Fantasy – Page 4 – Aremyfeetofftheground

Overture

Somewhere I have seen
(Perhaps you know where?)
A parody of a grand theatrical overture.
The thrilling theme lulls to a quiet.
The room lights dim.
The brocaded velvet curtains draw slowly open.
It’s apparent there’s a double, even treble,
Layering of these dastardly drapes,
Each one drawn open more slowly than the last.
No! Three was not enough; there’s seven or eight.
Finally, in the hushed dark, we are treated to the sight:
A tiny figure, munchkin sized, in a dim grey spotlight.
Dressed in top hat and tux, with a monocle.
The Planter’s Peanut Man comes to mind.
He speaks, in a circus barker’s bellow,
Of the delights we are about to witness.
Challenges us that we are to give a true interpretation of each act
Before we are permitted to see the next.
Promises us that, at the end of ends,
We will be filled with comfort and joy,
And the long night will be worth our while.

Regrettably, my little story is but a metaphor.
Contrived to tell, in an oblique manner,
Of one man’s nightly entrance to the theatre of sleep.
The “thrilling” theme of his wayward thoughts
Begins to quiet, from purposeful exhaustion.
Still fidgeting, he awaits the annoying short circuits to cease their sparks.
The house lights dim.
The curtain tricks begin, but are a little different for him:
Behind each lifted veil, there is a disconnected story.
Each, perhaps, a little more mad than the last,
With demented forms, clearly visible to the mind’s eye,
That he must piece together and make sense of
Before he is permitted the comfort of the lower circles of consciousness.
A dialogue with the peanut man (or his counterpart) is necessary,
And anxious answers must show a cunning resolve
Before the little man opens the next curtain.
At the last (if he gets there), there is a soft and somehow comforting dark.
A pale flagstone path begins to appear in front of him.
It winds a bit, and at its end there is something with a faint bluish glow.
The usual pain in his limbs has gone, but still he walks forward slowly,
Finding an inviting sofa, in plush black velvet, emitting the blue glow of a gas flame.
He knows to lie down. It is pleasantly warm to the touch.
He listens to a most pleasing sound, like a purr, as he is enfolded
Deeply, in the arms of Morpheus.

Joshua’s choice

I had a brother…..I have a brother!

Michael and I were separated during the great invasion of 2067. World communications had been disrupted, or destroyed altogether. The last I knew, he had been working in the space program. There were missions to Mars that had taken flight before and after the invasion, but I did not know if he was involved with them. Word of mouth had it that some of the missions were lost, and I had feared the worst.

Khostra did indeed return to us at dusk of my second day with them. After “speaking” to Raymond and some of his group, she signaled for me to come and sit. As before, we joined hands. My surroundings greyed out, and I began to feel excited, expectant, and very alert.

I cannot render the name of her people into language, so I will call them Plejarens, a reference to their place of origin.

She began by telling me that she had been in communication with a group of her people who had returned to Mars, after its great calamity, to collect their dead and to search for possible survivors. Unexpectedly, they found a colony of men, women, and children. The two peoples had met, and, through a young girl who was a perfect empath, communication had been established. When the Plejarens found that the colony was in peril because of the events on Earth, they proposed to rescue them by offering safe passage to a new home in the stars. Fully two thirds of the settlers decided to go. The hundred or so remaining believed they had the stuff to make the colony survive, and, in time, prosper.

Before their departure, the Plejarens told the colonists that ancient settlers from the Pleiades still remained on Earth, but were preparing to leave. Realizing that communication with them might be possible, the colony drew up a list of the names of every single person on Mars, in the hopes that some of their kin still surviving back home would know their fate.

My brother’s name was on that list, but my joy was tempered. Michael was one of those who had left for the unknown.

In the here and now, on this sick old Earth, many of the Plejarens were leaving. My group of fellows had decided, almost to a man, to go with them.

But, Khostra and some of her hundreds would remain. They had a plan. One whose success was uncertain. One whose fulfillment might take a lifetime of men. The machinery was already in place.

They were going to terraform Terra. My home. My life. My Earth.

In the morning, I said my goodbyes…..to Raymond and his band of explorers.
I would stay. I would help. I would remember Michael.

Earth, Mars, and beyond.

“Raymond, before you ask, I know who they are, where they have been, and where they are going. I know, perhaps, why you are all so happy, but I am puzzled as to why there’s so little dissention amongst you….I’ve been told things that amaze me, excite me and fill me with awe.”

Raymond smiled, put a hand upon my shoulder, and said “Yes, we’re all going, Joshua. But you knew that.” I fell silent, and he motioned for us to sit at a small table, the private corner.

I related to him how Khostra had imbued my dreams.

Her people were of an antiquity that we cannot encompass. One that even their own scribes fall short of in their stories, ending at a guess. Their origin was in the star cluster we know as the Pleiades. Over millions of years, their civilization grew in power and influence, and they began a push to explore their known universe. Of their ancient homes, our Earth was one, until the great calamity of the Cretaceous period. Their numbers were decimated, and those that remained fled in search of salvation. Some had settled on the planet Mars. The hearts of others desired a return to the lands of their peoples’ birth.

The Martian choice proved well for the new settlers, who prospered for millennia. In the end, as we know, that planet became desolate after losing almost all of its atmosphere and water, and they had no natural protection against asteroid and meteor strikes. Over hundreds of years, they prepared their great leaving, most heading across the void to the Pleiades. Some few chose to return to Earth, found it to be habitable again, and stayed. They became teachers of men when humanity sprang from the dust. But their numbers eventually dwindled, and those that lived on became secretive, building underground bases that few had stumbled upon but had somehow forgotten.

And now, in this hour of Earth’s shame and destruction, they were leaving once again.
But not all.
Khostra and some of her hundreds would remain. They had a plan. I held a hope after these last lonely years. I thought I had lost my brother in this time of our world’s chaos. In her magic, Khostra knew that this was not so. She had more to tell me….

to be continued…..

Joshua’s dream

Previous stories:
https://secret-lifeof.com/2018/09/27/paved-with-good-intentions/

My little Miss

Silver seeds

The yard

Don’t fence me in

The neighbours

Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void. It is shining. It is shining.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Indeed, it was Old Granny in my rocking chair dream. Her back was to me, and the rocker creaked upon the wooden floor. I could see her white hair, and heard the clicking of knitting needles. I approached from behind, and bent to see what marvel she had produced. Nothing. Her hands had many fingers. I sought to look at her face, and she turned away, saying you must help me with the knitting. I stammered that I did not know how, and at last she said but you have all of the yarn. Then, blue deepness, unfathomable until morning.

Our subconscious, of necessity, is our savior. Dark things we bury, sometimes forever. Dreams and nightmares of great import wait in store, but recall is random and without choice. It may come in the bright light of day, and the thing revealed is turned over in the waking mind, like a warm flat stone inscribed with vexing runes.

In my interview with Khostra, the fast flood of visions, symbols, and emotions had made their cryptic imprint within my own subconscious, and our disconnect had left me with a feeling of loss. Of losing the thread of some essential story. But, she had smiled a knowing smile. It was one of reassurance, and I had gone to my sleep feeling held in warmth.

In the deepness of blue between the rocking chair dream and my tardy awakening
(by Raymond), I completed the knitting at Grandma’s behest. After all, I did have the yarn. It was Khostra’s yarn of many colours, knitted into the fabric of time.

Raymond handed me a hot mug, and we took a solitary stroll. There was much to speak of, and, with each sip of stale coffee, my excitement grew. I wondered if Khostra would return.

to be continued….

Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void. It is shining. It is shining.

Previous stories:

https://secret-lifeof.com/2018/09/27/paved-with-good-intentions/

My little Miss

Silver seeds

The yard

Don’t fence me in

The neighbours

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her name, as near as I can make it, is Khostra, and she “spoke” to me in symbols, visions, and insinuative emotions. I will liken it to a dream, where an unseen player wishes to impart something of great import to you. Your mind clears of all the mundane. You wait tensely, for you know this is a key. The words are not remembered, lips do not move, a face is not seen. Symbols appear, seemingly without meaning at first. Wide vistas may come, in psychedelic vision. The hissing of primal rains. The tallest of growing things,
strobe lit in twilight thunder. Movements in the deep. Arrivals in the virgin desert. The teachers come, and then… and then. Building blocks.

As in dreams, I swam for the light. What had been shown was shown. My eyes were opened and the immediate world flowed in. Khostra bowed her head once more and gently released me. I was overcome by an insistent urge to lie down and sleep. She put her hand on my shoulder and guided me through the sundering wall. I looked once more into her face, and saw the smile within her eyes. She and her companions then left us, in the full night, and Raymond took me to sleeping quarters in the mushroom house.
There was little talk, and no questions.

Most all of them knew, I suspect, what had transpired. They were the initiates.
I was the new guy. I slept, and had a dream of knitting.

to be continued…..

The neighbours

previous stories are:

Paved with good intentions
My little Miss
Silver seeds
The yard
Don’t fence me in

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were tall and olive skinned, with startling eyes.
I had fallen asleep beside the peoples’ perimeter, and was awakened by the sound of Raymond’s voice. “Look, Joshua. They come.”

Five figures approached us in a glide-like walk, and stood before us in a V formation. The shortest of them was some seven feet, and their stature was even more enhanced by the odd but beautiful headdresses they wore. Their long arms and many-fingered hands, their silent dignity, their benign manner all gave me pause as to how to proceed. I turned to Raymond, and he said “You will know”.

Their “spokesperson” stepped slightly forward, and performed what I can only describe as a curtsy, with a bow of the head. I will call her She, as that is the impression I had. She held her strange hands in a praying position, then slowly opened them to me, as a butterfly unfolds its wings. Taking another half step, she extended these hands, palms up, as if to offer something. I felt that what she desired was contact,
and so I timidly laid my hands upon hers. She then raised her head from its bowing posture, and looked at me full face.

I could not, and would not, look away. All of my surroundings faded, as if I were staring at the proverbial dot on the screen, and I tasted the flavor of her mind only. It must have looked odd to the bystanders, and the time it took was uncertain, but in that small space, with joined hands, and without speaking, she told me the story of their Years.
to be continued….

Don’t fence me in

previous stories are
“Paved with good intentions” https://secret-lifeof.com/2018/09/27/paved-with-good-intentions/
“My little Miss” https://secret-lifeof.com/2018/10/18/my-little-miss/
“Silver seeds” http://secret-lifeof.com/2019/01/10/silver-seeds/
and “The yard” http://secret-lifeof.com/2019/01/14/the-yard/

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The children kept up their play, as children do. As I approached the perimeter of the yard, the group at the table noticed me first. They alerted some of the others, who walked curiously toward the grassy area I stood upon. These were people with whom one could blend easily- a ragtag group at ease with themselves, seeming to have been lifted from any suburban neighbourhood. A man clad in what once was a dress shirt and pants, now soiled and without a belt. A Mexican woman with two shoeless toddlers tugging at her sun dress. Some few who were surely couples. All looked to be in good health, save for those who had telltale sores.

As I came closer, the man in the white shirt faced me and made a curious shushing motion, palms out and towards the ground. I stopped short, and he began to speak.
“I am Raymond”, he said. Then, jokingly, “Welcome to heaven!” “I am Joshua”
said I. Raymond laughed, but did not step onto the grass. “It’s a biblical day, Joshua!”
Seeing my confusion, he said “Come join us, if you like. Walk slowly, if you will.”
I shouldered my pack, and made to walk up and shake his hand, whereupon I ran face first into a solid (but soft) wall that was not there. I fell backwards, more surprised and embarrassed than anything else, and, dusting myself off, I returned their smiles.

“We are held here, for a time” said Raymond. “I think it is more for their protection than for any fear of our escaping.” Seeing my questioning glance, he again spoke in riddles. “We are, I think, part of the harvest of those remaining on this Earth. We were picked up, rescued, or captured if you like, in our various states of misery, and brought here to this compound.” “The people of the ships- they have shown us that we are to prepare for a great Leaving in due time, as the world’s survivors are collected. You will meet them soon…some will visit us at dusk, and you will join our numbers.” Seeing my rough appearance, my burned and flaking skin, my unlaced boots and scraggly jeans, Raymond asked how long I had been on my own. “Some years, I think. It’s hard to tell.” “We know”, he said, and asked me for my story. I sat on my pack, and a group gathered ’round to listen as I told them of trials in the wild, desperation and despair, my meeting with only one speaking person in that time (the little girl), and of her death. They gave me food and drink, tossing it through the invisible barrier, and I gratefully warmed up to them as the sun began its evening westering.

“We’ve not long to wait now” said Raymond, and I fell into an expectant silence.

to be continued….

The yard

The heaviest of the fog was burning off, as quickly as clouds in a time lapse.
The sun, westering towards zenith, cast a kaleidoscope of blinding beams on the silvered mirrors below. I had no guide, no precedent, to tell me how to proceed. Wary, at least, I must be. In the glare, I could make out little, until presently a water-coloured cloudbank approached.

In the dun light, vision was sharpened, and the ships (for so I thought they were) took on a sepia tone and a strange air of unreality. There were hundreds, in seeming shapes of domes and standing bullets. All was still and silent, as the world here had been since yesterday. The clearing in the valley was otherwise featureless, save for an oddly shaped structure which resembled a bisected mushroom head .

I was partly down the steep slope, keeping to the camouflage of brush, when I spied movement in the shade of the structure. Figures. People. The first I had seen alive since my sojourn with little Miss. Some were gathered in groups, talking, while others sat at a large round table. I crept further downslope, and saw that they varied in description: young and old, men and women, even small children. The scene was peculiar in that they all kept to a semicircle of bare earth, about the size of a baseball infield, around which there was no visible fence or boundary.

I halted to consider what to do next, when my inhibitions were put to rest upon hearing some laughter from the group, and the sounds of happy children.

At this, I stepped out from the forest gloom, foolishly perhaps, and showed myself.

to be continued……….

….previous story is “Silver seeds”

In a night’s fancy

Oh, Enceladus!

Ocean moon enrobed in ice.

Eccentric orbiter of a God.

Your showering geysers

an accretion to Great Saturn’s gravelly rings.

Herschel spied you from out the blue.

Cassini caught you unawares and showed you forth.

In flights, our curious fingers find life’s beginnings

in your nineteen mile deeps.

You hold, I fancy, surprising secrets,

complacently waiting.

But never comes the day, my love.

Never comes the day.

Silver seeds

I am come to warmer climes now. The smokes of the world subside. My grief for the Little Miss had led me to despair, for a time. I found that one cannot survive for long on frozen candy bars. Although the sky is a clear turquoise today, there are bright glints that I see, always peripherally, gone in an instant. A trick of the mind, I think. All is noiseless now. Stark in silence, windless. Waiting. As night nears, I curl up in a dried bed of reeds, their crinkling sound a brazen assault on this stillness. Even the crawling and flying things have abandoned these parts, and I sleep deeply, without fear. I awake in a morning chill, looking about stupidly and rubbing my eyes. It is just getting dawn, and I am on an island in thick fog. From my canvas bag, I pull out a sweater and warm socks, then my last bit of roast rabbit, a joyful thing to taste. I join the waiting world, hoping for an early burn off to the mist. Shouldering my pack, I set out once again on my westward trek. There are still small remnants of fog in the hollows, and it is hard to make out the lay of the land. Now comes the moment that will stay with me as long as I draw breath. I have been on a plain for a long time now, the land as flat as a prairie. Of a sudden, the brush gives way to a steep drop, down into a valley still shrouded in the fog. The gaining sun has warmth now, and I sit on a stump, guessing the valley’s girth. I make a fire, and boil some water for a precious cup of instant coffee. I sit and read from the stuck-together pages of an old paperback. “The King in Yellow”. Coffee done, I rise and stretch, and there, below, is a thing I cannot encompass. Above the shrinking mists, in the vastness of this valley, I see an army of standing ships, their chromium domes throwing silver back to the sun. In my short crazy life I know, for the first time, what awestruck means.

….to be continued