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Robert G. Brown

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The Book of Lilith
by Robert G. Brown   

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Books by Robert G. Brown
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Category: 

Literary Fiction

Publisher:  Lulu Type: 
Pages: 

240

Copyright:  2006 ISBN-13:  9781430322450
Fiction

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The Book of Lilith Website

Lilith was the first person granted a soul by God and given the job of carrying Soul to all the still soulless inhabitants of the world, beginning with Adam, by means of her love. Adam was also given a job -- to create a set of rules to serve as the foundation for law and ethics to guide the moral evolution of humanity.

Unfortunately, Adam is weak, petty, and resents Lilith for being First. This expresses itself in many aspects of their relationship, but perhaps best in their sex life -- Adam insists on being "on top" to be "closer to God".

Lilith, of course, will have none of that, and after she is raped and beaten by Adam when she attempts to refuse him she embarks on an incredible journey across the world, gifting people with souls, judging the wicked, and healing the sick. At journey's end she learns the difference between knowledge and wisdom, distilled from a life well-spent.

The Book of Lilith is funny, sad, serious, and more than a bit deep.

The Book of Lilith has its own website where you can find links to many ways to buy the book including inexpensive e-book formats for html (which can be read in any web browser on a PC or lapto as well as many e-book readers), Sony e-book readers, and the Kindle e-book reader. 

Excerpt

The Book of Lilith


by Robert G. Brown








Copyright Notice

Copyright Robert G. Brown 2006





The art on the cover is entitled Lilith
painted by John Collier in 1892.





Notice



This is a work of fiction. Any Gods, Goddesses, Religious Figures, and Demons portrayed herein are strictly products of my imagination and are not intended to resemble in any way certain similarly named Gods, Goddesses, Religious Figures or Demons otherwise portrayed in certain well-known religious texts and either worshipped or despised by large numbers of people around the planet.

Really, it is just a coincidence that they often have similar names.

Honest.




...while Lilith, petrified with fear, tore down her house and fled into the wilderness

a Prologue to the Ur-Epic Gilgamesh, as translated by Samuel Kramer



And I, the Sage, declare the grandeur of his radiance
in order to frighten and terrify all the spirits of the ravaging angels and the bastard spirits,
demons, Liliths, owls and jackals
and those who strike unexpectedly to lead astray the spirit of knowledge...

From Songs of the Sage in the Dead Sea Scrolls, translated by Florentino Garcia Martinez.



Wildcats shall meet with hyenas,
goat-demons shall call to each other;
there too Lilith shall repose,
and find a place to rest.
There shall the owl nest
and lay and hatch and brood in its shadow

Isaiah 34:14




Preface


One day in early 2006 I received an email from an individual who had an email account with a large, well-known internet service provider (or so it appeared from the email header). The user’s name, which I withhold for reasons that will become apparent as you proceed, suggested that it was from a female from the Middle East. There is nothing particularly remarkable about that
– I’m on a dozen mailing lists and my email address is unfortunately available to the web crawlers and webworms that feed both SPAM engines and viruses alike.

Nor was there anything all that unusual (at first glance) about the message itself. It began with the usual disclaimer:


Dear Sir:

I got your address from a Friend who vouches for Youre Trustiness. May
Allah Bless you Sir, as you are my Last Resort.

My name is (deleted). I was educated in the French school near
(deleted), although my family lives not far from where the Tigris joins
the Euphrates...


I had automatically scanned to this point even as I reached for the
“D” key, but this last bit caught my attention and
intrigued me. I’ve gotten “Nigerian
Scam” email from every state in Africa, from Hong Kong, from
Russia, from several countries in South America, and even from a couple
of countries in the Middle East, but never purporting to come from Iraq.
Especially not from Iraq in the middle of a “war”
that seemed like it would never end.

I should explain that I actually used to collect Nigerian Scam
letters (and have a hundred or so squirreled away, each of them gems
in their own way) until it became clear that the supply would
eventually overwhelm my capacity to store them. I find them
amusing.

This by way of explanation as to why I actually read on instead of
typing the key that would send the letter on to the oblivion it seemed
that it deserved. Perhaps this piece of Iraqi/Nigerian Scam was a
“keeper”...


...and have made quite a Discovery1. One day last fall I
was dressed in my burka and sweating profusely as I drove my
father’s goats to pasture. One of the kids became stuck in a
thorn bush and as I worked to get it out a truck filled with Americans
raced by not far away and struck a mine.




1 My obviously female correspondent
was not terribly literate and made many misspellings and used
capitalization (sometimes of whole words) to emphasize points. I have
preserved her actual words in this first part so that you can see that
her language was consistent with who she claimed to be but I have made
many editorial corrections in the following to make it easily readable,
while trying to leave the Victorian Charm of the prose
intact.




The explosion blew me literally out of my burka; I and my goat were
thrown out of the bush and into a nearby hole (a large crater from one
of the American bombings, partly filled with rocks and debris). I
started to climb out, but heard the sounds of much fighting, and
realized that the mine was but the first step of an ambush. Bullets
buzzed over my head like flies, and several more of my goats (who were
no fools) joined me in the hole.


The fight continued until only two men were left, one from each side.
They grappled together trying to kill each other and in their struggles
fought their way to the top of the pit in which I and my surviving goats
were hiding. Just as they seemed about to fall in with me, one of them
managed to trigger an explosive device attached to his body and the
world vanished in a tremendous blast.

I came to myself quite naked, bruised, and bleeding. Parts of goats
(mixed with parts of men) were liberally scattered about me –
it was only the will of Allah that left me alive and not badly hurt.
Where the men were standing before there was now another large hole in
the ground on the rim of the crater, and I was half buried in rock and
dirt that was blown out of the edge of the pit and down onto me.

With some difficulty I managed to pull myself out of the dirt and
crawl up the slope past the new crater, pushing boots with feet still
inside out of my way as I went. As I paused to rest and catch my
breath, I noticed that there was a rectangular block sitting at the
bottom of the new hole. From where I lay, I could see some sort of
script on the sides.

I immediately thought that this must be some sort of Antiquity, a
Treasure known to fetch a High Price among the foreigners who were now
plundering our land. Since I had lost all of my father’s
goats and it seemed that it was Allah’s will that we would
all starve (if I got home alive at all) I thought that perhaps this
Treasure was a means of my family’s Salvation. Surely you
will not be surprised, Sir, that I took a few moments and some care to
cover the exposed rock with the loose dirt of the crater’s
rim that I might be able to return to it later with my older brothers
and claim it.

Alas, it was Allah’s will that I would be caught almost
immediately by the surviving Freedom Fighters (whoever they might have
been, as it is difficult to know who fights whom in this War) who had
set the trap. As I was Naked (and hence clearly Irresistible by the
standards of Islam that confine all women to live unseen by
Men lest those men go Out of Control) they proceeded to rape me and beat
me, in spite of my bruises and protestations of Faith in Allah.

No sooner had they tired of me when a second group of fighters
appeared who slaughtered the ones who had raped me and took me from them
as the spoils of war. I was subjected to Rape a second time, on the
principle that I must be a Harlot of the soldiers of the Other Side.

An hour later (at least they were very quick about it) as I was
staggering away from the accursed place, the Americans finally arrived
with their jets and armored cars and fell upon this group in a rage.
They efficiently Massacred every living thing but myself.
However as they were accompanied by Woman Soldiers they forbore to Rape
me further (for which I was very grateful) and after being questioned
and threatened with prison I was released to limp home. They were even
kind enough to lend me a jacket and such loose cloth as they had so I
could cover my nakedness, but of course it wasn’t proper garb
for a good Muslim Girl and left my legs from the knees down exposed.
Consequently I was Raped and otherwise manhandled a dozen more times
before I made it home by goat herders and camel merchants and other Good
Muslim Men.

Unfortunately, my father was a Good Muslim Man as well, and seeing me
dressed in such an outfit, half naked and obviously no longer a virgin
he beat me soundly and cast me out into the street. Fortunately my
mother saw all that transpired between my father and myself and heard my
piteous Pleas of Innocence and Faith as I was being beaten; she took it
upon herself to risk my father’s wrath by making me a bundle
of clothing (including a fresh burka) and a few containers of food and a
bit of money. After my father stormed off to the nearby tea-house to
drink with his righteous friends (several of whom had Raped me while I
was making my way home) she crept out and pressed this bundle into my
hands.

I believe it saved my life.

I lost no time in sneaking into the alley and dressing Properly (as I
was getting rather tired of being Raped) so that no portion of me was
visible save my eyes, which were already blackening from the beatings i
received along with the Rapes. Once again dressed as a shapeless black
form, I became an anonymous woman and as safe as a Muslim woman ever is.
I walked away without looking back, and while walking I took my
bearings, as it were.

Although I felt a momentary twinge of guilt about it (mostly
regarding my Mother) I decided that my family would just have to starve
without the goat herd that was its sole means of income and that I was
On My Own. I therefore made my way back to the vicinity of the crater,
arriving there in the evening. It fortunately by now was deserted of
living beings, although it was absolutely crowded with the recently dead
and the ever-present vultures that come to prey on them. There I
descended and managed to work the strangely carved object loose from the
dirt I had pushed over it.

To my surprise, it was not a carved piece of an ancient building as
at first I had supposed – it was a small chest made of stone,
with a tight fitting lid sealed with a greenish band of what might have
been bronze metal or copper, but the last few fragments fell into dust
flakes at my touch and I cannot be sure.

The chest itself was far too heavy for me to actually carry, and
would not fit beneath my robes in any case. I felt certain that
anything I was carrying outside of them would be at risk of being
stolen, but once I left my Home Town (where my reputation was ruined and
the only career path open to me was open whoredom until somebody decided
to stone me to death) I might be safe from being Raped every five
minutes. I therefore made the decision to open the chest and make off
with whatever I found there. Using a knife from the belt of one of the
dead to pry with, I managed to work the lid off of the chest and cut
through what appeared to be a thick beaten gold foil underneath, taking
care to preserve the gold.

To my surprise, the sole contents of the chest were a bundle of
tightly rolled scrolls on golden spindles. I looked again at the cover
of the chest, and noted that it appeared to display a woman, quite naked
and of great beauty, surrounded by many children, flanked by two owls
and standing above a cat. Above her head was an oval that represented
something bright, with rays falling down upon her. Beneath her feet was
an inscription which I, of course, cannot type to you in an email
message but which appeared to be in a form of cuneiform, accompanied by
a line of what appeared to be hieroglyphic text2.





2 This only confirmed my initial impulse
to believe this whole letter a fraud, of course. How would the daughter
of a goat herder have learned what these even are let alone how to
recognize them? Yet this is explained in the later course of the
letter, where it also becomes quite obvious that my correspondent was
really amazingly bright.




I emptied the large cloth shopping bag my mother had given me of food
(taking a moment to eat, since I was about to begin a long journey and
felt the need to restore my strength). Into this bag I placed the
scrolls, carefully wrapped in my underthings, and I belted the whole
thing firmly into place beneath my burka where Inshallah they would
remain unmolested while I sought the opportunity to turn them into
dinars. I then paused a moment to arm myself with Divers Arms
– a machine pistol and a handful of grenades from the bodies
of the dead. Although they were quite heavy and unfamiliar to me I
resolved to Never Again be Raped and indeed to See Rapists in Hell if
they tried it.

I will not bore you with my Adventures on the road to Baghdad.
Suffice it to say that (as a fallen woman and entitled now to
charge money for the privilege of Rape) I arrived with far more means
than I began with, and devoid of both grenades and ammunition for my
machine pistol. Any number of would-be Rapists (who failed to properly
negotiate on a monetary basis for the privilege) would Rape No More,
including those that were still alive but missing certain parts when I
finished with them.

Once there I promptly sought out a Foreign Benefactor with both money
and a lust – for Antiquities, of course. By using most of
the money I’d accumulated to purchase western-style clothing
(hoping that in Baghdad the probability of Rape for the sin of wearing
less than a total cover was somewhat reduced) I managed to dress myself
well enough in the western style to be permitted to frequent the foreign
hotels after suitably bribing the hotel staff with money or my
favors.

It took some time but finally I succeeded. An executive for one of
the major American contracting firms expressed an interest in purchasing
anything old that might be worth money while “taking me to
dinner” – a euphemism as that turned out to be for
kidnapping me to a well-guarded house outside of Baghdad and proceeding
to Rape me repeatedly while promising me vast riches. Unfortunately as
I was now unarmed and he was supported in his Rape by his many minions I
had to endure his attentions in hope he was honest about the eventual
compensations I would receive.

Through this process (which involved the considerable disarrangement
of my clothing) I had managed to keep the scrolls safe. Not an easy
thing to do under western clothes, but simple enough in a large
“purse”, the handbag all Western Women wore and
into which no man apparently dared to look. Finally my host tired of
his sport and was driven off in a great hurry to work, leaving me alone
(but well guarded and effectively kept in a prison) in his
household. That evening, he returned and after an admittedly excellent
dinner, he Raped me repeatedly and then locked me into my room alone
lest I turn on him for Revenge in his sleep.

After a week of this I pretended to be Smitten and using Feminine
Wiles I wheedled the use of his computer from him so that I could
(purportedly) shop for clothes on the “Internet”.
I was quite Gifted mathematically back in school (for a girl) and indeed
put most of the boys in the school to shame, for which they (the boys)
punished me in many ways – mostly violent ones –
until my age made it impossible for me to associate with other male
children at all lest I arouse their Lust and not just their Anger. At
this point I was no longer permitted to attend school at all and was
given instead the job of watching the goats while my fat and stupid
brothers continued their education.

Fortunately my mother worked as a cleaning woman for some of the
wealthier families in our town. From time to time she had secretly
smuggled old magazines and other things to read from the trash of these
families into our household (for me to read to her in secret when her
work was done and the men were all away). It was therefore
Allah’s will that I knew what the Internet was, and what
computers were, in some very general sort of way.

My captor, as it turned out, has no interest whatsoever in
Antiquities, but rather has every interest in Juvenilities, in
particular, in fourteen year old Fallen Girls such as myself (did I
previously mention my age?) He has effectively kept me as a
Sexual Slave for most of the last year. During this time I have learned
many things, working all day on his computer system as a small return
for the nights I spend satisfying his every perverted whim, for a mere
pittance in money and gifts purchased from the Internet (as he otherwise
never lets me out of my rooms, let alone out of the house).

One thing that I have learned to operate is his excellent scanner,
which he uses in the evenings on documents that he brings to the house
from his work. Using great care – working for a whole day on
a single scroll – I have managed to scan all of the scrolls
into image files. I also have used a drawing program to capture, as best
I can remember, the general layout of the picture carved on the lid of
the box and the characters underneath the engraved figure of the woman.
I used search engines to try to find out how to read the scrolls and
hence measure their worth, but alas this has proven to be difficult as
online dictionaries of hieroglyphs are rare and incomplete, online
dictionaries of cuneiform do not exist.

I even found a way of getting a free email account and a website that
would sell me enough room to store the scanned images using my
captor’s Visa card number, as I became concerned that my
captor would one day look through the directories he’d
bequeathed to me on his personal system or conduct a thorough search of
my room and belongings and discover my Only Treasure besides the ones
that he soils every night in his Lust.

Alas, after suffering many months of uncompensated Rape my
worst fears have finally come to pass. I have just celebrated my
fifteenth birthday and my body has taken on a more Womanly Form, and my
period has not come now for two months in a row. Consequently my host is
less and less often interested in me, and when he does visit me he is
finished after a single bout of Rape. I am afraid that soon he will tire
of me and have me put to death by his willing servants and armed guards,
probably after some more Rape if I know men (and by now, I know men Very
Well Indeed).

I am about to take Desperate Measures to save myself from this fate.
The scrolls themselves I have buried outside in the garden in a sealed
can that once held powdered milk, where I can hope that they will be
preserved if by some miracle I manage to Escape Before the End.

However, I do not wish for my discovery to perish with me should I be
slain. I have therefore searched the net for a mentor, a savior, who can
take custody of the content of these scrolls and puzzle out their
meaning. For myself I care little – I think that I am with
child and have no desire to perpetuate the line of he who sired it upon
me. Indeed, my life experiences are such that I would be likely to
Castrate the Little Bugger should it turn out to be male. Once I am
certain that the scrolls are safe, I will try to escape or die trying,
and if I die I have taken certain steps that ensure that my captor dies
with me. Or without me, for that matter.

I found your name, Sir, and your email address, on your website in
association with your works on religion and philosophy which have given
me some comfort in my captivity. As you are a Teacher and a Poet, I
feel that I can trust you with my Great Secret. Please Sir, if you
will, Help a Poor Girl and visit (web address withheld) and retrieve
that which you find there? I trust you will then make the best use of it
that seems fit to you.

Sincerely yours,
(name deleted)


This seemed a bit extreme either for a Nigerian Scam or for a
web-based marketing or virus attack. Usually these are a lot more
terse and quite direct – “Supercharge your Love
Handle” or a lot more oblique and badly worded –
“This about you” – as they try to get
you to be a fool and actually click on their link or execute their
attachment. Five page letters to lead you to one measly link is not
their style.

To be frank, it seemed much more likely to be a hoax perpetrated by
one of my current or ex-students or (more likely) one of my colleagues
in the computing business who knew enough to be able to forge an email
header through enough hops to appear to be completely consistent
with her story (not an easy thing to do, actually). Computer geeks
often have the sense of humor of a small child and a well-known tendency
to build elaborate and impossible jokes – computer viruses
being one common example of this sort of “joke”,
for example – so this isn’t as unlikely as it
might seem.

However, hoax or not, I admit to being captivated by the tone and
content of the story. Even if it turned out to be some sort of scam in
the long run, I felt, I simply had to look at whatever it was she had
placed on her website. As I run Linux as an operating system (and hence
am somewhat less susceptible to the kinds of website-borne viruses that
permeate the web) I took the chance and opened up the included link.

It is very fortunate that I did. I was astounded by what I
found there. Well over five hundred separately scanned high-resolution
images of what appeared to be rolls of brownish cloth –
linen? – covered with the reddish lines of a faded,
unrecognizable script alternating with lines of what appeared to be a
mix of cuneiform and hieroglyphs of a more recognizable, but still
ancient, form. Simply to assemble these images (for a hoax or
otherwise) must have been a work of true dedication –
thousands of hours of work. Suddenly a hoax seemed a bit less
likely – nobody I know or work with has this kind of time on
their hands, and who would generate 500 plus documents of this
stuff for fun? That’s more like work.

Fully intrigued now, I attempted to reply to the message (something I
almost never do in the case of messages originating from remote and
unregistered clients that – from the IP numbers in the
headers and the route taken – appeared to actually be
located somewhere in Iraq) but received no further communications. In
the meantime (while waiting for a reply) I used a web tool to quickly
grab the entire contents of the directory that contained the scroll
images and scanned drawings and store them safely on my local system,
taking care to burn a couple of backup copies onto a DVD for safekeeping
right away. I then spent some hours looking them over.

I got no reply to my return email, but some days later I did note in
the newspaper, mixed in with the usual daily listings of car bombings,
machine gunnings, rocket launchings and the other violent
business-as-usual in Iraq that a high official working for a rather
notorious and scandal-ridden government contractor was killed when his
villa outside of Baghdad was destroyed by a mysterious explosion.
Although the article reported the deaths of several of his guards as
well, no mention was made of the body of a young girl or the discovery
of a powdered milk can full of antiquities.

Coincidence? Hard to say, but it stimulated my imagination.
I’m something of a romantic at heart. So I decided to invest
just enough effort to determine whether the images that one
way or another had ended up in my possession were
“real” or just part of a hoax.

What I discovered therein rapidly convinced me that this young girl
is (or was) real and what she appeared and claimed to be. Indeed, she
was obviously so intelligent and capable that to me at least it still
seems quite possible that she managed to get away and get her revenge at
the same time. In fact, I pray that this is so, and hope that one day I
may yet come to meet her and shake her hand.

Publishing this work makes this only more likely – if by
chance you should read this, Ms. (or whoever you really are), please
rest assured that all the money that has been made from publication of
this story, all of the fame that has descended upon it and upon me, as
Lilith’s amanuensis (as it were) rightfully belong to you.
Permit me only to verify that it is indeed you (as only you would be
familiar with certain details of the story that I still keep privy) and
I will happily arrange for you to receive your long awaited Fortune and
will do everything in my power to help you move to a country where you
can enjoy it free from any possibility of further Rape.

As for the rest of you, you are doubtless wondering why she contacted
me, instead of somebody famous (or even somebody who isn’t
famous but is at least an archaeologist of one sort or another). I
wonder the same thing. This in spite of what she said, because I (at
the time) knew nothing at all, really, of cuneiform,
hieroglyphics, unknown scripts, or ancient scrolls. Perhaps my
correspondent confused my (fairly common) last name with that of some
well-known or little-known translator or collector of ancient texts, who
knows? Or, of course, perhaps she told the truth and chose me because
she happened to discover my personal website and was captivated by the
poetry and writings on philosophy to be found there. Naturally, my
personal vanity makes me wish that this were true even as my common
sense and modesty tell me that it is unlikely...

At any rate, perhaps it was a fortunate choice. Although I was
utterly incompetent on that day to translate a single hieroglyph
recorded on those images, what I did know is both how to make
computers do nearly anything and how (using computers) to find somebody
that does know about this sort of thing. Using a web-engine to
translate a few lines of the hieroglyphics left me flabbergasted. I
worked like a madman on creating a rough draft translation but was left
stymied by the fact that existing dictionaries (at least the ones
available on the web or via the Duke library) were two sizes too small
for the concepts being communicated.

At this point I took a handful of the photographic images of these
scrolls and my crude translation of same to a nearby researcher (found
with my trusty search engines) who does work on archaeological
finds of this sort. She took one look at the images themselves and then
brushed my crude translation aside with a sniff. However, her obvious
excitement at what she saw was almost too great to be contained. We
decided to join forces.

Working together on the translation rapidly became an obsession of us
both. With resources that at at one point involved hundreds of
computers running what amounts to image enhancement and decryption
software on top of symbolic analysis software on top of the
guesses made as to the meaning and proper translation of some of
the oldest (still untranslated) written text fragments known to mankind
and scrawled out on shards of dried mud and baked pottery (and
exercising a certain amount of latitude and editorial freedom to rewrite
and smooth over the remaining rough spots), a dictionary for a
previously unknown written proto-language that is the oldest
written
language ever discovered emerged, along with a translation
of the scrolls themselves.

From what my archaeologist friend tells me, the whole world should
bow down before this brave young girl and place her on a pedestal along
with the greatest archaeologists of all time. As you shall see, these
scrolls make the Dead Sea scrolls look like kids’ comic books
in terms of both historical content and antiquity. Indeed, some of
their content bears upon that of the Dead Sea scrolls
– in particular the unpublished translations from those of
the scrolls that have been (according to my colleague, at any rate)
withheld from the public eye but whose outrageous content is some sort
of open secret among the archaeological community.

However, my archaeologist friend also insists that her name be
withheld from this (in her view, premature) publication of the
translation for the time being, because there are certain curious
aspects of the translated result that – in spite of the lack
of any possible motivation for a hoax of such great expense and
attention to detail – continue to give her some small reason
to doubt their authenticity. Until such a time as we obtain the still
missing original sources the possibility is of course left open that we
are both the victims of a monstrous hoax which would ruin her academic
career. Although that time may well prove to be
”never” unless other copies are extant, (as I by
now fear that they and their powdered milk can container have been blown
to hell by the tides of war and mayhem after being preserved for nearly
six thousand years) she chooses not to take this risk.

I have no such scruples and don’t care about the risk as I
don’t have any academic reputation to protect, at least in
archeology. Besides, I am personally convinced that the scroll images
that this poor, probably dead Iraqi maiden found in the desert and
entrusted to me are totally genuine. I continue to keep my
fingers metaphorically crossed that both my correspondent and the
original scrolls were preserved, powdered milk tin and all, from
the holocaust that consumed her captor and guards, so that modern
methods of objective historical analysis (such as carbon dating and
genetically analyzing spores and pollen trapped in the weave of the
scrolls) eventually validate my perceptions of the scrolls’
antiquity if not authenticity.

If this ever happens, I expect that it will be be more than enough
for all but the most skeptical – the scrolls simply cannot be
ancient and have the content that they do without being genuine,
and if genuine they might even be true! If so they tell an accurate, if
astounding, story of the literal dawning of Humanity. At that time I
will ensure that my archaeologist colleague gets the credit she so
richly deserves for helping to translate the oldest piece of recorded
human history ever discovered.

Enough of the history of the scrolls themselves – you now
know as much as I do of their (apparent) origin. What, then, is
the content of these scrolls, the most ancient (if genuine)
written record of human civilization? They tell, in triply replicated
scripts, the story of none other than the first woman herself.

No, I do not mean Eve. Any serious student of the
Bible, the Ur-tablets that tell the tale of Gilgamesh, and other ancient
writings is aware of the fact that Eve was not (according to the
ancient texts that predate the entire Judeo-Christian-Muslim religious
tradition and likely served as the template folk tale from which e.g.
the book of Genesis was eventually written) the first woman, or one of
the first two people created “by the hand of God”.

What they are less likely to know is that Adam himself was also not
the first, he was the second. At least according to these
scrolls, whose authenticity I do not doubt, the book of Genesis
has been considerably “sanitized”, rewritten many
times (doubtless by men) in Adam’s favor.

No, the very first human being was Llth3.
Or L’l, or Lillake as she is known in the
Ur-Epic of Gilgamesh: a handmaiden (or possibly harpy, the translations
and context are not clear) of the goddess Inanna in ancient
Sumeria. Or, as she is known in the relatively modern rendering of the
few old-testament-era books and text fragments of the Jewish faith in
which she appears, Lilith.




3This is a very rough translation of characters in a lost
language – possibly, from the content of the scrolls
themselves the lost proto-indo-european language from the Indus
river civilization! However, my colleague asserts that if this is the
case it will take years of painstaking work to prove it. Note
well that we have no proper Rosetta stone beyond the crude
triple-translation table written into the scrolls themselves that
preserved both the original language and a crude rendering in newer and
less sophisticated tongues. In particular the characters used do not
greatly resemble those of any known language except perhaps Sanskrit,
and aside from tantalizing words here and there that might be
related to more modern (but still incredibly ancient) works there is
little to go on. So it is difficult to know if our assigned
pronunciations are correct, if the language indeed used implicit vowels
in some way we cannot detect from the script (imagine how English is
pronounced relative to how it is spelled, or French), save from their
translations in non-phonetic languages altogether.



Note well that there are rich connections between these scrolls and
ancient clay tablets, the dead sea scrolls, and other text fragments
from antiquity that have also been preserved by accident of fate or
human design. Tablets, scrolls, and sections of holy books, that were
ultimately written (and rewritten) by the descendants of Adam, and that
include additions, revisions and suppressions by whole generations of
male priests, ministers, and clergy interested in preserving the
patriarchal society that Adam sought to create in which women are
basically chattel to men.

Most of these texts present an extremely biased picture of Lilith as
being some sort of a biological construct made by God without a soul,
who ultimately became the archetypical witch or vampire. Indeed, even a
cursory examination of the religious rantings on the web that involve
Lilith make her out to be the mother of all vampires, a she-demon who
preys upon small children, a consort of the Devil and witch, or some
sort of Mother Goddess worthy of worship and invocation in rites for her
own sake, depending on which side of a very ancient fence you are
on.

As the editor of this translation, I hold myself aloof from this
antique (and somewhat silly) feud. As these scrolls faithfully and
consistently reveal, neither of these views could be further from
the truth and are clearly just Jungian archetypal projections of their
adherents’ personal religious views, a sort of metaphorical
mutilation of an otherwise lovely tale.

Note well that the language of the scrolls is apparently far
older than any surviving copies of the books of the Old
Testament, far older than the dead sea scrolls, and even far older than
the oldest of the cuneiform tablets that make up our earliest known
historical documents. Given the the triple rendering (two of them in
younger languages) it is likely that these scrolls are but copies
on some sort of preserved linen of tablets or scrolls older still that
have not survived, perhaps perishing in the calamitous burning of the
Library of Alexandria along with much of the other knowledge of the
ancient world. Without the original scrolls in our possession for
analysis and dating we cannot be sure.

The scrolls are to all appearances an alternative version of the book
of Genesis (one that precedes even the tablets of the Enuma Elish in the
Ur-legend), and present a very different view of the story of the garden
of Eden. That they were found, as it were, a mere stone’s
throw from where Eden is thought to have been4 only adds to
the likelihood of their authenticity. It is also fairly clear from their
content that they have not been subjected to the process of rewriting
and editing (on the part of the early church patriarchs) that corrupts
most of the Bible relative to the original source texts, old and new
testament alike.




4Recalling that the fourth river mentioned in Genesis as flowing out of Eden is Euphrates.



The final point of interest about these scrolls I hesitate to make
known to you, as it will only serve as grist for the mill of those who
would claim it as proof that the scrolls are some sort of
hyper-intellectual hoax – hyper-intellectual because only a
genius could have created a prehistoric language –
symbol, syntax, grammar – out of whole cloth in such a way
that it seamlessly matches what is known of the languages of the most
ancient tablets and fragments of Sumeria and Mesopotamia and Babylonia
that have yet been discovered. A hoax produced by a hoaxer familiar
with and capable of forging perfectly a text that is consistent
with every detail of all the truly ancient greater Mesopotamian writings
that still remain to us in original form – the Enuma Elish,
the Hullupu Tree, and of course the Epic of Gilgamesh. An Evil
Genius
hoaxer; no casual fly-by-night graduate student wishing to
play a prank.

My archaeologist friend and colleague asserts that this is simply
impossible – she points out a dozen places that not even the
world’s greatest archaeologists working together for
years would have been able to create a seamless linguistic interpolation
of nearly all of the oldest fragments (including many tablet
fragments not known to anyone outside of a very select community whose
translations have been elucidated by our work on the scrolls).
Then there are the nearly miraculous extension of these poorly
understood written languages to a new written language (really of
course a much older written language) with a far richer range of
conceptual expression and with almost no visible overlap in
syntax, grammar, or direct vocabulary with any known language of the
world. It might as well be Martian for all one can discover historically
without the aid of the translations provided within the scrolls
themselves.

This new language contains words and ideas that simply did not exist
in the common languages of the times of cuneiform and hieroglyph and we
had to work very hard to analyze the entire (fortunately very long)
document to succeed. Without my computers and my partner’s
very considerable historical and linguistic expertise, we would never
have succeeded. In the process it became clear from parenthetical
remarks and linguistic style that two very different individuals wrote
the hieroglyphic and cuneiform versions of the text – one a
relatively cosmopolitan Egyptian female and the other a somewhat
stuffy Sumerian priest. The tension between these two writers
and the contrast between their variations of the story were invaluable
aids as we attempted to discern meaning in languages that are several
sizes too small.

Academic honesty now compels me to make this – problem
– known to you in case you wish to skip reading the text
altogether as a consequence, or read it as a work of presumed modern
fiction (worthwhile in its own right, I think) instead of as the Mother
of Myths that it otherwise appears to be. The translation of the
scrolls, as accurately as we are able to make it out, is full of
anachronisms
. This in indeed obvious almost from the beginning, and
is internally explained by the content of the documents themselves.

This is rather frightening; so much so that I fully expect most
people to reject their authenticity on this basis alone. Of course we
should expect a prophetic work to contain anachronisms. All truly
prophetic works are by definition anachronistic. Prophecy
is anachronism.

However, Biblical prophecy usually falls absurdly short of the mark.
Where in the Bible are things like computers, nuclear bombs, or the
Internet predicted? Or anything like a reference to evolution,
the big bang, optical nanoscale computing and information storage
devices, bluetooth, even something really modest like the fact that
planets are worlds that orbit the sun instead of the other way
around?

They’re just not there. And they should be. Instead, the
Bible has the sun stopping in the sky and doing other remarkable things
that egregiously violate known physical law, making God out to be
something of a liar who would violate the laws that He (or She, or It if
you prefer) decreed. Not to pick on the Judeo-Christian-Muslim Old
Testament, of course – all religious texts routinely include
reports of historical miracles that can no longer be scientifically
repeated or verified mixed with prophecy.

However, all Biblical prophecies are safely ambiguous,
so that (like our daily horoscopes from the newspaper) we can read them
and interpret quotidian events in terms of them and be content, and of
course they’ve all been retroactively edited so that they
work out better than perhaps they did in the original. And we only get
to see the successes, just as we tend to forget the fifty days our
newspaper horoscopes are wrong but remember the one day it is dead on
the money.

The anachronisms – prophecies if you like – in
the Lilith scrolls are not like this at all. They are up front,
in your face references to future knowledge all the way up to our
present time and beyond. They contain clear references to modern
physics and cosmology
, to evolution and to genetics, even to
theories of psychology and to much foreknowledge of computer science. It
is simply impossible that all of this could have been known by a
primitive people (people for whom even an abacus was still in the
unknown future), yet is it equally impossible that it could be a
hoax.

This is, of course, the kind of accuracy one should expect the
prophets of the One True Religion to have. If a prophet is truly
“inspired by God”, they should get it right
and not mask the truth in some sort of metaphorical allegorical
hyperbolic story that can be interpreted however the reader
wishes, as are (for example) the equally anachronistic works of
Nostradamus or the unintelligible, probably ergot-induced hallucinogenic
ravings of Revelations.

We actually find this sort of metaphorical vagueness to be rather
comforting, of course. There is nothing more terrifying than a prophet
that actually predicts things in clear, unambiguous terms. For example,
imagine Revelations’ impact on the world if they had stated
things like “A man named Adolph Hitler will take over a
country named Germany and wipe out six million Jews, ten million
Russians, and a few million miscellaneous assorted others.”
Which of course never happens – dates, times, specifics are
all anathema to the prophet, as when the date passes and the specific
prophecy fails to come to pass, well, that can wreck your
reputation as a prophet really quickly. We mustn’t forget
that there are also serious problems with causality and prophecy
(explored by many a science fiction novel) where such a prophecy causes
Hitler to be killed as a child thus guaranteeing that any real prophecy is
almost certain to be self-defeating instead of self-fulfilling.

The prophets that survived (or rather, whose reputation has survived)
to the current day are those that did not make this sort of
elementary mistake. It’s pure evolution – survival
of the fittest, where in this case fitness means vaguest (hardest to
prove wrong) and most apocalyptic (scariest should they prove
right).

The “prophecies” in the scrolls are nothing
like this. They aren’t even presented as prophecies. Rather
they are presented in almost an offhand way, as unimportant future
background to the description of the present of that time. They
were the terrifying, unambiguous sort, like you’d expect a
real prophet to make, and because they were lost for some
five or six thousand years, they did not have a chance to modify
their own effectiveness, to become self-defeating.

“Expected” or not, these anachronisms present
one with a stark choice. You, dear reader, can choose (or not) to read
the text and then decide for yourself whether (or not) the words have
the ring of truth to them. There is no other possible basis for
decision, as the scrolls themselves are apparently lost and are too old
to be directly referenced by newer texts.

Are these indeed the writings of Lilith herself – for they
are written in the first person, unlike any other work that has survived
from this era – dare I say miraculously preserved and
and discovered in the nick of time for our lost generation to read and
learn from, or are they a hoax inspired by a mad genius with a
near-supernatural education and too much time on his or her hands? It is
up to you.

I know which one I believe.

As a final note, please observe that the translated text is sprinkled
liberally with annotations on the translation process. Every
effort has been made to render a language that is almost
incomprehensibly difficult into colloquial English (since preserving any
sense of the original poetry is all but impossible anyway). In some
cases (especially early in the process) the literal translations of the
accompanying cuneiform and hieroglyphic passages are included to that
the reader can accompany us on our journey to truth and see how we
arrived at the final translation. Lilith’s first person
discourse has also been rendered, at some small expense in verbatim
accuracy, in the modern form with quotation marks and so on to offset
conversations she holds with God and the other important characters of
her drama.

There are, regrettably, a few holes in the text translated from the
scrolls that we have attempted to interpolate. In some cases these are
literally holes – perhaps a single moth was trapped
with the scrolls when they were first sealed up and enjoyed a sumptuous
last meal before dying of dehydration and suffocation. If so,
the carbon dioxide the moth doubtless exhaled as it expired seems to
have acted as a miraculous preservative across the millennia. However,
two scrolls were also damaged by some other action. The first is simply
unreadable except for a few dozen lines of disconnected text. One
contains (fortunately!) the tale of Lilith’s final days but
ends before we learn what became of Cain.

From the images, the fabric itself of this last scroll appears to be
at least partly intact and covered with smudges that might have been
text. Perhaps it could be re-scanned with ultra-violet light and the
resulting image enhanced if we had possession of the original scrolls,
but in the otherwise remarkably well-done scans in our possession this
is alas impossible, even using image enhancement tools developed by NASA
and the Department of Defense for space photography. We can only pray
that the war in Iraq ends quickly so that a proper search can be
instituted for the originals, that they may be brought into the light of
day and given the scientific scrutiny they so richly deserve.

So, dear Reader, you should be aware even as you begin that the story
of how Lilith’s legacy was passed on and how the scrolls
themselves came to be saved as they were and survive to our time is as
much a mystery to us now as it was before the scrolls themselves were
found. However, there are clues aplenty in the world around us that
suggest how at least part of it might have worked out, and of
course the world of today is what it is because of it. I would like to
think that Grandmother Lilith would be proud of at least some of the
Soul apparent in our world of today, even as she would be appalled at
how fragile our own understanding of “that which watches the
watcher, watching the world” still is.

rgb




Chapter 1
Awakening



I opened my eyes and looked out at
infinity1. It was filled with stars that were so
beautiful that they brought tears to my eyes. I tried to remember who I
was, or how I came to be there, or where there was, but of the
past, if I had one, there was no trace. There was no before, only
the now.



1 Infinity as a concept was unknown to both Egyptian and
Sumerian alike. This is an example of a single word that consistently
appears in the original language of the scrolls that is imperfectly
rendered in the younger co-languages. Infinity in hieroglyphs is
presented as several repetitions of ”far” followed
by ”away” arranged in a circular loop. In
cuneiform it is ”greater than many cows”.
Presumably they truly valued cows in ancient Sumeria.

As you read you will encounter many more of these anachronistic
terms. You will simply have to trust the translation – in
all cases it is possible to defend it, and one day a fully annotated
edition of this work may be released with our rationale appended in
footnotes or marginal notes, but including them all now would make the
text itself too difficult to read.



I took a sort of an inventory of the richness that flooded into me
through my senses. There were sounds that I interpreted, as I thought
about them, as coming from crickets. Crickets, once I thought about
them were these little black insects that made a sort of music in
order to attract mates. There were smells, smells that I interpreted as
wood smoke. Smoke from a fire, which was an oxidation process that
reduced wood to ash and released energy and light (and a certain amount
of human comfort) in the process. There was a sort of salty wet taste
in what I realized was my mouth. There were sensations of feeling
– hardness behind my head, cold hardness beneath my back, my
legs, my arms, my bottom.

As I thought about these sensations it came to me that I had a
body and that, if I tried, I could move it. So after a couple of
twitches where my brain (what was a brain?) tried to hook up to the
right nerves (what were nerves?) I sat up.

All of my senses reeled as the world before my vision whirled into a
new orientation, and my feeling of balance was called into play.
At first I tried to keep my balance as one would keep a stick balanced
on a finger, by watching to see what direction I was falling and then
trying to correct it. Several falls (and resulting bruises) later I
discovered that my body did better if I left it to its own devices and
just balanced so I stopped trying to correct with my conscious
mind.

I looked around. I found myself sitting on a stone tablet in front of
a fairly large bonfire, as bonfires go, on the floor
of a small green valley surrounded by large and stately trees. Sitting
on a sort of natural rock throne close at hand by the fire was a naked
woman.

I wondered how I knew that she was a woman. This led me to
immediately appreciate the fact that there were two sexes of human being
and that she (and I, for that matter) were of the female sex.
There was also a male sex, which differed both anatomically and in their
role in the reproductive process.

I don’t know how long we sat there, eyeing one another. It could have been seconds, or it
could have been forever – time spent in her company was ever
like that – timeless. An eternity ended when she spoke.

“Welcome to Creation.”

This seemed like a noble enough sentiment. However, it triggered
thoughts like firecrackers in my mind. Welcome implied that I just
arrived. A creation was something made, but Creation (where one could
always hear capital letters in her speech where they were intended)
usually applied to the Cosmic All. And then there was speech!

This was what I was using in my interior monologue, and this led me to
discover that I could speak as well as listen. I shaped a
clumsy mouth around my first, whispery words.

“Umm, thank you. I think. Who are you?”

Even as I asked, I realized that I knew the answer. This was God.
“God, of course, and you’re very welcome. How do
you feel?” I thought about it.

“I feel good. In fact, I feel great! A bit, what is it,
hungry? Thirsty? I feel a sort of urging towards something but
I’m not certain what it is.”

“That would be about right. I repaired your body and in
fact made it perfect, and timed its metabolic state so that we
could share a bite while we talked. It’s a sociable thing to
do, and you have much work to do for me building a society, so you might
as well start learning how.” She gestured to the side, where
a table covered with a white silk tablecloth was set with silverware,
plates, napkins, and a lovely looking dinner. We arose, me weaving a bit
as I found myself thinking again a bit too much about balance, and went
to the table to sit down.

God poured two glasses of wine for us, and then gestured that we
should fall to. I sipped the wine and it was simply the most delicious
thing I had ever tasted. Of course it was the first thing
I’d ever tasted, but to this very day even the memory of that
taste makes my mouth water. The food was ambrosia, the drink was nectar
(I wondered how I knew of those terms) and not a word was spoken until
plates were cleaned and glasses emptied and refilled
again.

“Thank you for dinner,” I said, somehow knowing
that this was the right thing to do. “That was
incredible.”

She smiled, “What is the point of being the Creator if you
can’t make a decent meal from time to time? Of course most of
those dishes won’t be invented for six thousand and umpty-odd
years, but time is what I make of it.” My brain did another
one of its distracting little whirls into a kaleidoscope of flashes on
sushi, on bouillabaisse, on chocolate mousse, on Cabernet
Sauvignon2. I forced myself to concentrate on the Now, not
on the Then.




2Sigh. As I said, you just have to trust
the translation.



“Now,” said the Creator, “I imagine
that you’re still more than a bit disoriented. We still have
most of a bottle of Cabernet and as much time as you might need to get
all squared away. Is there anything you’d like to ask
me?”

“Why am I so confused?” I began.
“Every time I think of something like crickets, or wine, I
immediately start thinking about exoskeletal arthropods with exotic
mating habits or the effects of coastal Mediterranean climates
on the maturation and fermentation of Cabernet grapes, carefully aged in
imported french oak barrels and I don’t have any idea what
any of that means” I rushed on in a bit of a panic
as fermenting led to bottling led to glass making led to windows led to
a vision of tall buildings gleaming in the sun as they reached up
towards heaven, coated in mirrored glass and filled with
Cabernet-swilling business executives...

I let out a little cry and tried to stop thinking, stop thinking and
breathe, breathe, breathe, stay with the breath, trying not to think of
this as a yoga calming technique even though I immediately recognized
that this is what it was...

I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder and immediately felt calmer. In
fact, I felt downright blessed. It was almost silly. A few
minutes (or was it centuries?) later I shook myself out of a trance and
wiped the idiotic grin off of my face.

“Poor girl. You’ve got preternatural
knowledge
of the whole Universe, that’s what
you’ve got. It came with the Soul. I couldn’t make
up my mind what to leave in and what to leave out so I left almost
everything in. Everything but your personal past (you have none) and
your personal fate. They would have removed your Free Will and ruined
the game.”

Preternatural knowledge. Great. That explained it.

And it did, of course. Once I realized that all I had to do
was think of something and I’d know it, it became a little
easier to not think of everything. It was just another
kind of balance The trick was to let the natural flow of thought and
conversation delicately tease facts out of the immense ocean of
knowledge that was ever poised over my head without triggering the
irrelevant flood of connected facts.

I looked into my head for knowledge of God, but discovered that
preternatural knowledge or not, there was a rather large void there.

“Sorry,” God chimed in.
“It’s hard to be ‘friends’
with anyone you have preternatural knowledge of. So I’ve
somewhat deliberately blanked my knowledge of you and yours of me so
that we can at least make a stab and being friends.”

“How does reading a friend’s mind work in that
process,” I said a bit cynically.

God blushed. “I don’t do it all the time. Or
rather I do, but I’m much more complex than you might
think and I can actually multitask on an interrupt-driven basis so that
I only ‘know’ your thoughts when it is meet and
just for me to do so. You still have your privacy,
mostly.”

“But Don’t,” God said with a
baleful glare, “Tempt Fate by thinking rude thoughts just to
see if I’m listening in.”

I mentally sighed, squelching the thought that had unbidden risen
almost to the point of verbal articulation in my interior monologue.
Besides it wasn’t true. If anything, God seemed pretty nice,
although how I had any experiential basis for comparison was beyond
me.

“Look,” said God. “I’ll
let you in on a little secret. If you think that you have
preternatural knowledge problems, you should think about me. For
example, think for a moment about time...”

...

A sound, a sound of one hand clapping. One Godlike hand clapping, in
fact. Clapping me, fairly gently, on the face.
“C’mon girl, wake up. Lilith, time to go. You can
stop thinking about time now...”

I kept myself (just in time, so to speak) from thinking about time
again so that I could stop, and managed to hold on to one
important insight from an eternity of timelessness. God, of course,
existed beyond time, and if I thought about it a certain way so
did I. So how was it that we could sit and converse, a thing that
appeared to involve sequential ordination of conceptual material with a
clearly articulated syntactical sense of
‘tense’?

“What happened? How long was I gone?” I
said.

“As long or short a time as you like. We are currently
outside of the time-stream of the Universe that will become your home.
So duration here means nothing compared to duration there. In fact, your
preternatural knowledge of there is largely knowledge of the skein of
time and space there as a whole, which is in fact static and
immutable, if you look at it too closely. So I
don’t.”

You,” said God, “have
difficulty thinking about wine without recalling everything that there
is to know, intellectually, about wine. Wine grape horticulture,
crushing, fermenting, bottling, aging, and of course drinking. I,
on the other hand, have to be careful not to think too closely about
wine or I call to my mind the actual taste of every drop of wine
ever made, and not just in this Universe – the taste of every
drop of wine that could ever be made. If I do this, of course, I
can take no actual pleasure from drinking a glass of wine. For
an omnipotent being to think is to do, and to do with such ease is to
render the actual doing pointless.”

“Consequently it is a great pleasure to incarnate myself,
to bind myself to time’s stream, to not think about
the infinity of possible sips of wine, just so that I can
experience the unique joy of this real one.” God took
a healthy swig from her full glass.

I appreciatively sipped at my glass of wine as well, letting its rich
flavors of berries overlaid with a hint of oak, vanilla and
smoke3 develop in my mouth and relishing the gift of
time.




3 OK, so the text didn’t
exactly say this. I copied it from the back of the bottle of
Cabernet I was drinking while typing out the final translation. It
certainly seems like it fits, though.



God leaned over towards me, looking me square in the eye. In her eye
I saw reflected a flicker of light, and found myself falling
into an infinite whirlpool of blackness – or was it
whiteness – unbroken except for a thin grey line that burst
into light (or was it darkness) for a space and then rejoined the dark
or the light, or both, from which it emerged. The flicker shaped the
very spaces around it into a form that danced.

Then I realized that I was looking at my own reflection in
God’s eye.

“There’s a lesson, there, if you choose to take
it,” God said, leaning back to drink her wine.

“When I’m unitary and all seeing and all
knowing, there is no time, and without time things are really pretty
boring – so boring that it is difficult to distinguish the
state of existence and nonexistence. The only way to avoid a state of
perfectly boring perfect being is to become complex instead of
simple, to break up the featureless perfection of the infinite
into what appear independently to be imperfect, finite
pieces.”

“Complexity thus requires duality (or more properly,
multivalency for some extremely large number of values). This, then, is
the paradox of God the Unity – that’s me
– and the Individual Human Spirit –
that’s you. You contain within you a spark of
me. Yet your spark is contained in my greater light and but a
small part, a very small part, of my All, and if ever either one of us
gazes upon the Whole, we leave time altogether and become All-seeing,
and hence blind. Only apart is there change, and only in change is
there meaningful existence.”

The silence that followed was companionable but stretched on for
centuries as I digested this, comparing it to various holy writings from
the future on God that seemed to be a part of my preternatural
knowledge, sipping gently at the great wine. Eventually I
realized that it was probably time for another question.

“Why did you create me. Or if you like, why did you
create me in particular, as I think you just answered at least
part of the former question.”

“Why, that one’s easy, girlfriend4.
I’ve taken great pains over billions of years to
create a simply lovely world with all sorts of fascinating
animals and a rich ecosystem, and it is time to put people with souls in
it. You’re number one. The very first human with a
soul.”




4 The person that I have come to think of as the “Egyptian party girl” writer of the scrolls rendered “girlfriend” as “female friend
we accompany to the bazaar to buy crocodile skin purses and the latest
in heavy gold ornamentation” where her partner, the “prim Sumerian priest” came up with “female person who shares a desire to beggar her husband while adorning herself with worthless trinkets that she gets bored with a few days later”. My wife felt that “girlfriend” was just perfect. For either translation, come to think of it.







Chapter 2
Creation



This was staggering news. I seemed to possess
a knowledge of human affairs that stretched out indefinitely
into the future, lacking many of the details of human
– well, “history” wasn’t
quite the right word for something that hadn’t happened yet
– but with an amazingly accurate picture of the highlights,
the broad strokes, the basic facts. It wasn’t as useful as
you might think, though. As I mused gently, very gently, over the
factoids that bubbled to the surface of my awareness I came to a gradual
realization that it wasn’t likely that things like enormous
ships that sailed underwater and buildings like mountains made of
mirrored glass would come to be anytime soon if I was the only person
around to make them happen.

Of course thinking about any of this led to more questions appearing
in my mind, and this started the deluge of facts flowing once again.
This time I was better prepared, though. Even as perfectly correct and
perfectly useless answers to every question appeared in my mind to
generate little baby questions that spread out like a –
wave front in my consciousness, I managed to take a large gulp of
wine, review briefly (minutes? days? years?) a huge body of
something called “mathematics” that seemed to
describe waves, and hold my glass out for more. My whole arm seemed to
tingle and glow as God poured us both seconds, or were they thirds. I
don’t know about wine, but God’s presence was then
and remains today the greatest intoxicant I have ever experienced.

Finally a question occurred to me that seemed to be the most basic
question I could ask, but one that caused the trickle of knowledge to
become a flood and overwhelm my sanity. I decided to ask it directly of
God so I could quiet my thoughts and just listen.

“Tell me the story of my Universe, pretty please? I know
I have preternatural knowledge and all, but the flood of information
makes no sense, especially with regard to the soul.”

“No need to wheedle me, sweetheart. That’s why
I awoke you here, outside of time’s stream, to help you get
all squared away. You’ll need to be pretty well in tune with
your Self and your Spirit and your World in order to do what I in my
collective wisdom have ordained for you to do back in time and the
world. So here it goes:”


In the beginning

Was for an instant that was an eternity and no time at all
The void
Empty or full beyond measure
Vast or an infinitesimal point
With neither scale of length nor time
Neither in motion, nor standing still
It was, unchanging and outside of time
When I through act of will
Caused it to change.

The void broke
Its symmetry shattered
Into an infinity of parts in motion
And thus time was born
In a burst of light
As the all expanded
If space can expand
If time can transform
To an eye that sees all
Everywhere
On the scale it imagines
The clock it defines.

The slow grasp of gravity
Into shallow wells the matter pulled
To make them deep oceans, the stars
Scattered across the firmament.
Stars aged, exploded

Were born again from stardust bright
Rich with the elements of life.

From this dust the planets formed
With metal cores and fertile fields
Rain fell and seas formed
The cradle of life.

The loaded dice rolled
And life came to be
Without spirit.

Life grew fruitful, and multiplied
Generations lived and died
Were reaped and discarded
As life crafted itself
Sons and daughters changing
As chance determines
The strong killing the weak
The young harvesting the old
So that the young might live
And grow eyes the better to see.

Life on this earth
Took 13,132,737,159 years to ripen1
Although to me it was but
A few days on vacation2
Twiddling my cosmic thumbs,
A blink of the cosmic eye.

At last you were done
Your body formed with hands that grasp
Your brain filled with empty words
Your heart with empty song.




1 Note that God was quite specific and definite here.
Surprisingly so given the relativistic stuff that went on in the early
seconds of the Universe. However, this is quite close to what we read
– in God’s own handwriting – from
examining the stars themselves (for example Cepheid variables as
distributed in distant galaxies), and so I have no particular reason to
doubt God’s Word here. Presumably this means that the
universe is now between 3500 and 6000 years older.

2Could this be? The origin of the seven days of creation
myth? Did this get mistranslated eventually as a few days
followed by a vacation?





A whole world of life,
Its peoples scattered
And hungry for the Word
That fills.

And so I raise you
Daughter eternal
And grant you a piece of Me
A soul
The spark of light that sees
The Seer, watching
Time’s stream
That can feel love and pain.

This was quite overwhelming. However, I could not help but ask.
“God, from what was I made?”

“Stardust, daughter, you are made of stardust. From
stardust you are born, and to stardust you will return. In between,
though, you will grant to the dust the light of vision, the light of
knowledge. You are henceforth self-aware
stardust.”

I saw that this was so. During the song my preternatural awareness
kept shifting to images of the Universe exploding out of the darkness,
strange whirling bits of stuff binding and forming other more
complex bits of stuff, the birth of the stars, a rippling of
explosions that included the star that preceded the Sun, and the
condensing of the Sun, the Earth and other remote balls (including the
moon) from the leftover dust.

I saw in my mind’s eye the Earth’s seas form;
its surface danced as its continents were driven by strange forces
within to roam as if they were alive, pushing up mighty mountains and
then grinding them once again down into the sea.

I saw life spontaneously form, deep in the abyss near volcanic vents
that produced heat and unusual chemicals, and change almost too fast to
see, with some truly bizarre shapes appearing out of chance mutations
before disappearing, first into the maws of competing forms, then out of
the dance altogether. Out of this chaos I saw a basic footprint for
life emerge that shaped both plant and animal.

I saw the children of the progenitor species crawl out of the sea on
fins that grew ever thicker, cover the Earth, and eventually stand up
and walk on two legs.

I saw lazy beautiful days filled with blood and hunger and the lust
of mating, horrible winters and droughts. I saw rocks fall from the sky
so big that they reshaped the planet where they struck, and everywhere
there was death, and more death, and the death diminished me while the
life did not sustain me. Out of this churning chaos emerged beings that
walked and talked like me, “men” and
“women”. They grew, rutted, bred young, and died
at each other’s hands as often as in the jaws of an animal or
from disease or hunger. I saw myself being born, walking among
them, eating and excreting, lifting sightless eye to an uncaring heaven
and...

I screamed and fell to my knees, overwhelmed with shock and horror
and grief.

A gentle hand caught my chin and lifted my face up to that of God.
Again I felt the calm certainty, the warmth, the love suffuse
me, although it did nothing to stop the flow of unbidden tears from my
eyes.

“It’s all right, daughter. They feel nothing.
They have no souls. Not the dinosaurs. Not the mammals. Not the people.
Think of them as the shadow of reality that one sees in a
movie3. The images feel nothing, see nothing, do nothing,
but follow the logic and rules of the script. The Universe up to now
has been only a machine, a movie being played forward to the
point where things become real.”




3 This one took six weeks to translate and
engendered much argument between myself and my female translation
partner. In the hieroglyph version, for example, it is liberally
translated as “Thing that the People watch in large pyramids
from papyrus sheets moved faster than the wind while eating big grass
kernels and butter.” However, it was one word in the
original text.



“What happens now? Why am I here?” I
half-sobbed.

“To give the Universe a soul, my dear. When you return to
the Earth, all you touch, all you love will open its eyes and see
as you see it. Your vision is now the light of God, your awareness the
awareness of God, your love and your pain are My love and My pain.
Through you I will share in this Creation, and together we will Love it
and make it Good.”

“But why do you need me?” I
cried. “You can already see it and love it. Why am I so
sad? Why do I feel?”

For a moment I caught her eye and again time froze as I was somehow
sucked into God’s Mind and saw the All again, with the entire
Universe laid out as a single, unchanging entity, like a movie indeed
fit for putting up on the shelf and with no more freedom and life and
choice than the medium from which it was made.

This time the eternity lasted and lasted, with only tiny flickers of
‘self’ sustaining me from a melding from which I
feared I could never emerge, holding myself just barely back from a
state of perfect, timeless knowledge, perfect light, perfect and eternal
being that was absolutely, terrifyingly indistinguishable from
not being. With supreme effort I wrenched myself away
and became me again, capable of seeing not the All but only the
trees, the fire, the face of She who still held my chin,
infinite compassion within her brow mixed with a bit of
triumph.

“You see,” God said. “We can ever
be together (and just were, for multiple eternities) but when we Are,
there is no Time. There is no Space. Omnipresence cannot
move. Omniscience cannot learn, cannot observe, cannot change.
There is just Me, forever, eternally. It isn’t bad,
but it is infinitely boring, or was until I invented Space-Time
continuums, but both Time and Space are a real problem for a Unitary
Being. Time implies sequencing, sequencing implies participation, and
participation implies duality. So in order to Be anything that can
change, I must Be More Than One.”

“But still,” she continued, reforming my glass
(the glass itself, which seemed so solid, had run like water down my
fingers in the near-eternity it was held still) and then
refilling it with wine,


If you watch yourself
Watching yourself
Watching all things you can see
There deep inside
Where it cannot hide
You will catch glimpses of Me.

“Now daughter Lilith, be strong (for so I have made you,
strong) and drink your wine and lets get on with it. Otherwise
we’ll just end up sitting here forever.”
God grinned. She did have a good sense of humor, leading me to wonder
more than once during my life just how much of what I saw and
experienced while living on the Earth was really some sort of complex
joke. “Are there any further questions?”

Strangely enough, I did feel better, and stronger. My
awareness was finally settling down, and the last experience of joining
with – myself? – in the eyes of God had convinced
me that perhaps it is a great, great gift to be incarnate as a finite
being, able to see and taste and smell and hear, able to feel the wind
and rain in time’s stream and not from the
“outside”, where even infinite time was
less than a blink of an eye, leaving no interval in which to
feel. What a miracle it was to be born not in a state of true
infinite knowledge but rather in a state of infinite
discovery!

“Only a couple,” I said, sipping my wine which
was all the better for having aged for a million lifetimes of the
Universe (and no time at all). I watched out of the corner of my eye as
God reset the Universe that lay outside of our protected vale (much as
one would rewind a tape to the right spot) for my eventual reinsertion.
I only half watched because watching a Supreme Being manipulate an
infinite four dimensional construct is guaranteed to give you
a big headache as your eyes cross within your head trying to
visualize deformed tesseracts in a six dimensional space-time. All one
can really see is a metaphor for what is going on, one involving
many arms, many heads4.




4 Again this is a fascinating observation. Compare this
description with the Universal Form or Visvarupa of Krishna as he
revealed it to Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita (Google up pictures on
the web if you like). As you will see later, this cements rather
strongly the connection established later between Lilith and Krishna
and, for that matter, God.



“One is, do I have to do this all alone or are we going to
do this together? Will you be with me? And what am I to do?
What is the task you are giving me?”

God lazily picked up a morsel of pink fish on rice and popped it into
her mouth and chewed a moment appreciatively before answering.
“You will not be alone. I will be with you, sometimes
literally and sometimes metaphorically. Also, we’re about to
go through this all over again with your partner, one who will be your
life mate. I will be within him (and hence with you), just as I will
eventually be in everything else as well – the rocks
and stones and not just the people – for through your eyes I
too am bound to time, bound to the Universe and freed from the curse of
infinite knowledge for long enough to enjoy it All with
buttered popcorn. As for your Purpose – that’s
easy. To Be, bound to time’s stream. To live. To love. To be
born. To die. To feel and taste and smell and hear and see. To
know.

“What is death?” I asked in my innocence, as
with my preternatural knowledge I had seen countless births, accompanied
by deaths without number, while sitting there outside of Eternity
sipping wine and nibbling on this and that. Something about the
impermanence of this was making me feel a bit queasy, a feeling I
was was gradually and analytically recognizing as Fear. “Why
do I fear death?”

“Why, daughter, you just experienced part of what
you mean by ‘death’. Death is the state where we
are rejoined, for that which I have just given you was never born and
cannot die. As long as I am many, death is but an infinite
moment that takes no time. It separates the intervals of Light and Life
and Knowledge where time happens. The great paradox, the greatest
mystery of time and space themselves, is how the Unity can ever achieve
Duality so that things can be Different. However, it is a
self-manifesting paradox – I live. You live. Life
lives.
By our awareness we define it. Awareness itself is
direct empirical proof that ‘nothing’ (the other
state that is sometimes described as death), the perfect absence
of consciousness, cannot exist, can never exist.”

“If it did,” she said, quite earnestly,
“Who would ever be able to know it? Who would be able to
tell?”

Again she took my chin in her hand.
“Girlfriend, don’t fear death. I love you with
the greatest love that can even theoretically exist, with a love
that defines existence itself. However you live while you are
down on your new World, whatever your pain, whatever your sorrow, this I
promise you. Death of your body itself will come as a whisper, as a
gentle breeze that lifts up your soul to rejoin with my own, there to
be, for an eternity, a part of the dancing light that never fades, to
over and over again reemerge into the miracle of consciousness,
bartering the pain for the ability to love, to live, to enjoy the
passage of time.”

“What are you? What do you look like? From what I know
you can’t be human as I am, as you are something older and
more permanent.” I asked.

“Well,” she chuckled. “I certainly
am not a woman. Or a man. Or a human at all. And you can’t
really talk in terms of time comparatives about an eternal being, can
you?”

Her eye glittered again and I fell into it; I flashed in and out of
it like a dolphin plunging through the silvery surface of the water into
the sky above. All of Creation, all of many Creations, reeled as
I did so. My Self was split into many, many Selves, some great and some
small, all of this infinity of Life laid bare and compressed
into the instant of an eternal perception. Her voice echoed about me as
I spun, dazzled, in the very midst of the view at the Center.

This is my Universal form, it is what I
am. In this time, this place, I take this human form because it
makes it a lot easier to talk. Afterwards, remember that I am in every
bush, every flower, every tree, every animal, every person as you put me
there, and will be communicating with you deep inside your being, at the
point where your vision defines your Self. Today (and from
time to time as we walk the world we are making together) I’m
a metaphor so that I can sit with you and enjoy sushi and a quiet
glass of exquisite wine, well earned, to celebrate this particular
Creation.”

“And what should I call you? Do you have a
name?” I persisted.

“I am all, and all is me. The manifold has many names and
lives forever and yet but for a moment. The One merely is,
self-sufficient. So call me Self. Although in a language yet
to be invented, in a tale that is yet to be told I will be called
‘Inanna’, at least in the lands in which you will
begin your Earthly work. Elsewhere I will have other names, other human
manifestations, but I will still be the One even when worshipped as
Many.”

“Now come on, sister-daughter-self.
Let’s go wake Adam.”




Professional Reviews

Message from a Fan (see link above)
We (friends) laughed and cried. He deeply stirred all our emotions. In fact we were mesmerized by this remarkable book and loved it so much so that we wanted to help Robert spread the word. So we contacted him and offered to create this web site. We hope you buy The Book of Lilith as a gift for someone special this Christmas, as it is truly the first classic fable of the 21st century, that will act as a beacon for the future, for whoever are fortunate enough to read it.

POD People Review
This is a review by Cheryl Anne Gardner, author of The Thin Wall (ISBN: 978-1430312567). You can find it at:

http://podpeep.blogspot.com/2008/01/review-book-of-lilith-by-robert-g-brown.html

Ms. Gardner writes:


I loved it, and the author's approach to the story not only made me giggle a bit, but it also made me ponder and appreciate what it means to be a woman -- a candid and tough woman, struggling in the world of men.


Breeni Books Review
Breeni (Sabrina Williams) had this to say about TBOL:

"by far the best book I read in February was The Book of Lilith by Robert G. Brown. If you like to invest in new authors, here's one you should definitely run right out and buy."

From my review:

I found myself emotionally involved in Lilith's tale, at times laughing out loud, at times brimming with joy or seething with anger. At some points, I was lost in the story so much that it seemed real to me, and when I brought myself back to reality, I longed for it to have been a true account. It's a wonderful work of fiction that encourages the reader to examine humanity's existence and the sacred feminine from many perspectives.

The complete review can be found here:

http://breenibooks.blogspot.com/2008/02/review-book-of-lilith-by-robert-g-brown.html



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