Part III: Fundamental mistakes made by mainstream archaeologists

First and foremost, even if at times I’m going to be harsh in my assessment of the reasons why these eminent archaeologists and their successors or pupils have not managed to find the solution, it is absolutely essential to remember that without their work in collecting, methodically surveying, comparing, classifying, categorizing and analyzing, we wouldn’t be here to discuss it.

It’s essential to render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and unto God that which is God’s (now you’re going to think I’m God! But no, since it was He who inspired me, remember ). ^[1]

The fact is, as you will see, solving this enigma requires the pooling of different and specific skills, for it is only by crossing fields of expertise – archaeology and philology or, more specifically, knowledge of proto-languages – that these signs can be deciphered and translated literally. In addition, to decipher this language in all its sacred dimension, two other interrelated skills are required: expertise in sacred symbolic language and comparative mythology. 

So it’s a team effort.

If everyone plays for himself – and this is true in every field of research – it will lead to a dead end.

Having said that, and praising the legitimate merits of the archaeologists already mentioned, it is nevertheless also necessary to draw your attention to their errors.

So I’m going to develop two points first: the obvious contradictions in their reasoning, after which we’ll see the major reason why they haven’t found the solution. At the same time, we’ll see how their research only confirms that this prehistoric sign language is indeed pre-proto-cuneiform.

Obvious contradictions in reasoning

The unethical nature of comparing periods that are too far apart in time

It’s not lost on you that for Leroi-Gourhan, for example, it’s unethical to use the latter’s belief system to explain the former, even if what he calls ethnological analogies can be made between peoples who lived at different times.

You’ll also notice in passing that in his comments, confusion is made between ethnology and the sciences of cults, religions and comparative mythology, since the latter is not, strictly speaking, an ethnologist’s field of expertise!

In a way, what Leroi-Gourhan is telling us is that comparing beliefs and their symbolic means of expression is deontologically inapplicable to understanding the prehistoric sacred world.

This ties in with what I said in the introduction, namely that scientistic doctrine has so infused the minds of many scientists that it seems unthinkable to them that peoples far removed in time and space could have a close relationship.

In this respect, I must clarify my own point of view on the interest of this comparison:

I don’t mean to imply that a single belief system of a given people, such as the Dogon or any other tribe, is sufficient in itself to explain the sacred system of prehistory.

In fact, I’ll have the opportunity to demonstrate that, from Sumer onwards, mythological thought, which had been fully restored as a direct legacy of prehistory, then branched out to actually experience dilutions, with alterations in relation to the original thought.

So it’s not the mythology of a single distant people that will enable us to go back to the source, to the original archaic myth: it’s first and foremost the deciphering of Sumerian and Egyptian mysticism, for they are semantically and culturally children of prehistory.

To this, we must then add (and this is where the comparison of mythological systems and symbologies of various other civilizations becomes interesting) that if we proceed, in addition, with an analysis of myths on a global scale, and not a local one, by integrating all civilizations, it is equally certain that the comparative analysis of myths will, if carried out correctly, identify the original archaic myth underlying all these mythologies, even if it is apparently masked by the different form taken in its local variants.

We’ll see that doing this work will fully corroborate what we’ve obtained through Sumerian and Egyptian analysis, which will only reinforce the veracity of the result obtained.

This approach to comparative mythology is, in fact, the whole premise of the approach taken by expert mythologists such as Jean-Loïc Le Quellec.

I’d like to distance myself from them by saying that, for this comparative work to be fully meaningful, it is absolutely essential that the symbolic language underlying each of these mythologies be deciphered beforehand, so that each mythological system of each civilization we analyze and compare has its archaic framework laid bare, decrypted, in order to compare the frameworks of mythical narratives with the original characters and the events of their lives clearly identified. If this work of decoding the myth is not done beforehand, we’ll end up with the result obtained by Jean-Yves Lequellec (I hope he doesn’t mind), a very meagre result with a vague myth of the creation of the world by coming out of the cave.

This meagre result is more or less the only goal that A. Leroi-Gourhan, magnanimously, is willing to concede to (what he improperly calls) comparative ethnology. Leroi-Gourhan, magnanimous, is willing to concede to (what he improperly calls) comparative ethnology (as long as it remains in its proper place, i.e. well behind archaeology…) namely that it is only capable of highlighting vague metaphysical analogies between distant peoples…

If we return to the words of A.Leroi-Gourhan, you’ll also note that his apriori view that it’s unethical to resort to comparative analysis when comparing civilizations that are both geographically and temporally distant from one another is an argument, it should be noted, taken up wholeheartedly by Sauvet / Wlodarczyk who, when they mention the hypothesis of ideographic writing, immediately qualify it as a dead end, on the pretext that “if, by some extraordinary chance, we were to discover their figurative origins, we would still be a long way from being able to deduce the meanings to which they refer, which may, moreover, have drifted over time”.

When we can see the homogeneity of a single prehistoric semiological system spanning tens of thousands of years?

Don’t you think that this systematic argument about the ravages of time, which they claim renders any possible comparison between geographically and temporally distant belief systems visibly impossible, is in profound contradiction with their own findings?

After all, aren’t these the same people who, astonished from the outset, note that their research shows that the semiological system of Upper Paleolithic man is “homogeneous over almost 20,000 years and millions of square kilometers“, (although of course there were “regional peculiarities” and “stylistic evolution”), attesting to the fact that they all drew their conception of the world, their metaphysical and religious aspirations, their myths and all their traditional knowledge from the same sources? That the fact that their writing has common features is, for them, a sign of the “community of thought that inspires it”?

Secondly, the whole point of their approach is to highlight the common features they have identified. And they have demonstrated this perfectly.

By their own admission, we’re dealing with the same community of thought with a common origin which, if we take their dates, lasted, if we’re only talking about the Upper Paleolithic, from -40,000 years to -12,000 years, i.e. for almost 28,000 years, I repeat, 28,000 years, and this, on a worldwide scale, I repeat, worldwide.

They thus implicitly recognize that it is the incredible stability of the semiological system they have studied and demonstrated that is in itself intrinsic proof of a community of thought, beliefs and common origin.

 Doesn’t this profoundly contradict the postulate of the ravages of time?

Other contradictions…

In their introduction, the authors also make it clear that the observed regional particularities and stylistic evolution do not call into question the homogeneity of the mode of communication. They do, however, conclude that the meaning of signs may have drifted over time.

Isn’t that also contradictory?

In this respect, for those who remain sceptical and still believe that the stability of the semiological system of prehistoric signs is not equivalent to the stability of the signified of these signs, when we move on to the decoding of signs from proto-cuneiform, we’ll see that the translation and interpretation of these signs is so often perfectly in tune with the fresco in question that the meaning of these signs has not been altered between the time of their composition and Sumer. There are therefore no mutations over time in the “transfers of symbolic meaning (synecdoche, metonymy, metaphor, etc.)”.

You may also have noticed, more incidentally, the following contradiction: in conclusion, one of the reasons given for not going through the ideogram explanation was to say that all contextual elements must be taken into account to understand these signs. 

Even though we are told in the body of the essay that isolated sign panels attest that signs have a meaning of their own, independently of context…

The end of swallowed eggs?

Now that this book has demonstrated that proto-cuneiform is a semiological system identical to that of prehistoric sign language and frescoes, what does this mean?

Quite simply, this semiological system has proved resilient and homogeneous for, let’s say… come on, a little longer than expected!

It was still possible to consider it intellectually, because how could you possibly explain to someone that a belief system that had spanned the globe for 28,000 years really had too much trouble pushing back beyond 12,000 BC to 3,500 BC – that’s 8,500 years longer than it had lasted for 28,000?

Was it really so difficult to theorize that this semiological system and the sacred culture it conveyed didn’t last a little longer than that, having permeated the Neolithic and the first civilization to use a known ideographic system?

And not just to theorize about it, but above all to really take the time to examine the question in depth, rather than superficially examining it and then immediately closing the door by calling it a dead end?

What’s more, do you think it’s logical to favour the hypothesis that a system of thought that had permeated human thought for so long, and was certainly deeply rooted in archaic human thought, would have literally evaporated at 12,000 years BC, to be replaced, with the arrival of the Neolithic “farmer-breeders” or those of the historical period, by totally new metaphysical systems of thought that would have been totally reinvented ex nihilo?

Once again, frankly, it was already perfectly possible, from the point of view of comparative symbolism alone, for those who looked things objectively in the face, to understand this filial link with the more than obvious equivalence of the divine animal symbols used in Sumerian and Egyptian mythology, as well as those of later civilizations and the much earlier Paleolithic and Neolithic ones.

Moreover, archaeologists themselves have noted that the choice of these animals had fundamentally nothing to do with a ritual hunting practice, since in addition to the fact that the choice of animals represented is often restricted to auroch, ox, bison, horse and deer, and always in a particular context, since they are distributed throughout each of the cavern’s large “rooms” (rotunda, nave…).), the recorded number of wounded animals is very low (less than 2.5% for the bison, which accounts for the highest number of cases), not to mention the fact that some of the animals, like the unicorn, are obviously eminently mythological…

How is it that no one has ever taken the step of saying, and proving, that these are mythological animals, in the sense of representations of divinities in the same way as all subsequent civilizations?

To me, this is a complete aberration.

However, the archaeological community had already taken the first major step since the beginning of the 20th century by finally admitting, by freeing itself from the Darwinian straitjacket, that the cave was a sanctuary and that the frescoes had a symbolic, mythological, metaphysical dimension. Frankly, not understanding, or rather, not admitting that these animals are symbols of divinities and not literal animals, was therefore virtually a small step left to take, and would certainly have been another giant leap forward in our understanding of humanity…

If you think about it, all these contradictions in reasoning were quite a lot to swallow.

But I don’t want to rewrite history.

Well, yes, slim. But the big one, not the one with a small h.

Let’s just say that today the question will be closed, as this book will provide direct proof that the Palaeolithic semiological system corresponds to proto-cuneiform and, implicitly, that the sacred mythology it conveys is common.

I’ll start by staying within the field of linguistics, by simply demonstrating that this is indeed a language corresponding to the ideographic language of Sumer.

It will therefore be clear to everyone that the same community of thought, having drawn its metaphysics from the same source, was at work, using the dates given, from -40,000 to no longer -12,000, but until at least… -3,500 years ago (which necessarily also includes the Neolithic and its monuments, since the Neolithic is the period between the Paleolithic and Sumer).

We’ll look at the far-reaching and extraordinary consequences of this a little further on.

Having noted these various points of contradiction, dictated, as we understand it, by the filigree grip of scientistic thinking in the ranks of referent archaeologists, let’s now look at the major reasons why they (just) missed the solution.

Why archaeologists have so far missed the solution

I think it’s a great pity that, while the authors have clearly demonstrated that rock art signs alone are a semiological system, and while they have identified analogies with ideographic writing, they haven’t explored this avenue further.

We’ll see that there are a number of reasons for this, which need to be highlighted to understand why they missed the solution (and, if possible, to prevent it happening again in other areas of research).

Archaeologists have claimed to be specialists in archaic languages, when in fact they are not.

It’s a pure overstepping of function that totally undermines the purpose of research, which is to uncover the truth, and which, to do so, should surround itself with all possible skills, rather than pretending to have them all.

It’s a bit as if a mathematician, having deduced from mathematical rules that he’s dealing with a constructed, structured, semiological and therefore linguistic system, would want to keep the upper hand at all costs and not hand it over to linguists to help him in his deciphering task.

If it’s a language system, isn’t that what they specialize in?

Why, then, go it alone, and, on the basis of a brief table of a few simple, similar ideograms from different ideographic scripts, quickly dismiss the idea that prehistoric signs could be an ideographic language related to the known ideographic languages of the historical period, and call it a dead end, on the pretext that the meaning of these poorly chosen examples is divergent?

Here we touch on the problem that will be discussed in the afterword: the lack of modesty (i.e. recognizing the limits of one’s own field of expertise), the corporatism of scientists, the lack of synergy between disciplines…

Rather than despising each other, archaeologists, linguists, mythologists, symbologists and ethnologists should work together and pool their skills, otherwise, yes, of course, the result will inevitably be a dead end.

This approach is a complete disservice to the authors, and almost overshadows the high quality of their research work. In trying to pretend to be linguists when, it must be said, they have no mastery of the field, they run the risk of making fools of themselves, showing the informed linguist nothing more than that they have indulged in… 

… An implausible comparative analysis of ideographic Scriptures

Let’s see why:

A proper analysis of archaic ideographic languages should have consisted of :

• Classify ideographic scripts in chronological and geographical order, prioritizing the oldest.
• Take their entire list of signs
• Compare their entire list of signs with the list of prehistoric signs they had identified.
• Compare the rules of operation (sign constitution and syntax between signs) of these languages with those they have observed.

Instead, we were presented with this…:

… or a table of a few basic ideographic signs, simple geometric figures, taken from ideographic scripts cited as being (but without any reference) Sumerian, Egyptian, Cretan, Hittite or Chinese.

In terms of justification for such an important issue, it’s obvious that this is extremely flimsy, and I’m going to show you in detail.

For our part, we shall now endeavour to get things right in this particular field of linguistics, which will enable us not only to highlight each of these serious errors of comparative analysis, but more importantly, at the same time, to determine to what conclusion a well-conducted comparative analysis leads us.

But first, let’s look at how their comparison was both very simplistic and wrong.

A comparison based on a few simple signs, which are therefore simplistic and, moreover, difficult to read and understand.

He is obliged to point out that the examples taken by archaeologists to prove that ideographic languages are nothing more than simple geometric figures, rectangles and simple signs: branches, simple claviforms.

Is the fact that identical ideographic signs from different ideographic languages apparently have different meanings proof of a dead end?

With this table, the authors set out to demonstrate that similar ideographic signs have completely different meanings in different ideographic scripts, because, from their point of view, this is enough to deduce that the ideographic script path is a dead end (!)

It’s clear, however, that if I take as my point of comparison signs that are highly likely to be found in similar forms in every ideographic system of every era – I’d like to say, even the one that a child would be asked to invent today – I’m indeed likely to end up with every possible meaning.

On the other hand, remember, if I compare multiple complex signs like :

Or these:

Or this one:

Or these:

Or this one:

Each one is, conversely, so specific that it is already highly improbable to find it in the list of signs of another script and, a fortiori, impossible to find them all in two lists of signs of two distinct ideographic scripts, so that the conclusion we draw is logically just the opposite of the one drawn by the soothing comparison suggested by that of simple forms.

Once the comparison has been made, the famous dead end becomes more like a main road, with a wall built in front of it so that it can’t be seen.

Poorly translated and misunderstood signs

But that’s not all: the choice of signs is also highly reductive and confusing, leading us to believe that all ideographic languages use strictly the same simple signs with little distinction of form, which is a linguistic heresy. And, as if that weren’t enough, the translation given is also highly reductive and therefore necessarily misleading.

Let’s start with triangles:

The triangles as example

This table begins by proving just the opposite of their conclusion (which they want us to reach?), since the two triangles in Sumerian and “Hittite” (a Louvite dialect) mean the same thing.

By way of illustration and to be more precise, the sign 48B in the comparative table I’ve submitted in the appendix, is called sal. It is the correspondent of the logogram “mi” which designates (among other things) a woman or a female^[2] , of the logogram “mu” which means the same thing^[3] . As a logogram, sal (or šal) means (in the nominative) the uterus, the vulva.

Let’s look at the case of branches:

The branches as example

Here again, we’re presented with a motley assortment of signs, implying that since they have a similar form, they should logically all mean the same thing. We’ve already seen how wrong this reasoning is.

What’s more, the Sumerian and Egyptian ideographic signs are false.

Here are the proto-cuneiform ideographic signs for :

še: barley, grain, wheat, corn^[4] (še and eš carry many other meanings, but I’ll stick to one of its primary literal meanings here).

gi: illness, injury, wheat ^[5]

No trace of the first and last signs.

Here are the Egyptian hieroglyphic signs:

^[6] bdt: starch wheat

^[7] it: father, barley, cereal

If it’s true that these last signs mean barley, wheat, cereal, you’ll note that it is also the Egyptian word for father.

So I won’t offend you by explaining the symbolic meaning of the ear of wheat…

Afterwards, of course, it’s always possible to continue to see and translate it as nothing more than wheat, but hey…whatever.

Let’s move on to the proposed rectangles:

The rectangles as example 

Note that when it comes to presenting rectangles, everything that even remotely resembles a rectangle is thrown together in a rather implausible jumble.

It’s logical then that they don’t mean the same thing, especially as they come from different languages.

In Sumerian and Egyptian, for example, many rectangles have different meanings, depending on their height and width, and therefore don’t mean the same thing at all:

Take, for example, the same proto-cuneiform quadrilaterals already mentioned in the initial comparative table, for which I now give you the transliteration of their Sumerian meaning alongside:

As you can see, with the exception of 2D and 3, their change of form induces a change of meaning.

It’s important to compare like with like, and not to take a cookie-cutter approach to all kinds of shapes with just four sides.

Now take the Egyptian hieroglyphic rectangles:

As you can see, a change of form can lead to a change of meaning. N37 and N18 don’t directly mean the same thing.

Note also that the Sumerian and Egyptian simple rectangle are not even mentioned (!) in comparison with the simple rectangle of the prehistoric sign.

It’s a shame, though, because all three exist!

Let’s see what they mean:

In Sumerian, the simple rectangle is called ñeš^[8] (pronounced gesh). This is the prefixed determining logogram usually added to an object to determine that it is made of wood. It also has the meaning of the words indicated at the bottom of the page.

But note also that ñeš has the homonym ñeš2,3 meaning “a man” or “a penis”, which refers to the imagery of a man in the ithyphallic position, a position commonly associated in archaic mythology, as we’ll see in the next book, with a progenitor (notably the primordial progenitor) and a father. 

In Egyptian, the simple rectangle means S (pronounced Sh)^[9] or mr^[10] . Note in the footnote that both mean a pond, an arm of water, a canal, a basin.

In Sumerian, Egyptian’s elder sister language, the channel is called “a“, which also means father^[11] . In fact, “a” doubled to “a-a” only means “father”^[12] . This “a” is the translation of sign 91B in the comparative table: the two slightly skewed parallel lines that visualize a canal.

So, even if these two simple rectangular Sumerian-Egyptian signs seem, at first glance, if we confine ourselves to a superficial analysis, to have a completely different meaning, one Sumerian ñeš designating wood and the other Egyptian S/mr an arm of water, in reality, if we are aware of their multiple meanings and linguistic entanglements, we’ll realize that they can both designate the same thing: a man, in this case a progenitor, a father.

If we wish to carry out a serious analysis, we must never stop at the first meaning given or received by an ideographic sign or logogram, of a given word, at its appearance, but at the meaning, or rather, the multiple double-meanings it had for its speakers. It is therefore absolutely necessary to know all its polysemy, its different double-meanings. This is because, as we shall have ample opportunity to demonstrate, all sacred symbolism is based on the play of double meanings in Sumerian and Egyptian languages. These double meanings must be understood if we are to master not only the literal reading of ideograms (and prehistoric signs), but also their symbolic dimension as a cult language conveying their mythology and beliefs.

One of the first signs Champollion deciphered was the circle, which phonetically meant “ra“, and which he obviously didn’t confine to its apparent meaning, a circle, since it was the very name, the very symbol of the great solar god, ra. It was from the cartouches of the names of pharaohs and divinities that he was able to access the first elements of deciphering. It’s a good thing he didn’t take a statistical, geometric approach, otherwise we’d still be 200 years back in time, unable to read hieroglyphs.

It’s absurd that we should set him as a model and not follow him!

The circle and semicircle as an example

In the little summary table presented by the referring archaeologists, you’ll also note that two distinct “Hittite” signs are presented, a circle and a semicircle, one signifying god and the other heaven. One really wonders why these signs are mentioned in comparison with the prehistoric rectangular signs. It’s obvious that they’re not at all the same, so naturally they don’t have the same meaning.

Claviformes as an example

The sumerian boomerang!

You note that the meaning given to the Sumerian claviform is “boomerang”.

Firstly, this Sumerian sign does not exist in this form.

Its actual form is as follows:

ur^[13] (and only if reversed, it assumes this one: )

^[14]

Another almost similar, but not identical, claviform is :

  šidim ^[15]

What does ur? or šidim? mean?

Boomerang ??

As for ur, perhaps you’re making the connection with the city of Ur, one of the great cities of Sumer (the same one from which Abraham left to go and live in tents in view of the promise to inherit the land of Canaan).

In fact, ur has many meanings. I won’t give you all of them, but just these for now: dog, carnivorous beast, servant, young man, warrior, enemy. ^[16]

As an indication, if ur also means a city, it’s because one of its homophones ur11 is equivalent to uru4^[17] , whose homophone uru2 (ideogram ki) means a city, town, village, district of a city.

At no point, among all its other meanings, does it include “boomerang”.

The only meaning of tool is “copper sickle” …^[18]

And šidim?

This term designates an architect, a mason^[19] .

The term boomerang has been assigned to this ideogram simply because it looks like a boomerang to the observer!

So there’s total confusion between the pictogram, which is a sign that represents the thing or being you want to signify, and the ideogram, which is a sign that represents an idea, a concept, not necessarily directly related to the form of the sign in question.

Clearly, the person who gave this definition limited himself to the appearance of the sign and read it through his own superficial, first-degree eyes. Issuing or repeating this definition without verifying it is in this case no longer the mark of a scientific mind, nor the mark of a mind willing to understand that there can be abstraction.

The moon and the coast: two different meanings?

In their table of claviforms, the referring archaeologists also show us two Egyptian signs, that of the moon  and the coast , telling us that they have different meanings, one meaning moon and the other coast.

But that’s not knowing that the two are sometimes interchangeable in Egyptian!

Indeed, if the moon is iaH or moon^[20] on the other hand, in some inscriptions, is written for spr côte^[21] .

 is an alternative form of as in iaH moon and this sign can be confused with spr coast^[22]

It’s important to understand that this confusion is not a confusion in the sense of a copyist scribe’s error. In fact, as we shall see in the following books, the rib and the moon are both emblematic symbols of the primordial mother woman who became a mother-goddess.

So mistaking them for two different signs reflects a lack of understanding of both literal Egyptian and sacred symbolic Egyptian.

That’s a lot.

Fish scales

We are also told that refers to a fish scale.

Just because it’s a fish scale doesn’t mean that’s what it means in Egyptian.

Indeed, if all the following scales: mean nSmwt scales, apart from which is used in swt feather, is the only one to be used in ab^[23] .

Now, ab literally means a horn, a bow^[24] .

Presented in this way, this sign is not a fish scale in Egyptian, but a horn or a bow.

Finally, symbolically, “ab” is a homophone of the Sumerian ab-ba, which designates the ancestor, the father^[25] .

It then alludes to strictly the same character as the symbol (which is shown inverted in the archaeologists’ chart !) and which designates, among other things, the sun u^[26] ; sun which is obviously an emblem of the father of the gods, the great divinity.

So, symbolically, the Egyptian and the are in fact two symbols referring to strictly the same person.

So, once again, there’s a lack of understanding of both literal Egyptian and symbolic meanings.

Decidedly…

The “shell”

We are also told that the sign signifies a shell.

So if it’s true that it’s a shell, a bivalve shell in this case, its meaning refers not to its shape (it’s not a pictogram…), but it’s still an ideogram with a phonetic meaning which is xA (pronounced x like the Spanish jota).

This ideogram is found in the verb xAa, which among other things means to harpoon^[27] .

So what interpretation is to be preferred if two signs in two identical Scriptures look alike, but have different meanings?

Of course, between two lists of signs in two ideographic scripts, you’ll occasionally come across signs that are very similar.

So what’s the procedure?

It goes without saying that the sign meaning(s) of the most archaic list of signs will be given priority, as it will have been shown to be very close (list of signs, rules of composition and syntax) to the system under study.

And not that of a more recent system, on the pretext of a simple correspondence between two or three signs.

If I want to translate into an Old French text, I’ll prefer the meaning of a word given to me by a 1700 dictionary to that of a 20th-century Spanish dictionary, even if the written word is identical in both languages and both dictionaries.

The meaning of the word written in the same language and closer to it in time is much more likely to be the original meaning than the more distant meaning of a different language.

It’s such pure common sense that it’s a shame to have to write it.

FOOTNOTES AND REFERENCES 

[1] See Volume 1: The Revelation of Genesis and my (fictional, of course) role as a scribe under Gabriel’s tutelage!

[2] Mí [SAL] = woman; female (see also mu10, munus). Feminine adjective (A.Halloran, 1999, p. 13)

[3] Mu10[SAL] = woman, female (see also mí, munus) (A.Halloran, 1999, p. 13)

sal, šal = uterus, vulva, (narrow + many). To be narrow, thin, wide, spacious. In verb form: to spread, propagate; persist; minimize, belittle, depreciate.

[4] še : n., barley; grain; a small length measure, barleycorn (A.Halloran, 1999, p. 16) Volume 4 / Sumerian-French Lexicon: še = barley; grain a small length measure, wheat or maize.

[5] gig, gi17 = n., illness; injury; wheat (cf., kib) (throat + i, ‘cry of pain’, + throat) v., to be/make sick; to be painful to (with dative); to reject. adj., painful. Volume 4 / Sumerian-French lexicon: gig, gi17 = illness, injury, wheat (cf., kibx) (throat + i, “cry of pain”); verbs: to be/make sick; to be painful (with dative); to reject. Adjective: painful (A.Halloran, 1999, p. 16)

[6] bearded ear of starch wheat; Ideo. or det. in bdt starch wheat (Gardiner p. 483, M34)

[7] Cereal ear with occurrences in: it father; barley, cereal (Faulkner, reed.2017, p. 39) ; knowing that iti father (Faulkner, reed.2017, p. 39) and ity itiw it tiy sovereign, monarch (Faulkner, reed.2017, p. 39)

[8] ñiš, ñeš = nominative: tree, wood, wooden instrument, scepter, tool, organ, plow, natural phenomenon. (It describes a trunk that produces many branches and leaves). Adjective: describes an animal assigned to the plow (sometimes ñiš-šè).

Ñiš2,3, ñeš2,3, uš = penis, man (self + exit + several; cf., nitaĥ2 and šir)

[9] Volume 4 / hieroglyphic-French syllabary: S lake, pond, water feature; garden; basin (Faulkner, reed.2017, p. 319)

[10] Volume 4 / hieroglyphic-french syllabary: mr ill, suffering; painful; painfully, cruelly; pain, suffering; illness, disease ill (n.) pyramid canal, water arm basin, libation basin milk jug bind, tie (Faulkner, reed.2017, p. 137)

[11] Volume 4 / Sumerian-French syllabary: a, e 4 = nominative; water, watercourse, canal, seminal fluid, descent, father, tears, deluge.  (A.Halloran, 1999, p. 3)

[12] Volume 4 / Sumerian-French syllabary: a-a: father (A.Halloran, 1999, p. 71)

[13] (CNIL, p. 227)

[14] (Falkenstein, 1936, p. 20)

[15] (CNIL, p. 195)

[16] ur = n., dog; carnivorous beast; servant; young man, warrior; enemy (cf., téš) v., to tremble. adj., humble (A.Halloran, 1999, p. 7) Volume 4 / Sumerian-French lexicon: ur = nouns: dog, carnivorous beast, servant, young man, warrior, enemy / verb: to tremble / adjective: humble

[17] ur11= cf., uru4) (A.Halloran, 1999, p. 7) uru2 (ki), iri, rí; iri11 = city, town, village, district ; Volume 4 / Sumerian-French Lexicon : uru2 (ki), iri, rí; iri11 = city, town, village, district of a city

[18] ur = n., copper sickle (semi-circle + flowing motion). v., to reap, harvest; to pluck; to shear (sheep); to gather in; to catch (in a net); to gather together; to join in assent (probably reduplication class) (cf., saña11 [KIN]) (A.Halloran, 1999, p. 41)Volume 4 / Sumerian-French Lexicon: ur = copper sickle (semicircle + flow movement). Verbs: to harvest, to reap; to pluck; to shear (sheep); to gather; to catch (in a net); to assemble, to bring together; to bring to an agreement, to accord (possible replication; see saña11).

[19]šidim , šitim, šidi [GIM] = architect, mason (šid3,4,5 ‘to bind’, + dím, ‘to build, make’) (A.Halloran, 1999, p. 67) ; Volume 4 / Sumerian-French lexicon: šidim, šitim, šidi [GIM] = architect, mason (šid3,4,5 ‘to bind’, + dím, ‘to build, make’) (A.Halloran, 1999, p. 67)

[20] Crescent moon (also vertical ) or when used as a determinative); Ideo. or det. in iaH or , moon / Gardiner p. 486, N11.

[21] In some inscriptions, is written for spr côte / Gardiner p. 486, N11.

[22]   Alternative form of as in iaH moon; This sign may be confused with spr coast / Gardiner p. 486, N12

[23] https://www.hierogl.ch/hiero/Signe:K6h

[24] Lexique hiéroglyphes / français = ab horn, bow meal gather present offering stone (Faulkner, reed.2017, p. 49)

[25] ab-ba = father; elder; ancestor (Akk. loanword) (A.Halloran, 1999, p. 76) Volume 4 / Sumerian-French lexicon = ab-ba = father; elder; ancestor (Akkadian loanword)

[26]ud, u4= n., sun; light; day; time; weather; storm (demon) ; prep., when; since (A.Halloran, 1999, p. 5) ; Volume 4 / Sumerian-French Lexicon = u4 : (cf., ud). ud, u4 = nominative: sun, light, time; weather, storm (demon)

[27] Bivalve shell L6: For unknown reason, phon. xA in M.E. only in: xA(w)t offering table. Occurrences in: xAa, throw; terrasser; larguer; abandonner; expédier; enfoncer; harponner; se mouvoir vivement; ruisseler / xAwt autel, table d’offrandes.

https://www.hierogl.ch/hiero/Signe:L6