Awaken the Dawn (conclusion)

Tales that spring from the imagination end
with conclusions.
Some satisfying, some unsatisfying
but always the words
"the end"
make their appearance.
Tales of life
are not often so.

The man who stumbled into this haven,
this strange and mythic war zone,
looked down through the acrid air
to see the lifeless queen lying
on the ground.
One arm lay above her head,
the other slung across her belly.
So she lay in repose
or else stuck in some exotic dance pose.

But even as the man looked at this quiet queen
his countenance locked in stunned perplexity,
the old man--
that same old man,
who IS he?--
spoke from beside him,
holding his hand even yet.
"Look up, man.
And see more than the fallen."

So the man looked up to see the wall of fire
still encompassing the circle of people.
And now he saw
it wasn't a wall at all.
For they were encircled by living swarming fire,
by glowing horses, tall as elephants
whose feet shot out fountains
of fire and water
wherever they clomped at the earth.
And the chariots they pulled
were aflame with life-light
so bright that their form was nearly
indistinguishable.
As for these who rode in the chariots--
they were too ablaze with burning light
to be discernible.

And the old man said,
"Don't you think she'd have been saved
if the wall had chosen to make it so?"
But knowing this only made the man angry.
"You'd better make your next point, old man,
and not leave me long at that one."
The man said through gritted teeth.

Another townsperson knelt beside the queen now,
ministering to her lifeless body.
"Wait, she still breathes.
Faintly, but she breathes."

"Of course she breathes,
she is not dead, only sleeping.
Although in her current state of perception
she surely thinks herself gone,"
said a new voice, chuckling--
a voice booming with virility
like all life past and present sprang
from its resonance.

The would-be warrior looked up to see this one
a man whose inner light burned off the last of the mist and the smoke
clearing the air of all impurity,
leaving it filled with naught but His own vitality.

And a deep ache that had swelled
undefined
now crested in the warrior,
crashing to conscious thought at the knowledge that she lived--
"Am I the reason for the attack of the dragon?
If I had not come,
would she have been reduced to this state?
Or would she still be stepping softly
in her woodlands
full of autumn?"

"Be at peace, man,
for you have no such power, and
therefore no such guilt to embrace.
The dragon had two heads, you see,
but only one that would attack her.
And that was his downfall, written on the wall.
Your coming is indeed caught up the timing of all this,
but not in the start of it,
but rather in its conclusion.
I would show you what the Queen would have you see.
And then I must go after her; as I promised her."

So the warrior-to-be stood tall
and walked with the man who knew much
until they came to a place,
a place too expansive
for the man to quite perceive,
yet what he did perceive,
made his heart feel as though it would burst.
"Look over there," said the voice in his ear.
And he looked to see a set of twin mountain peaks,
dizzying in their height and beauty.
But then he peered closer
and realized these were not mountains at all!
Though the peaks were certainly
tall, remote, unattainable much
as the pinnacle heights of a mountain range,
these were nonetheless another thing:
these were the joints of folded wings.
The man caught his breath
at the sight of such a being.

Where the dragon had been terrifying in his fierceness,
this being was fearsome in his majesty.
The being's body stood in what came to his eyes at first
as the mountain gap,
where now he realized he saw a glowing brilliance
almost in the form of a man.
At the very base,
where what first appeared a shadowed inlet of snow across a valley
was instead the gleaming train of a linen-light robe.

Suddenly, the man saw the Queen again,
standing there in the folds of that train,
and she was thanking this being for his warfare on her behalf and behalf of her people.
She too wore a mantle of such deep hue
that it could only be worn by queens, for humble glory,
and by harlots for audacious foolery.

As the Queen sang her song of salutation and thanksgiving
for the work of this one so like a mountain,
she suddenly bore in her hands a sword.
And she took the sword and shot into the air like a bird,
so that the train of her robe grew expansive and beautiful.
Now scattered across it were the likes of many hands
springing up from its woven depths to reach with her
for the things of truth and glory.

And so this train that had been given to her
at her coronation spread out behind her,
ever widening to fill the earth and sky with its folds.

"Do not grieve for her fall,
for to this she was predestined,"
said the voice in his ear,
but the voice was no longer the voice of the man
who had been his 11th hour guide--
rather it had become a voice transcendent:
a whisper that roared--
a whisper, because no mere man could perceive it's audible intonation
and live;
a roar because no matter how hushed and controlled the power
of the source of these words,
the impact of any sort of speech from this one
was still overwhelming.

Then as the man watched,
the queen floated there, holding the sword aloft.
She presented it to the one who was a mountain,
and the mountain received it.
Then the queen and the reach of her robe spread out
as clouds upon the sky.
But the sword fell down to the earth
and as it fell it lost its sleek gleam
and took on a new form.
By the time it reached the foot of the mountains,
it was but a little boy.
The would-be warrior peered closely at the child.

"That's right," said the voice in his ear, audible and
supremely human yet again.
"You've already met him.
But he plays with the marbles of matter,
don't forget.
Now do you perceive why you're here?"
And somehow, the man knew.
Suddenly the child was close, even at his feet;
but now, this little one was without his uncanny acuity and piercing inquiry,
he was but a child frightened and confused.

So the would-be-warrior who came to this place as a strange pilgrim
seeking war-craft secrets--
clues to take to his own land,
this man who came to this place
that he might take from it power
to wield against his challengers,
yes, even this one who expected a destiny of renown
amongst both kindred and foes,
this man in the end was forgotten by their likes
until one day no one even thought to ask of him--
"whatever happened to...?"

This man took the pudgy little hand of a child,
and after giving him a small measure of comfort,
led him back to a quiet village
in a mythic desert,
where a singular dead tree
bore one leaf...

...Awaken the Dawn continued...

The Queen and the man
considered each other
and what to do next.

When suddenly, a roaring sound
filled the empty space
in the very molecules of the air.
Her chin came up,
her eyes blazed.
"The wall is rising--" she said,
turning quickly.
So she set her foot forward
with purpose
and integrity.

The warrior to be
followed quickly.
"The wall?"

"The one,
and the One,
that rises as a standard
when our Enemy's flood
rushes toward us."
She looked wryly at the man.
"It appears you will see us fight
after all."
Then her eyes grew first wide
(as a new realization struck her)
and then again, narrow
(as its implication led her thinking.)
"Maybe you are why our Enemy approaches."
Then she hurried her step again.

"But I am no companion to your enemy!" cried the man.

"No, for the wall did not respond to you,"
agreed the Queen.
"Still, you could be a factor."

Before he could ask her to elaborate on her meaning,
they came upon a clearing full of people,
people standing in a circle.
The commoners held hands,
and a hum of cosmic power seemed to emanate
(but in starts and sputters)
from their union.
A place broke open in the ring of struggling human dominion,
and the Queen took her place there.
The hum grew steadier,
but remained feeble in strength.
She turned, looking over her shoulder at the man.
"Though you are a stranger,
it is still my request that
you fight in our company.
Will you fill this remaining gap in our circle?"

The man thought:
This is how they make war?
And partly because he did not fully perceive
what was before him,
he stepped into their circle.

Nevertheless, when he clasped the hands
to his right and his left,
the spark and the current
took an exponential leap
and the circle crackled.

Then he saw things he had not seen before:
a wall of fire and shooting steam roared
all around the circle,
as foul water and good,
as cleansing fire and destructive fire
fought for dominance,
so elements nearly indistinguishable from each other,
wrestled for supremacy,
and the people prayed.
Gradually, the man realized that this was their warfare.
Power to the good!
Wisdom to the righteous!
Strength to the holy Creator!

Then, because the bud of these prayers looked promising to bloom and not wither,
the source of the bad revealed itself
for it knew no other way to slice that bulging bud from its stem--
so a creature broke through the fire and steam;
and the man felt transported
into some medieval artistry,
for this creature was a dragon,
in the classic sense.
Two-headed with a tail that lashed,
its mouths that breathed explosions
into the order of life.

Then the man joined his heart
to the prayers of the circle.
As they prayed,
the creature folded in upon himself,
twisting, wrapping himself in smoke;
and the acrid smoke
and the tiny oily rainbows
slithering across the black steam all around him
gave evidence:
The creature seduced.

"Why do you despise my power?"
It whispered with a contrived laziness.
Don't you see my power makes me lovely?
Respect me, for then why should I harm you?"
And so the creature spoke in a language
spoken by the people
spoken for many a generation,
words whose etymology was born of much trading
rather than being the offspring of revelation
or of loving and gracious inheritance.
So the man came to see
that this danger was greater
than what could be posed
by any voiceless weapon fashioned
by the hands of man.

"Look away," said the Queen.
"Or be mesmerized."

The man looked back along the path he'd walked with the Queen,
back toward the forest,
where a mighty flow of light was rising.
Like the energy waiting in a drawn bow, it swelled forth.
"What is that?" he cried.
The Queen looked where the man looked,
and she smiled.
"That is the tree I showed you.
That which appeared dead
reveals its hidden life,
for such a time as this.
It is a new life, a new thing.
Let it now springforth."

So the arc became a sickle,
and an arrow transformed into a sword
empowered to smite the heads of leviathan.
but not until the Queen
...fell.

Continuing...

Does anyone have preconceived notions of what he will find
when he enters the secret pavilion of the Lord?
Let him lose those notions.

When this man entered the curtained realm,
(while wind chimes rang gently around him)
he hardly realized he had such notions,
until he found them unfulfilled.

Had he expected the woman to be
lovely?
(Dewy and nubile.)
Had he expected her to be
wise?
(Meditating on some elevated rock?)
Had he expected
divinely ordained mutations?
(A couple of extra arms, or
writhing snakes in her hair?)

What he found?
An ordinary woman.
In an ordinary gown.
She stood
sipping not so ordinary chocolate
from a scuffed,
pink plastic mug.
And she looked up at the curtains
as if ever seeing them
for the first time.

But then, she looked at him.

And all his former expectations
became truth again
in her eyes.
How are eyes that have no guile and no agenda
anything but lovely?
How are eyes that see the horrors of war
yet still exude love (rather than fear, or hate)
anything but wise?
How can such eyes be anything but
a divinely ordained mutation?

And although she'd never met him before,
she reached her hand out to him and invited,
"Walk with me."

She took him from the pavilion of their meeting,
into the royal woods,
where all traces of the outlying desert
were inconceivable.
The skies looked down
and began to swirl strange patterns in their clouds.
Their crystal layers appeared
like a field of slate
under thinly running waters.

The season was high autumn.
"Not until I came into your land did I realize
it was autumn," he said.
"My days in the desert did not afford me a good sense
of the passing seasons."
She reflected for a moment. "Well,
it may not be autumn
elsewhere.
But it is always autumn here."
He was confounded by that statement.
"Always autumn?"
She touched one leaf, still brilliant green.
alongside another, brilliant orange.
"In this place, it is right to always see both.
The threat of looming winter,
does it not bring out the most noble colors?
But life is not yet completely asleep."
And he realized she was right.
It fit this place.

So they walked trails
where long and elegant seed pods
sliced deep burgundy cuts,
in mounds of moss.
They walked where dead leaves
clattered against the trunks of their host trees,
refusing to take their fall silently.
They walked along a stream
whose beach like flagstone, rocky smooth,
had so many muted stones
lying level, flat in the sand;
laid ther,
by the press of waters long removed, but not
without their residual influence.
And although he'd sworn to himself
to disregard the former paths
of flowing streams,
at this Queen's side he could not help
but notice.

They walked where a small tree stood--
slender and clothed in dead leaves.
Like brown husks not reailzing their abandonment
they nevertheless clung
in their little leaf cities, but for one
a small one, and bright
glowing green
on an otherwise bare and fragile branch.
"We're getting close to what I'd show you--"
said the Queen.

They walked beside thick fallen trunks,
whose pulpy powder lay at the mouth of the breach
of their splendour.
And, they walked near a standing tree whose base
was a cavern,
a hidden opening.

The man reflected on
some childhood story he recalled:
such a "doorway" at the base of a tree served
as gateway to a magical underground world.
The Queen smiled--almost coyly.
"What a fanciful story
for the likes of you
to remember."
So the man met again
his purpose.
And as men of war don't cotton soft
to stories of secret havens--
he renewed his vow to be
a serious man.

They walked where the water of the river broke to form
a side pool beneath a stand of oaks.
"What a shame--" said the Queen.
"Shame?" asked the man.
"Look into the waters," she said.
"You'll see the fate of the acorns."

Indeed, in the shallows
a muddy ground-surface was littered with tiny acorns
perfectly preserved,
un-growing.
The Queen tilted her head, and whispered,
"Did they choose where they would fall?
For that matter, did the tree of their origin
choose where it would grow?
But who can call the effects of the water bad?
In fact, the water feeds the tree's roots.
It's a puzzlement."
The man frowned.
First, she teased him for being fanciful,
then she took him
right back into fancy.
"It is simply the way of things--"
he said gruffly.
"Yes, but how do you calculate
the rightness in it?"

(Now, he would prefer to speak rather abruptly;
but he nonetheless attempted
a respectful tone.
He addressed a foreign dignitary
after all.)
"It is not for me to say--"
""Isn't that absolutely right!"
she too heartily agreed with him.
And suddenly he felt uncomfortably responsible
for the fate
of a lot of acorns.

"Here we are," she said at last.
Where they stopped, a gnarled, dead tree stood
like a forest mausoleum.
Dead a very long time.
Dead like stone.
Gnarled like weathered stone.
Knotty holes scarred it deeply.
She pointed into one of these holes.
"Look there," she said,
as if she showed him
the inward parts of a treasure chest.

He peeked into the hole,
(so long dead it hardly lifted
even the faintest scent of spice.)
And there he saw a small twig
with a small leaf
growing on it.

"I ask you, how is it
that small branch drinks life
even from this tree's roots?
So I keep watching it, tending it.
In fact, it is why I'm in this place at all.
I've been given the task of sheltering it,
here in the desert."

"But what has that to do with war?" asked the man impatiently.
She looked at him in amazement.
"Why everything--" she said,
surprised he'd even asked.

She studied him thoughtfully,
as they retraced their steps
going back by the way they had come.
"I think the thing to consider next is not
how our activity here could teach you
this art of war."

He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"Though we fight gloriously, you can not see it.
You are blind, though I have shown you the balm that could open your eyes.
You are deaf, so I will give you the words that will open your ears."
Then she leaned over and breathed these words into his mind.
"Consider now the hardest question of all:
What is war?"