The Burning bush (Hans Zimmer)
I know the text and the oral tradition about us. The speculations about our origins, as old as the world, are no strange to me.
There are some who raised from the foam of the sea. From the green grass of a prairie. From the cold and pure snow falling from the sky. From a sun ray. From the mud.
I know what my origins are. I had them in front of me that day, painted on the walls.
A woman with intense blue eyes and Isis' attributes appeared sideways, showing a swollen abdomen. 'The fertile soul of Egypt, who conceives without a man', the inscriptions said. A questionable statement. A rumor has come to me which said that the Roman Empire had much to do with her state, just like it is said about Greece's, who also has a history in common and was born from a woman. But that is another story I don't really care about, not even nowadays. There was my mother, in a four thousand and three hundred years old mural. I couldn't stop looking at her. Although I never forgot her and I won't as long as I live, I needed to see her.
Like a child, I sought my mother in those desperate times looking for advice, guide, maybe the affection I haven't received from her in a long time. It was a burial too damaged to be touristic. No meddling archaeologist ever found it. It was my little secret. My sanctuary.
I saw her died over a thousand years ago, when the last priest who kept her cult switched to the side of those who subdued us and divided my mother's kingdom among each other and renegaded from goddess Isis to worship the Pagan gods. She was beautiful and strong till the end. The sun was falling, I remember. She placed her hands on me to caress me for the last time, gave me a little kiss and said to me: 'be strong, have a long and prosper life and never forget I love you'. And she merged with the sand of the desert, without fear, without pain. As serene as always.
I didn't allow myself to be sad. That was not what she would have wanted. Besides, she never leaved me completely. I could still hear her whispers in the wind.
But those days I went to the temple to visit the tomb in which her portrait was preserved and I thought of her for a long time.
"It is possible that I'll be joining you, mother".
Not even at that time I let fear take over me. Dying, after all, is just a formality.
During all this time I had tried to honor her memory, protect her treasures. Because nobody dies until they are forgotten.
Then they came, like the ten plagues.
With their words, they poisoned the minds of the desperate. They used violence to bring fear into the hearts of the weak. In their pretension to create a new world they tried to destroy the old one.
They went after my neighbors first. Then, I became their victim.
But it was my mother who suffered their attacks.
They destroyed museums. Burnt papyrus. Broke sculptures and palimpsests. They painted the murals in which the gods and pharaohs were represented.
There was no place for theocracy in the new world. Not even as a memory from the past.
They took me by surprise. They found the entrance and demolished it with explosives. The structure was left so damaged there was no need for them to intervene further: it fell down itself.
"MOTHER!"
...
I crawled among stones and sand until I reached the surface. I took in a desperate puff of air. They had left long before, leaving me in the darkness of a sky without stars.
...
Yes. I collaborated with the giant of the cold. Having had his resources, it would have been me who buried them in the sand.
I only did what I had to do to keep the promise I made to her.
