Knight of Wands

Inspired by Sandra's delightful “timed writing” piece (No Way Out), I decided to share a “timed writing” piece of my own.  For this one, we also had ten or fifteen minutes, but our prompt was a picture (a card out of a Tarot deck) rather than a word or phrase…

In the heat of the helmet under the sun, there was the sound of water. It flowed close to the ear of the knight of that realm, my yidam, form-body beyond the desires that bring gravity to light. He rode on as the heat rose, and the sound of the water licked his ears, as the golden wasp licks the stamen of the flower growing from the crystal mandala of dreams.

As the metal of the helmet began to sing in the sun, to burn, he removed the heavy weight from his shoulders and listened. The sky's silence rang above him, cut, just once, by the whisper of wings. But the sound of the water had vanished, as an image in dreams vanishes when the focus is too strong. He rode for a time with the helmet in his lap. The land around him had changed little. The green behind him was a memory only, a hint of light perhaps in the mirage at the edge of dunes. For days it had been like this. And the mirage ahead, as well, contained only the hope of green. Here, there were vast tracks in the sand that shifted with every breath. The horse sent rills of sand rolling down the slope. At the eastern edge of the world three mountains rose, the middle one higher than the rest – and there, there he thought he heard the round, sour note of goats conversing. Perhaps the dull clunk of a bell. It was hard to tell, the way sound stretched over these silences.

So he put the helmet back on his head. Its heat comforted somehow. But he also wanted to hear if the trickle of water returned, and it did. It moved like the shiver of delight; it brushed him like the faintly remembered kiss of an angel on the ear after sleep…

He rode on in silence, rocked by the horse; sure, somehow, under the clarity of the sky. He didn't need to look at it to feel it, like the top of his skull suddenly blown off, like a blossom opening. The water, the stream was here, nearer to him than even these clothes he wore.

And looking down, he found, strapped to his horse, his old crooked walking stick had begun to sprout tender shoots of green. He undid the leather buckle and held it aloft like a banner. Wind moved the tiny leaves.

And he shone, the knight of wands shone, yidam breathing full of life on the crown of my head… Breathing in, is breathing in him, and breathing him in. The wind moves, as it always does, in spirals. As it moves at the tips of our fingers, as the grouse moves, the colored winds, the beings of the teeming worlds, breathing through each other.

World, I breathe you in. What is there to hide from? Breathing out, I give you what is mine.
What is there to hide?

There is enough hurt here for everyone, and love enough for all.

Breathe, and let the limbs like grasses wave.

~ Bruce Alderman, 1997

Re: Knight of Wands

Good Lord! If that was 10 - 15 minutes, I can only wonder what hours would bring forth. Beautiful, dear Balder, thank you.

Sandra

Re: Knight of Wands

Thank you, Sandra.  It's been awhile since I tried to write creatively and spontaneously in this way.  I do it every now and then, but need to do it more – so I welcome the opportunity this “writing workshop” pod provides.

This sort of imagistic writing used to come more readily for me.  Now, I've been writing non-fiction so much that it takes some effort to switch gears and let perception and language flow differently…

Best wishes,

B.

Re: Knight of Wands

Okay, so here is a challenge, great Knight!… (and no pressure - whenever and only if it feels like fun) 15 minutes, (no cheating.. and no editing..) inspired by the following line:

This is the place where Dorothea smiled

Love,
Sandra

Re: Knight of Wands

This is where Dorothea smiled – the round hill at the edge of the storms of summer, the green swelled breast of earth overlooking the village and all its humiliations.  We had hiked here together, hand in hand, not talking, not daring to look at one another, after I had found her crouched like a grithman at the door of the deserted church.  Her clothes were stained in summer mud; her locks unkempt, harboring blades of grass and straw.  I knew what had cast her here, all the weight of the village women turned against her, the withering betrayal of her sisters when they had found out what she'd done.  But I did not dare to raise these painful memories.  There was no need.  I saw her crumpled on the hard, cold stone, her head resting on the broad wooden door, leaning into a space that she hoped would hold her.  But the church was empty; the door was barred.  No feet would cross this threshhold any time soon, not after the revelations of the priest's involvement with an innocent girl had erupted like a maelstrom in the quiet town and the Father had been driven past the county line by horsemen bearing swords and flame.  Dorothea would not find him here.  She would likely never see him again. 

I took Dorothea's hand and pulled her gently to her feet.  She looked around herself like a startled bird, expecting people to step out threateningly from behind the trees, expecting stones to strike her.  “Come,” I said, and drew her down the steps, to the moist red path cut through the unruly grass of the meadow around the church.  We walked for hours in silence, slowly mounting the hill, slowly leaving the church and the village and the weight of what had happened behind us.  She walked unevenly at first, not looking up, not looking past the narrow vein of earth that cut through the verdant slopes of summer.  But as we reached a certain elevation – that space [FIFTEEN MINUTE LIMIT REACHED HERE! I'LL WRAP IT UP]…that space where our human atmosphere gives way and the sky flows with ancient currents, bearing birds and clouds to places no girl has ever seen, she looked at me with sudden relief.  I could see it in her eyes.  She had never seen this far; she had never risen above the stifling nest of home.  But now there it was, spread out before her:  promises she'd never dreamed of, roads beyond the narrow lanes of childhood.  They could be hers. 

This is where Dorothea smiled.

Re: Knight of Wands

Wonderful, Balder – I admire how quickly you can create such a rich world with so few words! Concision can be hard to come by – but that's part of the fruit of poetry writing, which I know you've had plenty of experience with. . .

Enjoying,
Mary

Re: Knight of Wands

I ditto Mary's comment dear Balder.

Rich, exciting, enticing stuff, just wonderful. I'm dropped into a world very completely,  (and unexpectedly - I've given this line to others, and I just love the vast range of worlds which arise from it!). I want to stay there and find out more…

Have a look at the comment I made on Karen's timed piece  (oh, and it's helpful for me if you post anything that arises out of a suggestion from me to my Assignments corner - it's getting busy in here and I don't want to miss anything I've specifically suggested!)

Mostly about not needing to 'wrap up'. Dive in deep, to each felt moment in space and time, and don't worry about not finishing, or not painting a complete picture.  Experiment with slowing down: feel, smell, and sense with your whole body the 'world' you are in, go there - to that world. No conclusions needed, we the reader will be shown all that we need to be shown… and if the story is not complete, well, it leaves you with something to go on with, or at least a little window for us as readers to look through.

I'm not looking for complete stories in these timed pieces, sometimes they become this, and indeed the pull is so strong in all of us to 'finish' and present something 'whole'…. but see what happens if you don't listen to that particular call.

I knew what had cast her here, all the weight of the village women turned against her, the withering betrayal of her sisters when they had found out what she'd done.

I love this,  we get a very complete picture of what is going on. And I wonder what I would have 'felt' if I had not been told this.

You could experiment with 'showing' this 'fact - alluding to it with 'sensuous' detail, something about the way Dorothea looks, or a word she says, or?? ..  I'm not sure how, I don't want to influence you.

It's lovely writing, I'm looking forward very much to reading more of your work. ( I don't mean you need to go on with this unless you are pulled there).

~ Sandra

Re: Knight of Wands

 Free write-another look at Dorothea- only read the prompt, so now will read what others have said. I like to have a clean mind before entering my own writing…
10 minute write.

Please have at it, I have only spell checked…and it is a first draft!
Aley




 

She only had fifteen minutes left. Fifteen minutes. Shifting her legs, she finished wiping down the beaded sheet of glass left moist by the Windex. She bent down and picked up the paper towel roll from the floor and returned it to the rolling work cart. Seeing the towel rack needed replenishing she stooped to get fresh neatly folded towels from her stash. The faint odor of beach filed her nostrils as she laid them on the stainless steel shelf above the toilet.

Turning, she noticed a piece of paper on the floor that had fallen from the bureau and against the wall. Reaching down to get it, a green color fell out of the hotel stationary and onto the floor. It was $50.

Dorothea stepped back and was unsure of what to do next. Picking up the $50 bill, she held both items in her hand as she went over to sit in the seat by the window. Pulling her glasses out of her pocket, she read the paper determining the message was indeed for her.

Hello and thank you!

I travel all over the world and stay in many hotels far and wide. Last night I arrived in this room after a difficult flight and a message from my boss that I had lost my job. I was in agony. What would I do now? I went through many agonizing hours, trying to figure out how to tell my family, how to pay my bills, how to face my friends. My job was my life! What now?

I fell asleep for awhile and cried. I thought about the inequity in the world, the savage horrors, how I would now live my life. When I awakened I saw a little card on the bureau that read:

This room has been cleaned and prepared for your comfort by: Dorothea.

It occurred to me, maybe for the first time that someone or something would prepare a place for me. I have seen many hotel workers who work hard to earn money in their lives with little reward. I became aware that signs along the away can instruct us if we but take the time to read them and be aware.

I am leaving $50 for you, I wish it were more, but I hope this helps and reminds you that your work is appreciated by thousands of guests that come through this hotel every year. If you can continue your job, I know I can find some way to find work myself.

Brotherly love,

James

Dorothea was stunned. Many times she had felt alone, thinking no one cared or noticed the care she took to provide others with a clean room for a weary traveler.

A tear fell from her eyes. Now her boys would be able to eat breakfast. Then this was the place where Dorothea smiled.

Re: Knight of Wands

Hey dear Aley, can you re-post this to my assignments  section - I'll take a look at it over there!
Thanks,
Sandra

Re: Knight of Wands

Hey dear Aley, can you re-post this to my assignments  section - I'll take a look at it over there!
Thanks,
Sandra