“Sentimentality, the ostentatious parading of excessive and spurious
emotion, is the mark of dishonesty...the wet eyes of the sentimentalist
betray his aversion to experience, his fear of life, his arid heart; and
it is always, therefore, the signal of secret and violent humanity, the
mark of cruelty.”
-James Baldwin
There has been a lot of talk about vulnerability, the revealing of the self to the world rather than hiding. It strikes many people, including myself, as wise and courageous, because it is. What is not, though, is manipulation via the expression of vulnerability. That's drama.
I have seen so-called vulnerability used as a weapon. as a tool of avoidance and censure. Expressions of vulnerability fill up all the space, disallowing discussion. This is manipulation, not revelation. That is drama, not discussion.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Persephone VI: Waters of Mnemosyne
The single bead of water reached some seed in Persephone as it broke and became part of her mouth, her body.
Listen.
In the shifting shadows and light, Persephone's ears filled with silence reflected from the earthen walls and ceiling. As she listened to no sound, her mind set a rhythm of emptiness between heartbeats. In the space she remembered Hades' injunction, which had been reiterated in different words, body aches and situational pains since: I don't know if I can give you what you need.
After being forgotten again and again, Persephone had forgotten herself, looking only at all the reasons that Hades was too busy. He has so much on his mind, so many responsibilities, she said to herself. But part of her remembered herself, gathering pieces of who she had been and who she was now, reassembling them again. Growths like emotional spurs had cropped up, needing new places and causing new feelings, shifting what she now was.
Exhausted, Persephone sat by the bank of the pool and wept. Each tear rippled tiny rings of light over the surface. Her hands gripped the earth, and she squeezed dirt through her fingers. The smell of ground after a rainfall filled her, and she inhaled deeply, drying her warm tears with the back of her arm.
Coming to her senses, she saw what she had been blind to before: the edge of the pool was green with a riot of plants, weeds jostling for position at the water. This was the only place she had seen the sun-loving beings, some of whom she was now seated very comfortably upon.
How was it possible? Even the reflected light that bounced through the caves and passageways didn't have enough strength to wake seeds from their slumber. When she had first arrived, Persephone had collected the seeds she found caught on her clothes and in her hair, hoping to grow a garden. Watching the fall of the light for days, she built a small plot where she buried the seeds of a garden, but nothing grew. Here, though, stalks and leaves bristled with life around the pond. What was different?
That night, she gathered her seeds, what was left, and found some roots that could be used as tools to dig furrows. When Hades came to her in bed that night, he bent to kiss her, working his way across her body. As she looked down at him, she caught a shade of some kind of hesitation in his eye. With a sinking heart, she prayed an answer would grow in her garden.
With planted rows in crescents around the pool, Persephone watched and waited, but nothing sprang from the black soil. Water. They needed water. With nothing around her to help bucket the stuff, she risked putting her hands in the pool, scooping wetness onto the dirt. The stuff stuck to her, as though her skin were thirstily drinking it in as she bathed the seeds. Once all the rows were soaked, Persephone sat by the pool, suddenly exhausted by the work. The cool ground felt comforting on her cheek and she sank into sleep.
Across the water, Persephone saw what looked like a tall lily with thick spiraling leaves and a nodding head. False Hellebore. As she watched, the lily turned, and its shape shifted to become a bare-chested Hades. As she looked toward him he looked back, a distant look in his eye as though he was looking at something behind her. Not believing it was him she looked back to the garden. Was it him? She looked again, and there he was. As though he felt her eyes on him, he turned his head toward her again. Odd, she thought.
With a start like a sudden fall, Persephone jerked from her sleep. The dream had seemed so real. So real.
Listen.
In the shifting shadows and light, Persephone's ears filled with silence reflected from the earthen walls and ceiling. As she listened to no sound, her mind set a rhythm of emptiness between heartbeats. In the space she remembered Hades' injunction, which had been reiterated in different words, body aches and situational pains since: I don't know if I can give you what you need.
After being forgotten again and again, Persephone had forgotten herself, looking only at all the reasons that Hades was too busy. He has so much on his mind, so many responsibilities, she said to herself. But part of her remembered herself, gathering pieces of who she had been and who she was now, reassembling them again. Growths like emotional spurs had cropped up, needing new places and causing new feelings, shifting what she now was.
Exhausted, Persephone sat by the bank of the pool and wept. Each tear rippled tiny rings of light over the surface. Her hands gripped the earth, and she squeezed dirt through her fingers. The smell of ground after a rainfall filled her, and she inhaled deeply, drying her warm tears with the back of her arm.
Coming to her senses, she saw what she had been blind to before: the edge of the pool was green with a riot of plants, weeds jostling for position at the water. This was the only place she had seen the sun-loving beings, some of whom she was now seated very comfortably upon.
How was it possible? Even the reflected light that bounced through the caves and passageways didn't have enough strength to wake seeds from their slumber. When she had first arrived, Persephone had collected the seeds she found caught on her clothes and in her hair, hoping to grow a garden. Watching the fall of the light for days, she built a small plot where she buried the seeds of a garden, but nothing grew. Here, though, stalks and leaves bristled with life around the pond. What was different?
That night, she gathered her seeds, what was left, and found some roots that could be used as tools to dig furrows. When Hades came to her in bed that night, he bent to kiss her, working his way across her body. As she looked down at him, she caught a shade of some kind of hesitation in his eye. With a sinking heart, she prayed an answer would grow in her garden.
With planted rows in crescents around the pool, Persephone watched and waited, but nothing sprang from the black soil. Water. They needed water. With nothing around her to help bucket the stuff, she risked putting her hands in the pool, scooping wetness onto the dirt. The stuff stuck to her, as though her skin were thirstily drinking it in as she bathed the seeds. Once all the rows were soaked, Persephone sat by the pool, suddenly exhausted by the work. The cool ground felt comforting on her cheek and she sank into sleep.
Across the water, Persephone saw what looked like a tall lily with thick spiraling leaves and a nodding head. False Hellebore. As she watched, the lily turned, and its shape shifted to become a bare-chested Hades. As she looked toward him he looked back, a distant look in his eye as though he was looking at something behind her. Not believing it was him she looked back to the garden. Was it him? She looked again, and there he was. As though he felt her eyes on him, he turned his head toward her again. Odd, she thought.
With a start like a sudden fall, Persephone jerked from her sleep. The dream had seemed so real. So real.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Heartsleeves
I gave my heart to a thief
And he stole it
I gave my heart to a liar
And he said "I love you"
I gave my heart to a cheat
And he traded it for another
I gave my heart to myself
And I cut it into pieces
And I buried it in the ground
And a thousand hot green shoots leaped up toward the sun
And he stole it
I gave my heart to a liar
And he said "I love you"
I gave my heart to a cheat
And he traded it for another
I gave my heart to myself
And I cut it into pieces
And I buried it in the ground
And a thousand hot green shoots leaped up toward the sun
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Persephone V: de-vision
Only in the darkness after the rhombuses of Phaeton's reflected fury had faded did Persephone see Hades, and like the light, the brightness of his visits had lessened.
Persephone herself had begun the tricky business of trying to translate the stories of creatures to one another, telling them as best she could, but she was just learning. It was exhausting but rewarding; elves, salamanders, spiders, and satyrs loved to hear their stories, particularly their own, but there were always a few who were never satisfied. Could've been better, said the trolls, but they never did try it themselves.
As consuming as the stories were, Persephone had vowed to always make time for Hades, and he was always in her heart. But the demands on the king were so great that he often forgot her in the heat of his life, and she was left behind. Although he said he loved her, Persephone saw less of him and more and more her decision to stay caused her heartache that crept into her eyes and her stomach. A line of tension split her brow now, and her shoulders curved inward as though trying to protect the heart she had already given away.
Here, said Hades, seeing her distress, maybe this will help, and handed her something red. Is it your heart? she asked. No, he said smiling. In her hands she held a large crimson pomegranate.
As she held it, a picture grew in her mind: Hades sat in the shade of an enormous single leaf growing from a plant rooted beneath the ground. The sprout was a woman, a womb that grew the seed, the vital connection between solitary Hades and another figure deep beneath the ground: a man with no skin crying endless tears. In a moment, Persephone knew this was Hades, the sensitive man hidden in the earth who the ruling king could only connect with through the vessel of a woman. Her heart broke open as she split the pomegranate and chose six seeds, taking it all in. In the darkness, she knew the injunction: if you consume anything offered in the hidden kingdom, you are then bound to it. Eyes closed, seeing everything, she put the seeds in her mouth, teeth crushing the blood of the fruit into her. Yes, she said.
As days and nights worked seamlessly into each other, Persephone watered the seeds with tears of frustration and confusion. Hades became a shade, slipping further away into the life he had kept separate from hers and Persephone wandered, bringing him what she found. Look, she said, I found these amazing creatures that live next to me. Would you like to meet them? No, said Hades, they aren't anything I'd like, I'm sure. I'm sorry, she said, confused, I don't want to push. Sometimes you have to push, said Hades. Mind tied now in knots, Persephone said nothing.
One day as she was wandering alone she saw came upon a pool she had never seen before. Lapping waves of light slipped over the cliffs near the pool, condensing into bands of brightness and expanding apart. The brightness captivated her, but the beams that brought it here was untraceable. No motes lit up to show the path of the light's travel to the underground. Persephone skirted the edge of the pool (bodies of water in Hel could be treacherous, causing deaths of all kinds to the no longer living), peering in. For all the jumping light, there was no motion on the surface which lay as still as a mirror.
On the still plane, she saw herself for what seemed to be the first time in years: now, grey licked up her temples and a large dent resided between her brows. How long had she been here? Leaning closer, Persephone dropped the open pomegranate into the water and a drop splashed onto her lip. As she fished the halves out, she opened her mouth to the bead of water.
Persephone herself had begun the tricky business of trying to translate the stories of creatures to one another, telling them as best she could, but she was just learning. It was exhausting but rewarding; elves, salamanders, spiders, and satyrs loved to hear their stories, particularly their own, but there were always a few who were never satisfied. Could've been better, said the trolls, but they never did try it themselves.
As consuming as the stories were, Persephone had vowed to always make time for Hades, and he was always in her heart. But the demands on the king were so great that he often forgot her in the heat of his life, and she was left behind. Although he said he loved her, Persephone saw less of him and more and more her decision to stay caused her heartache that crept into her eyes and her stomach. A line of tension split her brow now, and her shoulders curved inward as though trying to protect the heart she had already given away.
Here, said Hades, seeing her distress, maybe this will help, and handed her something red. Is it your heart? she asked. No, he said smiling. In her hands she held a large crimson pomegranate.
As she held it, a picture grew in her mind: Hades sat in the shade of an enormous single leaf growing from a plant rooted beneath the ground. The sprout was a woman, a womb that grew the seed, the vital connection between solitary Hades and another figure deep beneath the ground: a man with no skin crying endless tears. In a moment, Persephone knew this was Hades, the sensitive man hidden in the earth who the ruling king could only connect with through the vessel of a woman. Her heart broke open as she split the pomegranate and chose six seeds, taking it all in. In the darkness, she knew the injunction: if you consume anything offered in the hidden kingdom, you are then bound to it. Eyes closed, seeing everything, she put the seeds in her mouth, teeth crushing the blood of the fruit into her. Yes, she said.
As days and nights worked seamlessly into each other, Persephone watered the seeds with tears of frustration and confusion. Hades became a shade, slipping further away into the life he had kept separate from hers and Persephone wandered, bringing him what she found. Look, she said, I found these amazing creatures that live next to me. Would you like to meet them? No, said Hades, they aren't anything I'd like, I'm sure. I'm sorry, she said, confused, I don't want to push. Sometimes you have to push, said Hades. Mind tied now in knots, Persephone said nothing.
One day as she was wandering alone she saw came upon a pool she had never seen before. Lapping waves of light slipped over the cliffs near the pool, condensing into bands of brightness and expanding apart. The brightness captivated her, but the beams that brought it here was untraceable. No motes lit up to show the path of the light's travel to the underground. Persephone skirted the edge of the pool (bodies of water in Hel could be treacherous, causing deaths of all kinds to the no longer living), peering in. For all the jumping light, there was no motion on the surface which lay as still as a mirror.
On the still plane, she saw herself for what seemed to be the first time in years: now, grey licked up her temples and a large dent resided between her brows. How long had she been here? Leaning closer, Persephone dropped the open pomegranate into the water and a drop splashed onto her lip. As she fished the halves out, she opened her mouth to the bead of water.
Persephone IV: lacuna
"You're not ready to have a relationship with me." She was filled with a great sense of calm certainty and peace as she spoke the words that summed up months of bewilderment. The room filled with the rich silence, rippling against the walls. What was she doing here then? "You want a lover not a partner," she said into the silence. Could she do that? After everything that had happened, all the words that had been spoken, all the joys and desires, could she be only bawdy with no vision?
Persephone had taken to wandering the subterranean spaces, discovering shifting patches of filtered light mysteriously reflected underground. As the sun drove its way across the sky, packs of photons glanced from surface to surface and on, leaving shaking pools of brightness that moved through the roots and crevices. The beams were like a cord tying the shadow realm to its brighter cousin, and if they could be followed through caves and chasms would show a way out of Hel.
Since the night Hades had spent unconscious in Persephone's bed, there had been a shift. Persephone was aware of how little Hades moved toward her, or with her. Want to go for a walk in the light of the full moon reflected in the river? she would ask. No, he had said, I'm tired. Let's go walking in the roots of the forest, she'd said. No, I'm too busy. I'm excited to meet your neighbour, your mother, she had told him. Look, he had responded, don't pressure me about my family or our relationship; live in the moment.
But at that moment she had been excited to know him, his family, his life, and wanted to share hers. The light of that feeling dimmed as time passed, the feeling of connection grew narrower and narrower. It was as though he was content with her to simply fill a space near him, and anything more than that was an annoyance.
It was one of these days that the words were spoken, creating a space where anything was possible: new beginnings, endings, anything. And in that silence, Persephone thought: Here I am, I wouldn't be here for nothing, would I? He says he loves me so it must be true. There is no one else, I love him, why not stay and see if one day he can love me more like he says he will be able?
It seems like we're both ambivalent about this relationship, said Hades, interrupting her thoughts. Shock rang through Persephone. She was anything but ambivalent. She had made a conscious decision to follow her heart and stay despite the dangers of the beast, the complications of raising children and Hades' hiding heart. The seed of doubt now grew, coming to a head in a tight bud on the edge of blossom. But she wasn't ambivalent; she decided again she would wait and show him that she was there and loved him.
Let's build a garden, she said, remembering all the discussions they'd had about the sanctity of food. It's a lot of work and I have so many other tasks, he said, sliding away from her, besides, there's not enough light here. But what else was worth the effort, she wondered. Persephone looked out to where some mysteriously reflected sun was shining on a patch of ground near the house. Look, she said, turning to Hades, but he had gone.
Persephone had taken to wandering the subterranean spaces, discovering shifting patches of filtered light mysteriously reflected underground. As the sun drove its way across the sky, packs of photons glanced from surface to surface and on, leaving shaking pools of brightness that moved through the roots and crevices. The beams were like a cord tying the shadow realm to its brighter cousin, and if they could be followed through caves and chasms would show a way out of Hel.
Since the night Hades had spent unconscious in Persephone's bed, there had been a shift. Persephone was aware of how little Hades moved toward her, or with her. Want to go for a walk in the light of the full moon reflected in the river? she would ask. No, he had said, I'm tired. Let's go walking in the roots of the forest, she'd said. No, I'm too busy. I'm excited to meet your neighbour, your mother, she had told him. Look, he had responded, don't pressure me about my family or our relationship; live in the moment.
But at that moment she had been excited to know him, his family, his life, and wanted to share hers. The light of that feeling dimmed as time passed, the feeling of connection grew narrower and narrower. It was as though he was content with her to simply fill a space near him, and anything more than that was an annoyance.
It was one of these days that the words were spoken, creating a space where anything was possible: new beginnings, endings, anything. And in that silence, Persephone thought: Here I am, I wouldn't be here for nothing, would I? He says he loves me so it must be true. There is no one else, I love him, why not stay and see if one day he can love me more like he says he will be able?
It seems like we're both ambivalent about this relationship, said Hades, interrupting her thoughts. Shock rang through Persephone. She was anything but ambivalent. She had made a conscious decision to follow her heart and stay despite the dangers of the beast, the complications of raising children and Hades' hiding heart. The seed of doubt now grew, coming to a head in a tight bud on the edge of blossom. But she wasn't ambivalent; she decided again she would wait and show him that she was there and loved him.
Let's build a garden, she said, remembering all the discussions they'd had about the sanctity of food. It's a lot of work and I have so many other tasks, he said, sliding away from her, besides, there's not enough light here. But what else was worth the effort, she wondered. Persephone looked out to where some mysteriously reflected sun was shining on a patch of ground near the house. Look, she said, turning to Hades, but he had gone.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Persephone part III: Further down the hell hole
The lightening sky became a diminishing light blue dot as the earth closed behind them. Hades let go of Persephone's hand and smiled. I love you too, he said.
His eyes carried a light in the darkness, but Persephone could not see the way so Hades lit a torch and they descended into the ground.
While they were walking Hades told her the story of his gorgon wife, a hideous beast who had stolen his seed and borne three children. How did it happen, Persephone asked, three times? I don't know, said Hades, putting the root of the deceit down to darkness and confusion.
As impressive as her trickery was, it wasn't as complete as her anger, he said, so we must hide you from her hurt feelings or she will steal away my children. But if you love me, shouldn't we stand together, asked Persephone, because that is the truth. Hades shook his head. No, she will not allow it, he said. Persephone frowned in the dark.
It was dark, and beautiful, thought Persephone, turning to see what could be seen as she adapted to life without light. Fungi glistened in the torchlight and luminescent insects shimmered in the black. Beyond the fire's light, unseen animals' eyes winked and moved.
At last they came to the lapping edge of a river. Beside the wide water was a small house made of old timbers. Opening the door, the light flowed out on the ground, the fireplace fire reflected on finished logs. Here, said Hades, we're safe here, and again he warned her: I don't want to hold you back. Persephone smiled up at him and put her arms around him. What a beautiful place, what a beautiful person, what a beautiful life.
I have to go, said Hades. The demands of his kingdom were calling him away, and Persephone nodded. The door closed behind him and she fell into the sleep she had been missing in bed beside him.
In dreams she felt the touch of the sun and the hush of wind through leaves, a golden thread of light hummed around her. She awakened in darkness.
Three days later, the door flew open and Hades' face was pale. He had done it, he had broken away from the beast that was the mother of his children and now he was frightened. What have I done, he said.
Hades had been working to break the spell for years, waiting until the beast was sated and sluggish and then quietly stealing away the timbers from their home one by one until it was as strong as paper. At last, the day to leave had come with Persephone's arrival, and he said the words to the beast that would release him. I do not love you, he said, facing the beast, I never did, and I never will again.
Hades stopped mid-story and looked at Persephone. His eyes were filled with a glimmer of righteousness as he told her how the beast had howled and refused to release him as though she owned him. Rising up, the beast held a whip in her hand, ready to strike him in his disobedience but Hades had been quick and snatched the whip, threatening her instead. Away she slunk, the beast who had consumed all the riches of his work and joys of his life. But he knew this was not the end.
She could do anything, he said. We must not let anyone know about you, he told Persephone, not my family, not anyone. So instead from time to time he stole to the cabin, a lacuna of solace and light in darkness, and Persephone waited to be freed herself from the remnant power of the beast.
Occasionally, the pair would venture out, visiting the forests of fungi or bathing their knees in the river. But any passing pair of eyes was a threat, and Hades would shield Persephone from view. Many days he was caring for his children, tending to the needs of his kingdom. Persephone, excited to discover more about her new love, offered a hand even in her hidden capacity but the risk was too great. The beast was lumbering through the land, said Hades. His now ex-wife had used the bearing of children as an excuse to devour hillsides, he said, and was now enormous as well as unstable. Disgust and anger stained the words that fell from his mouth: she's crazy. Fear battered the light around Persephone, but her resolve held. She would stay here in love.
Hours passed day by day in the darkness, the crepuscular changes in temperature the only timekeepers. At the last of one day, Persephone opened the door to find the beast before her. But instead of an imagined slavering evil creature, in front of her stood a woman with fine red hair and beautiful almond-shaped eyes filled with shock and pain. And anger.
He's done this before, you know, she shot at Persephone. The beast was filled with anger, just as Hades had said, and Persephone knew it was his beautiful heart that saw the hideousness of anger and the pain the beast inflicted through her greed. You don't own him, said Persephone, he is his own person, remembering Hades' stories of bondage at the hands of the beast.
Suddenly, a small, vicious dog lunged from behind the beast, snapping at Persephone. The bitch's fangs caught a corner of her dress and pulled, suddenly leaving her naked. She held her arm across her breast and kept the dog at bay. With a gentle kick, she pushed it back behind the beast. Go away, said Persephone, waving her free hand and closing the door.
Leaning against the frame and feeling her heart beating in her chest, Persephone, once the girl of flowers, felt tears run down her cheeks. What had happened? From a fruitful field to darkness and deceit and intrigue, her life had changed.
Although the dog's petty snapping had been surprising, it was the sense that she was an alien thing in a strange place, something to hide away in shame, that was perplexing. Why did Hades not want to share lives with her? She had asked him many times if he would like to come to Demeter's table but he declined all invitations. Finally he had told her that it was too much pressure to think about her and his family. Persephone, seeing his ex-wife's hostility, acquiesced, believing that in time after his escape he would want more once he had healed, once he returned to his source.
Along the ridge of a nearby mountain from deep within the earth, a source of scalding water rose, joining a cold river to form a shallow pool. It was at this place that Hades spent most of his days, ruling his kingdom from the edge of the hot spring. When his work was done, he and his entourage convened along the bank of the river Lethe, dipping their cups in its somnolent waters. Draughts downed drained their brains of all the small happenings of the day, and minds free, they played their games along the river's edge. It was like peace, at last. At last, Persephone had been invited to join them in their sport, but found only confusion, not the peace they seemed to win. But Hades' joy running with the boys also made her happy, taking delight in his fortune.
Once after an evening at the Lethe Hades had visited Persephone spontaneously mid-night, waking her at the window. Opening the door, a drunk and tired Hades fell immediately into her bed, sprawling and snoring, and she looked forward instead to the morning.
After the chill of dawn and Hades' wandering hands had woken her and they had fallen into each other, Hades was soon standing and pulling on his clothes. Don't you want breakfast, asked Persephone. No, said Hades, I have to go to work soon. Something dark settled into her stomach, killing her hunger as well. Doubt.
His eyes carried a light in the darkness, but Persephone could not see the way so Hades lit a torch and they descended into the ground.
While they were walking Hades told her the story of his gorgon wife, a hideous beast who had stolen his seed and borne three children. How did it happen, Persephone asked, three times? I don't know, said Hades, putting the root of the deceit down to darkness and confusion.
As impressive as her trickery was, it wasn't as complete as her anger, he said, so we must hide you from her hurt feelings or she will steal away my children. But if you love me, shouldn't we stand together, asked Persephone, because that is the truth. Hades shook his head. No, she will not allow it, he said. Persephone frowned in the dark.
It was dark, and beautiful, thought Persephone, turning to see what could be seen as she adapted to life without light. Fungi glistened in the torchlight and luminescent insects shimmered in the black. Beyond the fire's light, unseen animals' eyes winked and moved.
At last they came to the lapping edge of a river. Beside the wide water was a small house made of old timbers. Opening the door, the light flowed out on the ground, the fireplace fire reflected on finished logs. Here, said Hades, we're safe here, and again he warned her: I don't want to hold you back. Persephone smiled up at him and put her arms around him. What a beautiful place, what a beautiful person, what a beautiful life.
I have to go, said Hades. The demands of his kingdom were calling him away, and Persephone nodded. The door closed behind him and she fell into the sleep she had been missing in bed beside him.
In dreams she felt the touch of the sun and the hush of wind through leaves, a golden thread of light hummed around her. She awakened in darkness.
Three days later, the door flew open and Hades' face was pale. He had done it, he had broken away from the beast that was the mother of his children and now he was frightened. What have I done, he said.
Hades had been working to break the spell for years, waiting until the beast was sated and sluggish and then quietly stealing away the timbers from their home one by one until it was as strong as paper. At last, the day to leave had come with Persephone's arrival, and he said the words to the beast that would release him. I do not love you, he said, facing the beast, I never did, and I never will again.
Hades stopped mid-story and looked at Persephone. His eyes were filled with a glimmer of righteousness as he told her how the beast had howled and refused to release him as though she owned him. Rising up, the beast held a whip in her hand, ready to strike him in his disobedience but Hades had been quick and snatched the whip, threatening her instead. Away she slunk, the beast who had consumed all the riches of his work and joys of his life. But he knew this was not the end.
She could do anything, he said. We must not let anyone know about you, he told Persephone, not my family, not anyone. So instead from time to time he stole to the cabin, a lacuna of solace and light in darkness, and Persephone waited to be freed herself from the remnant power of the beast.
Occasionally, the pair would venture out, visiting the forests of fungi or bathing their knees in the river. But any passing pair of eyes was a threat, and Hades would shield Persephone from view. Many days he was caring for his children, tending to the needs of his kingdom. Persephone, excited to discover more about her new love, offered a hand even in her hidden capacity but the risk was too great. The beast was lumbering through the land, said Hades. His now ex-wife had used the bearing of children as an excuse to devour hillsides, he said, and was now enormous as well as unstable. Disgust and anger stained the words that fell from his mouth: she's crazy. Fear battered the light around Persephone, but her resolve held. She would stay here in love.
Hours passed day by day in the darkness, the crepuscular changes in temperature the only timekeepers. At the last of one day, Persephone opened the door to find the beast before her. But instead of an imagined slavering evil creature, in front of her stood a woman with fine red hair and beautiful almond-shaped eyes filled with shock and pain. And anger.
He's done this before, you know, she shot at Persephone. The beast was filled with anger, just as Hades had said, and Persephone knew it was his beautiful heart that saw the hideousness of anger and the pain the beast inflicted through her greed. You don't own him, said Persephone, he is his own person, remembering Hades' stories of bondage at the hands of the beast.
Suddenly, a small, vicious dog lunged from behind the beast, snapping at Persephone. The bitch's fangs caught a corner of her dress and pulled, suddenly leaving her naked. She held her arm across her breast and kept the dog at bay. With a gentle kick, she pushed it back behind the beast. Go away, said Persephone, waving her free hand and closing the door.
Leaning against the frame and feeling her heart beating in her chest, Persephone, once the girl of flowers, felt tears run down her cheeks. What had happened? From a fruitful field to darkness and deceit and intrigue, her life had changed.
Although the dog's petty snapping had been surprising, it was the sense that she was an alien thing in a strange place, something to hide away in shame, that was perplexing. Why did Hades not want to share lives with her? She had asked him many times if he would like to come to Demeter's table but he declined all invitations. Finally he had told her that it was too much pressure to think about her and his family. Persephone, seeing his ex-wife's hostility, acquiesced, believing that in time after his escape he would want more once he had healed, once he returned to his source.
Along the ridge of a nearby mountain from deep within the earth, a source of scalding water rose, joining a cold river to form a shallow pool. It was at this place that Hades spent most of his days, ruling his kingdom from the edge of the hot spring. When his work was done, he and his entourage convened along the bank of the river Lethe, dipping their cups in its somnolent waters. Draughts downed drained their brains of all the small happenings of the day, and minds free, they played their games along the river's edge. It was like peace, at last. At last, Persephone had been invited to join them in their sport, but found only confusion, not the peace they seemed to win. But Hades' joy running with the boys also made her happy, taking delight in his fortune.
Once after an evening at the Lethe Hades had visited Persephone spontaneously mid-night, waking her at the window. Opening the door, a drunk and tired Hades fell immediately into her bed, sprawling and snoring, and she looked forward instead to the morning.
After the chill of dawn and Hades' wandering hands had woken her and they had fallen into each other, Hades was soon standing and pulling on his clothes. Don't you want breakfast, asked Persephone. No, said Hades, I have to go to work soon. Something dark settled into her stomach, killing her hunger as well. Doubt.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Persephone II: All gone to hell
The stem slackened in her hands, all resistance instantly gone and her efforts resulted in her being suddenly and gracelessly seated on the dirt.
From the sizeable cave now in the ground and into the sepia sky came a dark figure. Dusk came quickly as he rose out of the earth, a tall lean figure cut against the last light of day.
The shadow spoke kindness in a rich voice, exhorting her to rise. Behind her a chorus of whispers and sharp murmurs moved through the huddled Aurai. Swaying but still, their hair stood straight up and listed like the light from candles in a draft. Persephone pushed herself up from her sprawl and the silhouette lengthened, offering a hand. Grasping the shade, she pulled herself toward him until she stood, suddenly looking up into the eyes of a god.
Darkness had fallen, the stage of the day now opened into the theatre of night. All diurnal players retired, the crepuscular shift done and the nocturne unfolding, stars were painted across the sky and moths fluttered on the air. The Aurai's jittering stirred the standing grains to a gentle shushing that mimicked a gentle tide.
He was beautiful, a gentleness in his tall lean body and a grace that enchanted her. Something so quiet seeming, so still. He smiled and she smiled back, and forgot the poppy in her hand. Here was true beauty in front of her.
Without the moon, darkness fell quickly as they spoke, and with it a chill. His name was Hades, an uncle of hers in some way, although that was always another term for relation of some sort, and everything was related in the beginning, after all.
She had never seen such a graceful man; he moved like a dancer, precise and careful. His lithe shape entranced her, his words drew her and she knew he was the one. This one.
His feet never left the navel space open in the earth, but it was his eyes that captured her. She could not look away, as difficult as it was to take in his beauty, as polite as it was not to stare.
The sun that had warmed her open was long gone, the chill creeping close, and she shivered. But on they talked, trading words back and forth along lips to ears.
He was married, he told her, but it had already ended in his mind, only the words to break it needed to be spoken. His wife was a greedy ogre he had been forced to marry as part of an enchantment, and she lusted after him like a thing, keeping control and spoiling herself. His life was hell.
Persephone's young heart opened to take him in; how could anyone terrorize a creature of such beauty inside and out? She wanted to protect him, to rescue him from his life of slavery and bring him into a world of joy.
They talked through the night about the darkness of others and diamond minds. Persephone was excited to meet such an interesting stranger, with such a complex life and engaging words. Even though he had never loved her, Hades had been bound to his wife not only through enchantment but also the three children they shared.
But how did that happen, Persephone asked, that you could have three children with a woman you didn't love?
I don't know, he replied, it was circumstance more than anything. I love all three, he added, the kind of love only a parent can know for his children.
A chill crept through the air as dawn approached. They had talked the whole night through, and now Hades had to leave.
What am I doing here, he said, as though he had been roused from some confusion, waking to where he was. Persephone held out her hand and he took it, holding her palm in his as the sky lightened.
I could come with you, she said, her eyes lit and heart open, ready to face whatever lay beneath the ground. I don't want to hold you back, he demurred. I want to come, she said. I don't know if I can give you what I need, he cautioned. I love you, she said, and stepped into the earth.
From the sizeable cave now in the ground and into the sepia sky came a dark figure. Dusk came quickly as he rose out of the earth, a tall lean figure cut against the last light of day.
The shadow spoke kindness in a rich voice, exhorting her to rise. Behind her a chorus of whispers and sharp murmurs moved through the huddled Aurai. Swaying but still, their hair stood straight up and listed like the light from candles in a draft. Persephone pushed herself up from her sprawl and the silhouette lengthened, offering a hand. Grasping the shade, she pulled herself toward him until she stood, suddenly looking up into the eyes of a god.
Darkness had fallen, the stage of the day now opened into the theatre of night. All diurnal players retired, the crepuscular shift done and the nocturne unfolding, stars were painted across the sky and moths fluttered on the air. The Aurai's jittering stirred the standing grains to a gentle shushing that mimicked a gentle tide.
He was beautiful, a gentleness in his tall lean body and a grace that enchanted her. Something so quiet seeming, so still. He smiled and she smiled back, and forgot the poppy in her hand. Here was true beauty in front of her.
Without the moon, darkness fell quickly as they spoke, and with it a chill. His name was Hades, an uncle of hers in some way, although that was always another term for relation of some sort, and everything was related in the beginning, after all.
She had never seen such a graceful man; he moved like a dancer, precise and careful. His lithe shape entranced her, his words drew her and she knew he was the one. This one.
His feet never left the navel space open in the earth, but it was his eyes that captured her. She could not look away, as difficult as it was to take in his beauty, as polite as it was not to stare.
The sun that had warmed her open was long gone, the chill creeping close, and she shivered. But on they talked, trading words back and forth along lips to ears.
He was married, he told her, but it had already ended in his mind, only the words to break it needed to be spoken. His wife was a greedy ogre he had been forced to marry as part of an enchantment, and she lusted after him like a thing, keeping control and spoiling herself. His life was hell.
Persephone's young heart opened to take him in; how could anyone terrorize a creature of such beauty inside and out? She wanted to protect him, to rescue him from his life of slavery and bring him into a world of joy.
They talked through the night about the darkness of others and diamond minds. Persephone was excited to meet such an interesting stranger, with such a complex life and engaging words. Even though he had never loved her, Hades had been bound to his wife not only through enchantment but also the three children they shared.
But how did that happen, Persephone asked, that you could have three children with a woman you didn't love?
I don't know, he replied, it was circumstance more than anything. I love all three, he added, the kind of love only a parent can know for his children.
A chill crept through the air as dawn approached. They had talked the whole night through, and now Hades had to leave.
What am I doing here, he said, as though he had been roused from some confusion, waking to where he was. Persephone held out her hand and he took it, holding her palm in his as the sky lightened.
I could come with you, she said, her eyes lit and heart open, ready to face whatever lay beneath the ground. I don't want to hold you back, he demurred. I want to come, she said. I don't know if I can give you what I need, he cautioned. I love you, she said, and stepped into the earth.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Persephone 1: rought draft
Picture this:
There she was waist deep in wheat, a golden ocean undulating under an empty sky that blew her black hair back from her face. A girl on the cusp of being a woman, still filled with dreams sparkling in her blue eyes, raw ideas untempered by the gravity of experience. She, and her entourage of Aurai who amused themselves by sending waves through the seed-heavy straw, bending them with breezes, blowing kisses through the warm air.
Smiling at the play, running through the chaotic cross blasts without bending a blade, a red pinprick rolled into eyeshot. Like a question, a point of interrogation, it stood simple in the field. Persephone aimed her body at the crimson drop in the gilt sea, and ran for it with the wind of the Aurai at her heels.
And when she came on it, she saw the red stain was an enormous poppy, its garish head cockeyed at a slight angle and nodding to the beat of the breeze. Dark grains dyed its black heart, spilling toward the shouting scarlet petals of a bloom big enough to engulf her head whole. The rhythmic movement of the flower on its thick furry green stalk continued even after the winds had dissipated like some charmed snake entranced by a flute.
Persephone raised her hand to touch the dusky core, fingers brushing anthers then coming to rest on the stigma. The steep angle of the late day sun illuminated millions of motes in an amber haze, the daylight's final corona a push of heat before darkness. Mesmerized by the heat and the touch of the poppy, the shadow of overlapping reds, time was forgotten until an Aura touched her. Time is moving and the day is ending, she said.
As the buzz of crickets' scissoring slowly built, Persephone wrapped her hand around the poppy's thick green stem. She cannot leave it behind. Her right hand pulled and bent, but couldn't separate flower from its plant body. No, she was determined it would be hers, and her left hand joined in, twisting and wresting. It was no use, flower and stalk would not be parted, but neither would Persephone from her blooming treasure.
With both hands around the rope-like shoot, she braced herself with heels and pulled mightily to loose the roots from their turf. At first nothing budged, neither girl nor greenery, and then something shifted. A scraping sound like stones sliding past each other vibrated through the earth, but Persephone's grip was unrelenting. This would be hers.
The scraping shifted in pitch to rumbling, louder and louder, until the sound wasn't heard as much as felt. A few feet from the flower, the roots moved, and the earth untwisted itself like a navel into a belly, rocks and earth falling into a pit that grew gaping and dark before her.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Black Berry (this really happened)
The sun was still slightly encased in haze from the faraway blaze of forest fires on the mountain. The air was red and the water roared its uneven waves onto the shore. The ocean was a million shifting shining spikes, and thick blackberry vines roped the beach round.
Tottering on, their quartet accompanied by dog lean and crouch into the million shards of light reflected on the waves or falling out of the sky. Each one contemplating then deciding; two women reach to the waist, disrobing and undressing in a single overlapped moment, dancing their way over the stone fragments and into watery weightlessness. Their shyer counterpart demurs to the stripped logs.
She takes her sweater off, leaving it to the side, and feels her skin burn. Kinder, the wind cools her and she finds she can bear it. In shoes and socks, she feels no effects from the pebbles and rocks. Still, she stays on the log watching the water through sunglasses. At least she can still pick up a signal here, sending nonvocalic messages back to the city. Connected.
He watches the water wave over the two women, but his love makes one more beautiful. With tethered attention, he moves in line with her, together in an affection transparent and visible. He takes off his shirt and submits to the cold ocean, then to her warm body. Laughing, they embrace.
The sun’s fractioned strength, slighted by the smoke of burning forest, cannot warm the lone woman. Without a lover’s heat, she slips out of the ocean and back to the sharp terrestrial world of stones and shells. Balancing on a bare log, she teeters along, finding each smooth surface with her feet and travels the edge, eating the fruit of the enclosing vines. It is sweet but sharp; juice stains just as well as blood from a thorn's cut.
The world is silent, other than the roar of the water. The sun, the ocean: they require no language and the mind begins to empty and open. Only the damp smell of smoke signals an ancient alarm to sound through, though without the burden of words.
Burning blood red now around the edge of the sky, the sun sinks further into flames reflected on the waves. It is time to go. Swimmers flock clumsily into clothes, sticking and wet. Barbed and silent, blackberry bushes coil the beach like a ancient serpent leaving only one entrance, one exit.
Uneven waves thrown against the rocks are the only sound, other than a foreign ping of messages sent through the ether. No birds. No bears. No voices. Even the dog is silent, sniffing around roots under logs, as though the smoke had stung their eyes and stolen away their voices.
Back along the track growing thinner as suckers seek more ground spreading their tender thorns into space. A spike find skin, purchase and small pain, a few drops of blood the price of passage. Hands to mouths bruise black with berry blood, gory grins prod seed-filled laughs.
Back on tracks empty of train cars and engines, a muted half-lit world of smoulder.
Suddenly more: a horn blasts, the engine's light close and getting closer. Another blare and blast, and all four – five, with the dog held close in the narrow ditch. The dog struggles against arms struggling against animal instinct to Run. And at once the train is on them, shaking the ground and air into quaking thunder and dust. Ditch, dog, arms, back, backpack, tracks and train: something bursts as the huge wheels grind past. Paper bleeds, spewing from the backpack in an arc across the tracks. Some thing small and hard and black bounces into pieces. And is gone.
Empty tracks again, the train already around the next bend but the shaking continues. Hearts in throats the five stand with grey fingers stock still but shaking. At their feet small pieces of black plastic and in one hand berries crush and stain to dark.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
How can you miss what you never had?
That's the feeling, the sense of missing something always out of reach, like an unseen colour, a stranger strangely familiar story land, the description of a taste, a future memory.
Hume might say the force of impression may fade, pressing reality into imagination, or if traffic runs both ways, here on that border is the desire for what was never known.
Or maybe it's like understanding only what a triangle is, and when a square is encountered at first it is only a "not triangle" and maybe the possibilities of more "not triangles" are imagined. Maybe that's the unknown colour, somewhere in the anti-spectrum there is another inconceivable but possible colour. And in moments of grace, no triangle, no not triangle, no thing. Yes.
Instead, I remember riding riding riding him, hand in sweat on his skin the joy between eyes and sighs. Yes.
And attempting to extrapolate joy out of bed and into the grind and sweat of everyday toil, those moments between eyes, fighting and fucking up into something new. The possibility of not triangle, but not knowing what the fuck the shape of things is. Everything gone Claire shaped.
Or maybe it's a trick of imagination and not memory, the delicious part; that sense of expanding joy, a seed spiralling shoots out enlivening all hours, destroying barriers and ruining limits, running roughshod over neat borders with its own quiet precision and intelligence. And love.
Love to love soaking through with all the everything and more.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Dreadweight?
For the past four years I've been living in a valley steep on mountains and high up sky. I've heard people from the prairies say that they felt claustrophobic when they first arrived, and it's understandable. Planted between the giant swells of mountains, often buried in grey clouds, it's easy to feel planted, coddled, or stuck depending on the day.
Of the people who moved here and away again, there are those who say, yes, there was a strange lulling, sometimes expressed as a reluctance to leave the valley. Of the people who have always lived here, they have always lived here and love it as the best place on earth. Mind your geography, now.
No matter where you go, there you are, and place is simply the setting for the mind. Sometimes changing place can make the mind stand out, the consistent thing when everything else has changed. Traveling can be valuable for that.
In this small womb-like valley it's easy to remain unfocused, unattached, undeveloped, nourished by mountains and air, never born, never to face challenges, to see what mettle exists: What is there? What is possible? What am I? In such a small place, transformation appears to be very difficult, and dreams can seem alien even to the dreamer. They are the blueprints of existence, endogenous and evolving, but like all living things require labour to be birthed into the world. This womb, these mountainous labia, what can be borne?
Such a small place needs a big sky, a long moment of possibility, a sense of opportunity that shouts HERE I AM and wakes the sleeper out of comfortable fear and into the dream. This dream is life. It could end at any time. Do not be afraid. Do not go back to sleep, even if it is enormously painful.
Bob Marley said:
"If she's amazing, she won't be easy. If she's easy she won't be amazing. If she's worth it, you won't give up. If you give up, you're not worthy... Truth is everybody is going to hurt you. You just have to find the ones worth suffering for."
True story.
For the past four years I've been living in a valley steep on mountains and high up sky. I've heard people from the prairies say that they felt claustrophobic when they first arrived, and it's understandable. Planted between the giant swells of mountains, often buried in grey clouds, it's easy to feel planted, coddled, or stuck depending on the day.
Of the people who moved here and away again, there are those who say, yes, there was a strange lulling, sometimes expressed as a reluctance to leave the valley. Of the people who have always lived here, they have always lived here and love it as the best place on earth. Mind your geography, now.
No matter where you go, there you are, and place is simply the setting for the mind. Sometimes changing place can make the mind stand out, the consistent thing when everything else has changed. Traveling can be valuable for that.
In this small womb-like valley it's easy to remain unfocused, unattached, undeveloped, nourished by mountains and air, never born, never to face challenges, to see what mettle exists: What is there? What is possible? What am I? In such a small place, transformation appears to be very difficult, and dreams can seem alien even to the dreamer. They are the blueprints of existence, endogenous and evolving, but like all living things require labour to be birthed into the world. This womb, these mountainous labia, what can be borne?
Such a small place needs a big sky, a long moment of possibility, a sense of opportunity that shouts HERE I AM and wakes the sleeper out of comfortable fear and into the dream. This dream is life. It could end at any time. Do not be afraid. Do not go back to sleep, even if it is enormously painful.
Bob Marley said:
"If she's amazing, she won't be easy. If she's easy she won't be amazing. If she's worth it, you won't give up. If you give up, you're not worthy... Truth is everybody is going to hurt you. You just have to find the ones worth suffering for."
True story.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
We're talking trash, here, apparently
With the understanding that I'm not certain that I've learned anything, really, I have to say I've learned a lot being the editor of a small town newspaper. A huge, tsunami-sized amount that continues to grow.
In this position, I often find myself in situations that are extremely unusual. Pretty much any situation is unusual for me, though. I'm a slow-adapting type of person, I figure, or potentially something even stranger, like maybe an alien. There are so many types of human behaviour (mine included) that strike me as incredibly odd.
The one I experienced tonight at the local hockey game was the phenomenon of trash-talking. Now well-acquainted with the hushed tones of gossip, this new behaviour was like backstabbing on parade. Suddenly, the dark and nasty voice that usually shies away from revealing itself broadly was now on public display.
The first perp was a teenaged boy, so I could almost see it as a defensive mechanism to compensate for his acne-ridden face or misguided rushing hormones. Still, it didn't make his pimples any prettier, and turned his gawkiness from possibly cute to downright ugly.
More shocking was the fully-grown but not quite grown-up gentleman to my right who must have had the all-seeing eyes of God on his side as he cursed every call the ref made (against his team).
It was like sitting in hate soup, a tepid uncomfortable broth of floating hostility where no good effort was recognized for what it was in itself. The only thing that mattered wasn't even who won the game; what mattered was the righteousness of the trash-talkers. They had the mysterious authority to dismiss the experience, judgment and skill of the people in the game.
I was in awe. Did they believe the things they were saying? Were they saying them only to perplex the people they were clawing down? Huh. Yet another strange behaviour to catalogue but not to practise.
I've also learned in my time as editor that I like watching hockey. It's got to be live, but it doesn't matter if it's Bantams or Midgets, or the NHL. Nope, I'm an indiscriminate hockey aesthete; I love the balance and skill of the players, their determination and tenacity, the hits, the goals and the misses. I love how the refs scramble to stay out of the way while staying near the action.
Generally, I love the crowd too, when they cheer and appreciate the efforts made. I'm not a big enough person to love the haters, though (sorry, Jesus/Buddha). They just make me feel sorry – sorry for the players and refs that have to put up with them, sorry for their neighbours in the stands, sorry for them and the crappy outlook they have, and sorry for the human race in general. As far as I can tell, absolutely no one needs vitriol spewed at them when they're doing their best. And guess what? Maybe not all, but most people are doing the best they can pretty much all the time.
In this position, I often find myself in situations that are extremely unusual. Pretty much any situation is unusual for me, though. I'm a slow-adapting type of person, I figure, or potentially something even stranger, like maybe an alien. There are so many types of human behaviour (mine included) that strike me as incredibly odd.
The one I experienced tonight at the local hockey game was the phenomenon of trash-talking. Now well-acquainted with the hushed tones of gossip, this new behaviour was like backstabbing on parade. Suddenly, the dark and nasty voice that usually shies away from revealing itself broadly was now on public display.
The first perp was a teenaged boy, so I could almost see it as a defensive mechanism to compensate for his acne-ridden face or misguided rushing hormones. Still, it didn't make his pimples any prettier, and turned his gawkiness from possibly cute to downright ugly.
More shocking was the fully-grown but not quite grown-up gentleman to my right who must have had the all-seeing eyes of God on his side as he cursed every call the ref made (against his team).
It was like sitting in hate soup, a tepid uncomfortable broth of floating hostility where no good effort was recognized for what it was in itself. The only thing that mattered wasn't even who won the game; what mattered was the righteousness of the trash-talkers. They had the mysterious authority to dismiss the experience, judgment and skill of the people in the game.
I was in awe. Did they believe the things they were saying? Were they saying them only to perplex the people they were clawing down? Huh. Yet another strange behaviour to catalogue but not to practise.
I've also learned in my time as editor that I like watching hockey. It's got to be live, but it doesn't matter if it's Bantams or Midgets, or the NHL. Nope, I'm an indiscriminate hockey aesthete; I love the balance and skill of the players, their determination and tenacity, the hits, the goals and the misses. I love how the refs scramble to stay out of the way while staying near the action.
Generally, I love the crowd too, when they cheer and appreciate the efforts made. I'm not a big enough person to love the haters, though (sorry, Jesus/Buddha). They just make me feel sorry – sorry for the players and refs that have to put up with them, sorry for their neighbours in the stands, sorry for them and the crappy outlook they have, and sorry for the human race in general. As far as I can tell, absolutely no one needs vitriol spewed at them when they're doing their best. And guess what? Maybe not all, but most people are doing the best they can pretty much all the time.
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