Forks in the Road

This is a continuation of earlier posts. Context is found in previous parts.

Part Ten

Before Away & Beyond, before Alexandria, before even that place that once I believed to be my own Utopia, I called the beautiful Pompeii home. With its richly painted walls and the warm glows at the windows, I was ever safe in the arms of those I loved and who loved me. City of promise, such ideals were built there, such dreams abounded, tended at the fertile foot of the great mountain that we worshipped by day, sheltered beneath at night. The soil was ever green and the simple life in the wiles of the lush fields was more than this one small girl could ever fully appreciate. Such fools we are as children, wishing away those moments of boredom. Oh, what I would give for one more hour in the woods, sharpening my tools with the oil stone, carving by the light of a spring sun.

I sit now, at the outskirts of my childhood home watching the breath of Hercules stir dark clouds to life. Even at this distance I see the impending storm; the great mountain is changing before my eyes. The once protective, fertile ground has dried covered with an ash that strays across the skies carried on the fours winds like hands passing a parchment note to all who must be told, “Vesuvius’ time has come.”

Dusk is falling faster than it should. I know what comes. I’ve heard the stories from others, the tales of Krakatoa, of Falcon Island. I do not think this Vesuvius will rise again from the seas as have its cousins. This Pliny cloud I see building will obliterate a fundamental nexus of sustenance if it cannot be stopped. But who am I, a mere mortal, to tell the gods to cease? Who am I but a slave to fate? If Hercules wills his mountain be reshaped none can will him stop.

Dawn will be a long time coming once this volcano ceases its explosion. Am I blessed to be in Away & Beyond? Am I blessed that Pompeii, the home I still visit so oft is not that place of my advancing years? If Pompeii falls beneath ash and Alexandria remains fragile, where do I call home? This Away & Beyond has no hearth warm enough and no blessed temple that calls to my being. Where is the new day to be?

I turn from the hilltop where I have been sitting for the past months and walk into my small dwelling. There is nothing I can do but wait for the inevitable. Make bread, drink mead, stoke the fire. I will go, one last time into Pompeii before the ash covers all and sear into my mind those places that will soon be lost forever.

Sometimes still I wish that the tsunami had taken me after Atlas shrugged … often I wish. I would not have to watch yet another god take the pieces I so cherish. Ah, but what use is a broken jar, I hear the owl speak softly overhead? What use is the leaking vessel, so badly cracked that even Panacea shakes her head in dismay? Better consigned to the earth where weather and water will return the pot to clay, returned to the soil.

Vesuvius shall blow. I always knew it would. Not for the subtle and quiet exit will be the grand mountain that throws its shadow over all. Even the gods must obey Atropos. When calls the hour, neither mortal nor god can stand in her way. I wait to be burned.

This tale is still evolving even as the words are committed to paper. Each post is likely to be a chaplet (a dedication or prayer) in itself. You are free to share this journey with me, even as I know not where it will end.

This is a continuation of earlier posts. Context is found in previous parts.

Part Nine

She is sitting at the city walls, her meagre possessions, all that she can carry at her side in a canvas sack. On her other side, curled nose to tail is her dog. She has folded a large hessian sack, placed it between the dog and the cobbled stones as they both sit at the city gates; on top she has tucked in one of her own jumpers. She herself shivers beneath Selene, even as she tucks the coverings tighter about her companion.

“He must be a faithful companion to be afforded the warmth you so need yourself.”

“Since a pup has he stood by me. Saved me from the roving eyes of more than a few brigands even before I came to this fate.” A wary glance adds emphasis to her words; would women harm a sister? I shudder.

“What knot in Klotho’s labours sees you beyond the protection of even the winds and rains? Is there none who would shelter you?”

“Would it be so, but not all appreciate my canine companion, for he serves only me. He will go to no other, guard for no other. A truer friend I could not hope for. In him at least are his actions plain, not some play-act for the benefit of another.” The bitterness in her voice belies betrayal, her glistening eyes evidence of a pain not yet hardened by time.

“One who said he loved me, who ate at my table and took of my flesh brought me to this ruin. A soldier of moderate rank, he stayed after a battle, he and others of his corps. It seemed they meant to stay, but when the harvest failed in the floods and coin was available elsewhere for less effort, he left taking with him my purse. The earth beneath our home was carried away by the flood waters, the walls crumbled. With no silver, no crop, I could no longer pay rent to the landowner, let alone rebuild the walls that kept the winter squalls from my pate.”

My blood runs cold. Atlas could be so cruel, the fates of puny humans forevermore dashed by one conquered Titan. Titanomachy or not, the ancient Gods retain more power than any one man or woman can ever dream, I thought. I wonder why they do not dispense their wrath upon those who have desecrated their memory and works rather than some simple person of simple means.

“Your wares, are they your own work?” I ask of the pieces at her side.

“Yes, but I have help from friend. She sells similar in another town. We meet to share our skills to make something that blends from what we both know.”

Not items of any great value are her wares, nor even great skill, but she is not begging. I want to give her coin, a little I have saved from my own toils, but it is better to preserve her dignity by trading. I select a woven band of green and blue and pay her, wishing her better fortunes before heading on my way. I leave the walls of the city behind me and tie my band to the post of my cart when I return to my abode, a reminder of one with lesser fortunes than me.

Next day, I make offering to the Gods in grateful acknowledgement of the opportunities given me despite my losses. I spend some time by the blessed waters and wash to clean myself of the worldly grime. I stand at the sacred flame and gaze deep into it’s glow, seeking some sense for how the world can function thus and not by some more logical mechanism. I wonder, will Athena explain the reasons?

I spend so long in contemplation that when I finally move I notice the curious gaze of a priest has been trained upon me. He approaches, saying “Most people come and pay obeisance to their favoured god, most leave in short time. You have spent until the glowing in the sky has passed it’s apex, something only one dedicated to worship of a god would do, and yet, you wear not the robes of an initiate or a priestess. What brings you hence?”

“Fortune, it would seem, although I never realized how I could be so until yesterday. To give thanks for what I have and wonder at the choice of the gods when others with perhaps no more reason to suffer than I have felt much worse and been left with naught. I had hoped Athena would enlighten me.”

He smiles, guiding me to a bench at the temple’s walls. “No sense is there to be made. For reasons that none will be told, the gods favour some and not others. It may be a blessing from birth, it may be a favour earned. But just as favour can be earned, so can it lost. There is no point in seeking such answers without knowing the tale of each one who lives in fortune or hardship.”

I consider these words, saying “So one must ask of a person his tale before he can know if he is blessed by birth or cursed? And one should follow the path from birth to present to see the point of any change in fortune?”

“Well yes, that would be so, but who will be completely honest about all they may do that fails to appease the gods?”

“It would seem that the councilors and president are immune from the wiles of the descendents of Gaia and Uranus. Such inquisition seems bound by laws not meant for ordinary men.”

“Far from truth,” replies the priest. “Have you not heard of Hypatia, taken by the followers of the One New God for speaking the words of a heretic? Of high family was she, blessed from birth, and yet rise of this One New God had power. It overwhelmed any fortune Olympus may have vested in her and saw her body thrown to the hyenas outside the city walls. A philosopher was she, one honoured by those who worship the Olympians; not so the Christians of this modern era who inhabit some cities.”

I know of Hypatia. It was she who saved much of the writings of the Great Library a hundred years earlier. Much was lost, but some were also saved to be found many years later by my forebears and taken to a new place. Philosophy was still valued in my Alexandria a century later and efforts had been made to restore the losses that had damaged human growth in that one senseless act upon a teacher of reason. It had become apparent to the new custodians of the writings that it would never be possible to completely restore all the knowledge.

“This One New God, as you call him, he is not of Gaia and Uranus, though. What of that line?”

“You need look no further than Helen, again a mortal of high rank destined for destruction by the goddess of strife herself, Eris. In such, it was not any wrong on the part of the human that caused such battles and destructions of lives in Sparta and Troy, but the bickering of Gods.”

“Not unlike the bickering of the councilors and president themselves. I guess they have become our gods. They have elevated themselves above the rest of us.”

His face darkens as he speaks in a grave tone, “Let no man make the mistake of believing he is god lest he anger one or more of those with such universal powers. Once man forgets his place in the grand design of which we are but a speck, he sets mankind in its all on a path to destruction. Any one man who speaks such heresy must be denounced, lest the idea of greatness, that one is worth more than another, becomes so prevalent as to bring discord among people who once were friends. This is the work of Eris, to sow strife.”

He pauses, as if considering whether to speak further. “In the vein of that One New God is a vision that could be of Eris’ making, in which four horsemen ride upon thunderous grey clouds carrying destruction. They have borrowed, these new worshippers I think from our tales, but the lesson is the same. Let no man put himself above his true station. We are all mortal, we are all subject to the whims of the gods. At any time they may choose to strike one man down or raise another, as easily as moving pieces on a chess board in a game where the rules are made and unmade by the game’s very designers.”

I thank him for his wisdom and rise to leave.

“Whatever your worries or fortunes may be, remember what I have said: we are all of mankind. The true power lies with the Gods, be you president or serf. It could be you some day that is given the throne of power that was once that of another.”

I nod and leave the temple, heading back into the world of men, considering the priest’s wisdom and wondering at the games gods play and the presumption of men.

This tale is still evolving even as the words are committed to paper. Each post is likely to be a chaplet (a dedication or prayer) in itself. You are free to share this journey with me, even as I know not where it will end.

This is a continuation of earlier posts. Context is found in previous parts.

Part Seven

She is burning, my Alexandria. I can smell the smoke, long before I see it and know that the marauding plague has penetrated my precious city’s quake-weakened walls, seeping into the life-giving water, a black scum over the surface. I must hurry if I am to limit the damage; my salvaged city will not withstand much more attack.

I arrive to find the fire in the Lighthouse still burning, but with people fighting the fire in their midst none has thought to restock the fuel or clear out the ashes. I set to the task myself; the ships bringing supplies and the fresh troops I have requested will not land safely without it. It is dusk when I begin and by the time Selene has risen and Apollo has taken his mighty orb westward I am exhausted, yet I cannot sleep. There can be not even the smallest luxury if my city is to survive.

Seeking out my comrades I find them battling on several fronts, keeping the worst of the viscous slime at bay, but the dregs that still seep through the embattlements have been enough to start the fires. They are stretched, stretched to a limit in protecting the city that for each of us has its own precious quarter, each working to protect that wall or some structure that holds some sweet memory. My Great Library is at greatest risk, sitting at the junction point where the slime has reached, but not yet the fire. I rush to the sea for sand, hauling it back in my wagon, my belongings discarded in some darkened alleyway. They will be worthless anyway if my Alexandria is lost.

The menacing flames are scorching, the heat barely contained by my flimsy shirt. I want to roll up the sleeves, but I know that to do so would be to be burned. I throw sand on the slime that is not yet ignited in hopes that it will contain the approaching fires. As each cartload is emptied I return again to the shores to gather more sand, to throw more of Atlas’ grains on the plague. Be with me now, great Titan, if my comrade you truly be.

It is late, I am weary and I allow myself a moment to stop, the progress of the fires at least halted if not entirely smothered. My Alexandria still stands, the custodians of the Library as determined as I to protect that which is so valuable. I have gathered a little water from one of the jars in the nearby Temple of Asclepius and am sitting on the Library steps when I am attacked by one carrying the plague, a rebel within our own walls. The stench of the vile slime is overpowering. I am repulsed. I struggle to back away, to extricate myself, at the same time realizing that my Library is at immediate risk. I am unaware that I am not the only one being attacked; there are more rebels than I could have imagined. All across the city in what can only be a coordinated attack the people are fighting. Houses are being razed, granaries lost, banks looted. Each struggles for what seems an eternity, exhausted and fragile, trying to save the writings, the knowledge, the means to rebuild and repair, to save my Alexandria. By dawn, the attack has been foiled, but at a cost I could not have foreseen.

Great oozing welts mark my arms. I had rolled up the sleeves in the end, when the flames had abated. It matters not; the oily slime would have melted the fabric on contact anyway; the burns would have simply been melded to cloth. It is better this way, easier to clean. Noted, but knowing there are more urgent matters, I leave the wounds untended and dash about my city to inspect the damage. The devastation is total. Houses gone, their livelihoods ruined. The quake was bad enough; now there are not even four walls left standing. This is my ten of swords. I rush about my Alexandria and find that whilst my Great Library has withstood the attack, almost all else is razed.

I reach the harbour to find dawn’s light illuminating the visage I have so come to cherish, the Lighthouse still turning on the headland, but the light-keeper’s house smoldering at it’s side. The troops I had called to support my Alexandria did not come. Delayed? It matters not, they are too late.

I stand in the dawn’s light under a great pine, an old woman behind me wailing “Why?” beside the ashes of her once humble home, a younger couple standing ahead of me near the sand, staring dazed over the harbour. The cool morning breeze plays at my hair, pretending nothing has happened, that what Apollo promises will be a perfect autumn day is the truth, not the destruction surrounding me. I am detached, clinical; the pain has been burned from me.

The albatross are absent from the harbour, driven away by the fracas; only the crabs remain. Without the sound of wildlife, my Alexandria is a sullen, eerie place, all sound replaced by the voices of a broken people. They say that in years to come, when others asked what happened to my Alexandria, when they ask when this city of light and learning had changed, they will point to this day. I know it to be true. The scars on my arms will be the reminder of how all changed on this single day, how my Alexandria was attacked not just by those without, but by those within her very walls, by those I trusted.

…

A whisper on the wind, meant only for me comes from some unknown source: it can be restored. To believe the secret deity that speaks for only my mind’s ear now is to subscribe to yet more pain, I think. I waver, for the first time my resolve to save my Alexandria questioned. I look deep inside myself and wonder, but am met only by the silent depths of my own soul.

 Part Eight

So, these burns do hurt. I had thought I had become inured to the sting of fire or the melt of acid. It’s a good thing; how else would I know I was alive, that I could care?

One of the custodians of the Library, himself injured in the battle, sent me back to the Temple of Asclepius, where the heat of the battle had seared my bare flesh, for healing. I resisted; the simple memory of the attack on the steps of one dedicated to healing brought intense fear. I wanted instead, to sit by my harbour, to bathe in my city’s sea-salt air and be soothed by the gentle swoosh of her waves. Away he said, away to the healer. These shores have been here a thousand years, they will be here a thousand years more, be you here or not. He knew I needed healing for more than just those visible injuries, but the flesh wounds needed more immediate attention. A thick unguent was applied to my wounds just once, enough to awaken the senses to the pain that lay beneath.

It has been some weeks since my Alexandria was so devastated. The pain of the burns to which I was once so detached has met its crescendo and now simpers to a gradual diminuendo. There is still a tenderness, but the biting, searing sting has gone.

I was forced to leave my Alexandria before much could be done in way of repairs. I gathered the pitiful remains of the few broken dreams that had remained intact after the quake and carried them back to Away & Beyond, unsure what I was going to be able do with pieces. I had never been the craftsman of these precious pieces of golden and silver light, only their custodian. All the way the pieces jangled in my wagon, not completely cleaned of the sea-salt or sand on which they had been broken. Their constant rattle sliced at my soul.

The calmness of Away & Beyond held no comfort. I wandered the streets and looked to the distance for any sense of peace. I shut myself away lest the burns send me mad, until such time as their pain had eased; I conversed with none. The last vestiges of my dreams I lay within the grounds of another temple dedicated to the gods of healing and left them there. There could be no greater loss if the pieces should remain as such and so I walked away, resolved to accept whatever outcome the gods saw fit. My soul, a broken and leaking vessel, was useless without these simple dreams.

I toiled despite my wounds, keeping them covered in the presence of my new acquaintances. No questions were asked, because none did know, what my Alexandria and I had suffered. At night, I prayed for Morpheus to spirit me to a place devoid of anything but blackness, taking a little of that sweet liquid the Christians strangely believe is magically the new god’s blood in order to buy a more restful night.

Finally, I was bade return to the temple and found the pieces of my dreams repaired. The damage was barely noticeable for some and I marveled at the skill of those who worked in the name of the healing gods. I was told the warmth of Apollo’s mighty orb would repair the remaining fractures and the brilliance would similarly return. The leaking vessel that was my soul they gave a salve and sent me back to the plains of Away & Beyond.

Now weeks hence, the fracture lines are almost healed. My soul no longer leaks and I am preparing to return again to my Alexandria. I have sent what supplies I could to help with the city’s repairs and have attempted to ensure that there remain no rebels within the confines of my Great Library, although I have no means of knowing if I have succeeded. Atlas, true to his word, has remained steady at my feet. The pieces of Egypt remain at my neck, the reminder that my Great Library still holds all its works and my Alexandria awaits my return. I count the days until I can sit on her shores, even briefly, once more.

This tale is still evolving even as the words are committed to paper. Each post is likely to be a chaplet (a dedication or prayer) in itself. You are free to share this journey with me, even as I know not where it will end.

This is a continuation of earlier posts. Context is found in previous parts.

Part Five

I have stood at the end of the road, watching others haul their carts, laden with salvage away from the rising waters. The floods I had feared on this wide open plain have been realized. I made my choice to build at some distance from the river, too afraid of losing the little I have been able to keep from my Alexandria. I haul water in buckets rather than dig an irrigation channel, knowing that it will stunt the growth of my plants, limit the fruit. Everything is in pots anyway. I can load them onto my cart if I should need to leave. I’m not ready for the risks that come with acts of permanency, be they trenches for water or trees in the ground.

I watch the people of Away & Beyond, pitying them as they rush to save their precious belongings. But at the same time as pitying, I am envious. They have time. They have warning. The rains that fell for days on end further upstream have swelled the creeks and rivulets in a predictable rise, villagers along the length of the waterways being alerted by messengers from afar. And so, with warning, these people that I simultaneously pity and envy, have been able to take those belongings they most cherish, rescue those they love from the inevitable floods that have engulfed their open plains. They have lost their houses, will have to rebuild, but they have saved more than I.

Wariness is my bed mate now. I have prepared my cart in case the water rises any higher. I have surveyed my route of escape, set aside a little extra preserved food in case it is needed. The reality is that I will most likely be safe. The town clerks surveying the damage to the outlying areas have noted the water’s rise slowing and expect it will peak this evening, receding again on the morrow. But I have taken the warning to heart and I am ready leave if the water reaches my neighbour’s furthermost fence, even if others choose to stay.

Word of others forced to leave my Alexandria, even temporarily has reached me in my exile. The Great Library continues even though I have been forced to leave it in the care of others. It pleases me that my efforts have not been in vain. It is the one thing that makes living away from my cherished city of learning bearable. Away & Beyond is the only thing standing between saving that cherished knowledge and its loss for eternity.

The plains in Away & Beyond renewed by the rains and flooding waters will bear strong fruit, even for my potted saplings, although they will take another year or two before they fruit. I will need to transfer them to the grounds soon, I suppose, lest their roots become bound. This saturated soil being renewed with the silt carried on the river’s broken breadth will feed animal and vegetable alike well.

Planting, establishing roots. It’s inconceivable to my Alexandrian mind. To plant is to commit to new horizons I am not willing to accept as mine. I still see the sun rising over the broad ocean’s shimmer and set on the houses and hills so absent from the flat landscape I see now. I am not ready for this new world. I will wait a little longer and hope that the river’s waters stay away from all that is mine, at least for now.

Part Six

The day has been long, long but satisfying in Away & Beyond. Despite the turn of the seasons with the cooling days it brings I can see my labours bearing fruit. I am tired, but for once, once in some months, I feel satisfied. I permit myself the luxury of an apple, a pear from the fruiterer by the road. Their sweetness soothes my craving.

Others have moved back to their own homes, taking with them brooms to sweep out the debris left by the floods. I did not need to move afterall; Tyche spared me, this time at least. I’m not sure I would have survived another disaster and I give thanks at the city walls, even though I live beyond their bounds for it was the people of the city that saved the land near me. I stroll by the watercourse toward my abode once my thanks are made, watching the darkening sky. The night is still warm and my meandering along the drying banks shows me a beauty in the dim half-light I had not appreciated until now.

A messenger comes, cloaked to blend with the night galloping on blackest steed, the glint of his stirrups, the horse bit, the late notice of his approach in the moonlight. I expect him to pass me by on his way to some more important person in some grand abode; instead, he halts abruptly by me.

“Ariadne, you would be she? They told me to look on the plains to the south for the woman wearing a neck-band, green-blue as only Egypt fashions.”

My necklace, a gift I wear constantly given to me in my Alexandria. It is my constant reminder of my Great Library. “You saw such hues in darkened night from high upon you horse? The eyes of a eagle must be your gift!” I am wary. I am not well known here, too new, too laboured to have time to form close bonds as I’ve sought to re-establish some semblance of stability. The plains here are wide. How did he find me?

“I have traveled far, farther than you may expect, asking wherever I may for the woman so described. You are elusive; I was told you would be cautious. I bring you news from Alexandria.”

My heart stops. What news could be so desperate as to send me a rider from so far?

“Who are you, messenger and why do you seek me?”

“My name is Hermes. I have traveled by way of Rome and visited your Alexandria before seeking you under instruction of Atlas himself. He regrets the great upheaval his shifting position has wrought upon your city.”

Hermes. Atlas has sent one of his own line to speak to me? “A Titan, pitying my insubstantial human? Can it be so?” I do not realize I have spoken aloud.

“Even a Titan respects the honest of the earth. The gods know the damages caused by their supreme battles and sometimes note those deserving of their peace. We gods would cease to exist if there were none such as you, believing in our power. A little advantage now and then preserves our very being.”

Pieces on a chess board, that’s how most people think the Gods treat us. They move us where they see fit; to hardship, from safety, by pleasure, through pain. I wonder which I am being moved to now.

“The shifting that so shuddered your world has ceased, but there now comes another threat. The marauding plagues of vile darkness that once were content to watch from afar now gather to encircle your Great Library. They are cloaked in slime and seek to smother that which underpins truth and knowledge. It cannot be allowed.”

Pain. And hardship. Again. He has brought me pain and hardship. The satisfaction of my day has dissipated entirely and I sink to sit on a fallen tree. I know not what to do.

“So much for so long. It took millennia to build the Great Library, the resources and knowledge of eons are collected there. Why must others seek to destroy what is light and truth? Is a world where we all feel safe not to be?” I am frustrated, I am angry. These marauding hordes from some unknown threat have been seen at a distance before. I wish I had been able to neutralize them then. Keeping all in darkness is their way, for in that they seek to rule, destroying the legitimacy of the true Gods so they die when men turn their backs on them, when men cease to believe.

Hermes continues. “You have time. And you have this.” He hands me a small laden pouch, the string drawn tight. Within, I find silver pieces. “A little weight to you hands, to help with the search. Use these pieces of Laurium well. Perhaps you will strike gold and save your Great Library.”

Save my Great Library. With silver from the fabled mine. I only hope I will not be using them to pay Charon instead. I look at the watercourse to my side and wonder if I will be returning to my Alexandria not to celebrate in its restoration, but to send custodians of my Great Library across Styx.

The messenger leaves me, no more said, disappearing into the woods. I remain on the mound, wondering where to begin. I had dared to hope for renewal. It seems that I must first work still to save what remains before there can be any new growth. My Alexandria. It seems I will be home to visit sooner than I expected.

This tale is still evolving even as the words are committed to paper. Each post is likely to be a chaplet (a dedication or prayer) in itself. You are free to share this journey with me, even as I know not where it will end.

This is the third chaplet in a series, a reflection and meditation on recent events.

The sun, blazing in a deep blue sky unmarred by wisp of cotton-cloud is searing everything its rays touch in Away & Beyond. Day after day I seek shelter from the scorching heat, behind walls, under trees. I can only work for short periods in the clay based soil before I must retreat to the shade again. I am not accustomed to this type of heat, this dry, unforgiving heat. The people here complain of humidity; they know not what humid is.

Others have siphoned off water from a small river winding its way across the plain. This is a good year they tell me, there’s been plenty of rain. And yet, the ground remains like concrete to my spade as I work to dig a hole deep enough to bury the roots of the trees that will provide my sustenance in the coming spring. It’s the wrong time of year to plant, I know, but with all I’ve left behind I am left with no choice. In the end, I decide that it would be better to grow the plants in pots for while. I hope someone is nurturing my orchard back in Alexandria. In reality, the fruit has probably been stolen from the trees or left to rot on the ground. I guess it doesn’t matter if I’m not there to enjoy the juice of the peaches I tended so carefully.

I’ve constructed a lean-to, fashioned from pieces that have drifted by. A piece of wood here, a length of canvas there. One or two things have been provided to me and I am grateful; I expect no-one to offer me anything other than what I earn through my labours. So many others have been forced to leave their homes with so much less than I; they have nothing salvaged. I at least have my loaded wagon. I wonder how the others here with so little will survive the winter’s ice in just a few months time. I see what they endure now and realize just how close I have come to sharing their fates. I will not allow that to happen. Industry has become my ethos so that I can rebuild my Alexandria and return to my beloved Great Library. I am told that the scrolled parchments and shelves of learning stand safe for now; my efforts put in place before departing have apparently prevented the cherished learnings from being damaged by the tsunami’s salty seas. I am relieved. And grateful. I only railed against the gods in my despair; I am fortunate I was not smite for my insolence.

One month gone and I survive. The next awaits, but a day away. And at its end is the promise of return, brief as it will be, to my Alexandria. How much of what I left behind will remain? Will the daphne flower in the shifted soils, will the wildlife have returned? I’m considering planting some bulbs in autumn’s cooler days so there will be some colour and life in the spring when I again return. With so many of the larger trees ripped asunder by Atlas’ spasm it’s only the smaller plants that will decorate the broken city I still call home come September. Perhaps others will return to visit too and see the colour and we can share a feast beneath Apollo’s mighty orb until his quadriga draws it westward and cedes to Hesperus.

I suppose I am not so dead inside, for I still dream the possibilities …

This tale is still evolving even as the words are committed to paper. Hence, this is the third post of a series of unknown total and frequency. Each post is likely to be a chaplet (a dedication or prayer) in itself. You are free to share this journey with me, even as I know not where it will end.

This is a continuation of an earlier post. For context, read Parts One and Two first.

Part Three

So you’ve come for me, Kairos; there is no avoiding you anymore. Your wings beat slower than I expected … a modicum of compassion on your part perhaps … and yet still, you’ve come too fast. I should be grateful, am grateful and yet the hour of parting is no less painful for the delay.

The ruins of my Alexandria have found a semblance of order, stone grouped in piles, the remaining columns reinforced to stabilize their once robust stature. Curtains and bedding not damaged when the great Titan shifted his stance have been packed or given to others. Goodbyes exchanged, I must now walk into my desert of denial and remake my life with the acceptance you have forced upon me.

The ocean’s tide is rising, rushing for the sand. I knew it would come. And yet, I know also that even without trying, I will evade the crushing blows that I had expected, had hoped would take the remnants of my soul so that I would not have to begin again alone. The tsunami of grief I so wished to welcome will batter and swirl at my knees as I wade slowly forwards to the dry plains of Away & Beyond.

My salvage is buried. I took the pieces a week ago and placed them in their jeweled box, the hopes left in the depths of my pretty box, now the source of such sorrows. I may have played with fire, but it was not I who opened the box and let the joys escape. And much as Zeus felt anger for the theft of his power, so I feel for he who betrayed my trust, tricking Atlas into shifting his stance.

My wagon, battered and worn by your brother Chronos is loaded only with the essentials. With no roof to my head I see little point in moving all I’ve salvaged to Away & Beyond. I’ll return when I have secured the few necessities I carry inland in some sterile structure that will become my new abode, devoid of the memories, love, peace that a home must absorb. Any ghosts at the windows or rattles at the doors will be nothing other than memories of another’s past; the house will have to absorb my life before it can ever be my home.

Yes, I know I must go Kairos. Patient have you been, graceful even as I’ve refused to acknowledge your approach. You cannot blame me for digging my heels in, you know. But you are only the bearer of the moments, not the hand that fashions my destiny. The Moirai may have spun and measured out the thread of my life, but even they must cede to my choices; even Zeus cannot interfere with man’s will. And so, I choose to meet you face to face, Kairos, an ally not a thief, even if I am reticent to go with you.

Give me my lantern, hand me my staff. It is time to leave my broken Alexandria. Take me before I lose this reluctant conviction, Kairos.

This tale is still evolving even as the words are committed to paper. Hence, this is the second post (third chaplet) of a series of unknown total and frequency. Each post is likely to be a chaplet (a dedication or prayer) in itself. You are free to share this journey with me, even as I know not where it will end.

Part One

Atlas shrugged. Perhaps you felt it. Your world gave a shudder, like a cold chill up your spine. And as quickly as the feeling came, it went, leaving nary a trace. You got up from bed the next day and all was in its usual place. You are lucky.

In my world the ground shifted so greatly that there is no level surface upon which to rebuild. The ocean at my door recedes and I know that I must run, run to higher ground away from the inevitable tsunami of grief. Can I run fast enough? More importantly, in my broken Alexandria, do I want to run? It would be so much easier to just be overwhelmed.

I was paralyzed for a time after the earth quaked. I stood frozen in place and cried with fear at the devastation, mired at my epicentre. I knew what had to be done, I knew that I had to prioritize, but I was so stunned by the sudden impact and resulting panic that I simply could not move. My brain was simply unable to process anything other than what it saw, to pick over the wreckage looking for anything, any means of salvage.

I’m picking up pieces now, but I know I can’t stay. This Alexandria is now my Christchurch and I know I cannot rebuild on the same ground. Much of what is here will have to be left behind. So strange. I’d never wanted to live here. It was always someone else’s Utopia, but it became without me even realizing it, the crucible of my Dreams. And whilst I never expected to stay here forever, I did not foresee the dislocation that would tear me from so much of what I cherished.

Away & Beyond lies the unbroken ground, flat and broad. I must go there and rebuild, taking my undamaged salvage … taking even a few fractured remnants, because I cannot bear to let them go. I know these pieces will crowd me in their uselessness, but I cannot let them go, not yet.

Away & Beyond doesn’t look inviting to me. It’s just somewhere to rebuild, a place to re-establish my reserves and hopefully find my future again. There is no joy in the move for I know what I leave behind and I see the hard, drought ravaged land that I must break in order to build my new city. Temporary shelter will have to suffice initially until I can find some source of irrigation to soften the soil and feed the soul.

I’ll go. But I’m not running. I’m leaving markers to find my way back, to maintain claim to my broken ground, even if I do know it’s no longer stable. Hmph. Sorrow is like that. You get so wrapped up in the overwhelming loss that even with the salvaged remains you cling to a past that can never be again. I know that’s what I’m doing. And I know that even as I slowly turn to walk away if the tsunami should overtake me I would not fight it, for it would take with it the broken remnants I cherish. It would be easier than rebuilding with the fragments of Alexandria anyway.

Part Two

The after-tremors have ceased. The spasm that took hold of Atlas’ shoulder has been relieved by someone else taking his burden for a time, allowing him to stretch before resuming his genuflection to the Olympians. With the ground now settled I’ve considered staying in my shattered Alexandria, but without what Away & Beyond offers, rebuilding will take longer, possibly too long; without Away & Beyond, there may never be a new place for my Great Library.

I’ve laid claim to my salvage and secured the walls as best I can. The gates are back in place, although they need work if they are to last more than a few weeks or months. It’s work that will take a year, possibly more; hard back-breaking work. I know I have the ability to do this, but like some survivor of an unforeseen conflict, one that I failed to predict, I worry that it will happen again. I fear the disaster that will take the shards of my Dreams from me and leave but the scars. I’m so scared of a horizon I cannot see that I don’t want to move. Is this what they call post traumatic stress? I don’t know. I just know that even in my leaving Alexandria for the flat, broad grounds of the open plain, I fear the floods and drought that are the unpredictable threats capable of stripping what little I have left.

I keep thinking of the day Atlas shrugged, how perfect it was in Summer’s brilliant heat. It shouldn’t have been such a stunning day, the day my Alexandria was broken. “… and I thought that it would rain, on a day like today …” It is me who is on the buses and trains, put there out of necessity, leaving my Alexandria, the city I never thought I could love.

I haven’t packed. I will cram my few possessions into a couple of bags at the last possible moment. I want to sit in my Alexandria for as long as I possibly can, until leaving is the now that must be, rather than the future I would rather ignore. I am resisting the inevitable, the ostrich in this newly desolate landscape.

“What do we leave …
Nothing much,
Only Anatevka …
… where else could summer feel so sweet?”

I DO NOT WANT TO LEAVE! I BELONG IN MY ALEXANDRIA!

… but I will pick up the pieces of my Dreams, those sacred parts of my being and carry them someplace safe and bury them, deep in the ground away from Alexandria. I will consign them to the protection of the very element that Atlas disrupted, far from the broken Alexandria, far from Away & Beyond. I do not know if I will ever be able to return to collect them, but the place of their internment, the contents of the crypt will never be lost to me. Perhaps they will become relics, discovered by archeologists, a time capsule of a day long gone to intrigue future generations. I hope not. I only wish that I could see again, beyond the wide barren plains of Away & Beyond, where I may very well walk forever and never cross another oasis of philosophy and thought.

Ah Alexandria, will I again gaze upon your Lighthouse, or will you be forever lost to me by the vagaries of a single Titan’s weary body?

This tale is still evolving even as the words are committed to paper. Hence, this post forms the first and second instalment of a series of unknown total and frequency. Each post is likely to be a chaplet (a dedication or prayer) in itself. You are free to share this journey with me, even as I know not where it will end.

Read Part Three.