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Cadr Idris

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Zum
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Zum
Posted 06/17/09 - 12:44 AM:
Subject: Cadr Idris
If you spend the night under
Cadr Idris, in the morning
you will be dead, mad or
a poet.

--Welsh saying

At dusk, Connor sat down at the base of Cadr Idris. He had made a list of the interesting things he wanted to do in his life: build a tree house and live in it; drive a red motorcycle; read a specific poem by Dylan Thomas to somebody he knew (this latter ambition filled him with shivers, celestial terrors, edenic prohibitions); walk from coast to coast over the body of goddess Eiru, read the Mahabharata, all of it; spend the night under Cadr Idris.

Near the great Alephs of the world, spirits readily take form. Out of what we call empty space stepped Dona, Connor's mother, who had died when he was four. He had almost forgotten her, but had no doubt who this was.

And she said, "My dear, Siddhartha prepared for countless lifetimes to endure the truths knowable through an Aleph. Jesus arrived after centuries, preparing to endure--never once departing from love--the public torments and the Alephs of the hill, the desert and the garden. There is an Aleph here."

Connor said, "Mama, why did you leave me when I was young? People who know things told me that spirits have a choice about that."

"Those people don't know much about choice or anything else, darling," she said. Though willing to stay visible for him, she faded; his response had undone some of the magic.

Watching the moon as it rose, Connor turned out metaphors, one after another, for light, though troubled by the possibility that light does not resemble anything. Criss-cross shadows stirred on the ground. An eyeblink before everything started, he saw with brilliant, futile clarity that he had gone where he should not. A disappointed man, the instant after he steps off the edge of a cliff, can no longer change his destiny, though he see ground rushing toward him, though he see, cleanly prefigured, the wretchedness that would have accompanied the thing he so desired. Just in front of Connor appears a dog, always kept in a basement: loneliness and wrath have driven the creature mad. After all, dogs are made to chase, to roam, to fight, to dig. Then Connor becomes the dog. As the animal barks and howls from its basement, Connor barks and howls from beneath Cadr Idris. He has often heard the prayers and curses of imprisoned creatures, paying no attention: now he questions the integrity of the world.

Connor sees men in prison, lodged two together in a minute cell. He becomes the man seated by the door, who endlessly recalls every detail of the murder, who always detests himself and all his relations, who unceasingly prays for time to spin backwards to his birth, who perpetually longs to kill one of the prison guards. The destiny of Cadr Idris being relentless, Connor, as the prisoner, envisions leaves and the blind innocence of water--envisions them with a reverence and desire never experienced by free men. Connor yells. Seven owls exit their trees. Spinning free of the prisoner, he sees hundreds of cell blocks, each with as many cells, and within each cell, two men.

Connor sees a trail of refugees. He focuses on a gaunt woman who carries a baby light as a box. A moment later the child's spirit drifts off like water spilled in a desert. Connor becomes the woman, who has not eaten enough to nourish sorrow.

Visions like this continue for him all night. At daybreak he climbs trees and howls from their branches. He world is not at all as he has thought: being the person he was has depended on his ignorance of the world. He laments. He tears the grass of Cadr Idris, kicks its trees, at last falling asleep under one of them. Eventually Dona nudges him awake and makes him walk to a harbor and board a boat. The sea is so ancient and vast and wet, it can integrate, if not heal, terrible knowledge.

As the boat scuds over the old sea, Connor allows its ambiguous, limited wisdom to break against him. Sometimes the sea can be imagined as a plain swarming with living creatures. At night its waters are black: old, shy monsters come to the surface. Mornings, the wake is the tender blue of forget-me-nots. Connor thinks together of the sea's beauty and of ships dashed against rocks, ships torn to splinters in storms. In imagination, he places the sea's beauty on one hand, the disasters on the other.

At last he reaches a different land, where out of madness and death he writes poems on fragments of bark, scraps of paper, stones. He poems recall sea rumors and tidal secrets, the hot green of the sea's depths. As Connor walks, he drops his poems along behind him on the ground. Men and women pick them up and wonder at their beauty, speculate as to their origin. Has ground produced them?
Thinker13
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Posted 06/17/09 - 1:18 AM:

Have you been to the mountains of Cadair Idris,Zumwink? They say-"There is a method in the madness"nod. Thoroughly enjoyed reading this prose. The protagonist experiences so many facets of manifestation,his boundaries dissolving every time. Your attention to the details is also very good.thumb up Just curious to know a thing :

Why does he shiver,feel terrors and Edenic prohibitions on the thought of reading a special poem of Dylan to someone ?

Zum wrote:
read a specific poem by Dylan Thomas to somebody he knew (this latter ambition filled him with shivers, celestial terrors, edenic prohibitions); walk from coast to coast over the body of goddess Eiru, read the Mahabharata, all of it; spend the night under Cadr Idris.



Thank You
Zum
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Zum
Posted 06/17/09 - 9:20 AM:

Thank you, thinker.

To read the poem would essentially be a declaration of love. The poem is "In My Craft or Sullen Art."

Oops, no, I haven't been to those mountains, but I've been in Wales.
Thinker13
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Posted 06/17/09 - 1:43 PM:

Zum wrote:
Thank you, thinker.


You are welcome,Zum.

Zum wrote:
To read the poem would essentially be a declaration of love. The poem is "In My Craft or Sullen Art."


The question is "why is he so scared of declaring his love to his beloved?"



Thank You
Zum
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Zum
Posted 06/17/09 - 4:44 PM:

She might reject him. I put other things in there meant to be indicative of his--I guess--unreadiness for the real stuff. He has a list of goals chosen for their delectable nature, challenge, and anecdotal value. He does not listen to his mother even though she has returned from the dead. He does not know that one cannot compare light to other qualities; rather, one compares other qualities to it.
Thinker13
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Posted 06/17/09 - 11:20 PM:

Zum wrote:
She might reject him. I put other things in there meant to be indicative of his--I guess--unreadiness for the real stuff. He has a list of goals chosen for their delectable nature, challenge, and anecdotal value. He does not listen to his mother even though she has returned from the dead. He does not know that one cannot compare light to other qualities; rather, one compares other qualities to it.


Oh! It is tangible,the very highly sensitive nature which contributes in his creativity,is at the core of this fear also.



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Zum
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Zum
Posted 06/18/09 - 10:07 AM:

Yes, and he is unready for the Aleph, which provides the gift of instant, total compassion... Who is? smiling face
Thinker13
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Posted 06/18/09 - 2:06 PM:

Zum wrote:
Yes, and he is unready for the Aleph, which provides the gift of instant, total compassion... Who is? smiling face


Yes,no one is prepared enough for Aleph!zen


Thank You
libertygrl
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Posted 06/22/09 - 11:20 PM:

beautiful and brilliant, zum.

some of my favorite parts:

"Though willing to stay visible for him, she faded; his response had undone some of the magic."

yes! brilliant. i am reminded of psyche and the doubt to which she succumbs when her jealous sisters persuade her to betray eros into revealing his form.

"Connor becomes the woman, who has not eaten enough to nourish sorrow."

poignantly illustrates the psychology very different from that of those who enjoy a life beyond survival.

"In imagination, he places the sea's beauty on one hand, the disasters on the other."

this, as with so many other aspects of the piece, expresses something so essential in human nature... i'm again captured by the efficiency of words and balance with the elegance of flow.

well done clap
Zum
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Zum
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Posted 07/05/09 - 12:40 AM:

Thank you, Lib!
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