The Traveller the Untold Stories of Cupid Consecution Three: THE TRAVELLER The Untold Stories of Cupid, #3

By Ken Kammal

The Traveller's writings are memoirs and esoteric experiences, which include recorded travels, visions, and dreams. In Consecution Three, The Traveller will have the fortunate, misfortune, of being an eyewitness to the collapse of this world. Conveyed in this literary format, you will be afforded the opportunity to take a journey with The Traveller, within this world. Hopefully, to know, experience, understand, and to perhaps unfold which is enveloped within you…your SOUL.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ken Kammal
• Release date: Nov 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781954734111

Ken Kammal

Ken Kammal is a writer who resides in Las Vegas, Nevada, U.S. As an Internationally published artist and writer Ken Kammal has an eclectic writing and artistic style that embodies his dreams, visions, travels, and inner work. Ken Kammal states, “I do not just want to share my reality, that some may call “Fiction” …I want to invoke the inner Being in all who view, connect, and feel this artistry of My Soul.”

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THE TRAVELLER

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the untold stories of Cupid

CONSECUTION THREE

UTTERANCE Twenty One of Twenty Two

KEN KAMMAL

The Traveller: the untold stories of Cupid - consecution three

UTTERANCE Twenty One of Twenty Two

Copyright © 2022 by Ken Kammal/The Traveller Publishing, LLC.

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from The Traveller Publishing, LLC, and Ken Kammal, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For more information, email: [e-mail]

The Traveller Publishing website: www.thetravellerpublishing.com

The Traveller Logos are Trademarks of The Traveller Publishing LLC.

Cover and Book Design by Ken Kammal/The Traveller Publishing Co.

All artistic images are works of Ken Kammal and The Traveller Publishing Co.

ISBN: 978-1-954734-10-4 (Paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-954734-12-8 (Audiobook)

ISBN: 978-1-954734-11-1 (e-book)

The Library of Congress Control Number (LCCN): 2022916508

INTRODUCTION

UTTERANCE Twenty-One of Twenty-Two

To approach something, with the intent to see an edifying experience manifested. Then, for that experience to be, of utter reproach… for that manifestation ever taking place on my journey. Knowing that my thoughts, of that memory, would always be relegated to the spoiled leftovers of my travels. This would be both the miracle, a rejoiceful remembrance of that memory and the marred morsel left in my mind. Quite an unmistakable waste of memory, in a compact space.

To Be Swallowed Whole

Who knew that a world that appealed to the eyes, would be such a deceiver? This deception had mass appeal, with the multitude of men. I never loved this world, but I traveled to become of love, in this world. I traveled to know love, in its deepest desires of existence in me. It was never going to be a homecoming for me. I carried my home on my back as a tortoise does, limited in knowing, if I was on the right tract.

The droplets from the makeshift shower poured upon my face as I washed the sand, grit and sweat off my body. Then there was a knock at the door. I turned, looking back through the opening of the shower curtain. The old woman laid the clean clothes down on the stool slowly, as she looked at me naked in the shower, she then closed the door gently and spoke from the other side of the door. She said, These clothes should be suitable enough for you. Let me know, I will be up front, waiting for you.

I replied, thank you, as I washed my face and neck. A few minutes past, I rinsed off the fragrant soap and stepped out of the shower to dry myself. Thereafter, I reached for my fetching and shaft of the undone arrow, the red string, and the unpolished black diamond, that I left under my wet and sweat stained garments. They were not there.

I put my clothes on, but my shirt was still halfway unbuttoned. I briskly walked out of the bathroom to the front of the house, trying to dry myself off from the shower. The water still dripping from my head.

I entered the room. And there the old woman sat, holding the unpolished diamond of mine. And the undone arrow and red string rested upon the table in front of her. There was a silence between us before she spoke, I can see in your eyes this rock means a lot to you. And the feather, not so straight as it probably should be, has taken you into a whirlwind of whims, I have guessed, based on its rummaged look. However, this red string…I cannot see why you carry such a thing. Whichever garment it came from, that person who wore it, has been long gone.

Next, she stated, Do not tell me you thought I would try and take these things of yours? Where would I go, over there with them? As she pointed out of her front window, to the place that took up the spans, in the horizon ahead. I never want to go back there. They have such a disdain for my love of the murky waters.

I responded, A disdain for your love of the murky waters. I do not understand.