The Holy Dove
In the 31st year of his life, in the 31st autumn of his years, Theosyzygos the Weak ascended to the Mount of Olives.
Every mountain, they had told him, was worthy of such a name!
Thus it is that we know not whither he ascended.
Theosyzygos was sore of heart, and he wept for very fear.
“How do I know if this journey is a prudent one?
“How may I know I am heading in the right direction?
“And how will there be any answer, unless someone is sent unto me?”
And Theosyzygos wept aloud.
All of a sudden, a dove flew down from the Heavens.
Theosyzygos stretched forth his arm, to hail the dove good day.
The dove bore a precious twig in her shiny beak.
The eyes of Theosyzygos grew wide as saucers, and his heart leapt for very joy.
The dove drew near, and Theosyzygos smiled to see her beauty.
The dove alighted on the earth, and strode proudly. All of a sudden she opened her beak, dropped the twig, and sang to greet the morning.
The merry heart of Theosyzygos was filled with joy, and he reached down to stroke the bird.
All of a sudden, the bird twitched her wing in fear. Theosyzygos took a step back, fearing to startle the precious creature. The dove flapped her wings, and with a scream of terror, she soared into the boundless heavens.
Theosyzygos wept, and beat his breast.
“What manner of man is this,” he sobbed, as his shoulders heaved, and his chest pounded, fit to breaking.
“What manner of man is this, that even the birds of the air, and the beast of the fields, flee from him like a wild man of the desert?”