The Sphinx now, here we see her, is come away another world, what is it? Another world and coming hence towards, to us, by us, she sees so many. The Sphinx’s eye, to discern for another place, another level, still here, but not now, sees so many things. Sometimes she must blink. To believe. To see.
The Sphinx sees so many, many, in layers that of old and now and will be, will become.
The seeing eye, sees through in centres, the inner content, the substance and the flame. And when she cried, then rivers were born.
Now and then and then again, she came in our history. Here she comes now, over there. Sitting in stillness, always waiting. Don’t shoot at her with canons or cameras, in a thousand years she will retaliate. In some millennia she will stand up and her wrath will be like the storm.
Now she comes, but she is not alone. At her back now the Rising Sun, The West Wind, The Ice Giants and the Penguin Army also are about her.
She sees a pale sun circled by planets, she sees the colour of the wind and its flavour, she sees the cold hearts of the Ice Giants beating as slow as winter.
She sees the darkness that is spread, she sees a waterfall of stars, now she rises, but she is not alone.
The Sphinx is alone, a thousand years of stars wheeling stars, stone to dust, darkness to light and again to dark. But not to move and not to move until the darkness was too dark and the Blue and Gold Knights came to call.
Then in a single vision, in a glance or a sidelong glance or the blink of an eye, she sees some bright animals without sound, a rooftop with snow falling, a Man without feeling, a King fuelled by fear, a Tsar losing empire to lash out.
And she rises shedding sand.
The Guardians of the Cave 