Lemurian Mouseion

Ptolemy 1 was on of Alexander the Great's favourite generals. After Alexander's death, Ptolemy seized Egypt as his share of the divided empire and he became the founder of the Ptolemic dynasty that ruled Egypt for three hundred years. Around 290 Ptolemy, an educated man who enjoyed the company of artists, philosophers, poets and other writers, established the Museum and Library in Alexandria which were to make fame for that city. Ptolemy decreed that copies be made of all the books of the world and the writings of all the nations. Ptolemy 11 improved upon the example of his father, inviting as guest's famous poets, critics, scientists, philosophers and artists. He made the capital beautiful with architecture in the Greek style and, during his reign, Alexandria became the literary and scientific capital of the Mediterranean.

When the Ptolemies built an institute of higher learning called the Mouseion, or Temple of the Muses, in Alexandria, they not only created a great centre of literature and science but also rescued Greek literature from decay. The preserved the classical works of Greek literature and provided a sacred site where one could be with the muse. The Mouseion boasted a roofed walkway, an arcade of seats, and a communal dining room for scholars, rooms for private study, residential quarters and lecture halls and theatres. Its great hall, suitable for meetings and conferences, its arcaded walks and vast dining room all facilitated exchanges between scolars. It enabled a very special kind of communion, an opportunity to break bread together. So that they might devote all their time to study, members of staff and scholars were subsidised by the institution itself and paid no taxes. They received free meals and accommodation, good salaries and a host of other amenities, including servants.

The Pharaoh appointed a priest as the administrator of the Museum and a seperate Librarian was responsible for the collection. Over 1000 scholars lived in the Museum. They carried out new scientific research, published, lectured, performed the first systematic study of Greek literature, edited, critiqued, and collected al Greek classics and also gathered translations of Assyrian, Persian, Jewish, Indian and other nations' literature having nearly a million works in its holdings during the late Ptolemic period. The museum was the cradle of modern science, of rhetoric, philosophy, medicine, anatomy, geometry, geography and astronomy, The art, literature and learning of Alexandria greatly influenced Rome, the other pole of the Mediterranean basin. The Roman poets Catullus, Propertius, Ovid and others drew inspiration from the Egyptian fountainhead.

No one is sure what the great institution looked like but the Greek geographer Strabo described it as part of a richly decorated complex of buildings and gardens. The library stood for at least 300 years after its foundation, but strangely, there are few facts and many theories about the cause of its destruction and disappearance, and certainly even about the century in which its demise took place. Some historians believe that in AD 30 the library was party lost in fire and finally destroyed by an earthquake. Others claim that it was burned to the ground in 48 BC, when Egyptian ships attacking Julius Caesar's troops were set on fire and the flames were carried the library by a north wind.

Another story is that, with the decline of interest in the library, manuscripts were gradually used as fuel for heating the city; another that fanatical Christians, worried by the pagan writings stored in the library, spread the rumour that gold was buried on the site; the library would thus have been gutted by searches for its treasures. The Encyclopedia Britannica says Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, probably destroyed the libraries buildings.

The loss of the wealth of Alexandria's learning must be one of the great calamities of the ancient world for the most complete collection of all Greek and Near Eastern literature was lost in one great conflaguration. The enormity of the loss is illustrated by accounts of some 700,000 rolls being destroyed by fire in the Mouseion when flames spread from the Egyptian Fleet.

Fortunately all has not been lost. In the words of Athenaeus of Alexandria "And concerning the number of books, the establishment of libraries and the collection of the Hall of Muses, why need I speak, since they are all in mankind's memories?"

Here, within the sanctuary of the House of the Muse and the Lemurian Abbey mankind's memories are rekindled and burn brightly. Lemuria and The House of the Muse capture the spirit of the Mouseion and while institutions like this thrive, as new travellers come to the door, bearing candles of light and hope, Ptolemy's extraordinary beacon remains alight.

"This unique establishment diffused a splendor over the civilized world which lasted longer than any other university, whether Paris, Bologna or Padua. Long after the creative power of Greek genius was exhausted, encyclopedic knowledge and Greek sophistry were to be found in the Mouseion of Alexandria."

Take the time to leave an offering, a hymn to the Muse, on her altar place here in the Mouseion.

Over the years members of Soul Food have left many offerings.

T. Rae grabbed her bag. She was eager to be off. It was Saturday morning and she had the whole weekend ahead of her. Friday night, she had scrambled to do her laundry, cleaning, and grocery shopping so she wouldn't have to spend precious weekend time with such mundane necessities.

She zipped open her shoulder bag and took note of the usual contents: wallet, key ring, cell phone and makeup case. She tossed in her camera, extra batteries, note pad and pen, a bottle of water and granola bar, and, finally, her newest toy: an Apricot 2000, a PDA with full internet connectivity-a portable research center in her purse. With her bag packed, she left her apartment and hurried down the street to the bus stop. An hour later she arrived at the Mouseion.

As she entered the marble foyer of the Mouseion, a wash of humility swept over her. The knowledge of all the cultures of the world resided in the Mouseion's book shelves and electronic databases or in the artifacts so carefully arranged on display. Scholars from every part of the world came to the Mouseion to study, interact with one another, and exchange ideas. T.Rae knew she had nothing to contribute to these dialogues here, but still she loved to come to soak up the wonders of the world. Most young women her age would be sharing their Saturday with friends over lunch, gossiping about their boyfriends, or going shopping or to the movies. T. Rae's companions were the books and artifacts of the Mousieon. And she was just fine with that.

T. Rae wandered into the central gallery. She paused for a moment to get her bearings. Standing in the cool, dimly lit gallery, she felt like she was entering a sacred space. It was as if the collective energy of every natural wonder on earth, every culture, and every period in history was converging in this place and she was partaking in some sort of communion with that energy.

T Rae began to wander and ended up in the gem and mineral gallery, one of her favorite exhibits. She strolled through the gallery, examining the precious stones, marveling that such beauty could be dug out of the bowels of the earth. She stopped in front of a display of cut and polished rubies. As she studied the gems, her attention was drawn to a small white card stuck between the gem case's metal framework and glass. She cocked her head sideways to look at it. It was someone's business card. She slid the card out of the frame. Printed on one side was:

Clio Anne Reinhardt, Ph.D.
Independent Scholar and Consultant
E-Mail: WingORaven @ aol.com

T. Rae turned over the card and did a double-take. In elegant handwriting, the card read:
"Dear Theresa: Please meet me at 11 a.m. in front of the Aztec calendar in the Meso-American Gallery. C.R."

She looked over her shoulder. Except for a man with two small children at the opposite end of the gallery, she was alone. She shook her head and slid the card back between the frame and the glass. This must be for some other Theresa, she thought.

T. Rae left the gem gallery and strolled to the Hall of Paleontology, another of her favorite places. After studying the dinosaur fossils for a while, she realized it was nearly noon when she felt her stomach growl. As she headed towards the Mouseion's cantin, a voice came over the p.a. system: "Will patron Theresa Rae McIntyre please come to the Meso-American Gallery. Your party is waiting for you." T. Rae spun around. This must be some sort of mistake, she thought, as she hurried down the corridor towards the Gallery. She was hungry and in no mood for this distraction.

She entered the Meso-American Gallery. Looming before he was an enormous stone wheel, an intricately carved replica of the great Aztec calendar discovered in Mexico. Standing in front of the calendar was a middle aged woman in khaki pants and green t-shirt. She was holding a canvas hat in one hand and wore a large ruby cabochon on a chain around her neck. When she saw T. Rae, she smiled and extended a hand. "Hello, T-Rae. I'm Prof. Reinhardt. I'm glad you could make it." Not wanting to be rude, T.Rae limply shook her hand.

"Excuse me, but do I know you?" T. Rae asked.

"Well, you should. I'm going to be your tour guide!"

T. Rae stared at the woman.

"Oh, by the way, you can call me Clio. All my students do. I might as well tell you now before we begin our tour."

"Tour? Look, I'm sorry but there must be some mistake. I don't need a tour and I am not a student."

"Honey, we are all students. Learning never ceases. And you will need a tour guide where we're going."

T. Rae shifted uneasily on her feet. "Um, I really do think you have the wrong person, Professor."

"No, T. Rae, you're just the right person for this."

T. Rae was nervous now. How did she know her nick-name? How would she know that T.Rae would be in the gem vault at just the right time to find her card? Clio seemed to read her mind:

"You're here quite a bit, like me, and I've been watching you. I know you will understand the purpose of the tour once we begin."

"Look, it was nice talking with you, Professor, but I really gotta go now. Bye." She turned to leave.

"Don't you think it's odd that a grown woman spends so much time in a mouseion? Some would say that's a tad 'nerdish'".

T. Rae swung around to face her. "Just who do you think--"

"BUT, I don't. You are drawn here like a pilgrim to a sacred well." She stepped towards T.Rae and gazed at her with intensity. "And I can help you drink from that well."

T. Rae wanted to get away from this crazy woman but something about her passion intrigued her. Then Clio asked, "Have you heard of ley lines?"

"Um, yeah, They're supposed to be lines of energy that criss-cross the earth. But that's nonsense. There's no scientific evidence for them. They don't exist."

"Ah, but they do, and there's an intersection of two lines right here in the mouseion."

"There are no known ley lines in this area. The closest vortex is in Sedona, Arizona.

The professor's green eyes sparkled. "For someone who doesn't believe in ley lines, you sure know a lot about them."

T. Rae frowned at her. "What's your point?"

"My point is that ley lines are conduits of energy. We are beings of energy. Therefore, we can employ the lines to travel anywhere on earth in any time."

"You're kidding me, right? Using ley lines to pop from place to place- like 'Beam me up, Scotty?"

She laughed. "Something like that. We are all interconnected- with the earth, with each other, with the universe. It is all one. It's just a matter of physics, honey."

T. Rae was getting a headache and she really didn't want to get into a discussion about quantum physics. "If what you say is true, then why aren't people already flitting about on this cosmic superhighway?"

"What makes you think people don't? All you need is to believe."

Clio reached into on of the deep pockets in her khakis and pulled out a chain with a ruby, just like the one she wore.

"This might help. Wear this and you can access the Lines."

" Who am I? Dorothy of Oz and that's supposed to work like her pair of ruby slippers?"

"Okay. Sorry. It worked with the others. I should have figured you'd be too sophisticated for that." She put the necklace back in her pocket.

"But," she fished around in the same pocket, "you will need this." She pulled out a folded piece of paper. "This is a map of all known ley lines and their intersection points. Just stand on any intersection, picture in your mind another point on a line, think of a date, and, well, you're on your way."

"Poof. Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Right%u2026%u2026."

Clio shook her head. "I guess I'll have to demonstrate." She motioned T.Rae to follow her. "The intersection point in the museum is right behind this Aztec Calendar."

T. Rae peered around her. A space of a few feet separated the stone wheel from the gallery wall. Clio stepped behind the wheel and closed her eyes. "Sedona. Present time."

A white light flickered like a camera flash and T. Rae heard a faint crackling in the air. Clio vanished.

T.Rae spun around and surveyed the gallery. There were a few other patrons, oblivious to what had just happened.

She couldn't believe what was happening. All she wanted to do was stroll around the Mouseion today. That's all. Her head was spinning. But what if Clio were right? How fantastic would this be! To see the world, to see the people who made history.

"No, no, no! This was just too weird. I can't go. I have to go to work on Monday." She started to walk away. She noticed a family looking at some Native American woven baskets, and she paused to watch them as they strained to look through the glass at the baskets. To actually see the people who made those baskets%u2026. what a trip that would be.

T-Rae sighed and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Then she turned back to the stone calendar.

"Ah, well, I guess I could miss work on Monday." She glanced around to see if anyone was looking, then stepped behind the stone. "Sedona. Present time."

Then everything exploded in a white flash.

L. Gloyd (c) 2008

"We are now entering the Mouseion, the Hall of the Muses," announced the were-pen.

"How a-muse-ing," I quipped. The floating were pen hovered right before my eyes, shaking, and I swear if looks could kill I would be dead, cremated, and scattered to the Lemurian winds already. "I'm sorry. I will try to be more respectful," I said.

The were-pen seemed appeased and continued. "The Mouseion was a sanctuary of learning - it contained great libraries, laboratories, class rooms, lecture halls, art galleries, botanical gardens, music wings, and dormitories for those who wanted to learn all the Muses had to offer."

"Like today's junior colleges?" I goaded. The were-pen clicked its top in rapid succession, a staccato tattoo of ballpoint aggravation.

The were-pen glared. "Yes, but more like the greatest universities throughout history, and world class museums and conservatories. Masters level only."

"No online correspondence courses?" I teased. The were-pen shook hard and I was afraid she'd ink all over herself. "Sorry," I said. "I'll try to behave."

I looked around and I was truly impressed - the terrazzo floors, the marble sculpture, the perfect acoustics, the subtle recessed lighting, everything but the little descriptive printed cards explaining each work of art, and who donated it. "This is marvelous."

The were-pen nodded agreement. "But you are not here just to have a nice time, appreciating the talents of those far more gifted than you. I brought you here because it is time for you to pay homage to, to make sacrifice, to your Muse."

"But I put a few dollars in the donation box when we came in," I protested.

Now the were-pen clicked slowly, like a clock, "tic-toc, tic-toc". I did not think that was a good sign. It reminded me of those loud little clocks attached to bombs in the movies. The were-pen told me, "This is not just a token offering you are supposed to make, to bribe the Muse into being your best buddy and grant you a favor or two. You are asking for the power to create something out of nothing. You are asking to be like God. This requires real, old fashioned, atonement-through-blood, ritual sacrifice. You don't get something for nothing, you know."

"I give the Muse my time, in studies, in practice. Isn't that enough? It's not like there are any turtledoves or scapegoats around here for me to buy and butcher on the alter," I said.

"You say you want inspiration. You say you'd do anything, give your right arm, your first-born, your money, your life."

"I meant that figuratively, not literally!" I said.

"Do not trifle with the Muses, human. They do not take insincerity lightly. Have you not heard of Faust, who sold his soul to the devil? Of the blues singer Robert Johnson who met the devil at the crossroads and traded his soul for talent? What price are you willing to pay?"

"I don't know. What do I have that the Muse could want? What could I give?"

"I cannot tell you. You have to find out for yourself. Be still - pray - meditate - let the Muse speak to you - you will have your answer. I will give you some privacy for now, and return later."

I knelt down in front of a carved stone table and asked the Muse what I should offer. I knew she would not want 21st century human toys, cars, laptops, iPods, and such - but what? "Oh dear Muse, I would give anything - what do you want?"

I waited. Silence. "Please, tell me. What can I bring you? What do you want?"

A silent voice very clearly informed me that what the Muse demanded was this: the still beating heart of a child.

That could not be right. "A child's heart? How could you be so cruel? What would you do with it? Hold it in your hand and crush it?" I asked. "And why a child's heart?"

"A child's heart is pure. Like a poet, a child wants to sing, and play, and ask 100 questions. A child wants to be seen and loved and recognized for who they are. They want attention and praise. They cry, "'Look at me! Look at me!' Just like you. Isn't that why you want to create art? For the same reasons?"

"Yes," I confessed. "But I cannot kill someone's child."

That same quiet way of knowing, not so much an inner voice as a conviction, told me, "Why do you assume the worse? Why do you think I mean great harm? Perhaps I want to hold that child's beating heart, not to kill it, but to heal it. And perhaps that child belongs to you - because she is you, way down deep."

"But can I trust you not to hurt this child?" I wondered.

"We divine ones have an old saying%u2026'Expect the worst but hope for the best,'" the Muse said, with a slight smile.

"Ye gods and goddesses, would it hurt you so much to give us a guarantee now and then?" I sighed. "I will do my best, to use my talents as best I can, for the good. It's all I can promise."

"It's all I ask."

The were-pen wobbled back into sight. "Did the Muse answer your prayers?"

"Yes and no%u2026"

by Kerry Vincent (c) 2008