The Siren and the Heatness of Cicadas

[karene]

The Siren and the Heatness Of Cicadas
(excerpt from The Sea of Doubt and Many Faces by Geoff Haselhurst)

The man has been upon the restless sea of doubt and many faces for eternity
He is tired and lonely
His thoughts mock him as he sits within this world of his own construction
Battered by the sea about, he simply survives, unsure, frightened.

He knows the allure of the sea of doubt and many faces
Sirens appearing, vanishing, tormenting
The Odyssey - Homer
“Your next encounter will be with the Sirens, who bewitch everybody who approaches them. There is no homecoming for the man who draws near them unawares and hears the Siren’s voices; no welcome from his wife, no little children brightening at their fathers return. For with their high clear song the Sirens bewitch him, as they sit there in a meadow piled high with the moldering skeletons of men, whose withered skin still hangs upon their bones.”
“If you wish to listen yourself, make them bind you hand and foot, with the rope’s ends lashed to the mast itself. This will allow you to listen with enjoyment to the Siren’s voices.”

He knew this, he was forewarned with knowledge.
But he wished to flee the chains and bindings of the world
He wished to hear the Siren’s song unconstrained, free will, free fucking will
Such was the man’s desire, his arrogance, his foolishness
And as his mind wandered to thoughts of pleasure, the chanting began
Over the restless dark sea, he could hear in the still night
He could hear the distant rhythmic chanting
He felt the heatness of cicadas.

He stands upon the edge of his logical construction and looks across the dark sea
He smiles briefly, bravely to himself
Takes a deep breath, closes his eyes
Dives down deep
Deep into the dark shifting faces.
They reach for him, pulling him down
Down dark deep.
+++

The man lies tranquil on the soft sand beach
Restless waves, hungry waves, bite and lick the sensual shore
In darkness, he lies upon his back and gazes at the world above
A billion stars scattered shimmering upon a black dark world.
“I know you, I understand what you are, you are my friends, my certainty, my guiding lights as I journey upon this slippery sea of doubt and many faces.”
“You are my friends, hear me.”
“You are my friends”
He repeats, he demands, but there is no answer
He is alone

His thoughts, lost in dark space, sense the heat, succumb to the heat.
The rhythmic chanting heat
The heatness of cicadas
He sits, silent, breathless, listening
The rhythmic chanting ebbs and flows from the forest
The deep dark forest of the unknown, a place of fear and uncertainty
He is under the sway of the chanting though.
He has no fear, his mind is engaged
he follows the rhythm of the dark unknown
The rhythmic chanting heatness has given him wild imaginings

Eternal swirling blackness
“Open your eyes,” a voice in his head reassures
“Open your eyes, you are safe, trust me.”
He opens his eyes
All about is blackness, save the light of a lone candle
It burns silently, slowly dancing upon an old oak table
A shimmered pool of molten gold
A table top from wood so old
Golden statue, a woman sits gently
Upon the wood slender arm rests lightly

Incense, thin trails of heavy scent, spiral upwards, pervade the man’s mind
Memories, instincts intrude his thoughts.
Time to be, to feel, to sense.

A wine glass sits upon the table.
Beautiful, dark red wine within
He stares at the glass, it's shadow, slave to the candle's will, weaves an erotic dance.
Watching, captured by soft movement
lulled, deceived, seduced
He is thirsty. He is hungry
He takes the dark red wine and drinks deeply.
The blood red taste of wine upon his tongue.
Rich complex flavours, drink deep, devour pleasure.

She turns her head deliberately, to stare, to challenge.
Excited/fearful, the man looks upon the woman,
Beauty binds his gaze, powerless he watches
Her eyes are cool and dark, darkness, he falls, senses lost.
He closes his eyes.

Her hand instinctively touches him, she speaks,
her soft beautiful voice intrudes, and briefly overwhelms the rhythm, the cicadas.

“Open your eyes, you are safe, trust me”
Her voice is kind and gentle, soothing.
“You are tired and have come far to see me. I am flattered. Please, stay and rest, there is no need to hurry, there is no need to be afraid.”

The man sits by the table, takes the wanted wine, and drinks deeply again. His mind is alive

“I have come as you say, for I am curious as to your allure, but first, please, tell me why it is that you have sent for me, why do you want me so?”

Her voice chides the man, she laughs
“I have sent for you, you say. This is not so, you come of your own free will. I shall take no blame for your weakness.”

Her words shock and disturb.

“This is not so, I am upon an urgent journey, of great importance to the world. I have no time for the weakness of the flesh, and I am more noble than this for I am a slave to matters of the mind. I know what is real.”
He says the words, wanting to believe in them, seeking comfort

But she mocks him, for she understands him.

“You may rightly know the truth of matter, your knowledge is complex. But man is more complex again than this matter from which he is made. You know your self no more than a child, so enjoy your pleasures as you find them, without doubt and concern, for I am like a child also.”

The man watches her as she speaks, captivated by the alluring charm of simple logic, of warm red wine, of beauty pure simple.

Her hand, slender burnished arm, resonating, moves in space.
Violent shadows flee to darkness.
Her delicate fingers reach for, take the wine.
Dry lips touch the hard cold edge, she drinks deeply.
The heat has raised a sweat upon her skin.
The man imagines the taste of salt sweat upon her skin.
The heat surrounds him, torments him,
he shivers, down dark deep within.