From Womb To Tomb

{ Denise gracefully hosts Six Sentence Stories, where writers unleash their magic under one simple rule: in no more or no less than 6 sentences.
This week’s prompt word is : STRIKE
A Tale from the Six Sentence Café & Bistro, continuing from Take me With You }

From Womb to Tomb

A storm was brewing as Denise & Hūnga left my apartment on their way to his first visit at the Six Sentence Café & Bistro, where treats and blankets await his arrival; where the Bringer of Emotion is loved already.

I finished setting up his corner by the fireplace while ordering necessities for our common life when thunder boomed shaking the building; cue for me to grab a cigar and race up the stairs to the roof, where there is a small space with minimal overhead cover, harboring a weathered Ikea chair – but man…the view is worth every bit of battering from the sons and daughters of Gaia!

To this day, the inner joy & calmness I experience in the presence of this venust symphony of winds, waves, of thunder & lightning, remains an unsolved enigma;
this foolish Hellenas even goes into the sea, only to stand beneath the storm & receive her magnificent fury [ yeah, yeah…one should not do so…well, know this is not an act of a chest-pounding-male…when it happens, it is an act of humbleness…here I am naked before you, I am nothing.]

My mind wanders off to Charon (or Reaper or Death or Fiddler etc)…yes that one among *”the gods and devils we modern, enlightened individuals have rationalized out of existence, leaving the empyrean nothing but a fair memory of things that once were” (*J.Campbell & C.G.Jung); in an uncanny synchronization a lightning lands a few inches from my feet, setting the chair on fire, burning instantly the Do Not Resuscitate bracelet, violently seizing every fiber of my body.

…once there was a womb, from the womb came a child, the child wanted to fly, wings sheared – how to reach the sky, the child started to climb a mountain, the rocks became a staircase, the staircase spiraled, became a tree, which branch to follow, what nest can complete my hollow, leaves became words, words became whispers, whispers became songs, (I remember), silenced have we the songs, normalize thee joy, grief enclosed in sound proof garments, no time for joy, no time for grief, move on, next branch…stop…stop…s t o p…love if you want – when & as you want, grieve if you want – when & as you want, let it be your song, a song that touches a grave, a tomb that will become a womb, once there was a womb…

The smoke from the cigar on the ground and the cinders that used to be a chair dance among the nymphs of the falling rain; it never strikes twice at the same place, they say…
(a lightning lands a few inches from the Gatekeeper’s feet, violently reviving(?) every fiber of his being.)

//\\//\\

{ A bit of backstory to the song that follows, The Fiddler on the Green:
the group was on tour and a member witnessed the death of a young boy on a bicycle when he was hit by a car…next week, another young girl dies at the very spot. He wrote the lyrics afterwards, having the Fiddler/Reaper taking by mistake the life of the boy…to correct at some measure his grave mistake, the Reaper creates a small paradise for the boy…there he will unite him with the girl, a girl who was destined to become later in life the boy’s wife…turning a red traffic light to green, the Fiddler takes the life of the girl, uniting her and the boy…in death}

“Sad voices they’re calling
Our precious girl she can’t be gone
How bitter this morning
When daddy’s darling
Went out and started her day
Wasn’t there a dream last night
Like a spring never ending
Still the water runs clear
Through my mind
On the field I can see a fiddler
The fiddler on the green and the sad boy
I took him too early
Would you mind
Would you mind
Would you mind
If I take you
The sun seemed bright
The air was clear
The air was clear (clear)
A trick of light
Turned red into green
She saw the light
Her face was pale
Her body smashed
Her beauty’s gone
Isn’t it a shame
The reaper said
He is quite alone here
And still waiting for you
Oh I really did fail for the first time
Spoke the fiddler, poor old fiddler
The fiddler on the green
The fiddler on the green
It would be nice
Take my hand
Just hold my hand
I’ll take you there
Your pain will go away”

A live performance ( skip to 1’20” for the start of the song)