the back. There was no window and the air was stale. There was a straw pallet on the floor with room for nothing else but himself and his meager belongings. He curled up on the straw after bolting the door and drifted off into a guarded sleep.
He was awakened by the early morning sounds of the rousing city coming through the sun-baked clay walls. The four hours of sleep on the few inches of straw between him and a stone floor had not replenished the energy he had spent in the last twenty four hours or so but it would have to suffice. He gathered his belongings and slipped out into the already busy streets and headed for the market square. Busy mornings are not a good time to barter for bread with amusing anecdotes and cheery songs so he bought bread with the previous day's earnings and sat on a bench, away from the flies, to eat it. He felt a presence behind him and he turned.
"Well, good day to you, my young, wayfaring stranger. I hear that you have already gotten into the trouble you promised to stay clear of."
The young man looked up into the bearded face of the first man he had encountered in the great city, Ahad, chief of the guards. He rose from the bench and still the man towered above him.
"If you speak of the incident with the young boy, I was merely..."
"Enough said!" Ahad cut him off. "The story was recounted to me by the boy."
He regarded the young minstrel with the practiced scrutiny of a soldier evaluating an enemy. It was not the first time that the young traveling had been evaluated in such a way and so he knew how to stand and what expression to wear. The soldier's face betrayed confusion as if he were trying to reconcile what he was seeing with what he had heard. He was wise enough, however, to know the limits of what a cursory examination could reveal and the tale that time itself would eventually tell. He accepted for the moment the face value of things and reserved further judgment for yet another time and walked away.
The young man was no stranger to such a scenario, it was one that repeated itself in as many cities as he visited. He sat down again and finished his bread and took a long drink from one of the wineskins and watched the bustle of the city dwellers. It was no idle curiosity that kept him on the bench for the better part of the morning, nor was it for lack of something to do for now the crowd was milling about and it would be a good time to earn a few coins. Instead he waited and watched with trained discipline and deliberation of purpose. He allowed part of his conscious mind to drift back while part continued the vigil at hand, for this also was part of his training, the triad of Ali-Kah. It was a way to rest while working, a diversion to replenish the spirit while at the same time continuing the task at hand. It was a form of mental discipline that few-- let alone those of his age --could master but one that was imperative for the task at hand.
He began with Shi-ke-oontah, the ancient art of invisibility, that strange ability to assume a posture and expression that allowed one to be seen by the eyes but ignored by the mind. The ability to blend into the very fabric of one's surroundings by sheer force of mind and discipline of body. While part of his mind took care of that task, another part of his mind continued the search for what he sought while the remainder of his consciousness began the ritual of the Oon-tay, the most difficult of the three stages of the Ali-Kah to master and perform.
In his mind's eye he conjured up the quiet, tranquil, afternoon meadow, the gentle swaying of wildflowers in the warm, spring breezes that swept up from the south. The sky was painted with pastels, blues, soft yellows, and subtle purples. This was his Oon-tay. For each Khali-ti had his own, unique place or situation that brought him the comfort and haven from the harshness of the reality at hand, a haven from the windstorm. For some it might be the ocean, for others a kindly figure from the past, for him it was this remembered meadow from boyhood. He peered closer and saw the butterflies and bees and the myriad of winged creatures delighting themselves on the variety of nectars there for the taking. There was the gentle gurgling of a nearby brook of clear, cold, spring water that flowed perpetually over a bed of smooth stones, the lifeblood of the meadow and all her children. An eagle soared in his lofty kingdom, riding currents in the heavenly ether, an experience and pleasure that God reserved for his empyrean creatures and denied to mortal man. The serenity of the pastoral scene siphoned the anxiety and fatigue from his every fiber until it seemed that to be any more tranquil would be death itself. That was the point that he sought and that was what he had attained. With the deliberate care one would use to extricate himself from an entanglement, he brought himself out of the Oon-tay and back to the reality of the moment, refreshed and alert as a twenty-two year old man can be. All of this he did while remaining as immobile as stone, virtually invisible to the multitude of scurrying humans all around him.
A figure in the outer periphery of his vision began distinguishing itself from the mediocrity of the crowd. It was a young man, no, his inner vision corrected what the eyes were seeing. This was a young woman dressed as a young man. How intriguing. Remaining in his state of Shi-ke-oontah he observed her approach. At will he heightened his state of awareness and sensed the uneasiness that the clandestine female was experiencing. It was all there to see, the quick, small, unsure steps, and the furtive glances at her surroundings, always careful to avoid eye contact with her fellow pedestrians. There was another air about her as well and this is what sparked the young traveler's interests, what caused him to concentrate even more intensely on the hooded figure before him. Her skin --what little he could see of it-- was the color of milk, clearly not that of a laborer, perhaps she was a harlot? No. It was too early in the day for that, creatures of the night sleep late into the day. A few strands of hair spilled out from under the hood and they were the color of spun gold and their appearance suggested pampering and much combing. The garment itself that she wore though plain enough was of a fabric that, to the practiced eye, suggested nobility or at the very least, wealth. She walked past him, her foot missing his baggage only slightly, and his nostrils drank in her fragrances. She smelled of rosewater and myrrh, two items not available to the commoner. There was also the unmistakable lingering of just the slightest suggestion of nard, that costly item so rare and difficult to obtain here as to put it beyond the reach of all but the highest nobility. For the young man had been to the land of the origin of the costly perfume. It lay a great distance to the east of the mountain upon which the great city was situated, a strange and exotic land of not only spices but beasts of incredible size and strength and yet domesticated by the inhabitants, of the brilliantly stripped tigers that could tear a bull to shreds with its sharp claws. It was also a land of wise men, of men who had mastered incredible and ancient secrets of mind and body control from whom he had learned much and rounded out his unique education.
Edited by - Frenchy on 10 June 2000 12:45:20
ah, gather 'round, ye olde companions, gather 'round the dying light and while we imbibe the last of this good ale and say a fond farewell to this day the french knight will tell you a tale that was told to him whilst he was in a far away land.
i remember not the teller of the tale other than he was one who seemed convinced of the account, perhaps one who witnessed the strange events i am about to recount to you.
here is the tale, judge for yourself.. in the third year of the reign of good king beltheheezar it came to pass that spring at long last sprang upon the countryside and the long, bitter winter which would not be soon forgotten was now a thing of the past.
Ah, gather 'round, ye olde companions, gather 'round the dying light and while we imbibe the last of this good ale and say a fond farewell to this day the French Knight will tell you a tale that was told to him whilst he was in a far away land. I remember not the teller of the tale other than he was one who seemed convinced of the account, perhaps one who witnessed the strange events I am about to recount to you. Here is the tale, judge for yourself.
In the third year of the reign of good king Beltheheezar it came to pass that spring at long last sprang upon the countryside and the long, bitter winter which would not be soon forgotten was now a thing of the past. On a bright, sunny day that began like all others the watchman at the east gate of the great city, which stood high upon a mountain plateau, proceeded to herald the approach of a lone traveler on the main thoroughfare. As was the custom, the large gates were opened and Ahad, chief of the guards approached the stranger and asked his business with the city.
"I am a traveler, officer, a wanderer making his way about the world in search of truth, beauty, and the meaning of life." Came the reply.
Ahad regarded the young man before him with a trained eye. That he was a stranger was obvious by his dress. The young man--Ahad judged him to be no more than twenty--carried a leather satchel, fastened tightly with leather laces, across one shoulder. Two wineskins were slung across the other. One would contain water and the other probably wine. The army officer's gaze dropped lower and he regarded the short knife that the young man carried in a finely crafted sheath. His sandals were of good quality but worn and his muscular, bare, legs told him that this one was accustomed to much walking. The young man's skin was deeply tanned and his light hair, uncommon in these parts, seemed bleached by the sun. He carried no weapon save a staff in one hand and a stringed instrument in the other which prompted Ahad to ask:
"Are you a minstrel?"
"Ah, that I am, sire ." Was the brisk reply. "I am no beggar or troublemaker. I wish to work for my meals if that is permitted and trouble no one."
Ahad nodded. "Very well, for the king has no use for either. You may enter and go straight to the square in the center of the city. If there is anyone in need of a minstrel or laborer, he will make it known to you."
The young man thanked him kindly and the army officer watched him walk away. He muttered under his breath his displeasure at having to allow the young man entry into the city. If he had his way he would have thrashed him and sent him along back down the mountain from which he came. The king, however, had different views on hospitality and he grudgingly complied with his majesty's wishes that all strangers be welcomed in the great city. It was the king's contention that the inhabitants of the great city needed to be exposed more the things outside its walls. Ahad--and he was in the majority--believed that was had been good enough for a hundred generations was good enough for him.
The young man had journeyed the better part of the night, climbing the mountain upon which the great city stood. He was tired but it was with the tiredness of youth and was nothing that five minutes of sitting would not remedy. He found the square and seated himself on a weather-worn wooden bench and watched the children play. Merchants and whores called out to the passersby, each one trying to outdo the other in plying their goods. There was the usual array of fruits, vegetables, and meat hanging in the open air with small children shooing away the blowflies. The city had a stench that most cities have, of unwashed human bodies, decaying vegetables and meat, of sheep and asses and what they left in their wake on the streets. Men and women alike could be seen urinating on the side of the structures --unashamed. Occasionally a sweet and innocent aroma like baking bread or the roasting of meat would provide a welcome relief from the heavy stench. He was grateful for the gentle breezes that blew and for a few moments at least, gave him a reprieve from the foul odors. He lay his baggage closely beside him and tuned his instrument. He began a soft ballad about a young lady lamenting the loss of her lover. Soon there was a crowd about him, his strong, resonant voice carried over the turmoil of the square.
He finished and a kindly looking, well-dressed, older man dropped a few coins in his cup. The young man nodded his thanks and began another ballad. This one was a little livelier and he began dancing among the crowd as he sang while being careful not to get too far from his belongings and the cup with the coins. He finished amid enthusiastic applause and his practiced ear heard a few more coins drop into the cup. He thanked them all, collected his earnings and sought a tavern.
He walked past the liveries and blacksmiths, turned a corner and was making his way past the cartmaker and the maker of tents when his keen eye caught a movement down one of the side streets. With all the caution of a stranger in a strange land he carefully made his way down the narrow path between the stone buildings. He stopped at the next corner and carefully peeked around. Two large men were busy tossing a young boy around while one was scavenging through what was apparently the boy's belongings. An inner voice told him: "You have a mission here, go about your business quickly" . Instead of listening to the voice, he dropped all but his staff and then walked around the corner and into plain sight of the two ruffians. One of them let out a grunt of inquiry as he saw the staffed young man walking up boldly to them.
-Say what you mean, mean what you say-
i have pioneered for over four years.
i have three children and a wife who at times has severe back problems.
i have worked two jobs just to stay ahead of the bills and provide for my family.
Seven said:
Frenchy-I quote:I have never refused a woman a message. You must have quite the reputation if they are seeking you out.
Well, that's my problem, Seven, I keep offering them and no one comes! What gives?
Waiting: "Come on.......is this guy great or what?
"
Chivalry is not dead. The French Knight will be glad to know this!
-Say what you mean, mean what you say-
Xandit: The following appears in the thread "reply to SC" in response to one of your posts. I am reproducing it here in case you don't get to the other one.
Recently we have had some posters who, shall we say, are less than polite, some downright sarcastic and mean. Perhaps they learned their manners from participation on other boards where such behavior is the norm. The point is, however, that we have all become somewhat hesitant (if not downright paranoid) in responding wholeheartedly to a new poster the way that we do to each other (those of us who have been here from the start).
I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt as is only right. I'm going to assume that you are sincere in asking what you did. I'm going to assume that you will make a response to my reply concerning your request, namely:
How about one clear statement that says anyone who isn't a Witness (that as in card carrying publisher, etc.) won't survive Armageddon.
In response to that inquiry I offer you the following from The Watchtower 1989, 9/1, page 19. The study article is Remaining Organized for Survival into the Millenium
Only Jehovah's Witnesses, those of the anointed remnant and the "great crowd," as a united organization under the protection of the Supreme Organizer, have any Scriptural hope of surviving the impending end of this doomed system dominated by Satan the Devil.
Does that meet the criteria of your request?
You mentioned in another thread that of all the Witnesses that you had questioned on this subject told you they were not under that impression. I believe you completely in this regard. Most Witnesses do not believe this nonesense but the fact remains that this is what the Society teaches. Your C.O. knows about that article and he knows what the Society is, and has been, pushing for decades on the matter. Ask him.
I stand by what I posted on that thread.
-Say what you mean, mean what you say-
sc, (cont'd).
(didn't mean to start a new post, man i'm really messed up this morning!).
and then there is this statement in km 3/85 p.4 remember that all mankind not serving jehovah are "alienated" from god and so are considered "enemies.
Feel free to join in.
hi everyone, been lurking and decided to join in.. nice to see everyone from other forums, especially you, redhorsewoman!
love,.
puppylove.
Welcome to the forum, Puppy.
