The Basilisk-de Notre Dame
The Basilisk-de Notre Dame
[The great conspiracy]
By Dennis L. Siluk
Many stories have been written about Notre Dame I would expect, but none like this one. Oh no, it couldn’t have, for this is one might be called, fresh blood. Put another way, first blood; meaning, the first time one has taken notice to it, although it has been there, right in front of our eyes all the time. This creature I am about to tell you about—mythical to many—is but a linking element in the demonic world, one might say; and yet some have claimed, by and by, he is from the lower world. It has also been said, he is working on behalf of heaven‘s door, thus, a soldier in the upper world; the one you and I live in. Oops, where are we now, a bit more frightening, as the shades of this long lost mystery comes to light? You see it is said if he were to leave his post, his fatal breath and glance could kill at will. Furthermore, he is from a long line of friends, being in a serpent form of sorts; in addition, it has been said, this creature was given a cock’s egg at birth.
I have seen him many times, high up in the corner of the church, the great Notre Dame. But one time I saw him eye to eye. I stood but a few feet away from him. He is the Basilisk-de Notre Dame. Some call him the Cockatrice. Without a shadow of a doubt, we connected.
The Basilisk stands tall on a corner of the great cathedral of called Notre Dame in Paris. He is made of stone: --as big as a small woman, but his body is only shown to his belly. He has no horns, nor tail. And I would guess he cannot fly, for lack of not having wings would be my best guess. But his head has the makings of a dog. His forehead is indented; eyes set back far to paralyze his prey. His mouth curves in with a beak like form at its end. And its tongue is all of four or five inches long perturbing from its long mouth, which is as wide and long as its head. Its neck is that of a serpent, with muscles linking to its arms and chest, and a spine that protrudes outward like the ocean waves all the way up to its ears, which almost start from the corner of its eyes and exceed its spine in length. This was my demon, and Notre Dames gargoyles guard.
If I were to talk flippantly about him, people would hold me to account. Even though I have the highest respect for him, not quite a reverence, but respect, matter of fact, whosoever mocks such creatures it is well to know, you may very well seal your own fate.
But what is he guarding you may ask, as I have asked, and asked I have over twenty-five times, yes, twenty-five times I have walked to the doors of Notre Dame, over twenty-five times I should say, looking up at the heights of the church, the doors, the statues. He has been there for centuries. Some say he guards the courtyard. But then I think, “Does Satan cast out Satan“? What for? Have I not heard one does not work against him this way? Has this creature been created in the name of god to protect man against the demons that may enter this glorious church? Oh yes, leave him alone cries the winds of time. And so on and on and on he remains as I do, looking up, as he looks down.
It is also said, ‘Do not destroy the foundation of a great church by name or deed, for lack of knowledge‘and so I have left well enough alone. Let Satan and his horde see this great church, it will do him well, if not please him, which I doubt it does, appease him, for I doubt it provokes him.
It may even tell a story, or better put, give a story on how hard man worked to build it, in praise of the lord. There is power in this monument, shrine to the Christ you know. Is it not a great reminder to all worlds, heaven, hell and earth alike, of God’s glory? But he is not there for that reason; do not fool yourself into believing so. Not anymore, at least. He is watching, counting, reporting. Oh yes, reporting. But what you may ask could this statue report? —Many, many things [such as: could have been, should have been, likelihood, --and other such things]. Like a spy in the middle of the White House, the Kremlin, and the Roman Forum; like a crook about to still the Monte Lisa. That is who he may be. He is part of the/or a conspiracy maybe, possible, without a doubt [?]
Oh yes, the great conspiracy. The one you and I are in. The one the Manticore, demon commander of a legend from the underworld has taken to the upper world. The one the Tiamat new was coming, Mother, of demon 10,000-years ago. The one God foretold, forewarned us about in his book called Revelation, through the eyes and hands of Saint John.
You may be asking the question by now my curious friend: why have I brought you to this corner of Notre Dame. And where am I going with all this, where am I taking you. Hang on; you are about to find out. You see this creature cannot fly. I know I kind of told you this, but he can control the air around him; meaning, he glides through the air with only a touch on sold things at speeds beyond any mans run; like a snake in high gear you might say. And so I am told, his look can paralyze you, and I believe this, for he insured me could, he did not put me in harms way although, at first anyways. His will is stronger than the Manticore’s [the demonic being with a beast body and a man head]. And his breath is from the depths of the abyss of the pit [putrid, stale, and suffocating, at best]. In such a place I doubt mankind could live, and if he could, it would be but a few minutes if he were to be thrown into it. Again, I was not put to the test on this subject, but I fear his keeping his distance, in the black mist pf the night, somewhat protected me from his harm. But other than the church, where did I meet him? That is what might be circling in my mind if I were reading this. After he seen me in March of 2002, he followed me, only one night though. It was 3:00 AM. He knew where I was. Many a demon has tried to embrace him I do believe, for his powers; to do their dirty deeds, but have failed; he likes his position. But yet he followed me. And that is where I want to take you. Oh his short little journey around the area of the Great Notre Dame, and its island area [otherwise known as Old Paris]. And so having said that lets look at the chase.
The Glance and the Chase
I never stared into his eyes; I seemed to have avoided them automatically; nor got that close to him when he was chasing me to catch his breath. But it was late at night when he showed up. My wife was sleeping with the window open, the breeze flowing through her covers. She was like a little angel asleep. I was out side pacing. Some times it is hard to sleep for me, in consequence, walking to and fro like a confused black-crow, not sure if its time to steal the farmers corn.
As it is now, as I write this [making my notes], four days later at 5:12 AM, I want to say I love Paris, and I love St. Paul, Minnesota, where I live, and I love Lima, Peru where I have a home. All places I have a dwelling, well, Paris I have only a small studio apartment, along the river bank but three blocks from Notre Dame, so this tells you I lover her. I use it once or twice a year, for a few weeks of down time, as they call it now days.
As I was saying, or about to say, I was pacing the outside grounds of my dwelling. And this creature of sorts showed up. He tried to make a deal with me. I thought for a moment, my wife’s life was at stake, knowing she was alone, and the window open, and this creature in a black stone like configuration standing but a short distance away, in a shadowy mist. But it was not so, thank goodness. But I’m sure he didn’t mind me believing it. I think he feared he could loose his position, had he threatened my wife. But it was me he wanted nonetheless.
I took off to avoid him, running through alleys and side streets, in a few old buildings, and hallways. The hotels would not open their doors, and so I jumped a few bumpers of cars in my way. I ran to the river, and the grass along the park right outside the church of Notre Dame. Every time I stopped he was but five or six feet in front of me. What did he want I asked myself each time, as I tried to catch my breath?
As I tried one more time to escape his shadow of sorts, he again cornered me, seeing but a black mist again, a heavy configuration within the mist, I lowered my head in coughing, being quite short winded at the time, to catch my breath. I made no solid glance through the mist, as my breath came back to me. He was not yet talking.
I asked, “Where now?” kind of huffing and puffing from the run. A joke, but it was all I had in me to say [I figured if he wanted to do me harm he could, or put another way, if he could do me harm, he possible would have by now]. He stepped back a ways, almost covering his shadow like figure, possible to protect me from them legendary eyes of his, and breathe.
“Take this,” he said, with a whisper; he wanted me to destroy something, somebody, I thought, possible him. I stood their hand on a car, catching my breath, up and across the street was Notre Dame, and the walls that guarded the river. On my side of the street not all that far away was “Shakespeare And Company,” an English bookstore.
It was a weapon of sorts as I looked down at the gift, or whatever it was, something to harm someone with I would guess, is what he was trying to hand me. Did he expect me to pull the trigger on him, if so would I destroy him, and commit a cardinal sin or would it be a more promising sin. Was he bored [came to my mind]? Was I the only one that looked into his eyes when I was on top of Notre Dame that gave him attention? Was I his salvation, his way out, and if I killed him with this funny looking gun, of black volcanic stone, or so it looked, would I be stone. Was he the tempter? I had learned a long time ago, sometimes you can simply go with the flow, or dye trying to explain a dimension of something that is beyond you. A world you cannot look into, yet they can look out of.
I took the weapon, and, and then all of a sudden there was a whisper telling me to use it on him, or myself, it said either way. Then there was a long pause, a very long pause—he, he simply wanted it back. Not sure why. His fingers I remember where long, pointed, almost disjointing, strong and fearsome: as he extended his hands to me, and through the mist, to get to me. I tossed the weapon, and ran to my wife, to see how she was. He was there again, outside the window, --looking in from a distance, as if she was in a tent in an open field. I comforted her. And lay close to her. I personally had no control of the other world I knew. I knew one way or another he wanted death by desire. But I couldn’t give it to him, nor take it from him.
My wife awoke, asking what was wrong. I told her nothing of any importance; I looked out the window, he was gone now. My wife turned about a few times, asked in a drowsy way, if all was well again. I said I was feeling a little affectionate, for lack of a better term, along with a little insomnia.
What was he up to? Good or evil. I guess I couldn’t say. Why me, another blank, but it is not the first nor I am sure, will it be the last blank to come my way in my little life time; yes, I know, another question to a dead answer. Did he want to please both worlds? Did he want to test me under fire in my world, and for what? If I meet him again, I’ll ask maybe and then maybe not.
Copyright 3/2000 Dennis L. Siluk/ Word Count 1582
[The great conspiracy]
By Dennis L. Siluk
Many stories have been written about Notre Dame I would expect, but none like this one. Oh no, it couldn’t have, for this is one might be called, fresh blood. Put another way, first blood; meaning, the first time one has taken notice to it, although it has been there, right in front of our eyes all the time. This creature I am about to tell you about—mythical to many—is but a linking element in the demonic world, one might say; and yet some have claimed, by and by, he is from the lower world. It has also been said, he is working on behalf of heaven‘s door, thus, a soldier in the upper world; the one you and I live in. Oops, where are we now, a bit more frightening, as the shades of this long lost mystery comes to light? You see it is said if he were to leave his post, his fatal breath and glance could kill at will. Furthermore, he is from a long line of friends, being in a serpent form of sorts; in addition, it has been said, this creature was given a cock’s egg at birth.
I have seen him many times, high up in the corner of the church, the great Notre Dame. But one time I saw him eye to eye. I stood but a few feet away from him. He is the Basilisk-de Notre Dame. Some call him the Cockatrice. Without a shadow of a doubt, we connected.
The Basilisk stands tall on a corner of the great cathedral of called Notre Dame in Paris. He is made of stone: --as big as a small woman, but his body is only shown to his belly. He has no horns, nor tail. And I would guess he cannot fly, for lack of not having wings would be my best guess. But his head has the makings of a dog. His forehead is indented; eyes set back far to paralyze his prey. His mouth curves in with a beak like form at its end. And its tongue is all of four or five inches long perturbing from its long mouth, which is as wide and long as its head. Its neck is that of a serpent, with muscles linking to its arms and chest, and a spine that protrudes outward like the ocean waves all the way up to its ears, which almost start from the corner of its eyes and exceed its spine in length. This was my demon, and Notre Dames gargoyles guard.
If I were to talk flippantly about him, people would hold me to account. Even though I have the highest respect for him, not quite a reverence, but respect, matter of fact, whosoever mocks such creatures it is well to know, you may very well seal your own fate.
But what is he guarding you may ask, as I have asked, and asked I have over twenty-five times, yes, twenty-five times I have walked to the doors of Notre Dame, over twenty-five times I should say, looking up at the heights of the church, the doors, the statues. He has been there for centuries. Some say he guards the courtyard. But then I think, “Does Satan cast out Satan“? What for? Have I not heard one does not work against him this way? Has this creature been created in the name of god to protect man against the demons that may enter this glorious church? Oh yes, leave him alone cries the winds of time. And so on and on and on he remains as I do, looking up, as he looks down.
It is also said, ‘Do not destroy the foundation of a great church by name or deed, for lack of knowledge‘and so I have left well enough alone. Let Satan and his horde see this great church, it will do him well, if not please him, which I doubt it does, appease him, for I doubt it provokes him.
It may even tell a story, or better put, give a story on how hard man worked to build it, in praise of the lord. There is power in this monument, shrine to the Christ you know. Is it not a great reminder to all worlds, heaven, hell and earth alike, of God’s glory? But he is not there for that reason; do not fool yourself into believing so. Not anymore, at least. He is watching, counting, reporting. Oh yes, reporting. But what you may ask could this statue report? —Many, many things [such as: could have been, should have been, likelihood, --and other such things]. Like a spy in the middle of the White House, the Kremlin, and the Roman Forum; like a crook about to still the Monte Lisa. That is who he may be. He is part of the/or a conspiracy maybe, possible, without a doubt [?]
Oh yes, the great conspiracy. The one you and I are in. The one the Manticore, demon commander of a legend from the underworld has taken to the upper world. The one the Tiamat new was coming, Mother, of demon 10,000-years ago. The one God foretold, forewarned us about in his book called Revelation, through the eyes and hands of Saint John.
You may be asking the question by now my curious friend: why have I brought you to this corner of Notre Dame. And where am I going with all this, where am I taking you. Hang on; you are about to find out. You see this creature cannot fly. I know I kind of told you this, but he can control the air around him; meaning, he glides through the air with only a touch on sold things at speeds beyond any mans run; like a snake in high gear you might say. And so I am told, his look can paralyze you, and I believe this, for he insured me could, he did not put me in harms way although, at first anyways. His will is stronger than the Manticore’s [the demonic being with a beast body and a man head]. And his breath is from the depths of the abyss of the pit [putrid, stale, and suffocating, at best]. In such a place I doubt mankind could live, and if he could, it would be but a few minutes if he were to be thrown into it. Again, I was not put to the test on this subject, but I fear his keeping his distance, in the black mist pf the night, somewhat protected me from his harm. But other than the church, where did I meet him? That is what might be circling in my mind if I were reading this. After he seen me in March of 2002, he followed me, only one night though. It was 3:00 AM. He knew where I was. Many a demon has tried to embrace him I do believe, for his powers; to do their dirty deeds, but have failed; he likes his position. But yet he followed me. And that is where I want to take you. Oh his short little journey around the area of the Great Notre Dame, and its island area [otherwise known as Old Paris]. And so having said that lets look at the chase.
The Glance and the Chase
I never stared into his eyes; I seemed to have avoided them automatically; nor got that close to him when he was chasing me to catch his breath. But it was late at night when he showed up. My wife was sleeping with the window open, the breeze flowing through her covers. She was like a little angel asleep. I was out side pacing. Some times it is hard to sleep for me, in consequence, walking to and fro like a confused black-crow, not sure if its time to steal the farmers corn.
As it is now, as I write this [making my notes], four days later at 5:12 AM, I want to say I love Paris, and I love St. Paul, Minnesota, where I live, and I love Lima, Peru where I have a home. All places I have a dwelling, well, Paris I have only a small studio apartment, along the river bank but three blocks from Notre Dame, so this tells you I lover her. I use it once or twice a year, for a few weeks of down time, as they call it now days.
As I was saying, or about to say, I was pacing the outside grounds of my dwelling. And this creature of sorts showed up. He tried to make a deal with me. I thought for a moment, my wife’s life was at stake, knowing she was alone, and the window open, and this creature in a black stone like configuration standing but a short distance away, in a shadowy mist. But it was not so, thank goodness. But I’m sure he didn’t mind me believing it. I think he feared he could loose his position, had he threatened my wife. But it was me he wanted nonetheless.
I took off to avoid him, running through alleys and side streets, in a few old buildings, and hallways. The hotels would not open their doors, and so I jumped a few bumpers of cars in my way. I ran to the river, and the grass along the park right outside the church of Notre Dame. Every time I stopped he was but five or six feet in front of me. What did he want I asked myself each time, as I tried to catch my breath?
As I tried one more time to escape his shadow of sorts, he again cornered me, seeing but a black mist again, a heavy configuration within the mist, I lowered my head in coughing, being quite short winded at the time, to catch my breath. I made no solid glance through the mist, as my breath came back to me. He was not yet talking.
I asked, “Where now?” kind of huffing and puffing from the run. A joke, but it was all I had in me to say [I figured if he wanted to do me harm he could, or put another way, if he could do me harm, he possible would have by now]. He stepped back a ways, almost covering his shadow like figure, possible to protect me from them legendary eyes of his, and breathe.
“Take this,” he said, with a whisper; he wanted me to destroy something, somebody, I thought, possible him. I stood their hand on a car, catching my breath, up and across the street was Notre Dame, and the walls that guarded the river. On my side of the street not all that far away was “Shakespeare And Company,” an English bookstore.
It was a weapon of sorts as I looked down at the gift, or whatever it was, something to harm someone with I would guess, is what he was trying to hand me. Did he expect me to pull the trigger on him, if so would I destroy him, and commit a cardinal sin or would it be a more promising sin. Was he bored [came to my mind]? Was I the only one that looked into his eyes when I was on top of Notre Dame that gave him attention? Was I his salvation, his way out, and if I killed him with this funny looking gun, of black volcanic stone, or so it looked, would I be stone. Was he the tempter? I had learned a long time ago, sometimes you can simply go with the flow, or dye trying to explain a dimension of something that is beyond you. A world you cannot look into, yet they can look out of.
I took the weapon, and, and then all of a sudden there was a whisper telling me to use it on him, or myself, it said either way. Then there was a long pause, a very long pause—he, he simply wanted it back. Not sure why. His fingers I remember where long, pointed, almost disjointing, strong and fearsome: as he extended his hands to me, and through the mist, to get to me. I tossed the weapon, and ran to my wife, to see how she was. He was there again, outside the window, --looking in from a distance, as if she was in a tent in an open field. I comforted her. And lay close to her. I personally had no control of the other world I knew. I knew one way or another he wanted death by desire. But I couldn’t give it to him, nor take it from him.
My wife awoke, asking what was wrong. I told her nothing of any importance; I looked out the window, he was gone now. My wife turned about a few times, asked in a drowsy way, if all was well again. I said I was feeling a little affectionate, for lack of a better term, along with a little insomnia.
What was he up to? Good or evil. I guess I couldn’t say. Why me, another blank, but it is not the first nor I am sure, will it be the last blank to come my way in my little life time; yes, I know, another question to a dead answer. Did he want to please both worlds? Did he want to test me under fire in my world, and for what? If I meet him again, I’ll ask maybe and then maybe not.
Copyright 3/2000 Dennis L. Siluk/ Word Count 1582
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 9:15 PM
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