Rebirth

A portrait, a painting? You cannot paint today as you painted yesterday. You cannot paint tomorrow as you paint today. A portrait, a painting? Do not paint it of yesterday’s rapt and rigid formula nor of yesterday’s day-after-tomorrow’s crisscross—jagged, geometric, prismatic. Do not paint yesterday’s day-after-tomorrow destructiveness nor yesterday’s fair convention. But how and as you will—paint it today.

A portrait, a painting? The summer burned the land to a crisp. The green turned to brown, brown turned to black. Winter kept us warm, covering the dead with a fluffy blanket of white snow. Then spring sprung to give us hope, and succeeded. The flowers bloom most beautifully after a fire. Fire poppies are what they’re called, burning bright to remind us of what brought them here. The famous golden California poppies, white poppies, purple poppies, red poppies. Yellow mustard, beautiful blue bells, purple lupine, long luscious green–everywhere, and let’s not forget the forget me nots! From burnt to a crisp to bursting with color, the mountains exuded an illusory scenery inviting imaginary creatures to get lost in its fantastical image. 

A fantastical beast, a curious owl searching for meaning. A hidden Queen with knowledge of the ancients, a court jester clearly here for the world's amusement. Like a corpse rising from the dead, this creature crawled up from under the dirt mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain. 

Vengo dal nulla, una terra persa nel tempo. 

I have lived many lives. The first was brought to existence by a colossal carp swimming in the Euphrates river. It came to shore, opening its mighty mouth to let out a pearl-like egg that hatched a god-like woman born to rule. She left the egg, and marched to a burnished throne, glowed on the marble, where the glass held up by standards wrought with fruited vines, a gift from Bacchus. She was surrounded by gold and blood. The Queen of Assyria, burned with the light of 1,000 suns, died with the land remembered by no one. 

My current form was languid and tired. An etching of a spirit, tired from the previous forms, destined to become a sistine chapel. This being that emerged from the ground was struck by a piercing glistening thread imbuing it with the intuitive desires of the past. “HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME,” yelled the voice in its head, and its legs began mechanically moving. The creature admired the blooming fire poppies, bursting with bright hues of beauty. HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME. And the creature crouched down to drown itself in the odors intoxicating its senses, ironically bringing clarity to its tanned skin the enriched with the dirt it came from, brightening the amethyst jewel protruding from the middle of its brows, and blushed its freckled cheeks brighter than the pink pansies poking out from the earth. HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME! HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME! And now that this machine was well oiled, it started making its way across the many colors to our lives. 

Why is a raven like a writing desk? I feel as if I am walking at the bottom of the ocean with a school of fish swimming around me. The fish are sparrows. They flitter their little wings, taking them higher–and suddenly stop as if their hearts burst for a moment, enjoying the smooth soar down. They do this over and over as they go round and round my being. Are they trying to tell me something? Birds are known to be able to detect electromagnetic frequencies. Madame Sosostris would say it was a bad omen, but how can anything go wrong in this Garden of Eden that I was in? 

I went further into the woods, finding myself at the base of a giant oak tree housing squirrels and woodpeckers, hawks with nests fighting big raven-like crows trying to eat their eggs. Why is a raven like a writing desk? A swift hare hopped by, seeming to be in a hurry to get somewhere. “HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME,” said the hare as it took out a pocket watch from its waistcoat to see how late he was. It ran into a hole at the trunk of the big oak, and naturally I followed growing curiouser and curiouser. Squeezing my being through the thick roots of the tree, I followed the rabbit hole deeper and deeper until I tripped and fell down and down and down. Panicking I tried to grab on to any root or rubble I could feel in this engrossing darkness. My heart began beating faster and faster, I thought it was going to burst. And burst it did after it seemed as if I was never going to stop falling, accepting my fate and enjoying the smooth soar down. I felt the air all around my being, refreshing me with winds anew. Is this how birds feel when flying? Am I flying? Why is a raven like a writing desk? I extended my arms out gliding like an albatross atop a sea of darkness. I didn’t dare open my eyes, letting fearlessness take over. 

Because they can both produce a few notes.

As soon as I surrendered to the dark, a light peeled my eyes open, forcing me to panic once more as I saw a grassy ground growing fast under me. The fall was surprisingly soft as the grass was like a mattress caressing my bottom. I felt it under my legs, letting each blade tickle me as they pleased. The grass let out a giggle as I wiggled my toes through it. We both looked at each other smiling. I moved my hands feelingly around, trying to find the strength to come erect. As I got up, I looked around. No hare, no bear, no cat, no rat. The only thing in sight was a large colorful rose garden, guarded by a thick wrought iron fence covered in thorns. The intoxicating scent of the roses lured me through the gates. 

The red flowers smell different than the white flowers, but the yellow flowers smell sweeter than the pink ones. I think the orange ones have to be my favorite. I went around sniffing each bed trying not to miss a single colorful scent, getting higher and higher with each new strain 

I noticed a rosie friend peeking behind a striated pink and white one. As I took a deep inhale, I could feel their eyes studying my every detail. It must be a rose garden virgin, unsure of how to best please the garden as she lays there. Oh friend, there is no right or wrong way to experience this bliss! Go off! Be free! Stop following, as I do not know how to lead. 

A hop, skip, and jump away, I found myself, mind astray–deeper in the garden. 

Poulaphouca, Poulaphouca

Poulaphouca, Poulaphouca

The waterfall called to me in bright cascade.  I found a misty spot on the grass, feeling the earth around me, breathing in the aromatic air. I took out a pen and paper and began to write:

“There is a certain smell in the air, and no, it is not the flowers. It is love. Love is in the air.”

Inebriated by the atmosphere, I fell into a slumber. 

THE WATERFALL: Poulaphouca Poulaphouca

Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

The waterfall began whispering with the yews: Yes I think it is she! The one we’ve been waiting for! No, fool it can’t be, this isn’t the one. She is frail, mortal looking! 

A Nymph emerged from Poulaphouca. A seductress with beautiful jasper hair covering most of her bare parts. Poulaphouca provided her with a cloud of mist she floated on. 

THE YEWS: Calypso, our sister, tell us! Is this the prophetic child we are meant to kill?

THE NYMPH: HUSH! Let me see. 

THE WATERFALL:   Phillaphulla Poulaphouca

Poulaphouca Poulaphouca.

Stuck in sleep paralysis, I could feel the Nymph’s mist hover over me. She examined me as close as my Rosie friend did earlier. She sniffed me like I sniffed that flower. Letting my fumes go to her head, she paused for a moment, thinking. In an instant she picked me up and dragged me down into the water she came from. She held the temples of my skull as we swam fast among the bubbles who screamed as they popped. She placed me on the sand at the bottom of the river, circling around me. I tried to move free, but was still held hostage by some invisible force. My breath was escaping, air screeching out now. My mouth was open, gasping, and only getting water. The Nymph looked with those pearls that were her eyes straight into my tightening red throat. She cursed in a foreign tongue and I was finally able to breathe once more. The Nymph spoke to me clearly now.

THE NYMPH: I am the great Calypso! Sent by the gods to kill you!

She said this in a shrill voice that, to my ears, felt like nails on a chalkboard. 

ME: Kill me? But why? I haven’t done anything at all, I’m innocent I swear! 

I put my hands up, surrendering to her mercy. Pleading for my life I adopted Anjali Mudra and prayed to the gods who ordered me killed. 

Calypso felt my mercy and changed form.

THE NYMPH: (Eyeless, in nun’s white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly, with remote eyes.) Tranquilla convent. Sister Agatha. Mount Carmel. The apparitions of Knock and Lourdes. No more desire. (She reclines her head, sighing.) Only the ethereal. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o’er the waters dull.

I looked at her confused, horrified, assuming she called upon the spirits to help consume my life force. 

THE NYMPH: I’ll tell you what, unearthly being! I’ll let you live if you hand over all your virtue, all your passion, all your desire, and most importantly the love you hold so dearly to your soul. Then, I’ll let you go. 

ME: Why? Why would you defy the gods and let me live?

THE NYMPH: 

Give a thing and take it back

God’ll ask you where is that

You’ll say you don’t know

God’ll send you down below.

I have lived in these gardens for thousands of years, cursed with immortality, unable to leave this land. Every so often a traveler will become enchanted by the sensual pleasures my garden brings, allowing me to steal their hopes and dreams for myself. But the feeling is ephemeral, and I’m back trying to fill the void where my heart should be. But you, you are wanted by the Gods because you are a threat to the balance of good and evil. An ancient energy possesses your soul, dating back far before the Gods took control. Deep inside you is immense power giving you the ability to either be the greatest ruler the cosmos has ever seen, or the harbinger of death to all that exists. You are too much of a risk, but give me your passion, your desires, your goodness, your love and I’ll let you wreak havoc across all realms. 

THE NYMPH: (sadly now) Nothing can be worse than this life I live, so I might as well enjoy my last days before you bring me and the world the sweet serenity of death.. 

I didn’t know how to respond to the news I had just received about my predestined path to alter life itself. On one hand I was excited and hopeful to be holding this intense power I didn’t know about, but on the other it was this power that had the ability to destroy everything the light touches. Calypso wasn’t giving me much of an option. She was to either kill me, or steal my goodness and let me kill everything else. I get it, she lives in pain never truly feeling life as it is meant to be, and wants a few days of pure bliss before her eternal life comes to an end by my hand. I didn’t understand why she needed my permission to do that if she was just going to kill me anyway. I guess if she does kill me, she has to go on existing in pain, if she lets me live, she gets killed by the gods with no chance of happiness, and if she steals my power and then lets me go, I’ll kill the Gods for her so at least she can be at peace when the universe ends all together. Really her only secure option was taking my power, but if there was some way I could convince her I would bring her the happiness she desires with the apparent power I held, perhaps I could go on fulfilling the better prophecy I had for me. The thing was, I didn’t know how to do that, let alone anything about my power at all. I felt weak and defeated, almost ready to give in to her one sided deal. 

ME: And what if I say no to giving you my power?

THE NYMPH: If you refuse, I’ll kill you as you stand, filling you with the agony of every poor soul I’ve consumed over the countless years I’ve been haunting this isle. 

A jellyfish appeared in the water floating toward me with purpose. I followed it with my eyes. It brought me a sense of innocent reality in the midst of the current nightmare I was in. It comes to sit as a cap atop my head, stretching out its feelers radiating that same bright light that pierced my being as I was brought to this world. The light grabs ahold of me making its way through my entire body, energy swimming liberally throughout. A tingling sensation moves through my hands, my fingers, and I can finally feel the tips moving freely through the water, light shining bright through my fingerprints. I focus on the energy now consciously circulating through my being, trying to intensify it to the point of freedom. The light moved to my womb, glowing so bright it blinded the Nymph who was watching in astonishment of my sudden powerforce. The light filled me, allowing me to break free from the invisible shackles that were binding me in place. I was in ecstasy. This was the power that was in me all along and I could feel it coursing through my veins taking me higher than the smell of roses ever could have. I shot through the water, back through the garden and up through the rabbit hole that brought me to this horrid place. I was back in the beautiful mountains that bore me, with a new sense of gratitude, of worth, of happiness, and of love. I am alive, I am free, I am ME. A painting, a portrait of good.

I have come again away from the dead.