Copyright 1999-2004 by Nate Leved
I like shadows, don't you? Cool, quiet
shadows. They are refreshing like cool
pools of water on a warm day of summer.
It is delightful to swim in them and chase
mermaids to and fro in the lemonade half
light that raises goose pimples upon your
skin when something quickly skitters off
at the corner of your vision.
Does the cotton candy of the shadows
excite you when it brushes against your
cool skin in the night? Just look at all
the colorful frolicking going on about us.
We can take our choice. The gates are
open, and we may enter at any time to
pleasure ourselves and drink deeply from
the trough of life where the rich wines
flow so freely in unending streams. It is
our time to harvest and fulfill our needs.
Someday, when the mood is upon us, you
and I shall take a trip. Perhaps, a cruise
would be pleasing or even a flight of fair
fancy upon the Orient Express or perhaps
we'll just hang out on some Bikini Beach,
languishing in the setting sun, drinking
rum teasers and fondling young pretties
who cluster about us, hoping that we
would pitch them the pennies with which
they could buy their dreams. I am sure a
slow, Island lifestyle would suit us, for a
time at least, until the dogs of our souls
begin to bark for things of the darkness
to chase in the night.
Nothing is satisfying for very long as we
are jaded and easily unimpressed by the
mundane and hum drum activities of
daily life among the ordinary mavens
who walk with collars upturned against
the night winds. They fear what we do
not, for they are ignorant of the passing
whirlwind that brings us pleasure and
release. They are unaware of our sinister
intentions and designs upon their souls.
They shudder as we grab for the brass
ring that spins by so fast as to barely be
seen with astral eyes that shimmer, violet,
in the gathering darkness. Is that a star,
twinkling in yours? What is pleasing you
at this moment? What is tempting your
spirit to pounce as a winged lion upon
some unsuspecting wraith that dulls in
the grayness of the unknown, unaware, at
the edge of our current shadow world?
Nightmares stalk the timid who perceive
the tintinnabulation of midnight passing
and shudder beneath their blankets to
keep out the cold. They suspect, but do
not know. They feel the chill, but aren't
sure from whence it came. Are you, my
friend, that cold of which they fear in the
shrouds of the night? Are you that which
they await with halting , abated breath,
hearts paralyzed with a chill and abject
fear? Come, Charon, we have much to
do and little time to muse.
*Charon is the ferryman who carries the
souls of the departed across the river Styx.
