A few years later . . .
"Thoughts are tools Kyra," said Papa. "As are words. Learn to wield them," added Papa, making the motion of a whip above his shoulder, "skillfully, and the sea will bow before your brow and the sun will rise for your pleasure."
Kyra listened, her visage not of her age.
"Likewise, saddle the twin horses of pride and greed, and as the sun rises it will set and upon your heart will fall a darkness no hynerian can escape." Papa stood, his back to the rising sun, his head aflame in haloed light. "Now, listen very closely." Papa's tone turned from thunder to drizzle, a whisper pulling his precocious one to her toes. "There are two questions you should never allow far from your sight." He paused as a magician before the hat.
Kyra drew breath as one emerging from the sea, as if from his essence she could absorb every nuance of the teaching. Consciously, she eased back on her heels.
Papa tilted his head, and assured of his pupil's raptness, launched like lightning a snap of his fingers, a fire in the eye and said, "Question one: What are you running from?" Then, seeming to climb into the sky itself without leaving the ground, his knees moving forth with a power and grace, he continued. "This question, will hide like a shadow in the night. You must, must, hunt it down, every day."
Her eyes grew wide, round, resolute as steel upon the hammer. Still, she said nothing, allowing the wind to rustle as stagehands in the hush.
"Question two: What are you running toward?" Papa stopped, the sudden lack of histrionics more deafening than a thunderclap. The two stood, nose to nose, neither moving, the air charged.
"And when I ask those questions," said Kyra, "I will know that what moves is an illusion."
"Yes."
"And this is why you sit."
Papa smiled, extending his hands. Kyra curtsied, taking his hands. From the window, Grandma Kyra watched a dance of smiles. Leaning from the window, she said, "If you don't move, you don't eat. Dinner's ready."
Leaning over, Papa whispered, "There is one thing I know that moves."
"Your stomach?"
Papa laughed. "Besides that."
"What?"
His face tranquilled like the setting sun, the wrinkles of his brow disappearing as waves in the evening calm. "My heart. Whenever I see your grandmother."
17 comments:
Those are brillaint questions Tree. And really the essential ones that in many ways define us as individuals...
I am running away from fear and habits, and running towards knowing my worth...
There's a scene in the film The Story of Us, which is a film about a couple contemplating divorce, where there is a flashback over the course of their marriage, singular moments, revealing all that they have shared, it is throughout and especially in places to me at least extremely moving, the memories, the sharing of important moments, moments shared only by the two of them, this scene with that very first line has that same sense of time having passed, of memories made, of love growing, of moments between them, conversations, occasions, simple togetherness, the same sense of history together. Wonderful right there, immediately as one spies the names associated.
This post reminds me of the ones before the story. With reference to the above, the sense of time, growth, understanding, learning, his tone is more direct, less show, more tell, as she requested so often in times gone by. :-) Thoughts are tools is one of those realities that when pointed out most nod along to in agreement but that is not thought about directly unless just pointed out, which you do, Papa does, thus within the very first two lines of this chapter, there's already enough windows to occupy, reading on shows it had barely begun.
"Now, listen very closely." Papa's tone turned from thunder to drizzle, a whisper pulling his precocious one to her toes. "There are two questions you should never allow far from your sight." He paused as a magician before the hat.
I had to pull out this part for several reasons. Firstly for the repetition here from Papa of words we have heard Kyra say. Adding to the above-mentioned sense of a shared history, a loving relationship, smile-inducing to wonder whether she was repeating something that she had heard him say or whether he is. Love the expressions used to describe how his tone changes, towards soft, towards commitment being made to listen, quiet tones needing more attention. And the last part, the pause, not only another of your exceptional a to b's but with it, with the pause, the slowing becomes more noticeable, the pace, structure and timing discernible, skilful and commendable. Position held with the grace of a ballet dancer with the absolutely beautiful idea that she might be able to absorb his teachings more fully. Alliteration creates the very real snap. I meant not to babble so, but the way you achieve these effects is something to behold.
I could be wrong, but I get the sense too that this is not the first time that he has continued, that he has in fact spoken of this before, in parts, in different ways, showing, the walk along the beach with just one set of footprints comes to mind though his words then are not these now, and though he may (or may not) have spoken of this before, she is not just listening, but absorbing. The nose to nose, result time, understanding. Wonderful, windowful.
Good questions. Makes me pause to ponder what is it that I'm chasing after thus far.
How should I interpret this fractal?
Saffy, as the illusion of duality.
Thank you Annie. I get muddy with these questions all the time. Don't you just love getting dirty with a good question or two? ;-)
those 2 questions...
well...that explains it then.
damn.
Blue, :-)
hehehehehe!
Your stomach?
hehehe!
I love Kyra! :)
And I have to tell you, Tree, you look absolutely gorgeous in your new picture too! Very nice :)
--snow
Oh Snow, you're going to make me blush now. :-D
As always, thanks for the kind words. :-)
Sweetest, if I were chocolate, and I'm not saying I'm not, I would be one big puddle at the foot of your glorious comments. You melt me like no one in blogland and you've been doing it consistently for over three years now. There are days I swear I live on the love you have for this story and just when I think I've seen every thing you could possibly say about the writing, you find a new way to amaze me all over again. One day our paths will cross and on that day you will participate in a hug beyond my ability to describe. Let's just say two spiral galaxies colliding will pause in envy. :-)
So safe up! You can do it. All night long. :-D
Tree, why have I not been here before? Your writings are not only thought provoking, but eloquent as well!
Dana, thanks for the kind words. You're here now, but did you bring the ice cream? :-)
A friend of mine once stopped me dead in a discussion by telling me that a certain word was JUST a word. Clearly NOT a writer. There is simply no such thing as JUST a word. Each word, each question, carries with it weight & history & emotion.
JRM, they say the tongue is sharper and more dangerous than any sword. I also believe the opposite, that words can lift and heal and bring joy when wielded in the right way. A word is only a word to a rock. For the rest of us sentient beings, I agree with your interpretation. As would, I think, most writers and lovers of words. :-D
Whew! That was beautiful!
For a moment I felt I was Kyra listening to Papa.
& the questions have lifted a great burden from my chest...
Voila! Never knew that with that key, things could appear so much clearer & decisions so much easier!!
Thanks Papa
er..tre'e!
:)
Mona, if my post has been a help to you in any way whatsoever, then you have given me the finest of compliments. Thank you. :-)
No one has asked about the title--Fugled, which is taken from Fugle, a derivative of Fugleman:
Fugle: to signal, to gesture as if signaling. Also: to act as a guide, model or leader (from fugelman, a soldier serving as a model for his company during drills).
So Kyra was fugled by Papa. :-D
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