Imagine an ancient goddess whose name is not recorded in the mythologies of pre-civilization. Imagine also that this is with good cause. The goddess is so horrific that a single prayer to her would cause reality along with all life, time and memory to cease. She is the goddess, not of infinity, but its opposite which holds in a space smaller than a pinpoint the end of all existence. She lived before the nothingness that preceded creation. As human awareness arose from the moor of scents and images, words for this goddess were never created. What is not uttered cannot be invocated. The antithesis of a mother's life-giving force is a metaphor that begins a vague grasp of the essence that is this goddess. But it is dangerous to think further.Through the ages this anti-goddess remained unsung, unworshipped, and unembraced while her brothers and sisters enjoyed prayers, unerring devotion and the homage of sacrifices. She lived in seclusion in a realm removed from the other gods and goddesses, who themselves were wont to mold her image out of one of their thoughts. But divine beings cannot live in such isolation - they thrive on the love and especially the fear felt by their subjects. Thus it became necessary for the goddess to visit humankind in her most miniscule form.
"Worship me," an elemental particle whispered in the ear of the woman who in her life had mothered a child.
The woman answered with the emotion of surprise - she wondered at the origin of the voice.
"Follow me," it continued it's bodiless whisper.
She sealed her eyes against the light of day, and followed the sound within herself.
"Closer," the voice repeated, and she moved in closer, focusing her sharp gaze on the origin, only to see it recede into the distance before her. She neared, it tumbled away, ever deeper, drawing her after it. She felt as if she were running downwards, in a mad vertical dash leaving behind all that she knew. She ran and ran and soon blackness loomed before her.
"Embrace me!" the field of darkness commanded - and she did. It was then that she comprehended the loss, all would become nothing. Her child was gone, her past, her future, all that she had loved. She gasped, and brought her hand to her face in a physical extension of the anguish. There were no words that could express the primal feeling of the smothering of every thought.
"It's a take!" a voice interceded. It was the director, and he gazed in wonderment at the actress. "That was incredible! For one moment I actually believed. How you capture these emotions so convincingly will always be a mystery to me."
Story #383
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Speaking of theatre, here is an earlier Indeterminacy theatre story from a year and a half ago: #239
13 comments:
Mary Beth held her face standing over the corpse, which had been crushed flat by the fall from the windmill. It was just too funny.
"He's gone" she said a year and a half later. It took her a year to come out of her rush induced coma. Her husband, the one she felt by her everynight, hugging and kissing her, was no longer there. That wonderful laugh, and voice was gone. When the world stopped spinning, and the cars stopped whizzing, when the papers stopped coming and the noise cut off she heard the sound of his breath slowly leave. She realized finally that he wasn't by her side. She finally understood that the next time his soul would touch hers, was when someone else said.. "She's gone."
-Sorry not a great day, didn't mean to be so depressing. :S
Heather :)
The body lying on the riverbank reminded Kristina of other lives lost in the ridiculous pursuit of thrills, the need to prove oneself bold. Many of those lives had been lost in this very same raging, muddy torrent. The young men, brothers, had their whole lives ahead of them. Why had they been so foolhardy as to believe that they could navigate inner tubes through this roiling cascade of water that felt hard as concrete when a body hit it, that dragged the body under relentlessly, battering it against the rocky riverbed. Two young men with their whole lives ahead of them yesterday now left behind their grieving parents and younger siblings.
"I just want to go home," the seasoned paramedic whispered. Then she began to weep for all the lost lives she'd encountered in her eleven years on the ambulance.
words failed her there and then.
only when gripped by the intense desire to expel the thoughts and feelings that were choking her, did her vocal chords refuse to produce sound. no structured paragraphs, no calculated approaches, not a single, whispered word would pass over her lips into the emptying room. soon everyone was gone, and all she could do was fill the hole in her soul with salty tears of fear, regret and overwhelming sorrow.
Dying in front of her eyes, she lost him and the birds ceased to sing. She sat and grieved silently among few lonesome rocks. His body started to dissolve rapidly and a great wave of liberation and satisfaction flew through her. And she felt guilty and ashamed. His ascending spirit was transparent just like she expected, but he still kept the characteristics of his earthly personality. The eyes of her lost lover were fixed at her but he uttered no words. He raised his hands towards the skies, summoned the winds and sang a sweet lullaby. She mourned on her knees and tears escaped her eyes as she slowly gave in to the sleep of oblivion.
Whoops, I wrote the anonymous part but was not logged in?
Pansandra tryed and tryed to worn them but they woudent lissen!!! Diskyzed as a hoarse Mr. Odycency enterd the Hobbesywood anklave and prepetrated unspeekable horor's on the Barbyes!!!! Then he bernt the city to the ground!!!!!! Finely he dragged poor one legged Dr. Doo-Doo around and around the reckage 9 time's!!!!!
The audiance terned there head's away and clozed there iyes in katheter--cathorse--what Mrs. Weirsdo sayed!!! they coudent wach anymore!!!!!
Ooh, Heather, I think your story is beautiful. I also enjoyed revisiting #239, Indie.
Cheesemeister, yours sounds autobiographical. That must be a tough job sometimes.
Weirdso,
What mine stems from is the fact that several people die every summer trying to tube down Clear Creek. It doesn't matter how many die, more will still try. Very frustrating!
My brother has actually worked far more incidents like this than I have as he does fire/rescue. I only worked on an ambulance during my training. My back is too crappy to do so in the long term. Besides, oddly enough, Alvin N. Chipmunkk pays me more than any of the ambulance companies would. Go figure!
S.Holster: I think your story captures well a cycle of hopelessness and depression that some have so much trouble breaking out of. I'm glad this is only a photo.
Doug: That will teach him to go climbing around on windmills. Kids: don't try this in Holland.
Heather: I think your story is wonderfully written. The expression with spinning, whizzing coming is very expressive. It's hard to write something happy when the emotion in the photo seems just the opposite. (Excepting Doug, who can do just about anything).
Cheesemeister: That was one of my impressions, the release of pent up emotions. And you wrote it so well, as usual.
Frances: You also had an exact vision of the emotion - actually this photo reminds me of a sketch by Käthe Kollwitz, a German artist of the first half of the century. I think it was called "The Mother" - a sketch of a mother who had lost her son in WWI.
Eternal Mystic Muse: To me your story had a really postive tone to it, although it describes something felt as tragic. Seems to me it's difficult to do those two things at the same time.
Pansi! I'm pleasantly surprised! I didn't know you had imagination at all. Your story reminded me of Homer, who was one of the classic writers of epics. (Ask Mrs. Weirsdo.)
Mrs. Weirsdo & Cheesemeister: As usual Mrs W. is more perceptive than I am. I'm sorry this was based on real experiences. Would be great if such tragedies were only a thing of the imagination. In Hamburg they sometimes have kids trying to ride the subway cars on the outside, which often ends tragically.
Everyone: I feel bad having waited so long to write my story. When my vacation began, I had a sudden Internet-lethargy, which is good, probably, but not good for my blog. I also see that this photo in particular generated a set of highly similar stories - all of them deal with sorrow / regret at some loss. Except for Doug, who I think is being a smart aleck ;-) I don't know what exactly to make of this. It's probably a statement of how powerful the photo is, and how clear the message it tells us.
This Goddess belongs in the novel that I have been working on forever!
The ending was completely and utterly unexpected. I felt like I suddenly had to regain my balance to avoid pitching forward on my face!
Cheesemeister: Thanks for the compliment. I am surprised it was such a surprise, but then I knew what was going to happen.
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