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

Originally published September 30, 2019...

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

I clasp my legs to my heaving, hot chest

            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?