For Lilian and the Indigos - Above Top Secret

After thought, I decided that I would spend only a little time at the bazaar, and come
home to my own bliss – painting.
I got up and made my way out of my sanctuary, down the jungle-path hall to the J.D.
The Jump Door was encircled with Egyptian themed symbols and icons. Sculptor Jed
had offered to decorate the portal and, I must say, I found it to be a perfect addition to the
garden that surrounded it. With intent in mind, with the place I was headed to, I stepped
through the portal.
I looked around and took in wares, spread out on the steps and tables that were formed in
a long river below me in the open free mall. This was a place that more often was a maze
that lovers and children wandered through or played games in, but this cycle day, it was
filled with the work of artisans. I stood at the top of the winding path, looking at all the
New Things. All the things, created from love, by the proud Merchants languishing in
repose, or seated in conversation with a prospective taker. Or perhaps animated, and
inviting a look from those who passed by.
I had chosen the entrance at the top of the mall, liking the down-hill slope of the stroll
through the seats and tables and alcoves used to display work and choose owners. There
was much to see, laid out: jewelry and furniture and hand-sewn clothing, sculptures and
paintings and decorations of all kinds. I thought it might be soon that I would bring my
paintings here again to offer in their original to exchange and gift.
Around me swirled many a shopper, showing delight over this thing or that, with
Merchants drawing them in for conversation and gifting. Now and again a Merchant
expressed doubt that the shopper was the right one to receive their special creation. The
shoppers would sometimes state their case for their appreciation and perhaps the
Merchant would change his or her mind. Often the shopper would reconsider their
desires and agree with the Merchant, moving on.
After some minutes perusing, my eye was caught by a fountain, which seemed to
combine water and somehow light in ways that the light caught the water, cupping it with
no discernable bowl yet holding it still, and then tossed it in arcs and streams and sprays
to again be caught or showered downward in gemstone hues.
Seeing my gaze, hearing perhaps my gasp of delight, the Merchant approached me.
“Do you see something that appeals?” she asked.
I smiled. “Yes, I do indeed! That fountain is lovely!”
The Merchant smiled in return. “Who might I be having the pleasure to give this work
to?” she eagerly inquired.
“I call myself Izzy,” I replied, “but I am called by others, ‘Infamous Isadore Illumente.’”
I cast my eyes downward, a bit modest of the name. It was given to me when I was a