The Story of Edwyn and Airiel

Chapter 1

I.

He awoke to a world he had not dreamt in or of. Most believed that the waking world, the one created by the vision of the collective, was the true world and the one of dreams merely the construction of individual imagination. He was not so sure at this point. All alone, clearly this was a world of his own but yet… But yet it seemed somehow more real and more relevant than the other place where he labored and suffered along with everyone else.

Looking around he was stunned at the sensation of it all. The air held a lofty sweet aroma akin to gardenia or maybe some other such flower. He could very nearly taste the delicate sweetness of the air as his lungs took it in one breath after another. Reaching down to touch the ground he felt the coolness of the grass glistening still with its morning sprinkling of dew. Then reaching further to feel the ground he sensed the pulse of the earth as if it were a living thing.
“What a wondrous place” he said to himself. “It seems so much more alive that that other place I call home.”
Looking around he found himself high on a mountainside that looked like it had been part of some ancient war amongst the planets, or maybe the gods themselves. The mountains were high and covered with beautiful lush green grass. Here and there however was an outcrop of huge boulders that seem almost as if they were thrown by something. Maybe Aries himself, Edwyn’s own deity, had thrown them in some fit of rage over a war gone wrong. Or maybe Bacchus had tossed them after running dangerously low on wine.

II.

Not knowing immediately what to do next, he elected to explore this wondrous new land. Walking a little further up the hill he began to take in the expanded view of this world. Trees were sprinkled all around amongst the rocks, boulders. They each seemed like the storybook trees he imagined as a young child, each one rich with the possibility of lazy afternoons spent in reading or imagination. Looking at them he sensed that each on had its own story to tell if one were to merely tune in to them.
After a while he came to a stream and introduced himself by first putting his hand into it feeling its cool crispness playing over his sore fingers. He next took a sip and then a more generous draught of the water tasting its own sweetness lightly tickling his tongue.
It was then that he spied her. She seemed only a vague shadow knelt down on the other side of the stream with her head on her knees and arms spread around them. It was funny, in this world of vivid sensation she seemed almost dim to him as if she had yet to fully come into focus. It seemed that while she was not of this place, had not helped create it, that somehow she belonged here if only for a time.
Walking closer to her she seemed to come more into focus the more his gaze fell upon her. Reaching out he tenderly laid his hand upon her shoulder and immediately felt a flow somewhat like electricity bonding them, binding them through that touch. She seemed familiar to him yet he knew not from where. It seemed as if he had imagined her in yet some other dream so long long ago. Looking down upon her, he noticed the stark contrast between her fair skin and rich dark hair cascading in curls upon her shoulders and beyond.
Suddenly a flicker of recognition came upon him and then passed just as quickly. She seemed for a moment to be his Kym as he saw her so many years ago in another waking dream. She had been sitting in a stool before a mirror and he had walked up behind her and brushed her hair gazing into her brilliant blue eyes in the mirror. This new vision couldn’t be Kym, she was far too young, in her mid twenties he would guess. As she slowly turned towards him the resemblance was unquestionable.

III.

She was stunning in her beauty, yet she seemed to him incomplete. Looking deeper at her he noticed that her own beautiful blue eyes were gazing upon him without comprehension that when he spoke her ears heard him but sensed not words. She could feel his touch upon her shoulder yet did not understand. In that instant it seemed obvious that she came neither from this world nor from his other one, the so-called waking one. At that same moment he began to understand that this was his untimely child, lost so long ago. That would explain why she could not sense in the usual fashion. Her time had been too brief to fully comprehend what her body and spirit and mind were telling her.
Struggling with his own incomprehension, he felt that surely there must be something he could do for this child, his child. Suddenly it came to him: maybe he could lend her his own experience for a time so that she could develop her own. Sensing her own confusion and fear he reached out to her slowly and embraced her face in his hands. Indicating to her to close her eyes he did the same and slowly he began to concentrate on the connection between them.
Once he could experience the flow of energy passing from him to her through his hands he imagined all the wonders of his own experience. He gave to her the gift of sight spectacular in its wonder the greatest in many ways of the senses of the body. He gave to her sound and taste, smell and touch. He then looked deeper into himself and he gave her intellect and emotion and finally he gave her his own sense of spirit, ever changing along with his realm of thoughts and feelings.
Suddenly he felt tired of body mind and spirit. Turning his gaze upon her own he sensed she was experiencing the same sensation and he motioned to her to sit down with him for a while.

IV.

They sat there on their mountainside for what seemed the longest time taking in the wonder of the world around them. After a while their gazed fell again upon each others. He began to speak to her the name that she had given for herself in the time before her untimely birth. She immediately motioned him to silence delicately placing one finger upon his lips. She spoke to him then for the first time more in his head that with her lips.
“No father, I am no longer her. I am known as Airiel now.”
“Airiel” Ariel he thought to himself letting the sound of it pass through his mind. “I like it” he said to himself. “Your mother would have liked it too” he very nearly said out loud.
Ariel asked him of her mother, startling him with her ability to read his mind his thoughts even as he just experienced them himself.
“Your mother is in the land where people discover themselves” he told her knowing that she would not understand.
“Will you be with her again?”

“Of course my child”

he replied.

“How could it be otherwise? One cannot truly know where one of us ends and the other begins. I think sometimes that we just met too early and now we are taking time alone to complete our own individual journeys before coming together again for our shared one.”

Airiel looked upon him totally confused now and laughing aloud he exclaimed:

“Come child, that is a long story and I am too weary for such discussion now. We will speak of her and of us some other time. Let’s sit for a spell and I will tell you some other story, something shorter.”

Chapter 2

I.

“So Airiel let me now tell you the story of The Metaphor of the Tree. A while back I was studying in the wilderness for a few days. Each day that I was there I took a walk along a foot path to reflect upon myself and the things I was learning. The first day I was walking through the wilderness I saw some beautiful and unique trees. I later learned from your mother that their name is They were rather short for trees but dramatic. They had beautiful red bark that was more like skin than what one usually imagines as bark. These trees came from a single trunk but almost immediately above the ground they had branches that spread out in all directions twisting in turning in a unique and beautiful fashion. I thought to myself that these were beautiful and wondrous trees like none I had ever seen before.”
“The very next day I went walking on that path and I noticed this time that the trees were peeling. There were curls very much like pencil shavings all along the trunks of these trees. I thought to myself, aha what a parallel to my own life. With each season of my life, my development, I shed pieces of my old life to make room for the new. My life is a process wherein I am constantly changing and in order for the new to emerge the old must sometimes fall away, be shed off.”
“Again I went walking and my gaze once again fell upon those very same trees. This time I noticed that the branches were not completely red. There were portions of the branches that were the color of grey more common to trees in this area. It seemed as if the areas of grey were emerging from within the portions of grey and it set my imagination wandering. I began to think of the wonderful metaphor of these trees of how we each of us have this inner being that is struggling to come outside of ourselves. That just as these trees are a twisted maze of red and grey our own lives are a menagerie of our inner being intertwined with our outer more public selves with each side contributing to the totality of our being. I then went about my affairs proud of myself for this new revelation concerning the trees.”
“The very next day I went walking and yet again I noticed something different about the trees. I noticed that the grey part that I had earlier conceived of representing one’s inner being was actually a dead part of the tree and that it seemed to be in the process of being either enveloped by or shed off by the living part of the tree. I thought to myself again, what great lessons this tree has to teach me. Like with the shedding of the bark there are parts of us that die along the way of our life, yet they continue to threaten the living and thriving parts of our being, our soul. That life and death is a war that is waged within us each and every day that actually the grey and red represent that which is good and creates new life within us and that which is bad and creates dying or death within us. That a very large part of our struggle in life is to not give into that which brings us darkness, blandness, grayness, but to step into that which brings life rich with color and possibility. Again I went on content that I was continuing in my learning from the trees.
Finally, I came to take another walk in the wilderness and as usual I felt my gaze fall upon the trees. This time I paused to truly look at them and I felt my head going over all the stories I had learned from the trees. I thought about change, renewal, struggle, good and bad, and life and death. And suddenly I began to laugh softly at first and then it turned into near hysterical laughter. I found myself amused at my own ponderings. These are trees and not teachers. The very first day I went walking I had seen and experienced the trees as they were. These trees were no metaphor for my own life or the lives of mankind. They were living creatures in their own right and quite simply to my kind, to me, they were wondrous and beautiful in their own unique fashion.
I had developed this long story of twisted and ever changing meanings trying to make sense of my own life and looking ever for symbols from without to explain that which lies within. I wondered if I do the same thing when I look within myself. Is my story ever changing to fit that which I perceive each day? And if so, do I ever remember to just take in the beauty and wonder of my life and to appreciate its own unique growth?

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Man's Realm Between Spirit and Creature

I would start out by first offering this disclaimer: I am not a Christian, Hindu, Jew, Muslim, Baptist, Methodist. I am however a person of faith and spirituality a man who love philosophy and accordingly have an interest in one of its many applications: theology.

People often consider God’s greatest gift to man to be that of free will. They often then go on to say that through the act of sin man has turned his or her back on god through that act. First off, I don’t think that is quite as simple a situation as that. I believe that sin falls into two categories. Reinhold Niebuhr called those two divisions: historic sin and natural sin. In his model historic sin is always predicated by man’s abuse of the gift of free will while natural sin has more to do with events such as the untimely death of a child.

Sin itself is not an easy concept to wrestle with. There are typically three issues that must be addressed and understood in considering sin: first man’s unique position between nature and spirit as a free being, second the presentation to man by the devil (metaphoric or literal) of the idea that man can reject the position given to him by the creator, and third is man’s anxiety to secure his own position in contrast to the order created by God. This anxiety is requisite for the emergence of sin. As to whether it remains a catalyst or something more remains a subject of debate. Sin in this particular model is not inevitable but man seems by his nature to have a compulsion towards anxiety through his inability to dwell between worlds.

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Unwitting Keys

Loneliness, self-pity, and despair are the gateway to the demon that lies within or just beyond each of us. Either knowingly or unwittingly we bring the creature through - becoming a temporal key, borne from this triad of spiritual disconnection.

Even in their ascension from worldly affairs wise men, learned men, scholars, poets, spiritual men, and men of god can each lend comfort and assistance to the forces of corruption.

Aspirations of transcendence from possibility eventually become our weakness. Our vanity our ignorance and our conceit grant entry to conditions where doorways become open if only in a crack for an instant. We must ever remain mindful that those dark things that dwell do not do so in quiet repose but rather are a springboard of tension ready in an instant to leap forth. Our inherent human weakness embraced by our arrogance becomes their opportunity. Therefore it is not small wonder that so much rhetoric has been passed along over the centuries regarding the sin of pride. Read more!

Reflections on Suffering

There is a picture that was published in National Geographic Magazine back in 1985 of an Afghan girl. Her name was Sharbat Gulu, and she was and is a Pashtun, one of the more warlike tribes in Afghanistan. The picture was taken by Steve McCurry.

The Afghan girl's eyes? I think that they have witnessed much suffering but to me that is the beauty of the photograph. It has substance, depth of character, feeling. While I am not allied with any particular belief structure I have a fondness for borrowing from a variety of sources in developing my own perspective on life and its many challenges.

Siddhartha, the Buddha, wrote of four noble truths which in short deal with the concepts of the five aggregates of clinging that ultimately lead to all suffering. He also spoke and wrote of the noble eightfold path which is designed to facilitate the alleviation of suffering. Panna, or wisdom, sila, virtuous behavior, and samadhi, concentration, are three aspects of that pathway. I think that most people misinterpret Siddhartha's teaching to the extent that they belief that the noble eightfold path actually leads one to a state wherein they no longer experience suffering. I think rather that what he had in mind was a method by which one might grow beyond their attachment to suffering. I think he believed that suffering was part of the human condition. Siddhartha defined suffering itself in his four noble truths and he went on with his noble eightfold path to give us means by which to cope with that condition. We are born from suffering, live in suffering, and die in suffering and that is simply part of life, or of our existence. Siddhartha believed that craving was requisite to suffering and to me among other things cravings and compulsions are biological functions at their root level and not simply an emotional or spiritual response to external stimuli.

Vipassana meditation itself is a method the Buddha taught to teach people how to understand these cravings and compulsions at their basest physiological level……. Stimuli. On a mental,spiritual and emotional level these longings can be either subjective or objective in nature (meaning from within or from without). I think that the eightfold path is a method of teaching one to transcend to the drama that is so often associated with suffering.

Along with other tools such as mediation one learns of the mutability of live in general and suffering in specific. We need not become too consumed with our misery today because surely tomorrow will bring with it either redemption of a new batch of woes to ponder. I also think of it as a system of utilizing suffering as a tool of enlightenment instead of an excuse to wallow in our pain or lack of fulfillment at the moment. As with most things in life, suffering is transitory. If there is any great truth that lays within the human condition it is that all we experience is but a transitory illusion to some extent. With discipline one can learn to see through our own suffering, or to gaze beyond our sorrow.

So what is the point of all this rambling you might ask. Well when I see pictures such as those of the Afghan girl, I immediately pause to consider not just her suffering, which is so clear in her eyes, but also I think of her as representative of the suffering we all embrace/endure as a species.........as philosophic and emotional and spiritual creatures. I am a bit of an existentialist and feel that when one suffers...........well we all do to some extent.

We are all a part of all experiences either through our involvement or our lack thereof. I believe in Carl Jung’s concept of shared memory and would go on to elaborate that as a species we endure collective suffering as well as memory. We can either turn our back on the suffering of the world insulating ourselves from the experience of any emotional response, or we can embrace suffering in the hopes of ultimately arising as people, as a culture, as a divine experiment ... and taste of all that life has to offer in hopes of attaining some sense of the aesthetics of beauty that life can bring even in the midst of our suffering. When I look upon those incredible green eyes of Sharbat I see the beauty of a living breathing and feeling woman not just carrying all the suffering of the world, her world, but inversely also experience along with her all the love of history reflected in her gaze.

There are many things to consider when lost in a moment of hardship and suffering. Albert Camus wrote: "In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there was within me an invincible summer". And to me this is an important aspect of life to consider. Embedded deep within all of us there resides that ray of sunshine ... that spark of hope of courage that remains invincible. If there is ever a moment you doubt me on that idea, then I would challenge you to explain to me why it is you get up every morning.

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