The Courses

Over the centuries of her existence, Nemnu Ula has produced many writings. Most of these remain under the careful curation of her Voice priests and inner circle, and are never disseminated further. However, several key teachings outlined below — partly religious or spiritual, partly philosophical, partly evoking Nemnu's training as a mystic — are shared among the folk of Nemnosti openly, and used as part of the training of acolytes across all professions. These are known as Nemnu's courses (leluta, pl. lelutte) - i.e., knowledge that has flowed through time, or that flows from Nemnu to her pupils. These are neither heretical nor are they part of standard teaching to become a Voice or a mystic; rather, they reflect the specific philosophy and orientation of Nemnosti that one acquires alongside more widespread teachings.

The raindrop

A raindrop falls upon the peak of Momichas and begins to roll down the slope. Can we tell its path? No, of course not. It may strike a pebble and move around it. It may strike a patch of snow and meld into it, storing it for a summer heat. Or it may begin to move, now east, now west, without cause or intention. No one can tell exactly where it will go. But if it moves, it will head downward, towards the lowlands.

The world, like the raindrop, is Unfolding, beldunai, always turning this way and that, and for us to claim to know its precise path is pure arrogance. But to say we can know nothing is to say no more than if we say that we do not know how the rain flows down Momichas. Just as the drop flows downhill, Unfolding has its own special character, its discernable qualities. Our imperfect knowledge is nonetheless a true understanding of pattern.

The Source is as the raindrop held in the mountain snowbank. To grasp a single snowflake from the peak of Momichas is impossible. But still, every year, the snows melt, and the rivers flow, first etching out the tiniest channel, then greater and greater still. Even the mighty Pardopasu was once the trace of a single snowflake from Momichas. When we invoke Source, we draw on those concentrations that have been left along the way.

So, too, are we called upon to trace our channels, first timidly, with a single rivulet, tentative, uncertain, then stronger and firmer as we practice our art. We see the broad patterns, and we know that the water flows downhill. We draw more and more water into our channels, and in so doing, in mastering our art, chisel the course yet more firmly. In a lifetime, you may, if you are diligent, seek to carve yourself a great valley.

The straight and the bent

The geometers tell us that the straight path is the shortest one. And so it may be on the slate. But ask yourself:

When we cut across a fos root, we see in it the many paths of Source traced out there. Among the unlearned, it is often thought that the fos is the Source. This is a mistake that can be deadly, for it leads to thoughtless consumption. Rather, the fos is the tap that binds the visible world to the Source around us, that lets us draw on it. The curved patterns within the fos are the map that traces how we reach that Source, just as a map might take us to the headwaters of the river, if we are careful. But to fail to respect the map is to risk a journey much longer, and much more arduous, than that which we would prefer. Such a path has been tried many times before, and often for ill.

So it is that the bent path, the one that winds with the Source rather than beats against its channels, is often the wisest one though it seems long. So too, young initiate, you should be careful in your training not to seek too swiftly to exceed the pace of what your masters divulge - they are your guides on this journey, the duration of which is a lifespan.

Alabaster

You can see the patterns of Source reflected in the world, if you only look. I have taught you already to see the paths of Source in the rivers, as they go from the headwaters to the delta by the sea. But if you look deeply, you will see these paths in patterns throughout the world. Take ebu, the fine alabaster whose concretions grace the Pardopasu. When first quarried, it might look rough, but polish it for a moment and you will see the pattern of striations emerge, the veins. These are as the ink across the page, the traces of past working, the evidence that Source flows all around us. Like the fos root, like the river's flow, the veins of alabaster are unpredictable, and yet very beautiful in their pattern.

We know that, left unprotected, alabaster is subject to the rain. Its beauty and its patterns of veins also make it susceptible to damage from the chaos of rainfall and flood. So, too, should you think of Source. It is neither limitless nor free and must be treasured, used wisely and guarded against misuse. Unfolding is uncaring, and the emerging world poses dangers to our resources. The one who would squander it or fall into profligacy, that is like the ill-trained stonecutter or the irresponsible caretaker. The alabaster is our treasure, and how we care for it shows the world how we care for all of the bounties of Coherence.

Silences and stillnesses

I have said much about change. And it is true that the world is always Unfolding, and that is, inherently, a process of change. But amidst the change the world is occupied by many stillnesses, and these should not escape our attention. Amidst every melody there are silences, just as a river's flow is punctuated by a still pond. In these silences, and in these stillnesses, we may enjoy respite from what might otherwise be an uncontrolled flowing of source. The lake is a lacuna, a gap, a hole, a place of rest and hiding. In our lives, there are countless burdens upon us, pulling us one way or another, dragging us against our will. And so it must sometimes be. But seek out the still places, even so, when you can.

Nemnosti is meant as a place of the gaps, of the silences and stillnesses. It is meant to provide a quiet pond to allow still thought, unurgent reflection, quietude. A place where Source and wisdom alike have been allowed to sit still, against the inevitable flow of time. Stillness does not mean no change - just as every pond is renewed from rain or from rivers or springs, and even as water is drawn off by the sun. So we too are aware of change, and mindful of the nature of Unfolding as an agent of transformation. The stillness is simply to give us the time to consider mindfully these changes as they take place around us.

Upness

A fast runner can, with luck and in good weather, leave Ai Dandura at dawn and reach Nemnosti by nightfall. Yet that day's journey is a hundred years or more. The masters of time magic say that truly travelling back in time is impossible. And yet a simple journey of some twenty miles, up the course of the Pasu, takes one back as surely as if it were accomplished through the mightiest working of Source. To clamber up the river valley is to take oneself away from the familiar, from the present, and into the past. Too, one can go further, up into the highlands, the Ghegom, and up to great red Momichas itself.

And so I say to you that each step up is a step back. Or so those wiser than us have said. Now, this goes against our instinct. We are taught, as children perhaps, but certainly as novices, to think of tapping down into the past, to our Ancestors, to the roots of trees, to the ruins of olden times. So here is the paradox: both upness and downness take us back to the past. The future, in contrast, is truly unreachable - we only get there one minute at a time, and without any map to guide us. It is concealed in fog, and we have only our knowledge of the paths we have travelled to help us guess what we will see.

As it turns out

I have said many times that the specific paths of Unfolding cannot be predicted - the world is patterned but not rigid. There is this way of talking, "as it turns out" - as the folds of reality emerge through time. The temptation, then, is to simply hand oneself over to the flow of the river, to act as though what will eventually happen, must be what will happen. To talk of predestination is folly. Even to say that, because we know that we will reach the mouth of the river, that the path we take does not matter, is simple and childish. There are many paths of Unfolding, and many courses along the river that pose less or more danger. So it is our obligation not simply to say "as it turns out" or "as things unfolded" but to look and act, every moment, as if our actions do matter. Because they will, often, matter - even if we do not readily see in the course of the moment, how or why.

Fairness

Here at Nemnosti I have always taught that fairness is a high principle, one of the highest. But what does it mean to be fair? When I was a girl everyone counted the months by the old way, the Negili reckoning. Then the Omban Emperor said that there should be a new way, a Fair Cycle, with every month the same, balanced. This is a strange sense of fair. Why should the giant and the dwarf both be handed the same blade and told to fight? People are not the faces of a die. I have taught that every acolyte's path is unknown, each unfolding on their own path, with their own talents and abilities. Why should we demand sameness and call it justice? So we understand that fairness does not mean there are no differences in rank or profession. Each person has their role to play. But do not presume that everyone must be treated the same.

Loyalty and staunchness

What is loyalty, and should we expect it? I do not think so. I have always set out my expectations for my kin and acolytes that we ought to be a community with a constant commitment to common goals. You will learn many things in my courses, many rules and ideas and principles. Sometimes these are hard to make sensible or to accord one with the other. And I do not claim that it is easy, but I do insist that to live without rules and pattern is to invite chaos.

But now imagine there were only one rule, "Be loyal to Nemnu". We could put that rule above all others, and say that no matter what else, doing what I command is the only way. That seems simpler - now there is but one rule. But that is worse, for now, not only do you have one course that conflicts with another, but then this greater rule, which could conflict with any of them. And then what if I am wrong? Becoming a saint has made me ageless but it has not made me infallible.

So I do not ask that you are loyal, if what that means that you simply follow what I want. Obedience is a lazy master. Instead of loyalty, I ask of you staunchness. To be staunch is to stand alongside me, to work towards our common purposes, but not just because I am Nemnu. To be staunch is to be the riverbank, holding back the waters and channelling them, knowing there are others who stand beside you in common cause.
I am neither your commander nor your queen, and certainly not your god.

The hard and the soft

To work in alabaster is to become aware of the fragility of stone, so seemingly hard. Yet despite its beauty, alabaster is permeable to merest water. As soon as it is quarried, it is in a state of decay. Even a sweaty palm can do it damage, or a heavy fog laying over the Pardopasu. Eventually, it will crumble to dust. So how do we ensure that it will last? First, of course, we move it away from danger, away from riverbanks and thunderstorms and unwelcome dew. And then we can coat and treat it, so that it is protected against these many dangers.

To be human is to be as alabaster, at the same time hard and soft. If we do not protect ourselves from the elements, we will crumble, because the dangers of the world are as ephemeral as water. Our minds, especially, become sodden so easily. We must not be fooled by the appearance of our own hardness into believing that we are invincible, or believing that we must act as if we were. Be soft, children of stone, and know that I will protect you against the autumn rains.