King Arthur and his Men

[Sepia]

We left the barns, we headed across the yards, our hearts sinking into the frozen fields where corn once grew. You were there with us, dreaming of a different field, a different place, a different mesa, a plateau. Our memories superimposed on each other, we were seeing the world from both our minds and reality stretched and flexed as we sang that cruel nature has won again. We were caught by the raven Fear as we crossed the old marshes, frozen but not in a wintery landscape, there was white and there was dark and the reservoir is empty. They call for the chalice, the grail, they call for a woman to aid them and one steps forward, giving her mystery to the gods at the hand of old men.

The idea came suddenly but we weren't there, the ghosts had come before us and as we descended upon them with a murder of crows they vanished and we were left with our torment, we were left in this land where no man should live or exist. Shadows move and the path is not illuminated but the light will protect us, our king will protect us and here we march for glory but our hearts weigh heavy in our chests for at home are our women and we go to find the holy grail, we march to find the cup for the wand, nothing for nothing.

The weather is strange no matter what country we travel to and people barricade when we pass them yet no warnings emerge from the air but it tastes foul, stale. No warriors are seen and people seem to know of our arrival but one of the days an archer shot a hunter in the leg and questioned him before he killed him and stole his possessions and we have been marked, the pope has called us antichrist and the arabs say something else and no one knows what is happening but everyone knows something is happening, innards are opened more often and the fortune tellers make good cash as they tell of misery. We are all cain, marked for eternal life and there rings a feeling of truth in our bones, the marrow softening like our knees as we march further.

Our king has dreams, we hear him every night, tossing about, some times screaming and we contemplate you oh god as we sit by the trees pretending to sleep, listening to our king dissolve in madness, sleeping. His weight is great but he cannot carry it all, we are infected as he becomes less with each vision, diminishing him, empowering us, balancing the desire as we hear the sirens in the forest singing to us, frail voices filled with truth and we were the most naive of them all, children marching upon the woods, having said goodbye to our mothers and fathers, passing through the terrain, into the woods or into the sea, this is where we'll find it, this is where holiness lies, in nature's major mystery.

The expectations diminish as we travel with the years, pursuing the grail further east and we think of our children, we think of our wives, her hair will have a few strands of gray in it now and we think of them as we weep ourselves to sleep, the last part of our humanity still intact, still not faded. Our dreams wander more often to the caves of old and the murals contained within, coming to life and telling stories of the age when gods walked the earth, our minds were different then, the world of gods was the same world we lived in, the laws had not yet found their way among them, they were men but more than us, retaining shape and form and they were driven by the same as we. The Law was established and that became their domain, fitting as we strive to be more than what we are, holding flat images in our heads, speculating how the gods came to be, what drove them to their actions and out of our world into the immortal one where only Law can govern them in a dimension of black and white, hard and soft with no area in between, nothing to diffuse and confuse.

We march further south and it is here we meet a castle, filled with laughter and joy, reverberating to the outside and we rest as our king and his men walk up to the gate and knock. Talk is restless, we've not seen too many people and fewer feasts, the pike men are worried this is a satanic place but we tell stories to calm them of those gods who had to venture through hell to find what they came searching for. We are not here to build jerusalem, we are here to find the keystone which all else will grow from- the symbol that will bring it all together and we march that way into the castle, disarm in the courtyard and as we are led to our baths we see the king moving towards the hostess, a beautiful persian princess and they sit together long, talking and as the dust dissolves in the clear water, we are smitten with the laughter and the joy as we drink our wine and eat our fruit, never extending beyond who we are for while others might have pillaged and raped we are content with hearing a joy that is not our own and we ask one of the maids why this has been the only house filled with pleasure and delight and they stare at us with their big lovely eyes, fluttering and they tell us that everyone has gathered to the cities, all are clinging to something for they fear the end will come for signs have been given, the king might find what he wants

he might be blessed

We have no fear of that she tells us, our god might be a different god and who ever any god touches is not important, it happens, has happened and will happen and none will understand why but men and women will always fear it like they fear their secrets coming out, the old skeletons still locked up in the closets. We have embraced our demons, we have conquered them and returned them into the fold that are us, they will always be a part of us as we have always been a part of them, the battleground for the soul, the tug of war between heaven and hell is always us, we are the instruments of the gods and the gods are our instruments and the symbiosis is everywhere, as above so below.

We spend weeks in the castle and we see our king less and less, we forage and build and help while we wait for the signal to move on again into the world, into the reality and away from this beautiful place but from the king, nothing is heard until one morning as we've taken our bath and we dress up in local garb they've sown for us, ready to go out and bring food and he sits down with all of us, giving us the grand speech.

Men! We've traveled long and sought hard for the cup of christ. It has been a strange journey and we've been marked as we've marched through europe, signs and symbols have been all around us and most people believe us to be sons of cain, most people believe we are here to end the world, not bring gods glory into it. The idea and the ideal is still to bring gods light into all hearts and nowhere have we found a place like this and I say unto you, here is the glory of god. Where holy men cower in fear as they do not understand, here is a temple devoted to the life that has been breathed into us and the men and women here are not statues of clay, they are conquerors and they have vanquished their fear. They know god loves them and god knows I love them. I have found the grail I was looking for but where I sought a cup, I found a vessel filled with knowledge and sacred splendour, where I sought the blood of christ, I found the blood of woman, coursing and filled with the sweetest song of them all. In the desolate lands we have wandered where we have been shunned by man and woman alike like lepers, this is paradise, here is heaven on earth. I will remain for a while and those that want to join me are more than welcome but anyone who wishes to travel back will be well seen to.

An end always feels missing, something feels out of it and as they throw a feast lasting a week for us who miss old england, us who miss the gray strands of old loves ones, those of us who could not free ourselves from our past, it feels strangely lonely as we ride horseback towards the colder home and as we travel we see more and more lights, few people are out still and the cold lingers but the sun is coming through and our minds wander, telling old stories to ourselves of the waiting wives in our castle, not filled with laughter and joy save on special occasions, dreary and dark, cold but like a cave it needs only to be illuminated to turn warm and filled with meaning. We traverse the channel and as we feel the earth of home underneath our feet, it feels lacking, the beaches and the trees do not welcome us, they stand where they are, watching and observing.

We return to our castle and we are welcomed as is proper, we are older men now and our daughters and sons are men and women and everything we ever thought about as we were away is untrue, the catharsis we wanted was not to be found here and as we drink the wine we rape our women in discontent and rage before we set out yet again, we seek our king and his grail and a house filled with light and laughter.
Travel is our second nature now, time flies as we ride hard and while the frost still lingers in our feet and on our horses hooves, people live their lives now and we pass them as we wave, our hearts no longer in the muddied fields or the frozen swamps. We arrive in the area, we recognize where we foraged, sat traps and built shelters. The shelters are withered and the traps, while still there have not been seen to, eerie silence fills us and the castle is nowhere to be seen and our king has vanished with it.

[Jenne]

...Under the ruins of a walled city
Crumbling towers and beams of yellow light
No flags of truce, no cries of pity
The siege guns had been pounding all through the night
It took a day to build the city
We walked through its streets in the afternoon
As I returned across the field's I'd known
I recognized the walls that I once made
I had to stop in my tracks for fear
Of walking on the mines I'd laid

...that's what this reminded me of.  And I read Mary Stewart's old novels on the subject, as well.  Great and wonderful stuff, Sepia.  Will there be more?

[Sepia]

...Under the ruins of a walled city
Crumbling towers and beams of yellow light
No flags of truce, no cries of pity
The siege guns had been pounding all through the night
It took a day to build the city
We walked through its streets in the afternoon
As I returned across the field's I'd known
I recognized the walls that I once made
I had to stop in my tracks for fear
Of walking on the mines I'd laid

...that's what this reminded me of.  And I read Mary Stewart's old novels on the subject, as well.  Great and wonderful stuff, Sepia.  Will there be more?

Dig the quote, where's it from? But yeah, that same concept is something I've been thinking a deal about lately as I've reread The Filth for the umpteenth time and the babushka idea is just too cool. There might be more, I don't know, I don't control this any more than I do my bowel movements.

I think PJ Harveys latest also has quite an effect.. (she is my bodyscrub for the SOUL)

[Jenne]

It's from a song by Sting--"Fortress Around Your Heart."

If you have further installments on this theme, please share!

[Sepia]

These things have their own life so style etc is not something I make up my mind about before I start to write.


Here is it read though; http://tindeck.com/listen/unhc