A Talk In The Woods

A stern talking to...
“I hate to interrupt your reverie, my dear boy; but you do know that you’re trespassing…” I didn’t actually; I didn’t know I was anywhere that would warrant such a remonstration, let alone a polite (albeit patronising) one. I opened my eyes and looked up at the deep wheezing voice that woke me.

“I’m sorry, I don’t even know how I got here…” This much was true. “Where actually am I?”

“I’ve heard most excuses before, cock; but that’s a new one on me... “ He chuckled but his gaze never left mine. Taking in the rest of him, gruff bear-like physique that had seen better days; salt and pepper beard and moustache, one might think his best days were behind him… but his eyes told a different story.

“It happens to be true, Sir.” Politeness was the best policy until I understood where I was, let alone how I got here. He shrugged his shoulders,stared at me again with his head askance before nodding.

“The storm is coming; sit where you are much longer and you’ll probably catch your death. The cottage isn’t far away, you may as well come in for a cuppa and a chat whilst you get your gist back.” I nodded and was about to thank this strange benefactor but he’d already started walking away; and by the time I’d packed my rucksack and folded my stool away I had to run to catch up. Suffice to say I was out of breath when I reached him which made him chuckle even more. 

“Are you sure there’s a storm coming?” I asked, trying to make conversation. “There didn’t appear to be anything on the news…”

“And you believe that over your own senses, eh?” He retorted like a whip. “Or maybe you’re one of those sorts that don’t communicate with that side of yourself anymore? Maybe that’s how you’ve ended up in this predicament!”

I could only shrug and follow him through the woods. The trees were densely packed together, the towering oaks and beech allowing little shade; and let there were clumps of brambles and bracken strewn around acting as makeshift hedges to the well-trodden path. The scent of damp loam was occasionally tinged with the heady scent of a fox marking their territory. I had a hard time keeping up with the old man. The paths were incredibly muddy and yet he seemed to have no difficulty navigating the boggy tracks, whereas I found myself either getting stuck or nearly slipping over completely. 

“I know you’re not one for following in other people's footsteps, but you might try every once in a while, eh? At least give it a go in the instance? Not much farther though -you’ll see the smoke soon… Nothing like a roaring fire.” He exclaimed and it was then that I saw he was brandishing a walking stick. That was how he’d managed to stay stable throughout the trek. “I wondered when you’d notice; aren't writers supposed to be observant?.” He laughed. Now how could he have known that I was a writer?
Soon enough I saw the smoke whisping out of the little ramshackle cottage. I felt a pang of jealousy as I’d always dreamt of living in a place like this. I knew that it would never work in reality, of course; as much as I hate to admit it, I rely on people too much and I hate myself for it.

“Home… no place like it.” He proudly proclaimed as we walked up to the front door.

 “Leave your shoes inside the front door and then make yourself at home. I’ll put the kettle on and brew us a coffee. Milk and two sugars alright for you, cock?

I nodded, no longer questioning his powers of guessing. “Who needs to guess when you know?” He joked as he walked into the kitchen. I barely even registered this remark as I was now exploring his front room area. It seemed far larger than I had anticipated and looked like heaven to me -walls full of bookshelves brimming with books, dvd’s and cd’s. 

The books I expected but the cd’s and dvd’s seemed anachronistic to such a curmudgeon. Looking at the titles made me regret my assumption, they seemed to mirror my own tastes but were so much further on in his collection. I’d only just started getting into world cinema but he’d covered the great directors (Fellini, Bergman and Antonini) and moved on to others I could barely pronounce let alone type. 

His music collection was the same; as was his taste in books -or rather comics. This made me chuckle and wince at the same time, eclectic was too weak a word -this was becoming too much of a coincidence now and I suspected foul play. Part of me wanted to get the hell out of the cottage; this was becoming too weird and yet there was a part of me that wanted to know more.

“So… which part of you are you going to listen to?” The man asked as he walked into the room, carrying a tray with two mugs of coffee and a plate of bourbon biscuits. “Sit… sit!”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked.

“That’s a stupid fucking question… of course you have a choice… Too much of one, really -otherwise this sort of interaction would never have been necessary.”

I sat and took the offered mug and picked up a couple of bourbons. This was one of the more bizarre situations I’d found myself in and for once I had no idea of what to say. I stared into my coffee cup;, blowing on the surface creating whirls and eddies... anything rather than make eye contact. It made no difference.

“hmm...What to do, hmm?...hmm What to do about you…. Of course, you know that you can’t be doing this sort of thing anymore.” I looked up as if to try the innocent schoolboy routine: ‘what me, Sir?’ but knew that wouldn’t wash with him. His voice was stern but not unfriendly. “You’ve rather let this inconsequential crap get the better of you, haven’t you?”

“Wh.. what would you have me do?” I snapped, despite myself. I wanted a reaction but didn’t get the one I expected. He laughed.

“That’s the ticket… finally a proper reaction, eh Mort?” 

“That’s pronounced Morse… not Mort!” I snapped. “Wait a minute… that’s not my name…” I didn’t know where to look and shuffled in the chair uncomfortably, even though the chair was perfectly snug. “How did you… how do you know all about that?”

“How disconnected are you? They know that I’m you, so why can’t you recognise it? Have you let the world's trivialities affect you that much that you fail to see your own truth? I mean, when was the last time you truly wrote anything?”

“I no longer have anything to say.” I whined.

“I don’t think that’s true at all.” His voice was the opposite to my childish protestations, the mocking parent; but even that was laced with a knowing irony. “I think you have too much to say but you’re too scared to say it.You lack the balls -everyone else has sold out but you don’t want to rock the boat.”

“Who’s going to listen? I mean, what’s the point? I feel like a man out of time.”

“So you forget yourself because you're walking your path alone…. That’s never stopped you before.... Why are you a writer? What good are you as a writer unless you stand alone for what you believe in?”

“No one wants to hear…”

“No one wants to hear YET. Ignorance is like a virus; easily caught and spread and people are too easily manipulated. They lack the responsibility and the discernment to make a difference and unfortunately you’ve let that get the better of you.”

“Why bother catering for people who lack the intelligence to grasp the deeper meaning?”

“Has that ever stopped you in the past?” I paused, his questions were hitting home every time and there were no real answers.... but I tried nonetheless.

“I’ve always been searching, trying to better myself… trying to understand, goddamnit.” I snapped again. The peel of thunder made me jump and I dropped the bourbon I had been trying to dunk right in the coffee. The man laughed and I couldn’t help but smile. “You were right about the storm… why am I not surprised?”

“You noticed the dampness of the loam; you saw that it had been raining heavily up until recently, was it really such a jump of awareness to presuppose it was going to rain again?”

“But that’s not what you meant.” I looked out through the window to the stratifying rain outside; listened to the splatter and patter of the drops hitting the trees and ground. I felt warm and snug and grateful to be where I was.

“No… but it doesn’t have to storm. It’s easy to rail against the world, to be angry at the people; to be let down and disappointed by what you see around you. It’s even ok to feel contempt for those; and you won’t be the only one to feel that way, cock. But who do they turn to when and if they realise there’s another way? 

"It’s a writers responsibility to tell their own truth regardless and bear that responsibility the same way that Theseus bore his mirrored shield. Use it to reflect back to the people -they can either be shocked  and turn to stone (for indifference and ignorance are just as inflexible as stone) or they grasp your meaning; it could be the first step on their road to understanding.... but this isn’t your burden to bear.

“I’ve felt so isolated but connected in ways I never dreamed before; been swept up in the Emperor's New edicts whilst still being that poor boy who could see the truth. But no one listens to that boy anymore; they listen to the fearmongering and scare-tactics and bury their heads in the sands.”

“But YOU don’t need to be like that. Pity them; they suffer far more than you can think as you have a way out. You’ve worked at it, worked bloody hard, cock (and should feel proud at what you’ve accomplished) and you can see a way through it all whereas far too many people are trapped by their ego’s -the same ego’s that the edicts are crushing. There’s another way though for all of them, you included.”

I looked at the man and smiled. “Bellkipeg?” 

“Not necessarily. This is Bellkipeg; right here, right now. Bellkipeg is your name fo the process... to be clear, it’s the still point in your life when you can step outside your space and time and just be. 

"Where you can know yourself and follow your feelings. It doesn’t change anything in the outside, but knowing yourself can change the way you view the world, or at least your part. You take off the blinkers that grind you down... the world hasn’t changed; there’s just a new illusion to see through. Cultivate yourself -all aspects of yourself.

"Don’t be afraid to grow in whatever way is necessary -and you won’t necessarily know that until you try it. You can’t hold yourself to other people’s standards and expect any kind of results; but you can grow to your fullest potential.. And keep climbing.”

“I would thank you.” I said to myself, but there was nobody else there. “But you’re right. There’s no need for the illusion anymore.”

"No need at all... and this cottage will always be here waiting for you." The old man said, smiling benevolently now. "When the time is right... Time to wake up?" I nodded and smiled back. Everything he had told me... was true and I had just lost sight of... 

It was enough to write and be in the writing - I write because I'm compelled to, not for the pandering to the readers but because of a drive to explore and to understand.  

I woke up to the green wood and the truth was still there waiting for me.

The Price

Welcome stranger; I know what you seek for I am proof that such a thing exists. You have accomplished much and endured hardships that would be unimaginable to many, and relinquished much of your humanity to reach me. Before you take up your rightful place please indulge an old man his tale. It might not be too late for you; you still have one more choice to make.

You are most generous. I sense disquiet in your soul, maybe my tale will help make up your mind for I was once like you; young, headstrong; far more powerful than those around me. I could not help but feel disdain for them; they were nothing but encumbrances to my becoming.

It all started when I was old enough to realise that my family were nothing but leeches; lacking the intelligence and understanding that I possessed –they would never rise above. School was no better; the other pupils nothing but insects, slugs rather than caterpillars. It was obvious that they wold never amount to anything and the teachers were no better; spouting the tedium by rote rather than by learning.

I learnt what I could and surpassed them in no time; soon I went to university and, like a vampire, learnt what I could, used everyone as I saw fit and became even more powerful.

I took over the family business, such as it was, and took it to greater heights than it was ever felt possible but it still wasn’t enough. Under my auspices it became a multi-national giant. Books were written of me and I became world famous; but by the time I had achieved all of this I realised that it wold soon be in vain. Death would soon make a mockery of all that I had wrote and I could not let it happen. For lesser people maybe, but not me. Not me!

I see that this is ringing true in your eyes and have walked a similar path; have had the same obsession course through your veins, but please bear with me for I am near the end. It took years of research and I travelled all around the world, under the cover of business expansion; and spent hundreds of thousands of pounds to discover the truth behind immortality and the Fountain of Youth. Was it another fairy tale or was it a reality? As you have found out, it was a truth; the Fountain of Youth in plain sight; but how to discern the actual location? This is what cost me far more than pounds and pence.

Yes, I managed to find the original translation of Herodotus’ Papyrus Oxrhychus but I it is something that I can never atone for; some documents are best left unfound..

You see me now, three hundred years later, barely able to walk. Ask me whether I regret my search and I will denounce it as folly. My only hope is that you will complete the pact and replace me for only by sacrificing your humanity can you become immortal.

But you are too eager my friend and your blow was swift. Had you had more patience I could have given you the choice that I never had. Alas, now it is too late. Drink from the Fountain as I tell you your final fate.

You will not be able to leave here. The effects of the Fountain are singular: they will prolong your life indefinitely but only if you continue to sup from its flowing water. It can not be transported for it will grow stale and dead. Without the waters you will die a horrible death from rapid aging, but no doubt you will find this out to your own folly –try to prove me wrong, I will not stop you.

Fear not, you will not die all the time you drink from the Fountain, though you will continue to age. Imagine being as I am over three hundred and fifty years of age and still not able to die.

This is the truth of immortality; it is a curse, not a blessing. This is the real price.

The Most Trying Of Days

“YAAAWN!”

It was a hard life and Shem was still scumbling about in the middle of the hottest day of the year. His mother had finally kicked him out of the hut; so fed up with his lazy, good-for-nothing ways was she.

She knew that he was a lost cause, she had learned from experience. She once gave him money to buy a cow and he came back with a few stones, and not magic stones, and nor was there any story linking this substitution. He simply shrugged his shoulders. When she asked him to paint the outside of the hut she found him asleep on the roof, having made himself a fort out of the dust sheet and paint pots.

She now just wanted him out of the hut and didn't care where; she knew that wherever he went he'd be perfectly safe. And on this day Shem would be put to the test.

Shem cared not where he walked and just walked regardless. He had no desires, life was just something that happened to other people and that was all right by him. As long as it didn't infringe on his doings then he wouldn't infringe on theirs.

Today it was obvious he wasn't looking where he was going for he had crossed the boundary into the Cursed. Named because it was inhabited by many Spirits, Sprites, Jinn and Ifrits who would enjoy nothing more than playing tricks on the unwary or destroying those stupid enough to cross over.

One particular Iffrit called Z_A_ sensed Shem immediately. He was particularly boastful for a lesser Iffrit, (who had once let it be known that it was his great Uncle who had once tempted Our Lord on his day of doubt when he had wandered across the dessert). Z_A_ vowed to better that feat by pushing Shem over the edge completely.

The first that Shem realised that something was following him was not the great heavy footfalls behind him, nor the rasping, humid breath on his neck, nor even the unholy stench of sulphur that surrounded him. It was only when the creatures bulk cast a shadow over him did Shem finally acknowledge that something was indeed behind him.

Rather than act alarmed or frightened (which would only have fed Z_A_ quicker and hastened Shem's own demise) Shem simply shrugged his shoulders at the twelve foot tall, red scaly behemoth that now towered over him.

“I have come to grant you anything, Oh Lord.” Z_A_ intoned. “You are the thousandth soul to cross my path and I have it in my power to grant you many wishes. Want and you shall be satisfied. What doest though want?”

Shem shrugged again and… yawned… “Never trust a demon.” He muttered.

“I AM Z_A_!!!” The Iffrit shouted, enraged. “Tenth ruler of U__P; fourteenth cousin to Y__R, no mere demon my Lord. And I have everything in my power to grant you ANYTHING, should you just want!”

“I dunno.” Shem replied, trying to think back to what his mother said to him. He nodded to himself when he remembered, turned his back on the demon and carried on walking.

“WAIT!!” Shouted the demon “WAIT! Surely there must be something that you want?”

“Nope.” Shem replied, still walking.

The demon was a wise if not impetuous sort. He was not going to be outdone by this mere mortal! (especially one such as Shem…) He would never be able to live it down. There must be something that could be used against him.

But he had never come across someone like Shem before, whom even the Lord himself could not cure when his mother had petitioned him with prayer. (The Lord was patient but not that patient)

Z_A_ spent hours listing the things that might appeal to Shem's better instincts, his higher purpose and then tried plumbing the depths of depravity to appeal to his baser side but all that did was create snickers in him.

Now the boundary of Cursed was not only for the benefit of wary travellers but also for the Daeomon-kind as well. They were not allowed to trespass over the boundaries or old spells would be broken and no deamon in their right mind would forget such a thing and had Z_A_ been concentrating more he might have realised that Shem had been walking in a circle and they were almost back to the border again,.

Z_A_ was just in the middle of describing a particularly nasty scenario involving an Ass, thirty virgins and a great tub of grease when he suddenly screamed as they crossed the border. In a flash of crimson smoke there now stood the most beautiful woman Shem had ever set eyes upon.

“Oh my Lord. I can not thank thee enough, I have been accursed these thousand years. I can never repay thee; suffice to say I am yours and all you need do is...” She hadn't even gotten through her first sentence than she realised that Shem was already half a mile away. Shem was only thinking of his stomach which now growled at him; supper was almost ready.

“Wait my lord.” She shouted at him, eager to thank him and love him for all he had done for her. Shem was oblivious to her plight, he was glad that she was free but didn't understand why she still needed him. If she insisted on staying with him he could always lie to his mum that they were betrothed (just to see the look on her face!)

“My lord, wait! There are rules to our meeting! We still need to….”

They were almost home and Shem could smell his mothers cooking; it was mutton stew, one of his favourites.

“My Lord – you must wait! You need to invite me over your threshold, invite me into your life before you step over, otherwise I will revert back to deamon-kind again!”

Shem couldn't hear her for all he could sense was the herb dumplings, the thick rich gravy. She tried one last gambit in desperation.

“Let me help you forget your cares between my breasts, wrap you between my legs and never let you go.”

Home was just on the horizon and he could see smoke wafting out of the chimney. The garden fence was just up ahead. He opened the gate, thinking that his mother would be surprised with his new girlfriend; but when he looked behind him there was nothing there, just a faint mist. He had crossed the threshold without inviting her in.

His mother stood at the kitchen door and scolded him.

“Stomach got the better of you, did it? Well, you're still too early!”

Shem sighed and yawned. There was time enough for another nap after all.

“Yaaaaawn!”

To have it all

“The path to ones truth is sometimes fraught, but always worth it.”

There was once a noblewoman who thought she had everything in life (and who knows, maybe she did). Why, she was beautiful and because of this she was well thought of, married a rich man of high standing.

One day she heard that visiting her town was an old wise woman. Although she was wise she was poor and lowly, living only off what other people gave her, and because of this it was frowned on to visit her.

Despite this, the noblewoman visited her one day as she gave a talk to the towns people. At the end of the old woman's speech the noblewoman put up her hand and spoke. “I have heard all that you say, but I don't understand how one such as you can have all the answers when you have nothing. Look at me; I have a husband who loves me; I have wealth (more than I know what to do with) and am adored for my beauty, and loved by all. Surely I have all the answers.”

The old woman pondered this and then said, “No, not yet you don't… but you will, soon.” And the crowd dispersed leaving the noblewoman and her friends puzzled, but in good cheer none the less.

As they departed the noblewoman felt a stirring in her stomach and tingling over her face, as if she had been stung by a nettle but she slept soundly that night thinking no more of it.

The next morning the mirror brought forth the face of a complete stranger. Where once was a maiden, beautiful and fair now showed a drawn and haggard face; the features on one side drooped as if it was wax melted by a candle flame.

She tried to scream but only an unholy moan escaped her formless lips. The housemaids that came to seek the source of distress turned and fled in horror at the intruder who sat at their mistresses bedside table now.

The husband, who was made of sterner stuff -as men were back then- could not bare to be seen near her. He called for a physic but not even letting or leaching could cure her. She could not even communicate to him, barely able to make anything more than a grunt or groan now.

But her husband did not want to know, for in truth he had been unfaithful to her for a long time and now he had the excuse that he'd been looking for. Having heard of his wife meeting the old woman (despite it being frowned upon) he accused her of trafficking with the Devil. As the evidence was so obvious and there were no other reasons why she could be so cursed, he divorced her easily leaving her with no money or means.

Her church, which she had always kowtowed to, banished her, not only for trafficking with the Devil, but for being divorced as well and her friends paid her no heed; so she was ostracised; banished to the far woods where no one would see her again.

And so she stayed for many years.

Life was hard, but not impossible. In everything she did she surprised herself and found herself capable of more things that she had ever dreamt of. Always she had let her husband tell her things, do things for her and always they had been wrong. (back then it had mattered not for they had been so rich) But now she realised that she was wise in her own way.

She was resourceful and carved a new life for herself. She taught herself to talk again by listening to the sounds of the animals and birds; taught herself how to weave by the birds and their nests and taught herself to prepare food by learning what berries and roots were safe and good to eat.

She had no money but soon her weaving became known and people travelled far and bartered with her; and whilst she wove for them they would speak to her and ask her many questions. She would reply and explain the ways of the wood to them and the people would leave warmer but also wiser as well.

And soon the people came just to hear her speak and she thought nothing of it.

One day the old woman visited her and smiled when the once noblewoman asked her about the cryptic comment she had made last time they had met.

“You thought that you had everything back then.” The old woman spoke. “Wealth, beauty.. you thought you had it all. What did you really have?”

“Nothing.”

“So what did you lose then?” The old woman asked.

“Nothing.”

“And yet despite having nothing now you are the one people travel miles to hear. Now you are the one with answers.”

But the story does not end there. Fate is full of quirks and twists and turns.

And just as things seemed happy ever after for the nobleman, her once husband, he soon realised what he had let go in divorcing such a woman.

Then news travelled to him of the wise woman who spun tales as intricate as the weaves in her hand, that lived in the farthest reaches of the wood, and he knew it was his once love.

And he knew that she would be his once again.

So imagine his disappointment when she refused him; not once, not twice but three times.

Not for the riches; not for the beauty -for medicine could now cure her supposed ills- and not for the social standing.

“What need have I for riches?” She explained. “I have all I could ever need and more. Are we not all beautiful, especially to those who do not judge? And whilst I sit here with nothing people come to me from miles around for advice. Advice? All I can tell them is the ways of the wood yet they leave content with that. What more could I ask for?”

The once-husband, faced with something far beyond his ken was distraught. “But my love,” he said, anguished, “I don't understand how you can be like this. I have it all and am offering it to you on a golden platter. I don't understand at all.”

“No. You don't understand it.” The once betrothed replied. “..yet.”

And she smiled knowingly. “But you will. Soon.”