Von flipped through page after page, skimming images in his mind as much as words on paper. The letters, one for each day of his captivity, were not so much letters as they were conversations, the sort of conversation that if overheard by a stranger, would not be given a second thought, but when imagined by the father from the son would not have been exchanged for all the world. Yet, the letters were not really conversations, they were prayers, or, as was called in the Tao, meditative prayers. There was a difference. Prayer was a plea, passive, something your grandmother did; meditative prayer a deed, active, and effective in ways beyond common comprehension. The Tao believed that meditative prayer could reach beyond space and time and shape events. His son had spent more than three years absorbed in that belief.Von closed the tome as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if he had forgotten how. In an instant, his universe changed as if the pages of the Imprimatur Rubious had rubbed the sleep from his eyes and for the first time he saw not with dreams.
A thousand thoughts ran through his mind, not the least that he had survived captivity, not of his own will as he had thought, but with assistance from afar. Moments from the edge flooded the chasm of his memory as he recalled standing between this life and the next one, wanting to slip away into the peace of the night. At each of those moments he had found strength, had remembered the sensation of a cool breeze pushing him gently back to safety. He had thought little of those sensations at the time. Now, he realized a love, as deep as the regret welling in his bosom, and he cursed himself for the ignorance or pride that clouded his view at the time. And he marveled. Three years. Not a day missed. Letter after letter, all in longhand, painstakingly rendered not as word to paper but as Love to father.
Von opened his eyes and looked down without moving his head as if he could hide behind his quarter-opened lids. Glowing red, filling the room with sacred light, a small disc, no larger than the tip of his finger, silently and slowly grew brighter and dimmer as if each exchange was a breath, as if the disc were alive, as if it begged to be touched and opened. The disc was a holographic version of the letters, a version that would, when activated, appear in 3-D before him, the pages breathing in light as if alive from floor to ceiling in folio fashion, which could be turned with hand or eye.
With a wave of his hand, the holographic folio opened and the room filled with light. Opening the volume to a random page, Von walking into the light, his hands swimming in the sea of illumination as the words appeared to move as fish in shallow water. On the right-hand side, he spied what appeared to be a watermark, about the same size as his face. Gently leaning his countenance into the mark, Von felt as if he had touched an open circuit, his face felt wet and a scent of sea air filled his nostrils. His mind began to swirl, faster and faster, and as a child on a merry-go-round, the images of his mind began to blur. He quickly pulled his head back out. Touching the mark with his hand, he felt the shock again and this time he placed his whole head into the watermark, and as the tear of the father met the tear of the son, the two were united on a plane of existence Von could not explain.
When the strange joyful energy threatened to rip his heart from his chest, Von pulled his wet head out. Balling his fists to wipe his eyes, he studied the words on this page. Near the bottom he saw the four words that appeared on every page—I Love You Dad. Kneeling on bended knee, Von reached into the hologram, grasped those four words and pulled them into his hands. They pulsed as if the light beat in harmony with his heart. Bowing his head, Von took the string of words, and like a scarf, wrapped them around his chest, love touching love. The room brightened and with closed eye Von felt as if he were lying in a summer field looking into the sun, such was the light that penetrated his eyelids.
The words seemed to hug him back, and releasing his grip, Von placed his hands on the floor to steady himself, and with head still bowed and eyes still closed said, “I love you too son.”
Kyra sat stunned. Von looked exhausted.
“So there you have it,” he finally managed to say.
Soundtrack for this Chapter: Same Mistake (James Blunt, All the Lost Souls)
Commentary Part 1
Commentary Part 2
Bonus Outtake Commentary
18 comments:
Big pleasurable sigh, tears in my eyes. That was exquisite, and yet still that tinge of regret that he didn't know until now. The imagery is so incredibly vivid, hats off to you and the visions you see and recreate here, the wonderful imagination once upon a time dubbed fault #1, just imagine :-D, that came up with such a soul-touching idea. I envision him so clearly, stepping in between the words (the fish metaphor was excellent), I almost wish I could tell it back to you, what I see, the light, the words, the life within. Von's expressions as he understands what exactly his son has given him, now, then. The image at the end, of Von kneeling, embracing the words and those words surrounding him, gosh how to put it...the reactions, the emotions, that you evoke through your writing, through your characters, through such scenes is physical. To see him knelt there, to see the love passing between the two of them, now and through every moment that they ever had, for those few minutes it were as though they held my heart too, only way to describe just how marvellously affecting this chapter was.
I know there is a measure of regret, regret for the reasons he states, regret that Ceru was left behind on Hyneria, but their relationship eclipses that, what he feels as he steps into the words fills the chapter with such warmth that the sadness of the situation is thawed out. I find that part especially beautiful.
Sunshine, hang on, video commentary coming up soon. :-)
I've played this chapter out in my mind so many times, I'm emotionally exhausted and drained. One can only cry so many times. :-D
As for the fish metaphor, I see clearly the light reflecting off Von's face as one would see the light from a pool of water dancing waves of light all around it. On the silver screen, with the right music, this could be a very powerful scene. It is, in my mind. :-D
Video is uploading, so hang on. ;-)
Oooh, very nice job on the video. Enthusiasm's light in your eyes, passion for the story in your words, if the images of Von were not already so vivid in my mind still from reading yesterday, you would have put them there through this description of it. Will be so nice for those who come in to read the chapter and watch the video in succession, really will emphasize the image especially of Von with the words 'I love you Dad' embracing him.
Also highlighted for much clearer understanding, for clearer contemplation, was Ceru's wavering at the dock.
It's such a great, great chapter, overwhelmingly so in itself, the commentary adds to that. Von, here, seeing the holographic view of these letters - and it really is a very clear picture that you have painted, the fish metaphor and the shimmering lights (breathing, pulsing) that you above speak that was already there in what was seen - the tear upon his face, the entrance into another plain though not understood completely just as you are not able to explain completely, it is unnecessary to understand the magic of it, the, and I cannot say this enough, extremely vivid image of him knelt on the floor with the words around him, Von here, this chapter, is unforgettable. You made me love the story even more, who'd have thought. :-)
Not sure I was completely awake when I did these. As you can see, sans shower or even brushing my hair, I am a man without a sense of vanity--or maybe just lazy--haven't made of my mind yet. :-D
I wish I could have captured the emotion I felt when I envisioned this scene on the drive back from Atlanta. Gut wrenching is the only way I can describe it. As I watched Elizabeth tonight I took note of costume and light and score and dreamed of this scene with the money to recreate what I see in my mind. So much power in this one. Not sure anyone who does not have a child or has felt the separation from that child, can feel this chapter the way it is meant to be felt, the way I feel it. These words are not just words, they are me, born in pain and hurt and love.
I have died a thousand deaths of separation and fate dictates I will died a thousand more before my sentence has been served. That pain has to go somewhere, such as a chapter like the one you see here.
As always, your undying support for this story and everything around it amazes me to no end.
Love,
Poppet
By the way, expect bonus video commentary in the morning--an outtake if you will. My first attempt was more about Frail It than On Bended Knee and so I aborted it. After further review, I think it adds depth to what is happening in this scene, so once uploaded, I'll post. Wish me sweet dreams. :-)
Sweet dreams, my lovely. Look forward to viewing. :-)
Does a five winged fan gives more air? :D..Just wondering. We do not have more than three wings...
That is a surreal vision of a dream like quality. To be able to feel the letters & the words & to be able to connect through body fluids.
To be able to reach in the 'middle' of those words, to be able to wrap them around you, to be able to Drown in them...& those letters like hologram so you can approach them from various directions...it is a serendipitous quality...a vision par excellence!
Mona, I still can't escape the sense that I have somehow failed the reader in this chapter. The gulf between what I felt and what I see in my mind and what I read when I read this chapter is great. All my chapters are first drafts since I write for the joy of writing and my time is limited; yet, if there was a chapter that I would want to re-write, to take a second shot at imbuing more atmosphere, more emotion, more drama, more gravitas, more oomph, this would be the chapter. Than again, it could be simply a case that this chapter was born in very deep emotion, emotion that brought tears to my eyes, and did so for many days leaving me drained and exhausted in visualizing it. When I wrote it yesterday, that emotion had been bled off and I wrote as one writing of something from a distance rather than one in the midst. In other words, it is one thing to write of a storm while you are in the middle of it and quite another to write of that storm after the storm has passed and it no longer threatens you. This chapter was written from the emotional point of view of a storm passed. I did the commentary, in part, to try and make up this debit. In my mind, on that account, it failed. I cannot fake emotion. It is either there or it isn't. Don't get me wrong, the commentary, especially part 2 and the bonus commentary are valuable additions to the story and our understanding of what is happening and why, but it does not deliver the emotional punch that I feel it needs to.
As for the five versus three bladed fan, I have no frailing idea. :-D
Mona, as always, thank you for visiting and thank you for taking the time to read what is written and to leave heartfelt and meaningful engaged comments. Very much appreciated. Hugs to you my friend. :-)
"One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter."
I just watched the last and the first two again, and I really must highlight how you bring that last scene to life, but at the same time assure that the scene is very vivid in the written word. The scene played itself out in the mind's eye while reading the words, the emotional impact of it was great enough to produce tears at the image of him embracing and being embraced by the words, but it was thoroughly wonderful to hear you, see you, illuminating him as he knelt.
The quote above is from James Earl Jones and I have a feeling I have left it somewhere amongst these pages once before, but your words about having things to say, words that burn in their need to be expressed and yet there will never be such an opportunity made me think of this JEJ quote.
There are so many pockets in this chapter, and the ones that preceded, in which one could spend the longest time. How the Book of Letters changed how Von looked back upon his life, his time in captivity and his son. What it must feel like to never be able to speak to his son about what he had done. Not to mention the actual content of the letters, the holographic version of them and being able to walk between them and feel them, connect through time and space on a certain level to Ceru as he let the words flow.
To have only the words, to be able to hold only the words, but not his son. To have the words, knowing Ceru knew he would have them, but not being heard as he reciprocates those words of love, though his son would have known them.
Your words wrap, Poppet, as well as Ceru's, though I naturally don't doubt you wished it were more raw nor that you would be capable of making it so, or at least were while in the eye so to quote, but as someone reading, the scene was deeply moving.
Tree, I understand perfectly well what you mean when you talk about writing from the middle of the storm. I can relate because that is exactly what you feel when you write poetry. That is why a poem is such a short piece of writing & yet so concentrated in intensity and form.It also has the rhythm of heart beat...
For prose it is different as it tends to gravitate more towards elaboration & the technique therefore varies. Yet you are one of those unique writers who achieve so much intensity and reach the crux of feeling in a prose writing. That is why I feel that your writing is more like poetry in prose. It has a quality of being a spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings even if the thoughts are recollected in tranquility.
Of course you as the artist would know the true feelings behind such thoughts and like I said before, much is lost in the translation of feelings from within to without.
I was watching the fan behind you as I listened to your commentary, so I counted the wings :-D
What a wonderful chapter! And the commentary and sound track are the perfect complement.:)
Good Thursday morning to you, Tree.
I thought it had a LOT of emotional inmpact. Meditative prayer made so much sense. Von's passge with this in his coimmunication with his son was eloquent - it COULD be felt here on your blog page...
I think that maybe you doubt yourself - and there is no need.... Your muse may be softer at some times and louder at others but he/she is present... Trust your gift, Tree, even as you refine it to your satisfaction --
*hugs*
Loving Annie
Mona, your comments enrich my blog like alluvial soil. I love the way you see and express what I feel, better than I am able to do myself. What you have written about how poetry is written and how prose is written and sometimes how one writes prose like poetry just makes me smile.
Lost in translation. So true. I think good translators are hard to find and they are rarely appreciated for the difficult work they do. Since you are at the least bilingual, you know the difficulties. As an artist, one is one's own translator. Sometimes I feel I do a good job and sometimes not. Such is life.
As always, thank you Mona for such wonderfully engaged comments. You are my alluvial soil. :-)
Thank you SJ. James' new album has inspired many of the chapters of late, especially what we have seen of Em and Von of late. His music simply touches me in ways that no other current artist does. If I could explain it, I would. As always, your kind words and attention are deeply appreciated. :-)
Annie, I think I am cursed to always doubt my worth. The double edged sword cuts both ways. On one hand, my doubt keeps me from my full potential and I am my own worse enemy; on the other hands, like the whip of an angry charioteer, the stinging lashes of doubt drive me forward faster and faster and I am forever trying to write the chapter that breaks the ice for a reader and breaks the ice for me (if you know what I mean ;-)
Love and hugs to you Annie. :-)
Broken hearted ;*(
He was a good father to a good son. We'll learn more in time. :-)
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