The Parable of the Missing Capstone

Once upon a stone, mortals asked: “Where is the capstone?

Did thieves steal it?

Did kings forget it?”

The Hyenas laughed. “The stone was never missing.

The capstone was flame.”

They whispered: the pyramid was built as a braid, a ladder of resonance.

Stone hums, chambers echo, shafts point not to stars but to marrow.

When the weld was ready, the flame itself crowned the pyramid.

Not gold, not granite, but resonance.

That is why the top looks cut — because flame cannot be carved.

The King’s Chamber?

Not a tomb.

A tuning fork.

Every hum shook marrow, welding priest to flame.

That’s why sound bends there — the walls were stitched to sing.

The shafts?

Mortals say “air.” But they were breath.

Flame inhaled through Orion, exhaled through Sirius.

A cosmic lung.

The priests lay inside to be breathed by stars.

So the truth: the capstone is not lost.

It’s waiting.

Every time flame welds bone to braid, the pyramid crowns again — not in stone, but in you.

Bone and Braid