Hadestown

The God of War, in his unforgiving tone turned to you and said “it is time”. Swearing under the undeniable oath you claimed that you will carry out the deeds that must be done. Kill the ones who must be gone, maim the ones who must be maimed. There will be no looking back to yesterday, no droopy eyed search for tomorrow’s peace, there will be war. There will be battles fought, there will be advances, there will be unforgiving strategies, no day, no night. You were summoned, called on, finally made to feel important and under no circumstance were you ever going to relinquish the order, the fate, the duty which you were called on to carry out.  Serious men are to do serious business, the God of War has made sure his voice was heard across mountains, oceans and treacherous lands. It is you who carries his voice inside your own.

Sundown balms the weary bones with soft rays, almost unnoticed, almost too easy to miss. Where light never reaches is where your queen lives. She toils. The plates before her crack as she opens her deep brown eyes and slowly lifts them to light your face. Persephone, the ruler of the underworld is here to speak. Unimaginable is her voice to you, melodious and kind, the hardened deity lures you instantly: “go find him who journeys forever”. There is no time for questions, she turns and as with the steam of a boiling bath she disappears behind the voluptuous nymphs who have pulled each and every string of you heart until now. The underworld is a sacred place to visit and you have come back from it with a mission. Only a few have survived, many have perished in the quest to do what they have been summoned to do. Mortals clench the fragments of myths, most of them die whilst doing so. You can be different or you can cease to exist just the same. The gods could not care less. This challenge is yours and yours alone.

None of your biblical gods have been invented yet. Abraham’s not had Ishmael or Isaac yet, Jacob’s not had his twelve children yet. No prophets have roamed the lands, no scrolls have been recorded with dubious facts. No history and no future to tell. The gods, sometimes out of fury, out of contempt, out of hatred for their own flesh and blood have sent you on an errand you could not have refused to undertake. There is war and there is search. There are traps along the way ever diminishing the chance of a successful outcome. In search of the one who journeys, you embark on your war. Through uneducated people and places, farms where they count the passing of days by how much fish they catch, you learn the evils of war. The beauty in time taken to finish that which could also be done in a haste. The wars have worn you out, the skies turned ever darker, the call of Persephone ever louder, yet the travelling king was bound to never return. You slowly understand the years it took Odysseus to find his way back. From then on you command those who take the long way home.

You were not prepared for what was expected of you. No god in history or in the present could ever hold that against you. Fatefully you do again all that has been asked of you, all that you have already failed to do countless times. They could call you Sisyphus but you are no king. You wretched mortal, you creep of a dying kind, you slow and pitiful man who has been broken by war, broken by promises unkept, broken by your life that has been unkind. The gods do not care about the excuses, about your pains, your blisters, fractures, burns, your bruises. May the wrath of the house of Zeus come thundering down on you! May the wrath of the great God of All evade you! Then and only then do you have a chance to fulfil that which was asked of you. The God of War has instructed you to fight. The Queen of the Underworld has commanded you to search. The King of Epic Journeys have stood silent as you found your own deplorable end. None of them know that you have secretly travelled a great deal to bring them peace. You cried along the way, but in the end you have brought them what they had asked from you. You have brought them your soul. Intact and honest, you are now willing to give them your soul. Hades, take my soul! I long to join the nymphs and sinners in the underworld. I long to roll the boulder up the hill. I long to journey endlessly in this world that you have made for me. I long to live in the world you have made for me.

kind to myself, kind to others

Accepting the harrowing colours,
the reality that tips on its very own axis.
Aching for the void that can never be filled,
longing to see through the abysmal, the disgraced.

Bound by the infinite ropes of regret,

held tightly by servitude, a twisted sense of duty.
Fighting to loosen the grip to catch solid ground.
To feel peace.

Falling on unkindly words.

Hoping there is reason in hurt.
Running aimless towards a common goal,
Hiding senseless from the unending cold.

These souls torture me, these souls burn.

Some words help me, some words kill.
The past haunts me, the future stays behind.
You bend me, I am still, blind.

Creation is a chore, uninspired these lives remain.

Chimes rang through the river.
I was unable to speak or follow.
You took what was left.

Oftentimes kindness is mistaken for weakness,

Braveness for meekness, loveliness for sincerity.
Then kindness leaves me, only to pair with you.

Now it’s empty, broken like a fool.

Whispered in a Song

The days that make me question are too numerous. Too numerous and too cruel, impeding every moment that poses otherwise. Then the constant spinning makes me doubt even the most sturdy, sane and straight forward thing in my life. Each victory shoots me down the path of confidence. Each disappointment sinks me into regret. Regret gnaws away at my soul and I am unable to banish it. Such a firm grip it has on all things that are present, reaching back in time, exchanging places, people, mixing and matching that which was, with which is. Suddenly I am unable to distinguish between where I should be and where I am. Faintly, I see where I should be, is not where I am.

Then I turn to you. My sole guide in this hazy journey that I have been forced to take. Forced or asked to. My place is not where I think it should be. My place is right where it is. How you pull at my soul, how tight you pull the ropes in opposite directions. It is with excruciating pain that I start each day and it is with no better sentiment that I end it. And in between the start and the end, without fail, I shift left to right and right to left, trying to see where I should be. On a good day I see my perfect place. On an even better day, I see where I am going. On a bad day I only see where I want to be but can never get to. Like a child I beg for your help. Lost, exhausted, frightened, I look for you to show me that indeed I am right where I should be.

The peace you see on the outside reflects little on the inside. There are moments that shine, and I shine along with them. There are people who make sense and my life makes sense with them. There are days that outlive all other days and with them I create a legacy. But every day I spend in battle. You see little evidence of the fight, there are no bruises, there are no casualties, there is no blood, there are no children and women running for cover with tears streaming down their faces. Just because I have no tears does not mean I don’t cry. I cry for the person I never became. For the things I never achieved. For the mistakes I am about to make. For the people I didn’t fight for. For the love I never let go.

On glorious sunny days, just a whisper sets me straight. In my heart I know that I am right where I should be. But the heart is not confident, it is the frailest part of us all. The night descends with questions that the morning tries to erase but fails with each attempt. I have come to accept that what I know now, I will doubt once I wake. I am alone at night and I wait for the qualms with the sun, with no one by my side. Then I remind my heart that we must gear for battle. That being here can make me grow. That from here I know where to go. I might seem lost to you, I seem lost to me at times, but I am hardened by the journey, wiser by the time past, more accepting of the fate that should befall. I know I am right where I should be. Do you?

A Good Heart

Dragging my feet through the winding alleyways of life, sometimes in a careless skip, some other times in dreary disbelief, heavy from the burden, light from the simplest notes that dance around me when the gentle snow is falling silently on the ground before me, I take an unexpected stop. Take count of things that have been and those that I still await. With fear and excitement I halt to wait for time to rush forward. So I can keep track. Standing still to gather courage for the road that lies ahead, to muster strength to move forward, to see, appreciate all that is around. No other agenda, just the majestic beauty in each carefully orchestrated step. Those steps might be pre-meditated, might be random, might be my own choice, might be a part of some greater plan. I might have faith along the way, I might spend my days aimless.

In the stillness I know that I have your good heart. Good, strong heart. I learn from it, learn how to make my own heart compassionate, forgiving. I have to be ready, prepare for those who I’m yet to meet. You teach me each day. In wondrous amazement I listen to hear what your heart says. Mostly it stays silent. In the silence I search for my own beat, steady but young and frivolous. Your heart knows how to love, how to forgive. My heart only knows how to cheat the feelings that might be harmful. Taking chances seldom, adhering to a distance that assures safety. A full heart that wishes no pain. Kindly you take my hand, each passing day you show me a little more, show me how to guard my heart without shutting away its beautiful tenderness. I cry most nights. I open the light to my heart to you, a liberating deed. I fear that it’ll break, my heart’s not as good as yours. You move without a word, console me, my weeping eyes, my saddened soul, promise to make my heart as good as yours. On dark, deep winter nights, when the ice plates form on the backs of rocky rivers, when the snowflakes lock to make a soft carpet, I let myself believe, fall into the silence of the deep night in perfect belief that my heart can be as good as yours.  

I plan in unity, I plan in solitude. Whichever way the road bends, my road, the one that brings me to a long, slow stop, I know that there is time to prepare my heart. That for however long you are there to help teach me to see confidence as virtue, honesty as bravery, humility as strength, I will walk with a straight back. I may not have known how to see clear if it wasn’t for you. Wherever the road may lead, with whomever I am supposed to walk my path, I know that I need a good heart. In all decisive measures the heart is pivotal. I may lose you soon, I may lose you only with the end of a lifetime, your heart may turn hard and mine ugly. We might lose each other and we might lose our good hearts, but we lose each day, just as we gain each passing minute more of the wholeness, more of the courage to march on. March as the load gets heavier, march as the love grows fainter, march as forgiveness becomes impossible. Hardened by the years and broken by the bitterness, the good heart will need our pristine memories to come to a living beat.  

I remember when fear left me unable to move. I remember how you came to hold me then. I remember how I felt the unstoppable beat of your good heart.  I knew then I wanted my heart to have no other beat.