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23 December 19 – The One – Song 9: Darkness Rising, Segment 4

Several weeks have passed since the prior post of Song 9: Darkness Rising, so I’ll make a quick transition to this fourth post (one more to go) in this part of the narrative. The main character (MC) has been sent on a “mission” to bilk an old fellow named Hertwig. These two meet and discuss and by the time they leave together, the MC has lost all interest in stealing anything from the old gentleman. In this segment, we continue to follow them to Hertwig’s lodgings where the exchange continues.



                                                as he makes his way through gray city streets
                                                to where, I do not know, and do not care
                                    Some odd force urges me to follow him
                                                to unveil whatever mystery he holds
                                    After a maze of dim streets and alleys
                                                Hertwig stops before a dirt-streaked black door 
                                                open to a staircase leading to darkness
                                                and still I follow trudging up the steps
                                                while Hertwig puffs and wheezes, “Almost there.”
                                    At a second door, he fumbles for keys
                                                selects one key and shoves it in the lock
                                                            door opens – he invites me to enter
                                    Inside, waves of deep velvet green cover
                                                pedestals and risers and atop each
                                                            precious items rest – jewels, silver, rings
                                                            amethyst, coins, bronze vessels, ornaments
                                    I think I must be dreaming or the drink
                                                at the tavern contained a grave potion
                                    Hertwig glances at me with half a smile
                                                and says, “Do you like my small collection?”
                                    “Yes,” I say, “but how do you keep it safe?”
                                    “I show to few, and those I do, I kill.”

                                    I take three wild steps backward towards the door
                                    Hertwig belly laughs and slaps my back hard
                                    “Don’t worry. I already know your trust
                                                Your word is worth more than any bauble” 
                                    “You can’t know. Our acquaintance is too short”
                                    “Oh, just call it long, rich experience
                                                but come, come, sit and have some tea with me”
                                    He rummages for the pot, tea and cups
                                                while I shake my head completely baffled
                                                by his treasure and by his innocence
                                    This might be a ruse, but he may just be
                                                authentic – someone I would like to know
maybe even learn from like my teacher
                                    Soon, we sit, and sip, and share like old friends 
                                                delighting in tales of our adventures
                                    His are lengthy, wide-ranging, abundant
                                                Mine are guarded, short-lived, full of remorse
                                    We both have smooth currents and rougher seas

                                    “How came you to this place?” Hertwig asks me
                                                His words flow out lovely foreign cadence 
                                                            archaic, royal, kindly, wise, and true
                                    “By chance and folly, and not you’ll guess by
                                                innocence, rather sins and betrayals
                                    Once again, my language mirrors his tongue
                                                I can’t for my life say why this rapid change
                                    Is this witchcraft? Or worse, evil demonic?
                                    I feel carried off on a pristine sea
                                                barely knowing this creature, I call me
                                    He takes me deeper, lacking my consent
                                    “Yes,” he goes on. “There are those who perish
                                                from not seeing what boldly calls for sight
                                    Some even have aversion to the truth
                                    The world’s ablaze with fires of dying light
                                    We are always burning with great desire
                                    And now, to you. What is your one desire?
                                                That prime one that pulls you from place to place?”
                                    I almost fall off my chair reacting
                                                to his astounding question, the same one
                                                I have asked myself from the beginning
                                    I think how to answer rightly, truly
                                                or whether I should answer this at all
                                                            and reveal secrets I want kept hidden

                                    With no thought, I blurt out, “I want my boat!”
                                    He lifts his chin and raises his eyebrows
                                                How stupid, I chide and lecture myself
                                                            feeling like a child of seven years old                                
                                    “Ha! So, of all there is, you choose your boat?”
                                                His voice doesn’t hold surprise or judgment
                                    I can’t stop my younger self I despise
                                    “The boat is what I need to sail from here.”
                                    “But what if I am granting you one wish?”
                                    The old man leans in close to me and waits
                                    I fidget under silent scrutiny
                                    With this old one, I dread speaking falsely
                                    A longing springs up from deep unknowing
                                                territory I have not walked before
                                    Hart’s image flickers dark and light without
                                                holding shape or speaking wisdom to me
                                    How should I answer such a bold question?
                                    Suddenly, I relax and feel the truth:
                                                “I seek this ‘one’ that I have never seen”
                                    Unphased, leaning easy into his chair
                                    “You speak of the path that leads to answers”
                                    His demeanor is all patience and glow
                                    His former ugliness has disappeared 
                                    He settles farther back, folding his arms
                                                across his barrel chest clothed in black wool
                                    His pause turns to a long exhaled, pale sigh

                                    “So, let us begin with this boat of yours.”
                                                He seems too familiar with my vessel
                                                Again, my thoughts turn to selfish motives
                                                What does he want from me? So far, nothing
                                    “Once you find it, where will you take it then?
                                                Or perhaps, more likely wind and current
                                                            will drive your star course and navigation
                                    I can’t stop myself – again – I answer – 
                                    “That’s the thing. I cannot even name it.”
                                    “But the answer includes ‘away from here’?”
                                    “Yes! Yes! Of that I’m absolutely sure.”
                                                I say without one clue where that might be
                                                and I see the good folly of my flight
                                                Always away, in hate, from where I am, 
                                                            never toward some favored destination
                                    As if penetrating my thoughts, he says
                                                “Yet, you spend your life out always leaving 
where you once were, only to run again.”
                                    “Yes, Chickopee is where I was true born”
                                                That name sticks to my tongue like rancid butter
                                    “And that alone means it is not the place?”
                                    “Well, yes. Of course not. How could it be so?”
                                    “I ask, in turn, how you know it is not?”
                                    “I just know. That’s all. That much is quite clear.”
                                    “Then, next you must ask how you’ll know once there – 
                                                that place you run so intensely to reach
Perhaps you are already there and can’t
see that because your history darkens it”

                                    I say no more. I have no more to say                    
                                    I’m wounded by his dart of spoken truth
                                    Answers to these questions are a mystery
                                    Away! Away! Flight! Weigh anchor and sail!
                                    Of these, I’m sure to the center of my bones
                                                but my certainty provides no compass 

                                    I look up at Hertwig, who smiles tenderly
                                    Anger and shame lie entwined in my throat
                                    “It’s all right,” he says. You came this far
                                                to be able to see what you see now
                                    “Perhaps,” I admit. But what to do now?”
                                    “Go back to the place of your birth and home?”
                                    “Never! Not there. I would rather be dead!”
                                    “And now, not here either, so it would seem?”
                                    He speaks the truth. I’ve no words to counter
                                    So, the space holds null and quiet under
                                                the weight of discernment without judgment
                                                the bulk of my own rash indecision
                                                a sure, headlong leap of imprecision 

                                    “Don ‘t fret on this. From such spaces can come
                                                the best of shifts – the ones we see dimly
                                    Hertwig’s warm words release truth’s heaviness
                                    Shifting toward me, gently his hand on my knee
                                    Embarrassment at his touch, I stand
                                                meander around the room pretending 
                                                to examine the plunder or is it wealth
                                                as if on exhibition: tapestries,
                                                            bracelets, broaches, boxes, jewels, and gold
                                    “How did you get all these treasures?” I ask
                                    “Oh, here and there, and in between – you see
                                                I, too, have had my way with adventure.
                                                Hearts like ours must run before settling down.”
                                    The sound of that word – that name – brings back all
                                                thoughts of sweet Hart, where I’m from, and right now
                                                            here with this man who has seen the home stars
                                                            among souvenirs of unspoken times
                                                            laid out carelessly – no reason or rhyme
                                                Asudden I see it, in a green nest
                                                            of velvet brocade – a gold and blue eye
                                                                        looks up from a black Dragon’s spiraled coils
                                                                        shaped so finely, almost alive with breath
                                                                        but a miniature of the larger self

                                    I raise my eyes to Hertwig’s, and he knows
                                                I have seen perfection in the serpent’s
                                                            ebony scales and topaz-cerulean eye
                                    “Yes, this one is magic. This one’s for you
                                                Only a few vibrate with sixth of nine
                                    For almost all, she is just a bauble
                                    She hides her mystical side well enough
                                                but not from you, I see. For you, she stands”

                                    I stretch my hand forward hesitantly
                                    I long to make this beauty mine – I must!
                                    Feeling that I’ve found a long-lost treasure
                                    “Yes, this one’s for you – enchantment and all
                                                but know once you are bonded with the sixth
                                                that bond is ceaseless and the magic real
                                    In such mystery, you may well find ones
                                                who are waiting for you out in the stars
                                                the icicle points you knew as a child
                                                the dancers of home all sky-clad and wild”            

                                    “But prior to that, the mystery must
                                                surface your true name where none now exists
                                                a name of this dirt on which we survive
you must rush to emerald caves when it’s time
            to fetch green diamonds from dragon’s hoard
                                    Seeking a self, you follow what you feel
                                                your life lashed to a never-ending wheel
Alongside you Seagrace tearing the bonds
when you call out to her, she will respond
her immense coils roiling the ocean
her spiked, fanged head in perpetual motion”

                                    I stretch my fingers and stroke the black scales
                                    The five coils roll like sea swells underhand
                                                the work so delicate – fiercely alive
                                    My trembling fingers curl ‘round the arched back
                                    Swift tears well up, rain against the east sun
                                    Could a black dragon, be guide to the one? 
                                    I close my eyes; my thoughts start to rotate
                                    Behind the lids, Seagrace’s blue-gold eye 
                                                stops time, and at once I expand – explode 
                                    Pressing my hand, hopeful warmth starts to spread
                                    Hertwig and the velvet room start to spin

                                    Sleep enfolds me as I fall down and in
                                    I know I am dreaming, but all seems real
                                    In the mists my black Dragon rises up
                                                enfolds her ebony wings around me
                                    She throws her head back and calls out one note
                                                a note from long ago in birthing fog
                                    Immortal serpent turns her head and shines
                                                through me and far beyond all the great stars
                                    One note from her throat, and she bites down hard
                                                sound of wisdom’s woes on wings of sorrow
                                                and there’s Hart below Seagrace, the Dragon
                                    Under her wings, deep in the dream, evil 
                                                evil gone – reconciliation here
                                    Waking or sleeping, I cannot say now
                                                immense joy rings from her powerful throat
                                                singing of sad loves lost, wisdom acquired
                                    . . .  I sleep folded under ebony wings
                                                sweet bellows’ breath – rumbling nostrils quaver
                                                the great snake’s head lightly resting on mine
                                                first time, I feel safe with this sixth of nine
                                    Seagrace rears up, wakened from serene sleep
                                                            “Never!” she roars
                                                You are never safe! Safety is a lie!”
                                                            Stand on the battlements with sixth of nine  


Background:
The title of this epic, The One, begins to unfold strongly in this Song. The conversation with Hertwig challenge the MC to identify who or what “the one” might be. Something about the human condition condemns us to the suffering of our individual searches. Each of us seeks “the one,” “the two,” “the many,” that if attained will “make everything all right.” In youth, most of us fall prey to this dynamic. For some, the searching lasts a lifetime. If one is fortunate, someone like Hertwig comes along to probe and challenge, and force the issue of identifying this “one.” I know this has been true for me, and to some (undivulged) degree, still is. One question arises: should we be grateful for people like Hertwig who cause us to look deeply into our wants and desires and motivations? Should we, instead, stay as far away from such persons as we can for fear they will destroy our fantasies of freedom from suffering?

Exploration 1: Do you think the MC’s change of heart regarding Hertwig is believable? Why or why not? 

Exploration 2: When the MC says, “I seek this ‘one’ that I have never seen,” do you think a clear idea has emerged of what this truly means? The One is about a search, a journey, for . . . well, we each define that for ourselves. At this point in the narrative, has the object of the search been identified?

Exploration 3: Speculate on the source of Hertwig’s insight and on his motivation to befriend the MC.

Exploration 4: Another dragon – Seagrace. more Dragons to come in future Songs. Think about the symbolism of Seagrace in the context of the MC’s search.









Comments

  1. Sixth of nine? That must have some significance. The dragon shows the MC a reconciliation with Hart. The name Hertwig is close to Hartwig, meaning "Strong battle."

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