"And I exist as all exists

As part of evolution

Thus in change we are one

And I and you have common meaning

But from there we differ

For I know all that can be known

And this you cannot do."

Long sound, long sound, short sound, long, then pause. First is here, the next two tones higher. Third is here and fourth goes here. Quaver, quarter note distinction. Letter and number are so formed.

Richard Wagner’s quill now stopped in its writing, held poised while Wagner waited for the daemon’s response.

Richard felt his annoyance rising. Why did it take so long? Surely he could have picked a better daemon. One that knew what it was about, that at least understood the rudiments of music. She, the feminine half, would have understood, but the sprite was absent, leaving him to this daemon alone.

Richard owed this daemon and that in itself did not endear it to him. Too many people owed for there to be gratitude. And certainly not to this daemon he had made.

Richard suspected at times that the daemon had its own agenda, was almost using him, inciting him to greatness for some end of its own. But then, why should this daemon have a different personality to those he himself used and who in turn used him?

Wagner waited. Waited for appreciation of the code. Waited. The power built into the Morning Dreamsong, surely it must see. Waited for what he knew would happen, wanted to happen, needed to happen. This was no common daemon, it criticised his work. Only when it was satisfied would Wagner know the rightness of the code.

The Morning Dreamsong, Walther’s Dreamsong, the centre piece of "The Mastersingers" opera. The Morning song where stars glisten through the dawn lit leaves. Lucifer, the Morning Star.

The daemon did not speak. It could not speak to him. It did not need to speak to him. No words, just a subtle affecting of the senses. In deeper, deepness Wagner and daemon, a oneness needing no words.

Wagner’s secret daemon shared only with Mathilde. Mathilde and Wagner. Daemon and sprite. These correct unities in duality share a secret, the secret of a code.

Wagner had dared himself to be so bold as to share his dream with her. In a letter to Mathilde Wiesendonck, May 2, 1860 he penned . "I shall leave it also to my protective daemon to summon the man who shall one day reveal these works of mine to the world."

Richard Wagner, still not yet famous, Richard and his secret daemon. A daemon reliant on primitive sound, the music that preceded words. Ancient music. A legacy of sounds that Wagner sensed and wanted. He needed inner guidance, this inner guidance, to set the harmony of the spheres.

And was it the daemon that urged, that begged, How does one change time?. What notes, correctly played? What order breaks the immortals’ code? What star destined date can this anguished lover use?

The daemon has an agenda of its own, of this Wagner now feels sure. He feels the yearning ache for union. The risks that will be taken. Defiance, total defiance of all conventional and natural law.

Richard finished, waited, knowing that the wait had been enough. The code was right.