The Traveler
he stood on a field so green he could taste it in his pores. the wind created arabesque designs around him. from here he could see everything and beyond. much later, after many lives were lived and miles traveled, he would look back at this moment and realize that this was the place where he found god in himself. if he squinted he could see the end of the world. its snow capped peaks towering even from this distance. thats where she lived.
she stood on the frozen precipice, her breath frosted in the air each tiny particle a different memory of their time together. she didnt feel the cold, the dead cant feel. part of her knew she should feel something but it was a primal memory of life in a time forever ago when her cheeks flushed red with excitement. when her lips knew the taste of others and her fingers knew the face of love.
he found himself in the desert. the night stars dancing in eternity singing out their sad songs of loneliness and despair. the moons chased each other overhead while winged lizards skittered and hid from his presence. he was older. haggard, unkempt and half blind from the sun. his face leathered and tough as iron. his blue eyes still shone from his gaunt face staring still at the snow capped peaks closer yet still infinitely far. his cacti tattooed feet propelled him forward an automaton built solely for this journey. his heart wondered if he could love again. knew that this was his journey his path, but wondered if he would be denied entrance for striking the stone twice. yet he moved forward.
she was slowly forgetting what had came before. how had she come to this frozen blight. her movements were stiff from the ices slow crawl up her legs. the frost had begun to burn him from her memory. he was now faceless, voiceless. a ghost that was at once light as air yet heavy as the gravity of a thousand suns. above her the sun bled red as it traveled to its nightly grave only to be embraced by a blanket of stars. she thought of fertility and a time where such things mattered to her. here in what she now realized could be her grave she could only stare into the abyss and the shadows that moved within. a flash of something or a glimpse of the world beyond was her only relief. but she felt nothing. these were merely thoughts. she was waiting. to be saved? to be loved? to become nothing? she couldnt remember. she was beginning to forget she was even waiting.
now forced to carry a stick he traveled along roads through villages populated with nightmares and dreamscapes that called to him and threw stones. now blind he was guided by feel and a general sense of purpose. when struck he would fall, sometimes he would pull himself up, others he would sleep in the dirt of his ancestors. breathing in their knowledge and strength. his sweat and tears blended with their ashes and he would awake mudcaked in the morning. the unseen sun attacked him with heat and the moon with cold, a contest to see who could finally stop his journey. he no longer remembered her face. just her smell and her life. the feeling of her arms on his back locked in passion and her fingers in his hair. he moved past the final villages, those where the first stories breathed life into the world creating all those who came after. the first animals the first myths the first truths. this was where the trickster lived. the first storyteller. this was the realm of the rainbow serpent. he had reached the dreaming.
the abyss stared back. her browneyes had dulled in death. it was lonely. the abyss took pity on this poor creature, but it could do nothing. the abyss wasnt capable of warmth or light, it wasnt in its nature. soon the abyss lost interest, no longer able to see its reflection in her eyes. if it had stayed to stare for moment longer it would have seen some spark take hold of her, but it hadnt. no one and no thing witnessed this spark, the last lingering flame of love that still existed in her snowdressed breast. it had hidden for a millennia but refused to die, refused to give into the cold that had claimed her memories.
he felt the cold before his bare feet crunched into snow. he had become lost in the dreaming for too long. its raw and unknowable truth had driven him crazy and he had lost his direction for a while. it was a realm of time outside of time, and he only escaped by his eternal self. the piece that he had left behind at his birth and had met for the first time lifetimes ago on a field of grass. the scent of life that the wind had carried that day now came to him. and he took another step. he followed his songline, singing his existence and the story of his journey. slowly he sung his sight back to existence. he sung his youth and his memories. soon he threw down his stick, and no longer tired his pace quickened and his heart beat its excitement against his chest desperate to reunite with its sister rhythm.
that single spark began to grow as fit heard its brother songline sung in the distance. as the songs cycled, the spark was no longer alone. the landmarks of love were being remembered. told into being through the first and truest method. slowly the ice that encased her began to melt. and her lips began to move and shake off the frostbite that had silenced them. they sang the sister songs. to guide him through the vast distance that still existed between her here and him there. her eyes were no longer dull, and her cheeks showed the faintest rouge.
as he grew closer to his goal night and day cycled in a constant stream. as he neared the edge of the earth the stars above him sung songs of creation. their ancient light guided him in the darkness. forward he walked, voice hoarse from the song but lips moving, afraid that his way would be lost should they stop. as he drew near he could see her outline, could feel the life that their love gave to each other pulling at his chest in a pain that only a dreamer could enjoy. endure. as he drew closer she turned. she turned and stared back at the distances that they had traveled. she saw him and all that was beyond. here in the place where present past and future flowed into one the distance that had once seemed insurmountable now seemed insignificant in the face of their love. she reached out to him and took his hand in hers. she took his hand and he drew her into him. he could feel her breasts against his chest. the way her curves melted into his. he traced her face with his fingers as she traced his scars with hers. their lips, full with hunger for each other drew closer, igniting the cold with their heat. he kissed her deeply, with the passion of a thousand kisses and lifetimes of want. she drew herself deeper into him. their bodies penetrating, melding, becoming one and separate and one again with every breath and beat of the heart. cradled in their arms they lept.
the abyss stared at the empty edge. loosing interest it moved on to stare at other edges, other worlds, other dead who stared into it. in the dreaming the spirit beings who dreamed love into existence in the first place continued to sing and dream our world into being. in the villages the days and nights passed without incident. the feathered denizens of the desert were content in the warmth the sun provided. and further yet the wind continued to draw spirit and dreams from the field. continued to guide other dreamers and lovers in whatever journey they had begun. and some where in some place he and she continued their embrace for all of time and beyond.
