Author: Daniel Hero

There is no such thing as bad weather

merely inappropriate clothing

the rock thrown at my head

merely a lesson in physics

the gash along my empathy

merely an act of faith

the dance at the bite of the hook

merely the balance won

the line that is crossed through

merely the relic of the day

the wisdom of the left hand

merely the ignorance of the right

the authority of the rich man

merely the repast of the next

the edicts laid down to children

merely pleas padding down the hall

the singing of the joyful

merely anguish to the damned.

A feather’s slight brush

judiciously applied incites even

the strongest of beasts to start

or stamp their feet or

snort relief.

The ceaseless wind,

ceaseless no more, gathered itself

as the sword of Socrates slid

past heart and lungs

the beast sneezed

forcing me from the promontory

in a whirling tempest that

could not be denied –

I exited the celestial creature in

manner unlike my entrance;

impaled upon my own sword

my only feather

a clutched Quill,

I fell spiraling, a fallen star

towards the good Earth

burning in

flames internal

the Quill in my hand

grew

and became the deck of

my ship as it was

before the crash

on Dream’s rocky shore.

Standing on the forecastle

in the spot that Kleos claimed

were the members of my crew:

Bigotry and Prejudice, Ignorance and Fear

Hatred and Envy, Greed and Vengeance.

One by one, I called them forth

and put each of them to the sword

with mercy and cognition

applied the unity of opposites

and transformed them into their twin:

Greed became Self Sacrifice and Vengeance became Forgiveness

Hatred and Envy bowed to Compassion and Tranquility

Bigotry and Prejudice fell to Empathy and Understanding.

Only Ignorance and Fear, my faithful companions

could not be vanquished with Socrates’ sword

so I enjoined Curiosity and Courage

as their wardens and marked their

placement near the bowsprit.

Satisfied, I noticed another figure

seated and in thought

in the space where the wheel

should spin sat a man

balding and serene; before him

a short pedestal made of mud

and on that

a game of Nine men’s morris arrayed

and engaged.

Wordlessly, I approached and

sat in the opposition’s spot –

he, deeply engrossed in the state of play

with a nod shifted one of the stones.

“Are you Charon, here to ferry me

across?” I asked.

He looked up from the board and shook

his head. “No goddess ever wet clay and left

it, as if there would be bricks by chance

and good fortune.” He replied. “I am glad to see

my sword used in the manner intended.

You think your journey ended?

Has Beauty’s vision been apprehended?

Have the choices been made that must be made?

For it is authority, not wisdom that

makes a law.” Socrates said.

“You speak of destiny and

free will in the same breath.

Do not the two cancel?” I asked.

Philosophy paused and gestured to the board

“Knowledge is like good taste

not everyone has it

or having it

have it to the same degree.

Prescience is a knowledge that

mortals have as well.

The best do so by

combining the patterns of history

with the wisdom of human nature

yet even they see only

through a glass stain’d and

none to the degree of an

intelligence divine.

Worry little over the workings

of what will be;

instead, keep in

mind Kleos’ apopemptic:

Chase after Truth and Goodness

and Beauty will hurry to catch up.

This is also true of prophecy.”

“What is the good?” I asked,

“For all think they know and

it is clear they do not.”

Socrates placed a stone on the board

and said, “The good comes

in many forms: some say it is

identical to the pleasant, or

what women and men desire, or

a property of being or existence, or

that which conforms to the nature of a thing, or

that which is approved by reason.

I say it is all of these and more, not only a state

unto itself but that which conforms to

the solution of the eternal paradox.”

“Which is?” I asked.

“Existence.” He said.

“A paradox is two things,

in opposition

distinct by definition

yet inseparable by nature.

This is a very good

definition of the universe itself:

That which is and that which isn’t

bound together to form something

greater than the other.

Recall the lesson of the drowsy sword –

draw your existence up within

yourself and know

misery no longer.”

As Philosophy spoke these words

the sun stepp’d over the horizon

and I knew my first dawning

as a person complete

able to forgive

by seeing myself in the other

and allowing the other to see itself in me –

that the ship I built so long

ago was now rebuilt

by Dream’s rocky shore;

for the strength of the ship is the crew

and the strength of the crew is the ship.

Together, we turned our faces to the

dawn’s warming light;

I felt the ship bite water

and I tasted the salt spray

and knew the wheel was restored.

Now there’s something ticking

in my head, a yearning, a yearning in my head

out towards the horizon, the Cape of Aphrodite

beyond that twin cities with a port

and somewhere up above

a cave

where a fish picked a berry

once upon a time.

“The sole treasure I possess is my understanding and it is the greatest.” C.G. Jung

“No knowledge, no serious contemplation, no valid choice is possible until man has shaken himself free of everything that effects his conditioning, at every level of his existence.” Jacques LaCarriere



*The list of authors I have alluded to, referenced, or downright stolen from are:
Aristotle
Plato
Aquinas
Joseph Campbell
Cicero
The Codex Seraphinianus
William Blake
Plutarch
Hobbes
Milton
Montaigne
Jean-Baptiste du Tertre
1001 Arabian Nights
The Brothers Grimm
The Greek myths
The Pelasgian creation myth
Norse Creation myth
Cardinal Barberini (Pope Urban VIII)
I Samuel 24
Eric Gill
The religion of Candomble
William Shakespeare
Sylvia Plath
Rousseau
Chris Smart
Samuel Beckett

Before I could study the

matriculation in front of me

a discordant sound emerged:

harried shouts accompanied

an outpouring of Kali’n’ago

from smaller side tunnels

to the widest in this chamber

I followed the commotion

away from the tree and pond

and was soon surrounded

by scores of my hosts;

it was clear they were both

escort and protection

as the unmistakable sounds

of violence ricocheted from

up and around the curving walls.

Their mass carried me along

like a leaf riding a stream

but failed to reach the gentle shore

they were seeking

when battle fell around us.

The opposition was impossible

for me to distinguish from

my protection and within the tight walls

there was no room for me to

draw my blade.

I could do little more

than watch as one by one

my escort fell

to the cudgels of the foe.

I was soon surrounded

by a new escort and they

roughly pushed me upwards and along

until we were disgorged from the

warren. When the group

thrust me onto the windswept

sands, a violet cry

of jubilation arose from

all around me.

I was their intended prize

and the victory was won,

I was immediately placed inside a cage

built atop a sleigh and

yolked to a dozen Kali’n’ago.

As our retinue made its way

with the wind into the gloom

I saw a detail laden with

the still bodies of the fallen

dragged

onto the sand and buried

only slightly, so

their mounded bodies imitated

the smallest of the looming dunes;

in a flash I intuited

the bluish white sand was

not sand at all

but the granular remains of

generation after generation of

Kali’n’ago that came before, ground

by the ceaseless wind

and the traveling feet of those that persist

into powder bluish white,

fit for an hourglass.

As we trod on

the dark wind upon our backs

clusters of my captors

came to gawk and jeer

some few made attempt to force a squawk

by pulling out a feather

and dancing about my cage;

or tossing handfuls of the dead into my face –

mock on, mock on

for well I know

when you throw sand

against the wind

the wind only blows it back again.

A solid day we sailed on the sands

until, squatting on the short horizon

loomed a solid darkness

a grand steppe with a steep incline

a prominent promontory winding upwards into

the gloom and leering ominous.

With quiet desperation I cast back

upon all that I had seen:

the sands of the Kali’n’ago is the water in which they swim

a fish hanging in the air it’s mouth upon a berry

a feather traded for a net and they with the better exchange –

my conviction that they

knew not the ways of

civilization

as we ascended that upwards path

My thoughts returned to Beauty’s tower

and the riddle of the drowsy sword

and I thought…

that they did indeed

know the ways of civilization

and it was I

by my very presence

carrying Ignorance not only upon my back but

in a vast miasmic cloud

and with a pale cast of thought

it occurred to me

that my blade was no help

to me at all among them

and when I held Beauty’s blade

against Pride’s throat

and read the word inscribed there

I never saw what might

be inscribed upon the

obverse side

so

I pulled the blade from

its tower and saw again ACQUISITION

engraved along its length

with trembling hand I flipped it over:

THYSELF was there inscribed.

My laughter was a bark both forceful and loud,

I stood proud in my cage

and made myself known.

The blade in my hand

now a lightning bolt crackling from its hilt

the bars of my cage blew asunder

with an explosive thunderclap;

this was no mere sword of knowledge

but the sword of Socrates and

such a sword remains with one until

their dying day.

The Kali’n’ago who took me

fell back in stunned silence,

pieces of shatter’d cage all ’round

their faces mute and dim;

I extended both my wings and

strode sword in hand into their assemblage

carrying onwards and upwards

toward our destination

their captive, now on point –

they followed me

to the top of that roaring steppe

to the spot where they thought

to sacrifice

and to where I

knew I had to be

the steppe was high, wide and flat

as the Kali’n’ago took up a joyful singing

they moved in rhythmic dance.

Their faces shone with banded light

and their voices raised in harmonious music

I danced with them, weaving my way to the very

center of the throng,

my wings extended wide

their banded faces glowing free

they each removed a single

feather as we wove together in melodic step

leaving me two denuded wings.

As their voices reached crescendo

I cut the barren wings deftly from my back:

I am not a fallen angel

or a plucked fowl

but a risen ape

and as I

tilted back my

head and swallowed my own blade

the glowing Kali’n’ago, singing, and dancing at their brightest

let loose all their feathers

into the ceaseless wind

each a bird in flight

in one direction

and the wind

stopped.

Consensus thus reached

they lowered me to

the ground and swiftly

freed me from their net.

As quickly as they gathered

as quickly they dispersed;

a single guide remained

and motioned me to follow,

as our tongues were

unknown to the other.

The ground I trod was

unlike such I trodd’n

before – drifts

of sand piled white

with a bluish cast,

fine and particulate

such as in an hourglass

it laid about the landscape in great

mounds and furrows,

pik’d peaks and winsome

hollows

formed by the ceaseless

wind of the mighty creatures’ inhalation.

My guide led me

to an entrance cunningly

placed downwind

around the

windswept mounds

and beneath the whitish waves

we passed into the dwelling,

for dwelling is what it was.

The interior was enchantingly lit – my night

eyes took in a warren smooth and wide,

made of hardened sand

a thoroughfare proper with walls of

colored lichen casting a pearlish glow in

tones of copper, lapis, and sapphire.

The smell of cumin, coriander

and cardamom was forceful

as our path led inwards

slightly downwards

off the main

of our passage more

tunnels traced off in

gentle curves;

periodically I saw excavation

carved with great industry

both cavernous and small one of which

was our destination.

We entered a

cozy alcove, with nothing

inside but two hooks reminiscent

of spires sunk deep into the sides

a single figure rolling

a smaller twin of the net that arrested

my frenzied flight.

A scarcity of words passed

between the two; among patterns

of flashing light I heard “Engedi”

more than once.

The occupant made to pass

and leave to me this cave,

when an idea took me

before I could tease it out.

I understood this was to be

my perch so I plucked

a feather from my

damaged wing, it was

hanging by

a notion

and offered it to the

figure with the hammock.

Through motions of exchange,

they understood my meaning

and took from me my feather

and gave to me her hammock.

Before my guide

could turn and leave

I made a curious motion

with my hands,

indicating all around…

I believe my request was understood

when their orange crown glow’d

along with a solitary word:

Colnéndamb.

I pointed to my guide and

to the other walking out

and made the same curious motion.

Again the flash

and again one

word:

Kali’n’ago.

Reciprocation was obviated

when they turned

and walked away. So

I stretched the hammock

between two hooks

and collapsed again

into a dreamless sleep.

My awakening was much

less pleasant than my last

when I awoke upended

from the hammock in which

I lay.

It was the former occupant

proof the feather

I traded wafting down

as she climbed into

her hammock.

That they did not

understand the meaning

of a trade perplexed me and

by their actions I deduced

they had no knowledge of

the ways of civilization.

Ignorance, my constant companion

urged my swift departure;

I wander’d the warren

quickly becoming lost – not

merely due to the labyrinth of

bluish curving walls,

dead ends and cul-de-sacs

but also the disregard for

the sand under my feet,

as they constantly pried toward

my adored.

My body stiff and sore

no less for my rude

awakening – prying feet

loosened aching muscles but not

my injured wing,

it would not bear

flight until it healed.

I happened upon a cavern

as I was wand’ring by – inside

was a group of Kali’n’ago and they

were without their well made clothes.

What before I admired as

masterwork of weaving was instead

a matter of application:

The Kali’n’ago stood,

ankle deep in the sands of

that cavern naked as desire.

Their bodies faintly

glistened from the shoulders

through to shins and their bodies

the banded equal of their faces

in back and forth

stripes of violet, orange, and green.

They plunged upon their knees

and then onto the sand entire

rolling ’round and shoveling

the bluish white sand with both hands

making sure

no part of their bodies were left

untouched.

As they threw

two fisted hands full

of sand at each other my thoughts cast back

of sport with friends of my youth

in the lake or gentle bay

and for a pang’d moment I missed

them all terribly.

The figures then stood on

both feet and with a gentle

humming, their bodies luminescent,

the results of their frolics was

made fast and yet remained supple

as their hands smoothed

the sands of the other.

As I stood transfixed

in utter fascination

they ignored my presence

entirely

even as I felt

a prick from Aidos as my eyes

partook the scene.

I hurried on and suffered not

the fate of bleating Acteaon.

And as I let Curiousity

tread inside my boots

I came upon what could

only be the heart of the

village:

Many tunnels led into

and out

of a wide and hollowed

amphitheater in arc concave

where the actors would

take the stage at the

bend of the horse’s shoe

inclining gently from the

level floor and rising

to the ceiling spaced

equidistant from the other

towered seven columns of the

same bluish sand they molded

to themselves and made their

homes within

at each of those columns

three attendants slowly labored;

upon the curved surface

one of them carved delicate

soaring symbols with

a wooden slender tool

as another smoothed the sand

with both hands just ahead of that labor

the third stood just behind and

collected the dust of their

efforts while tossing it gently

in the air. All of them

sung in a joyful harmony as

their banded faces all cycled

in synchronicity.

Remarkable as this was

it was not the main attraction

for at the hollow of the bend

crescent mooned by the seven pillars

a placid pool of water,

shallow

spring fed and perfectly clear;

the pond stretched before the feet of

a tree

bearing fruit,

branches ripe and full

of a small reddish berry

so that a single solid branch

hung o’er the pond

rich with the reddish fruit

at its center.

Even as I beheld

the scene entire

a fish – it’s belly white

and soft,

the scimitar slash of

gills red and bare

broke the surface

it’s questing mouth reaching

for a berry on the tree.

It’s lips touched the fruit but failed

to seize the prize

with a wriggl’d arch of it’s back

fell back into the pond in

a quiet splash.

Such was the marriage of

this event with the

actions of the laborers that

I could not discern

if it were interruption or abruption,

as the labor fell to silence

in sound and application

the moment

the fish broke the surface

and began not anew until the

last drop reunited with

the ripples of the pool.

To this day I know not if

the languid script drawn upon

those haunting pillars was

history, philosophy, or prophecy

mayhap it was all three-

their calculations were a

mystery, resembling

the pik’d peaks and winsome

whorls of the landscape above.

Art – Dream Collage Via Dakota Sky Walker

I screamed my defiance

and heaped upon the

curs’d beast all the rage

and hate and despair of

a soul quest denied.

No sooner had I entered the

gullet of that celestial parasite

then a plan

bloomed in my mind; I would

find the creature’s gullet

and cut my way out

if it took a cold eternity.

Immediately my plan was

thwarted, I could not see

in the blackness of

that vast tunnel.

As I sped ever inwards

I felt shapes go whistling past

unseen but sensed,

as the wind bent

to accommodate passage

towards that continental stomach.

I cupp’d my wings and scooped

great buckets of air, slowing

my headlong rush –

my feet found

the gentle tug of gravity

and I followed them down lower

as my eyes focused to the dim,

I thought….

I saw a feeble light and bent

my path towards discovery.

I noticed looming swift

two spaced spires

far apart and

like a moth towards

a feeble flame

before I could

turn aside, I was caught

in a mighty net that stretched

between two parapets – placed

artfully, as a spider does a

web. My flight ended abrupt

and entangled, my left wing

unnaturally bent as I felt

a hollow bone give. I cried

out in pain and outrage

and all the toils of my efforts

stole over my exhausted

frame and I collapsed, unknown

and unknowing into a fitfull

sleep.

I know not how long

I hung suspended like

a fly in its trap, my sleep

felt short and dreamless

I awoke to the smell

of cumin, cardamom and

coriander. I was caught

well and true and the net

wrapped around me like

a lover’s letter in its envelope.

I felt myself being lowered

in slow but steady rhythm

and saw the feeble light

grow as I descended.

What first I thought

were faces bodiless and

floating, were instead attached

to bodies harder to fathom

because of the light I bent

myself towards discovery:

Gathered and gathering

a sect of men like no other

(if men indeed they were)

I had encountered on the land

or at sea: their faces were banded

and from each stripe a corresponding

light came forth. Their skulls were

glabrous and their bodies in

equal proportion to my own

covered in tailored clothing

exceptionally well made

from the base of the

neck down. Showing only

the glow of their strip’d lit faces

each layer seven in all –

At the crown orange, not

unlike Beauty’s tower, below that

circling their foreheads

an eldritch violet, and

just above their ears another orange,

around their eyes and cheekbones

a raccoon’s bandit mask

pale and white.

Their cheeks were a deep emerald

shaped like a cockle shell: the hinge

at the notch of the ear and

stretching forth. Both nose and

lips were full and sensuous,

an earthly brown were they,

along their chins

and jawline was yet another violet.

Underneath the chin leaking

below that sharp jawline

two more bands, again one orange

and one more violet disappeared

below their worn well clothes.

I hailed them

with as much good cheer

as I could muster

for many a bad encounter

can be blunted with a

glad voice.

They jumped and

the lights of their faces

were chaotic and

unpatterned, it was clear

they were not expecting speech

and did not know

yet what I was.

Even as their flashing flushes

flickered fast, a single word

emerged articulated

and precise: Engedi! Engedi!

Like a pebble plunging

to the depths of

the unsounded murk,

the great globe of

my orbits spun, still

reeling from Beauty’s kiss

my ears stuffed with

the wind of my passage,

the soul of Pride’s boot

on my chest stamp’d and

I, aswirl in mixed state –

Kleos’ voice sung my

farewell

as the seven heavens all

the constellations rung,

and the planets in their

stations list’ning stood

to the O-gape of my

breathless mouth aping

the circle of the moon

wide wandering where

up was down

and down was

the frequentative flutter of

fitful flight forestalling

the fateful fall

with Ignorance on my back

and I on Fear’s shoulders

as he clawed at both my

legs. High the tower must have

loomed and terrible was

my tumble until triumphant

as an angel rampant

on a field of stars my

wings snatched hold

the transient air

and I soared.

With one hand

on my hilt and the other

with my Quill, I caught

the tow’ring draft and climbed

and climbed, and climbed and

the music of the vaulted

sky thrummed as I recalled

Beauty’s fingers feather deep

and the clockwork steps

toward my eternal beloved.

O foresight!

Foresight which takes

us ceaselessly beyond and

places us where we ever

wish to be yet anxious

never to arrive. With

newfound tips of feather’d

flight I pinioned the sky

and tried to join the heavn’ly

mechanism. But I could no

more hold the intricacies

of that vast and ephemeral

machine in my sight than I could

hold Beauty in my arms

and the tears of my failures

rained

down:

down below:

the solemn temples, down below

the gorgeous palaces, down below

the cloud capp’d tow’rs, yea

down below, on the great globe

itself and out of sight.

The teeth of my gears would

not mesh, for as astronomy teaches:

The planets and the stars

show how the heavens go

but they do not

show how to go to heaven.

The fire of Beauty’s

touch cooled to ember in

my mortal frame and

I sensed a motion in thin air;

that stretched above the capp’d

clouds like the desert of the ocean

and from below I saw

the great grey waves part and mounded

breaks from the surface below.

In a moment of rationality

and instinct, ostensibly opposed

I drew my knees upon my chest

and dove.

The wind roared with my

descent and my wing’d

flight carved the clouds

asunder, to the left a

bank and to the right

a swerve, spiraling downwards

ever sensing

a great gaping maw

nipping at my feet

I could not see the

relentless pursuer as

the clouds blocked

discernment from afar

and soon as I thought I had

at last won the chase

was when I saw the hungry

mouth – wide as a mountain

and as inescapable as the dawn;

At last I beheld my pursuer

it was not a bird of prey,

nor leviathan, or sting’d ray

nor another like myself

but a serpentine eel long and

hungry – it was a lamprey

and the great O-gape of its

mouth was a ring of teeth

wicked and curved; the mound I

thought was the body

was merely a fin.

I could no more

fly past that mighty orifice

than sail an ocean

in a day –

and before I could

think aught else,

was consumed.

Kleos said, “You would have

me know my place and I

would have you know your’s.

Sheath your blade and compete

with me without your gift.

You need not guess to know

its nature, it gives unfair advantage.”

I did as Pride bade and placed

the sword in its tower

and buckled it to my hip.

The blade’s nature was sharp

in my mind, I needed it not

to understand its purpose.

“Very well Kleos,” I said,

“I have done as you asked.

Let us play our game so

I may recline by my beloved.”

Kleos laughed, “O son of

Pelasgus, you cannot tarry

here – look, already the

window is closing on

your fate.” His chin twitched

to the cut square, now smaller

than before. It was then I caught

from the corner of my eye

Fear, he was hiding behind

Ignorance who foolishly I

thought lost to the surging reef.

“There is time enough to

prove if Beauty’s vision saw

true or if you are just

another brick in her tower.”

He then produced two

Quills – his from the tail of a

Peacock, it’s eye of wisdom

full and wide, mine from a

stone dove, grey and unremarking.

With deft strokes only Pride

can accomplish, Kleos scribed letters

fine on the smooth marble wall:

“What is the nature of Beauty?”

Poised with my Quill I recalled

the orange light I saw high

in Beauty’s tower while I

shivered on the sand.

I wrote:

“That which pleases upon being seen.”

My letters were his equal.

And in the task of writing I felt

a sensation strangely familiar

between the blades of my back,

back from my long ago –

yet I had not time to attend as

Kleos nodded and wrote again:

“What science does Beauty favor and why?”

and his script was better than my last.

Long did I study the night sky

from the deck of my ship

so I wrote:

“Beauty is astronomy. Both rely on observation.”

My hand was fine and steady

my script better still. It was then

it came to me, that sensation

so familiar as if I were a

child cutting teeth

something between my shoulders,

yearning to break free.

The window was closing rapidly.

I placed it firmly behind

and said: “Ask your last question Pride.”

Kleos bowed and wrote:

“What is the secret of the tower

and the drowsy sword?”

Fear climbed on both my legs with

Ignorance on his back – the window was

growing dangerously small. As Fear

marched upwards towards my heart

A cold certainty stole over me

that in failure I become

pinioned by the perverse enslavement

of a sickened appetite

entombed in Beauty’s tower forever.

“And you were so close.” Kleos gloated,

as he approached within arm’s length.

I studied Kleos’ question written

on the marble wall and

I saw the answer writ

before my eyes… the clue

the drowsy sword – but I held

my Quill and spoke: “A tower

is an oubliette standing on its

mouth – alike both forward and back

in the manner of the mirror.

Both are the destination of things

placed to be forgotten.”

Upon my answer two wings burst

from between my aching back

and Kleos kicked me with

a terrible force fully upon

my chest. I flew backwards

from the tower, as much

sideways as outwards in

a flurry of feathers,

fear, and ignorance.

He yelled as I tumbled

like a marble from a thumb:

“Well done Peratae! Chase after

Truth and Goodness and you will

find Beauty hurrying to catch up!”

And I saw the eye of wisdom

on his Quill wink at me as

the stones closed over the grin

on Kleos’ beaming face.

In the beginning era of a distant day

that is always and never now

there came the dawn I left Vanin Nos

just of an age to choose crusade

having tumbled long the treadworn trail

down the gentle slopes of Philistia,

softly by the Kingdom of the Abdalles,

until I found myself on the coast of Pride,

a stiff wind lifting my mane

fresh off the Gulf of Arrogance.

I gathered my crew, hard proven

tough and scarred from lands unyielding

each in their own unconquered:

Bigotry and Prejudice, Ignorance and Fear

Hatred and Envy, Greed and Vengeance

lending their strength to my own.

Together we razed the forest ashore

from sapling to copse to towering timber

head bent and fingers prying

we stole what we liked from

the pulp profusely pounded

and with them we fashioned

a vessel solid and unbending

with oaken conviction constructed

bound together in fevered pitch;

our eyes on the horizon

we trusted the winds of intuition

and deduced the current of logic until

at last we sailed, one hand on the wheel

one chained to oars of called out cadence

sails taut and sweat from below

our froth and foam carried us outwards

lulled on gulls wings and salt spray

the slap of the waves abeam

we slipped the straits of Ginnungagap

as Reason drowsed on the masthead;

she failed to note the lee shore

and all the glittering lights of Nod.

On Dream’s rocky shore we crashed

born on waves splintered thusly

my mighty vessel flounder’d, losing

Ignorance to the surging reef and

Vengeance to the gauzy salt foam.

Fear plucked us from the flotsam

faded to shade on the moonlit beach;

we gasped shivering on the sand

spied close at hand Endymion’s Cave

that slumbering youth in Selene’s shine

in his grotto below where Beauty sighs

up above in her castle, sleeping.

In a tower perfectly rounded

limned by a singular flame

a single window draped in

hues of orange lucubration

its warm welcome entrance

a spiral round’d stare as much

upwards as inwards and

at the end of the clockwork

steps beyond the stony plinth:

an altar for a singular form

at her feet a lantern, covered

at her head a candle, perfumed

in between lace silken and fine

and I, held captive by the view

felt the stars move above me.

In the corner standing proudly

Aidos, her guardian mute and forgiving;

blessing well my wishes as

no mere figmagairies for an oubliette

but rather a tenacious vine wound round

clinging tightly the raven spandrels

of hard a won ataraxia

and a well worn phronesis.

So with the goddess’ permission

I drew back the lace and leant

to listen for my whisper of fate:

No one more surprised than I

her eyes slowly opened, the

fingers of her right hand traced

my startled brow on the left,

and the fingertips of her left

a sweetness on both my lips –

then she cradled my face

Beauty’s fingers feathers deep

in my hair and by my right ear

soft by her mouth, she breathed:

“You will not see my like again until

beyond the realm of Oludumaré,

around the Cape of Aphrodite and past

the cities Laodicea and Peragamum.”

I opened to reply and

she silenced me with

a kiss that slew both

Vanity and Cowardice

and with a fiery pain born of

burning sand writhing fluid on

ground memories too fine for sifting:

I cried –

So how then shall joy know joy?

Upon whose brow shall

rest this duskmoon eve

and on whose feet the base clay?

Alas! Our time was nearly

over, she falling into torpor

as her lace fell to the floor

yet not before a gesture to

the sword sheathed by her side;

our trembling hands grasped it

as she slipped down with

a sigh, “’ware her brother Kleos

who is sure to arrive.” It was

then I noticed Aidos, undone

by a kiss, bleeding fast in the

corner awaiting her abyss

I slid over beside the window

awaiting Shame’s brother – when

he came in through the

cut square, all bluster and noise

He saw his twin pierced asunder,

Beauty’s lace upon the floor,

and then he felt the edge

bequeathed from my adored.

It was my first real sight

of it, lain bare across Pride’s

neck – along it’s length

a single word: ACQUISITION

and it had heft – he swallowed

almost undoing himself, such

was the keenness of the blade.

“Who is this?” Kleos asked.

“The one who would slay two

gods and defile another all

in one night? Tell me, tell me,

Pride must know.

How did you rouse Beauty

from her eternal slumber?

Tell Me, Pride must know.”

I held the blade steady

my reasons true and good

to tell Pride my name

could be the last thing

I would ever do, yet

I also knew I could not lie

and remain the blade’s steward –

a contradiction with me between,

so I reached for truth,

knowing that it is often paradoxical.

“I search Beauty’s light and I seek

what is good. The goddess reached

for me,” I said, “and your sister

stood mute – it was Beauty’s boon,

that severed the anchors of Shame.

This blade, given to me

your arrival foreseen; what you do

with this knowledge, remains to be.”

And then I let him go.

As one does not hold Pride

captive and remain unscathed.

Kleos turned and faced me

his gaze was fierce and raw

He spoke not a word as he

took my measure head to toe:

“I know you,” Pride said, “You

are the one who razed the forest

off the coast that bears my name;

I was standing on your forecastle

right up until you crashed – it

was I that lulled sweet Reason

and not the gull or salt spray.

Now your vessel is in ruin.

I’ve been your companion before

book passage once again, if you can.”

“‘Tis true I, I see it now, when

your hand was on the wheel

and not mine alone.” I replied. “But

now I burn with Beauty’s kiss and

Pride must know its place.” He

scowled and shifted his gaze

for he heard I spoke the truth

and I knew I had the best of him

when I saw Aidos stir

back from the abyss. Yet Kleos

was not to be put off so easily.

I must not hate.

Hate is the soul killer.

Hate is the little void that brings the utter abyss.

I will face my hate.

I will permit it to bloom and fade through me.

And when it has gone past I will turn my heart outwards to illuminate the path.

When the hate has gone there will be wisdom.

Only we will remain.

*With deep appreciation to Frank Herbert

It is said that all that there is or ever was once began no larger than the nail on your smallest finger. You can imagine how difficult it was to find a quiet corner to think. So the invention of something called nothing was extremely revolutionary at the time. Which, by the way, had to be invented right along with all that nothing. It was just as true than as it is now that you can’t get nothing without paying something. Time is the debt nothing pays for all the expansion it insists upon.

As a practical matter, and really, what is matter if not practical – with it we can not only do stuff, we are stuff. Matter is what matters to matter – you can tell by the way it wishes to get back together. Just like in the old days. The real old days. People, being made of the stuff, also like to get together. And like the stuff on the very smallest of scales, they resent being pushed too close – push them enough, and they’re bound to push back.

It’s a good model to build relationships on. Think of yourself like the nucleus of an atom. All the relationships in your life are like electrons that surround you – your parents make up part of you, call them the protons and neutrons, that essential part of you without which you wouldn’t be at all. Siblings and other immediate family members are the closest to you – until you get old enough to shuffle them off to another ‘ring’ if need be. And sometimes, let’s face it, it needs be.

Some of the electrons, also known as friends and co-workers, will orbit around you as you will around them – the important thing is to recognize how close to the nucleus they will be held. When one is young, the electron cloud is dense and hot – just like at the beginning of the universe. Friends and co-workers are precious and interact with the nucleus with ease and candor.

This generally does not last. For some it does. Most, however, find themselves expanding, filling up their personal electron universe with space – often seen as a bad thing, as past friends move away, surfing their own personal waves of expansion. While it may pain the heart to lose those once dear, expansion brings its own rewards. It allows room for others to interact who otherwise could not or would not.

If one is very fortunate, they find a complementary atom, one that fits so neatly into the orbit of the other they become a singular compound. The fusion of these elements is often accompanied by much light and energy. The same is true if the fusion is torn asunder. Sometimes it wastes away by slow decay, losing half of itself given enough time. Truly stable partnerships are nearly indestructible and even if a parting is inevitable, affection and respect never disappear.

Dealing with the loss of a family member or a cherished relationship is a quick way to expand – the loss is an emptiness, a nothing that looks to be filled. It is paradoxical, but it is often the case that the greatest growth occurs within a great loss.

No matter what arrangement you may find yourself in, remember that most of the other atoms you encounter – as nothing pays its debt in time – are also looking for a warm hearth to orbit, someone to show them what other configurations in space and time are possible. We all pine for that special electron that will expand our nothing. Which is to say, those that excite and elicit from us our own special light.

Remember, sometimes it is up to you to be that person. Don’t be afraid. Find the right one and you’re gold.

From the Journal of Peratae Bogomil