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30 September 19 – The One – Song 8: Endings and Transitions, Segment 1

Song 8 falls under the second movement, “Becoming,” a word that can be interpreted as either positive or negative. Becoming cynical. Becoming ruthless. Becoming kind. Becoming generous. Read this segment asking whether the Song falls to one side or the other or partially in both. The title of the Song, “Endings and Transitions,” also merits consideration. What has ended? What do the transitions look like? On a journey such as this one, “endings” call to mind a dead-end road, and transitions serving as bridges between what has disappeared and what is yet to come.



SECOND MOVEMENT
BECOMING
SONG 8
ENDINGS AND TRANSITIONS

            and pillow my muddled head on my knees
                        sobbing into my dark nauseous center
                        hollow, hopeless, and void of remedy
I rock myself cradling sorrow and regret
            two entwined vipers within my emptiness
I spend night’s last hours on the river bank
            swaying between exhaustion and fresh tears
I am ambered like an ant in resin
            I cannot sort out this nameless lesson

I have nowhere to go without my friend
I’m anchored to this place we walked as one
I want to stay – linger in the dying heat
If I leave this shore, I walk away from Hart
            forever – a dream I raised up, then drove off
            for a bottle and bad soup on a stove
Why didn’t I veer away instantly
            when we saw that puzzling water serpent?
How could I leave my only friend and run
            with that woman and her wicked madness?
I would go back and kill her if the thought
            of touching her did not revolt me so

But it wasn’t her – truly, it was me
            who hungered for her poison low and foul
She was just there -- conveniently at hand
I’m the one who left, going into dark
I’m the one who broke friend and my two hearts

I watch the sun rise and wonder why it does
Everything is finished.  Days meaningless
I did not see how fragile all this was
We are all just green tender onion plants
            open and ripe for harsh hands to uproot

At noon I think of going after Hart
At dusk I still sit and rock on the shore
When dark comes, I crawl into the red boat
            pulling a blanket and the canvas sail
                        over me wishing not to wake again
                        knowing I will, though I am two days dead

 Diving deeper into the watery void
             the sea’s weight presses on me like a stone
            hand over hand I follow to anchor’s rode
                        down      down      and deep to the floor of the sea
                        the rough steel links a forged weight and sinking
                        each one a question -- darkening thinking
At hull-crushing depth I find the anchor’s
claws clutching sand like dragon-gold talons
My ship rocks far above – ghost floating pale
            Her rigging stands soundless unmoved by wind
                        as she glides tethered under folded sail

No compass point to direct the right tack
The sea before me — the sea at my back

When I wake, I build a small warming fire
The wind blusters up and rain clouds hang low 
I squat huddled in a blanket staring
            at the red boat and all she could have been
Now she may as well be a funeral ship
            that ferries me to hell for what I’ve done
Hell can bring no worse than this betrayal
What more hideous scenes could I conjure up?
Instantly I answer this inquiry
            Nothing
                        anywhere
                                      ever again

The fire slow-burns to smoldering embers
I place a sturdy stick’s tip on the edge
and lay more sticks across the dying glow
I walk to the red boat’s bow and kneel there
            with the blackened stick and write four letters
                        on the starboard hull – repeat them on port
Each stick flickers and sparks – I grasp each one 
            by its unlit end and blow on the flames
                        as one by one I burn the four letters
                        scorching red paint to black on the hull’s wood
I smudge with fire to scar and cauterize
            with no hope to heal the wound coiled inside 
                        from what I have done and what will never be
So, now I have the heart to start again
            downriver – away from Hart’s memory

For some time more, I sit staring at Hart’s
            name seared onto the boat – letters ragged
            and uneven – much like I am right now
I push off when rain falls and thunder sounds
            close and low announcing plunging lightning’s 
                        jagged bolts trace paths across veiling clouds
            with forceful promises of drenching rain
                        as I set off due south on fire with pain

Soon I see the fatal inlet channel
            and pull hard to be clear of it and her
Once past the channel mouth I keep stroking
            putting distance, not forgiveness, between
The day’s rain falls steadily persistent
I receive it like an unsought blessing
            pouring ointment on my weary body
            deserted banks bind my central passage
                        pushing into unknown welcome waters
                                    on the rising current’s relentless back

An unseen watcher would see me drifting
            and think ‘what a fool’ – and it’s true – I am
Who but an outrageous fool would not see
            the risk of loss before its run began?
A more tender lookout might see me pass
            and call out and urge me to pull for shore
                        where I’d be treated as the homeless one
                                    in need of pity – which I surely am
But no one looks out from the river bank
No generous guide appears to set my course
This is as it should be for one like me
            I have charted maps to my own problems
            I have strewn -- now pilot -- my own debris


Background
Remorse and regret are powerful emotions, to say the least. They can stop a life in its tracks, ambering a person in the event that results in the remorse or regret. Some who experience these emotions never find their way clear of them, and can be haunted even to dying and death. Remorse and regret are extremely personal experiences, and involve blaming self rather than rationalizing others’ complicity. Remorse and regret make for a harsh world.

If a person can honestly say that he/she has lived with no regrets, it may be wise not to trust such a person. Who can chart a path through life so righteous and clear that these feelings never appear? Even children have regrets and feel remorse. Due to their relative innocence, perhaps they experience these with more intensity. In any case, this segment of The One invites you to take a deep dive into the territory experienced by the main character.

Exploration 1: Do you find it plausible that the main character is as distraught as the description in this section implies?

Exploration 2: Considering the main character’s deep regret, who is at fault for the scenario that created this regret: the MC, Hart, the “hag”?

Exploration 3: This Song falls under the Second Movement, “Becoming.” What or who has the main character become at this point? 






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