The penultimate offering is carried upon a bark by the ancient wisdom-bearers, elders of old, the keepers of knowledge, who within their community, imparted the visions of the ancient Ini-verse of Kmt along the celestial Nile.

From all corners of the interior regions the People of the South originally came. They came, as they already were, and left as if they had never been, with remnants remaining and descendants returning home to bodies of water near and afar. Like the priests who travelled between the two Ipet Isut temples, one in the Hapi found in the South of the North and the other in the Hapi North of the South located at the foothills of the Holy Mountain in the Black Land. Was it by the boat of papyri, or by foot, or by word of mouth carried through the desert paths of the various Wadis, or perhaps by the tonal memories of the organic world of marshes and evergreens where the ancestors with animal skins, ostrich feathers, axes and staffs alongside flag-bearers and drummers came? An ancient caravan of Black instrumentalists, soldiers, traders, sages, women and children of esteemed families appearing to lay the cornerstone at the first courts of Nekhen, the City of the Hawk, greeted by the mastery of celestial melodies and the hospitality of communality carried forth from the chapels and kiosks of word and sound.

Was wisdom in Amenti - the real of the living dead pre-existing within the genetic structure of your cultural head - which expressed wisdom in musical melodies, a language heard by those in tune? Was it by these melodies that these ancient personalities came and later left? We still cannot forget what has always been the mark of Afrikans, in the most sacred and venerable words of the drum language which carry the essences of wood and flesh, word and sound, united in the utterances of power. A reality self-defined. For the drum is the prehistoric technology that unites cultures aligned with this cosmic membrane that carries meaningful sounds across dimensions and communicates with the distant reaches of the Persea, Baobab, Impepho and Frackinscence mind. For now we know of the reverberations of the Ngoma in the Centre and the South, the Djembe in the Great West, the Kebero in the Middle East and the ḳmḳm in the Ancient North, and we should over-stand that rhythm in all fields of life is the key to the way for any enduring Afrikan unification, as Smai Tawyi in Kush and Kmt which was continually realised.

Such forms of writings were found in the pools between the books of stone consumed by the lacunae of artifice. Seemingly, the pylons have sunk into the dunes of uncertainty, but so do the records of time rise to the surface. The terraced courts appear ruined in misguided remembrance, vanity and selfishness, instead of farmlands and fecund fields abundant in hospitality and unconditional kindness. For the durations of the ages running forth from the hourglass of life itself have, by the hands of those who seek ultimately dominate it, changed the topography of community, memory, and self along the river. Intermediacy infers normalcy and continuity. But what is present becomes the grounds of the real, that is great beauty among clear attempts at erasure, replacement and rupture; which we are now tasked to restore for the communities of the inland, and those of the shorelines.

For the River Nile, Hapi, from its blossoming solar Delta to its lunar headwaters represents a relic among relics, perceived by one and all, either overstood or misinterpreted by the lack of wisdom in unjustified judgement calls. If left unattended or in ruin it becomes merely a dormant space of imagining and projection, an inactive catalyst for future histories and therefore useless in the present dispensation to the youth who have arrived disenfranchised. Regardless, we are prescribed to not pollute the waters irrespective of the state of our mind.

In a real sense, ‘the story of the Nile is yet untold,’ said an Emperor of Old. The story of the Nile is a story of technical languages which study and objectify its parts and pieces, why such a disregard for the Afrikan living heart? Yet nature takes care of its own and so it has been sown into the fields of consciousness that what is hidden from the wickedly wise and prudent is eventually revealed to those of a newborn organic wisdom.

While the seals of the ancestors and their aeons have been broken; nature, form and structure has yet endured. As the temples and the marvels of Kmt and its heartland come to light and knowledge to the watching world, this knowledge reduces to the semantics about who knows and who does not know. But when semantics is stripped away, all people of the Nile and those whose consciousness is carried by the Nile can affirm a unity in the significance of its waters, the lifeblood of human fruitfulness and abundance.

As most do not respect the laws of organic existence they reject the wisdom of unified polarity, that is, observing opposites in complementarity. For there to be North, South was first to exist. For there to be One Land, its double must be reflected.

Before the records of Kmt, Kush had always been known. And before Kush, was the Land of the Nehsu, a vast matrix of places and principalities. There, nestled just beyond one of Hapi’s dwelling places in the land of the Nehesu where Ausar is said to have come forth, was that not the beloved Land of the Sacred Ones, the Almighties, Ta-Netjer? Was it not there, where Nehesu dwelt too, in Zep-Tepi, the ‘First Time’, where the cosmic conceptions of culture, unification, civilisation and communication were being crafted by children of Ptah? Was it not under the guidance of the invisible force of creation Amun, who let it be, and Atum-Ra which emerged as the signal for the rising of the ancient monolith to be formed as the lion of the horizon Horemakhet like those unconquerable mountain ranges in the vast and expansive Lands of Tigray and Bouar?

InI as Afrikans and Afrikan descendants see a desert land, the Red Land, Deshret, along the horizon of the West, we see a map that charts the course of the river with the celestial roof in text where the epics of eternity are written, proclaiming the significance of the waters emerging from distant vistas.
We read:
‘I am that who brings Kmt and that which sustains you. Who (h)am I(nI) now?’ the River appears to ask.

For the Ibis or the Lotus found in Egypt, Sudan, or Uganda are not of a different nature, quality or uniqueness, but is there really a difference? Is there any need for difference in the recognition of the source of all sources? The Great Blackness from whence all came? As these things descend from one source and disperse, congregating, isolating, adapting or succumbing to ever-changing conditions of thriving and surviving populating the celestial formations of various societies.

For InI have not seen or could not foresee the mdu ntr, the inscribed sacred and ideal spoken forms, but InI know the Mdu Netjer foresaw we. To transmit memories is to labour in the fields of uncertainty but to yield produce and seeds too great to be consumed by a lifetime of use, from those methods newly discovered or those time honoured, but which are still drawn from a unified and balanced cultural root.

To transmit memory in code is to submit to a cultural memory that which subsumes both her story and his story into sediments of thought-guided action which uphold the sovereignty of the many levels of individual and collective consciousness. The thought of He who they call Thoth but who is esteemed and venerated in the name of the principle, Tjehuti, is not based on merely showing mortals how to write, but to extend the work of matrifocality in social living. That is, Tjehuti continues the work of Wisdom herself, who is also his consort and partner who invents the art and form of script, Seshat. It is Tjehuti who dwells in this river giving resonance to the codes, ledgers, utterances, records and documents for the generations among the many Lime, Black and Red mounds.

When these artefacts emerged out of the water, InI thus reflected that even if these words appear out of the archival footage of the recorded and unseen imagination, they are the impressions of the serene dream of Nun, the cyclical rising into, and descent out of those Black waters. The eyes of the listener, the visionary, the players and attendants of instruments and music can enter into a journey of serene riverine dream into cyclical rebirths, an entire valley rooted to the forests of life itself which becomes a brainstem, a tree of life, that flowers into the gift of life, abundance, prosperity and health.

In communion and community with the waters of the earth, the river is everywhere its waters are. Death or the end serves merely as the affirmation of existence, the appearance of change and conversion, the falcon flying off into the distant edges of the West. With water, birth becomes the confirmation of the cycles of energy in smoke from the incense thurible of continuity, like the scarab appearing in the East, at dawn, to begin its selfless and earthly labour.

We may know of today, for we have heard the end and so every other day, so today becomes a repetition of yesterday. However, when tomorrow appears, the same truth and certainty of today appears as an unknown to the truth seekers' sorrow. Suddenly a mountain like Moya or Hora can appear and the course of what is known and unknown changes, this is the nature of the river. The river itself dictates the flow, down the River Nile, we ask, which way did those Black ideas flow?