Voices In The Quiet

ONE

Early this mornin’

when you knocked upon my door

Early this mornin’

when you knocked upon my door

And I said, “Hello, Satan,

I believe it’s time to go

Me and the Devil

was walkin’ side by side

Robert Johnson (Me and the Devil Blues)

I am a tainted wether of the flock,

Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit

Drops earliest to the ground; and so let me.

Shakespeare (The merchant of Venice)

It all seemed so strange, to have gambled with one’s faith. After so many years, to have attempted to believe again in a world once so easily rejected and in oneself, so quickly condemned. How could he overcome the fear of burning up upon re-entry into the world of the living?

Anger had become such a good friend to Patrick and had protected him from the disease of returning to “real” life.

However, amongst the friendly shadows of his forest lair, a real live memory came a calling on Patrick. There had been a death in the family, as reported to him by the faithful network. What meaning was lost to him in the message? Was there some insight in the precision of the seven words typed on the paper or the carefully cut corners of the paper that would unlock some divine meaning? Examination revealed nothing, but a question formed by dust particles drawn together by forces beyond the realm of mortal Socratic explanation. How had he come to be in this place and at this time? A broken-down, drunken fool with a present and possibly a future long behind him. Yet there remained a past that was always there and often ahead of him.

No one seems to remember what. They just seek out the why? Moral convictions, ideals, principals all together in that playground of the soul, smiling, laughing, playing tag while commitment watches from the fringes of the grass. How far will you go? Is that not always the question? How far will you go for a cause?

Patrick lost his soul one night in Anim Baile. Driven there by murder and movies, where everything seemed so simple, so grand and no one remembered anything. Yes Anim Baile, at least he believed it was there. Oh yes, his memory flashed moments of Anim Baile at him from time to time. Mostly in his dreams, except, he did remember being cast into the heart of fire. Was there an Anim Baile outside of his dreams?

Goddesses once friendly, played voodoo games with his thoughts and confusion as their ally. When morning came, Patrick awoke a soulless man. He survived though, discovered the secret to their magic, and do you know how? By silence! Silence gathered up his ashes and re-joined them with a wisp of true sorcery. At the urging of voices too loud to be anything but starward sent, Patrick retreated from the hallowed land. Late one night, one summer night, he crept into this forest with the intent of never being found. However, time moved in on him. Each new spring brought the smell of new development to his senses.

The pepper shaker just sat still on the table. Patrick sat slouched over, his head resting on crossed arms, watching the shaker for a sign. However, it just sat there without even a twitch or a blink. Still, he sat there contemplating the now hiding or permanently gone voices of his solitude. Why had they abandoned him? Why had they left him alone to fend off civilization? For a biennium stretched five times, Patrick had lived within the vast world of his soul. Slowly, he took each step along with his guiding compatriots. Exploring with pick and shovel the purposes of an existence weighted by ideals, confusion and excess. Sorting out a past full of hard-ons and hard lessons. Never once, did he suspect the quiet deception of the creeping future. Yet the future arrived, and he sat naked, looking into its poker face, uncertain and unprepared to take up its challenge.

Where to go from there became his dilemma? That is, with such a muddled mess of memories as the only guidance. A memory soup too thick with ideals and foolish misguided beliefs to lend in the travelling he must do. A gentle breeze blew in through the open screen door. Around him a completely new set of ghosts appeared. Curiously, they looked at Patrick for a sign of the living. A shiver ran down his spine, shaking his will. His brother was dead!