Stephanie Simoes

1. In a tense game of hide and go seek with the spirits, young Eve took a peek in a cave by the sea, where she found a gold key in that dwelling so shady and bleak. The key’d been awaiting her there, lonesome and filled with despair— lying and sighing and crying and trying to make the young maiden aware that her eyes had the power to crush and devour if they could just see past the glare. “Free from the gloom!” said the key. “Three doors are revealed now by me. Try one or try all; but beware, you will fall if you set even one foot to flee, for what is found here overpowers with fear anyone who’s unable to see.” Sure that her fright could be quelled, Eve took and arose and beheld three doors and three plaques— purple, yellow, and black— and to purple was she first compelled. On its plaque was a rhyme most bizarre, as if it had come from afar— from a world yet unknown, but about to be shown, just like all of those cryptic realms are— and as she recited she soon was invited, as, slowly, the door came ajar.

2.

On what is this woven, warp and woof? The celestial horse’s illustrious hoof! Where does it stomp? On what does it paw? Is it supported by unblemished straw? What of the legs of this world-bearing horse, churning the cosmos with galloping force? Are they engaged in a wonderful quest? Where are they going, and do they take rest? Each hair of its mane is immeasurably wide— On whose mighty wind do these lovely strands ride? Who readies the slaughter of this noble beast? On its plentiful flesh, which enigmas take feast? By whom can this massive one be overpowered? And where goes all this when its body’s devoured?

Eve prepared for the strange and arcane, but arrived at a world that was plain: a suburban street, with lawns tidy and neat, and houses in rows—how mundane! But then she remembered the verse on the plaque; O! this whole universe was held by a mare with most heavenly hair; to think of it dull was perverse. As she pondered this wonder that stood in the under, she lifted banality’s curse. Eve noticed that under her nose the petals dripped off a red rose— and more to befuddle: the drops formed a puddle and ten gloomy dragons arose. Being in this way displaced those dragons were deeply disgraced, so each one of them flew back up the bare stem, for dragonhood, they had distaste.

They opened their wings, but those poor little things, were still dragons—forever defaced. Yonder there stood, in a row, with moustaches long and aglow, ten scowling gents eating cake with nice scents as their crumb-filled face-tresses did blow. “Heroes are they,” said a friend. “That’s Victory-hair on the end. All of them blameless! Their munching’s not aimless; for food to the spirits they send. When the wind strokes the lush locks of those folks, then the crumbs do the spooks apprehend. When their moustaches are nude, those frowners must eat some more food— preferably sweets, for the ghosts favour treats! This, the tale of those great ones who brood.” Eve left them and climbed up a hill— at the bottom, the sight was a thrill: Toddlers, in hoards waddling slowly towards countless cookies, as if by one will. When the first ones arrived, no more cookie-deprived, they made sounds that were happy and shrill. As they nibbled, the babe-mob subsided. And elsewhere, two people collided— the two became one little person, who spun in gladness, though slightly lopsided. Sidewalks and roads began sinking

as if the below-horse were drinking concrete as water— or was that great trotter away from its world-load now shrinking? Eve climbed down a crack and then onto the back of the horse, who was furiously blinking. Eve said, “Does your hoof ever tire? Are there any that, to you, are prior? What is your name? Are you wild or tame?” Then, around the horse rose a great fire. “I am nameless,” she said with a sigh. “For if named, then indeed I’d deny my duty as bearer and fall into terror; a borne-one, if named, would be I. I’m tired, indeed, but I soon will be freed from this task—in the fire, I’ll lie.” Back to the suburbs, Eve crept; there, the people united and stepped in the fiery cracks— and then one of these packs ran towards her, and sideways she leapt. By the seashore, Eve stood once again and the cave was as doorless as when she hadn’t yet found that gold key on the ground and she grieved like a flockless old hen. “Be not ashamed!” the kind key proclaimed. Doors appeared! To the yellow one, then: 3.

Surely, my darling, the Chasm held three,

Dwelling in darkness and wanting to see. Desire birthed sky; the sky birthed our lords, To cut up those Dark Ones, with light as their swords. Surely, my darling, the Sky-World held three, Dwelling in brilliance and wanting relief, Desire birthed earth; the earth birthed the night, To shade those great Sky-Lords; their refuge, our fright. Surely, my darling, the Earth-Land holds thee; Numerous rivers from one lonely sea. Balanced by violence, we’re destined to spar. Though dying forever, forever we are!

Then into the doorway Eve went, and arrived at a glorious event: A crowd on a field, and everyone kneeled when a breathtaking man made ascent. He strode with a lionlike gait to the stage, wrapped in garments ornate. From his good-looking head, “I am Toqeph”, he said, in a voice that was gentle yet great— like a butterfly’s flutter, like fresh silk-wrapped butter, like the smashing of clubs onto fate. “I was born as a Vasa like you, small in frame and yet smaller in view; but through rigorous labour, and loving my neighbour, slowly but surely, I grew! A Piva, in youth, I’d not met. At the sight of a Kaga, I’d fret. And look at me now— unto me, Kagas bow, and I’m the one making them sweat! But arising is work, and most simply shirk

this great duty, forgetting their debt. Though little can you comprehend, know this—that all can ascend! And everyone should; it’s the ultimate good! I will teach you, for I am your friend: Among you, which ones want to be served by Kagas, as they now serve me?” The crowd keenly cheered and the strapping one leered “O fools, this is why you’re not free! For when thinking about your small selves with such clout you’re forgetting the reality! When you dwell upon what is not real, your place is as rigid as steel. Focus on doing your duty, pursuing the work of a Vasa with zeal! And on this illustrious day we see that we’ve come a long way: Your kind once mistreated— starved, beaten and cheated, and slain when they did not obey. But things are now right: You have shelter, respite, and food, great are the times of today! On this fiftieth year, we recall those heroes who fought for this all. The great revolution, the final solution! Now comfort’s bestowed on the small. But wait—of one danger, beware: This comfort can serve as a snare, for if you forget, who you are, or your debt,

your efforts will frequently err. Who you are—this, embrace and the all-knowing grace will bestow the reward that is fair!” Applause, and he turned off to go— but stopped and glanced sidelong, and lo! A bright, knowing grin o’er that statuesque chin, —this was not yet the end of his show! “My truth-bearing speech you have heard, and most have absorbed every word, but I’m not excused because some are confused, thinking what I have said is absurd. It is not contradiction to have the conviction that rising’s in this way conferred? For how can one move when one’s still— contented at rest, without will? If you must embrace this, your present-day place, then how can you yet climb uphill? This I will answer, but first I must warn those of you who are cursed to ask questions like this: You should try to dismiss these, or else your direction’s reversed. In a Vasa’s small mind these bewilder and blind, like a cuckoo’s egg subtly dispersed. This puzzle, just once, I’ll explain: For a sapling, all movement is vain. If hither and thither it went, it would wither— in that, there is nothing to gain.

Where planted is where a seed stays. Though it’s tiny for numerous days, it’s patient, it waits —this, the best of its traits— and it’s growth, after years, does amaze. Be like the sapling and cease with your grappling— tranquility’s worthy of praise! In calmness, keep building this tower, which soon will allow us to scour the sky and find there the Messiah’s great lair, and that day receive of his power!” They cheered and a beautiful dove, drawn near by these words born from love, flew into his palm, so non-violent and calm, And lo! in the Sky-land above: a meteor shower to honour the hour that bards would forever sing of. Eve’s heart, soul and mind had been churned. Her innermost being, it yearned for just one more chance to be under his trance, but the slayer of ignorance turned. Though Eve could eternally wallow in that show, she instead chose to follow the excitable crowd, so, after she bowed, she left—would all else be hollow? They arrived at a shrine of the Sky-lords divine— but would Sky-priest bid Even a swallow? 4.

As they flocked round the shrine, people said, “A shocking announcement’s ahead! A freedom-achievement to ease the bereavement of those who were ransomed and bled.” The Sky-priest was already standing at the top of the shrine, there commanding, “Be silent and hearken —lest bright skies will darken— my sermon with all-understanding. But as is tradition, the tale of fruition— first tell this, not one word outstanding. Those words from the plaque, they recited! By this, Eve was deeply delighted; for she could partake with the people, who spake of the world-birth, and all were united. They recounted along with the priest, but shortly, Eve stammered and ceased; at the end, what they said did not match what she’d read— was she mad? Had her eyes then been fleeced? No, her mind was not rotten! She hadn’t forgotten. This, new as a sun striving east:

Surely, my darling, the Earth-Land holds three, Pivas, the strong-ones, appointed to lead, Kagas to serve them, and Vasas below, Through peace, love, and freedom, forever we grow!

At the end of the tale of creation The Sky-priest began his oration, “Rejoice! For at last, five long decades have passed since the Vasas were freed from privation. Remember your ancestors, who

—in our foolish attempt to subdue the thirst of the lords— were then slaughtered in hordes. This violence, we’ll never redo. And those freethinking ones of whom you’re the sons, we honour for fighting this through. But one last cruel custom remains: When, monthly, we take from your veins a bowlful of blood, and pour it to the mud— for the gods you have suffered these pains. The priests have been bidding a sign through enlightenment-rites, tea, and wine for clarification on if the cessation of this would seen as malign. And an answer was earned! The priests have discerned: not for blood, but for love, the gods pine. So today we discard that archaic blood-gift and in place a mosaic of brews we’ve prepared, so from pain you’ll be spared for a ritual far more prosaic: This cup holds the brew we’ve supplied. Dip your fingers in it and then glide the brew on your wrists; and then clench your small fists while you look to the sky with all-pride. But before we commence we must bring the gods thence, so on earth they can briefly reside:

We summon you Lords from afar, the sun and the moon and each star: your offering’s here,

so we beckon you near— O Shine-Lords, supreme ones you are! We summon you Lords of great force, who possess an unstoppable course: your offering’s here, so we beckon you near— O Gust-Lords, of life you’re the source! We summon you Lords who provide, without whom the world would be dried: your offering’s here, so we beckon you near— O Rain-Lords, from us do not hide!

The gods thus lured in, let the service begin for among us our lords now abide.” An old man was first to advance to the cup, with a wobbly prance. He gently anointed, made fists, and then pointed to heaven, while softly he danced. This act left the Lords unimpressed; Sky reddened and loudly professed: “Gods drink not herbed water! We long for the slaughter. The lifeless, we cannot digest! For years you’ve been giving the blood of the living; our bellies have thus been oppressed.” The wrinkled one started to shiver and fell to the ground with a quiver. The shrine then did flood with his much-ripened blood, which flowed as a surging red river. A fearsome and beautiful sight, yielding goosebumps of wonder and fright: The old man succumbing

to death, blood becoming god-nectar beneath the red light. The heavenly scolding continued unfolding: “Obey or the whole world we’ll smite! Henceforth we’ll always expect that the Earth-dwellers deeply respect the needs of our tummies for massacred yummies— for us, these you’ll gladly collect. When the rain-gods decay into storm; when the moon has surrendered its form into the vast gloom where the ancient ones loom— on these days your blood will transform to a nourishing snack so offer us back— many lives, splendid, wholesome, and warm. Today for ourselves we will take several lives for our poor bellies’ sake.” Then nine people more, bleeding, fell to the floor; their ten blood-streams flowed into one lake. These snacks that the Sky-lords had found crawled together along the wet ground. To unite, they aspired: those nearly expired pre-corpses climbed into a mound. As the life seeped away from this stunning array, the sky made a satisfied sound. 5. Despite that great hair-raising blip at the shrine, no one wanted to skip the day’s next occasion,

so with no persuasion they flocked to a nice, grassy strip. The Picnic of Bliss had begun! All spoke about what had been done by the gods at the shrine as they happily dined on biscuits and apples—what fun! They discussed Toqeph’s speech and agreed he should teach them more often, all nodding as one. The nodding went on as the words flew through the air like small birds— but these birds had no head, they were already dead— just repeatedly kicked up by herds. Of the words that were thrown to the skies, ‘Of course, ‘I agree’, and ‘That’s wise’ pervaded the air, and even the rare ‘no’—but just ‘yes’ in disguise. The same sentences used for decades, diffused with new words—how they loved to revise! The girl next to Eve was distracted: no sentenced had she transacted, and she munched on no goods, she just stared at the woods— to what was this strange one attracted? “What you see?” queried Eve. “A monster,” she said, “Let us leave. And see what it’s doing, for if it’s undoing the world, we will want to perceive.” To the forest they headed before they were wedded to dullness and ceased to believe.

The monster, as tall as Eve’s knee peeked out from behind a fig tree. Three-sided and green, it nibbled a bean, and happily said, “You found me.” Its head bobbed from side to side Eve’s friend asked, “Where do you reside? Are you of the earth or of heavenly birth or do you in the chasm abide?” Then said that one: “Like the bright yellow sun, the eyes from me frequently hide. By this tree of red health-bearing fruits questions spring up like its shoots; but today I have brought those ones that you forgot— now search through these up-growing roots.” In that intertwined mass was a hole; and within it, a discoloured scroll. Eve’s forest companion took it from the banyan and was gently nudged back by a foal to the picnicking crowd— where she then read out loud the legend that she had unrolled:

On what are the earth, sky, and chasm worlds spun? In the beginning, these worlds were all one! Was there delight for the primeval only; or was this immeasurable loneliness lonely?

What, besides nothing, could make that one scared? And why were the worlds from its body prepared? That one became all; O, in all it confided! To dwellers of Chasm, that one first divided. Surely, my darling, the Chasm held three;

dwelling in darkness and wanting to see. Desire birthed sky; the sky birthed the lords, to cut up those Dark Ones, with light as their swords. Surely, my darling, the Sky-World held three; dwelling in brilliance and wanting relief. Desire birthed earth; the earth birthed the night, to shade those great Sky-Lords; their refuge, our fright. Surely, my darling, the Earth-Land holds three; Numerous rivers from one lonely sea. Balanced by violence, we’re destined to spar. Though dying forever, forever we are! As is on earth, so it is with our gods; our harmony is our being at odds. But sluggish non-violence, this crippling compliance— this, O my darling, is discord’s alliance! The many surrendered themselves for the one, as the one, for the many, when worlds were begun. They gave themselves thus, for they loved one another, til Many fell drowsy and turned from their mother. A phantom was born and its name was “I am”. It worshipped itself and the worlds did it damn. Do you to that shade, O my darling, adhere? Its loss, its destruction—is this what you fear? Away with this ghost! Let not empty fear thrive. Sacrifice not for what’s never alive! Fear only this: when the first one’s unknown, for this, O my darling, is being alone.

The people who lived in that place, more lively than Eve’s sleepy race, listened and heard what was read and were stirred by these words shown by Green Monster’s grace. In anger the picnickers cried, “The priests and most handsome one lied!” On this, most agreed: that if they were to bleed

it would be with no whimper or sigh, but in world-crushing battle, for if they remained cattle, then they had already all died. But one of the typically learned was by these new statements concerned: “For now, let’s just gripe. O, the time is not ripe! Let this world-crushing fight be adjourned. For we, at this moment, are weak so in battle our outcome is bleak. Be patient, we must and keep building in trust that the saviour above loves the meek. When the heavens are breached, and our saviour is reached, then we’ll fight; O, then havoc we’ll wreak!” A wiser one said, “One insight did Toqeph’s loud words bring to light: if we only dwell on the unreal we’ll quell our potential—and never we’ll fight. This point, O my friends, is essential: this building is inconsequential; the saviour is here but will soon disappear if we cling to the mere providential. Up-glances caused trouble, for here in the rubble there dwells revolution’s potential.” Blood, death, and violence would come; Eve trembled, her limbs became numb. She took a step back and fell into a crack, born by fear, to which she had succumbed.

The key wriggled around by the cave and said, “You’re still fear’s docile slave. Hold me once more and go through the black door; before it’s concealed by a wave. Be daring this time! If I alter the rhyme will this stir you up to be brave?” 6.

In the beginning, wisdom was sought by a curious God; the world was thus wrought. He searched through the darkness, creating the light; one he named “day”, the other one “night”. He searched through the waters, uplifting some high, creating a void, which the Seeker named “sky”. Did wisdom reside in the waters below? He swept them apart, and a hard place did show. This he named “land”; and the waters were “seas”. The Seeker went on, saying, “Let there be trees! Let there be lights in the heavens as guides! Let there be creatures in seas and in skies! Let there be beasts on that hard place I found! And let there be people, whose voices resound; let them think always themselves as naïve— thus, my great quest will these voiced-ones receive.” Into their mouths, He blew His own breath giving song, dance, and language; not life and not death, not evil, not good, not approval, nor blame; but the joy of creating by seeking out name.

Through that black door was a dark hazy room with nothing inside but a man and a tomb. Thin and decaying, the vile one stank; his cheekbones were sunken, skin withered, eyes blank. “Where is this world,” asked Eve, “born by dance?

Melodic and joyful, alive with romance? Where is the Seeker? And what’s your malaise— and why is this room overpowered by haze?” “It’s been many ages,” the sick one replied, “since a question’s been asked me, for these days they hide. You speak of a time that I hardly recall; I’ll tell you instead of the time of the fall: Man ate from the tree that bore knowledge of evil and goodness; and thus he forgot the primaeval mission from which this world had been created— questions were conquered; the Seeker castrated. Words were transformed into empty contracts and knowledge became the reciting of facts. Man said, “I know, I have found and thus judged”; in this stagnant grey world, mankind lazily trudged. He forgot the great Seeker, who on earth abided; and up to the heavens his eyes were then guided. He chained me up there, and named me I AM— ‘the omniscient one’; who could save and could damn. I did not ask questions; I no longer searched. I pranced not in play, but in judgement I lurched. By this heavy stagger, this whole world was blighted, and as the quest ceased, the waters united. The waters above met the waters below and the waters below on the land overflowed. A small spark remained of this primaeval quest, so unto a few were the waters not pressed. For this small twinkle, the waters reparted. A second creation—the world had restarted! As out of the waters, the land gave a peek, a rainbow appeared, a hint of the Seek. I became man, and to you I was near. I revived seeking by coming down here. For this I was killed, but there’s no need to mourn! As one who dwells in you, I then was reborn.

But I dwell only in, I do not dwell as— Man is not Seeker, the Seeker man has. Though since the beginning I have been decayed, decay bring renewal if one’s not afraid of utter destruction, which beckons rebirth; of finishing heaven, for heaven on earth. To this warm crypt, I’ve for centuries scratched but I’m bound to this room by those who are attached. I beg you to help me go into this tomb. Cling to me not, let me enter the womb!” But Eve loved this one who was sick and decayed for she was sick, too—and once more, afraid. If she pushed him in, would she be left stranded? Or, worse—pulled in, too? At the seashore, she landed. The key lay there, blinking and falling asleep; the three doors had vanished; Eve started to weep. “Do not lament,” said the key with a yawn. “Those mystical doors have not really gone. I made them brighter; and thus you were blessed. Your fear is exhausting, so now I must rest. A mystery, indeed, is whence I have come. Will you keep questing, or will you fall numb?” Taken by sleep, the key turned to stone, and Eve wakened to what the Seeker had known: Wisdom rests not in a school or a church, but dances around in its very own search!