by Jann Burner
A large tawny long haired cat with green flashing eyes sauntered into the main hall and over And's drunken prostrate form with scarcely a flicker of recognition. The bushy blonde feline then stalked directly over to Harry, rubbed up once against his leg, gave him a high arching glance, and with a low moan was gone; out of the room, down the hall and up the steep, sudden stairs immediately beyond the big double doors. Harry was up on his feet and moving out the door and up the stairs after the cat, all thoughts of the old wizard and the past evening's drinking bout having suddenly evaporated from his mind like bubbles from the top of a glass of cheap champagne.
By the time he topped the stairs, he observed the cat, half way down a long hall, glance back over its shoulder with a withering look and then dart through a small, grey, oaken door at the very end of the gloom-darkened passage. Harry quickly followed and, ducking low through the door, found himself to be in a small, circular, cold stone room. Suddenly the door through which he had just passed slammed shut with a harsh brittle snap, plunging him into total darkness. It was as if someone had snatched his eyes from out of his head. The darkness so surprised him that he inadvertently moaned, and in that moaning, he distinctly heard a second moan. And then there was a flash of light so bright it fell like an explosion in a drunkard?s tomb, illuminating a narrow staircase that climbed up towards the ceiling, where there was another door. It was small and metal and slowly opening. The door continued to open until the spreading beam of light fell full upon his face and then it stopped and began to draw him up the stairs slowly, one step at a time, like a warm fog rising off a cool sea. Finally, as if hypnotized, Harry reached the top stair and extended his hand toward the partially open door when a husky female voice cried out.
"Don't touch that door, traveler!"
His hand jumped back as if it had received a strong electrical shock
"Who are you and what is it that you could possibly want from me?" The smooth syrupy voice then erupted into laughter rich in erotic implication and promise. "As if I didn't know..."
Harry stood dumbstruck in front of the black metal door and recited his name and mission like a tradesman lost in a strange town on a very dark and remote street. As he finished, he found that he was shivering from the cold draft that seemed to emanate from beyond the partially opened door. He stepped forward once again and extended his hand only to be stopped again by the voice.
"Stay your hand, gypsy, and do not enter this space, for the cold you feel now is nothing compared to the cold you will feel if you enter this room."
"But who are you?" Harry inquired, feeling as if he were drugged or perhaps asleep.
She laughed, "Don't get impatient, Harry. Our time will come, but our time is not yet and it must not be forced. It is I who will come to you, my young friend, and not the other way around. It is Desire's only daughter who lays in wait in the white heat of passion for her prey. My quest is for gratification--immediate and personal. I eat humans and swallow the seed, but right now I have no appetite for dreamers. Your yearning is for the stuff that forms universes and art. You don't seek union with a woman. Your desire will not be satiated short of a mystic union with the Dreamer of All That Is. Now leave here and forget about this room. It is a dank, cold space that should not be frequented by young visionaries."
And with that, the door eased shut with a metallic snap that caused him to shudder. Once again he stood in darkness, his sight momentarily plucked from his consciousness, leaving him blind with nothing but the memory of a low, husky female voice, rich and throaty in its vibrant implication and soft promise.
Meanwhile, downstairs, it was a new day. And was up and about, moving through the cold, stony lonesomeness of his castle just as he moved through the warm brilliance of his own consciousness and that was, in a word, effortlessly. With but one body to share, And was a close knit family, parent, adult, and child. The movement between these three facets of self was a fluid and joyful celebration. The silken fibers of And's imaginings were spun by a delicate hand. To be in the presence of the man spewing out his statements or laboring at his tasks was to witness a living realization of rhythm and harmony. To be with And was to be in the presence of a creator, for the way he danced out his life was art, which is not to say that his life was particularly beautiful. In fact, when Harry later entered the main hall and stood quietly watching And feed large logs into the gigantic stone fireplace, he marveled at how such an extraordinary character could be housed in such a dismal, damp and cluttered house. For in truth, the roof leaked, moss grew on some of the interior walls, and, stacked helter skelter throughout the width and breadth of the structure, were boxes and piles and piles and boxes of what could only be described as...stuff! Extra thoughts no doubt, as yet unneeded, but lying in wait and occupying physical form, ready for some "might be, could be" tomorrow. Stacks and piles of answers to as yet unasked questions.
"Where have you been?" asked And turning from the massive fireplace and rubbing his hands together in appreciation of the sudden warmth.
"I've just come from the tower," Harry said, entering the room and seating himself on the plush red velvet couch that stood in front of the fireplace.
"You don't say..." said And slowly twirling his long white moustache. "And what, may I ask, did you find in the tower?"
"The woman. Desire's only daughter," Harry said, watching the flames leaping about.
"What woman?" inquired And with wide eyes.
Harry looked up from the fire. "What woman?"
"Yes," said And. "What woman? What did she look like?"
"Well," Harry said, "I didn't really see her, you see..."
"So!" said And casually interrupting him and turning back toward the fire, "you didn't meet her."
"But I did!" Harry said. "I spoke with her and she spoke with me."
And turned towards him. "But you didn't meet her," he said with much gravity. "You have known me because I am a foolish old man and you can see a 'me to be,' but the lady in the tower is a different matter entirely. In your present position, there is no reason for you to meet Desire's only daughter, save beyond a heavy metal door in the uppermost tower room of an ancient stone structure imagined by a youthful visionary on the track of a dream."
Harry leaned back heavily into the massive red couch. "But, I talked with her and she answered with a voice and thoughts of her own. She was very nice and I'm sure I would recognize her if and when we should ever meet again."
"Did you perhaps catch sight of her shadow as it passed by the crack beneath the door?"
"Well, no..."
"Then how would you recognize her?"
"Well, perhaps through her distinctive voice?"
And frowned slightly, "And what would that tell you?"
"It would tell me that she was the daughter of Desire, the very same one I spoke with this day in the tower of And's castle."
"Ah, my young friend," said the old graybeard as he stood down from the fireplace. "The creature you are speaking of is Lust and it does not reside in the soft lilt of a young woman's voice nor does it inhabit the tower room of this stony residence. And, for all your perceptual acuity, you will not have the luxury of observing its approach. Should you encounter Lust in 'real life,' rest assured that it will not be through the eyes of a visionary, for Lust is not an observable outer phenomenon, but an intense inner force that comes not as a friend with glad hand extended, nor as a lover with open heart, but as a furtive spy in the night, nostrils flared, eyes raging, intent on grabbing your total attention by its primordial root and shaking you back to your primitive past."
And hesitated for a moment to make sure that Harry was paying proper attention. "Once you make the sudden acquaintance of Lust, my young friend, you will never again mistake her for another, for she is a most impolite visitor. When Lust comes to call, she never knocks."
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Come on now, surely you exaggerate. She certainly didn't sound anything like that t
o me. In fact, she sounded perfectly fine."
And sat down next to Harry on the couch and spoke to him most sincerely. "The only thing 'fine' about Lust, Harry, is her fickle restlessness. If her sudden appearance should ever cause you to become anxious, take heart in the knowledge that she will not stay long, and try to relax and draw comfort from her leaving and not from her coming..."
Harry folded his arms behind his head and looked up toward the ceiling. He found this all very strange and hard to believe. "If what you say is true, then why would I have even thought that I met and conversed with this creature?"
And shrugged. "Your desire led you here to this old stony fortress so that you might be allowed a rest, a point of reference, a brief, if illusory respite on your trek between the quick and the dead. Likewise your imagination placed the idea of a female held captive high in a tower. Why you chose Lust only you can answer. Perhaps it is still simmering somewhere on a back burner or maybe it will present itself eventually in a form other than female. Remember, Harry, that Lust is an evolutionary part of a human's nature and can assume any shape. Why, in some places in space, it is rumored that people have even lusted after inanimate objects..."
"Objects?" Harry found this incomprehensible.
"Sure," said And. "Automobiles, stereophonic sound systems, real estate, stocks and bonds, jewelry. Why, in certain advanced societies--towards the end--people even lusted after initials like M.D., Phd, DDS, LLD, MA, BA, AA."
Harry smiled and nodded his head as if to acknowledge that the pathways encountered in the mind of man were simply beyond comprehension. "Anything is possible..." he said, "Anything is possible. But what about you, my friend? The Geni of Desire made no mention of you either."
And smiled, "And that is to your credit and as it should be, for both Desire and And are but aspects of the vision, Harry, and not the other way around. You do not merely sit passively like a clerk checking off a list of events called your life! The soul's sense of vision is the crystal, Harry. The Geni of Desire, as well as myself, are but two of the many necessary facets that must be cut in order for the crystal to refract the light of The Dreamer. The glare and flicker of brilliance from the stone, is simply your life, lived! This whole castle experience is a seed, an idea placed within your mind by the Geni and brought into being when watered by your own willful intent. Desire saw it as a sort of bench, for you to rest upon within the dense inner ring of your park-like imagination after having traversed the very distracting forest of Content."
Harry sat open mouthed, listening to the voice of And echoing down through the corridors of his young mind.
"You are a questor," said And quietly. "The seeds have been planted. You have it within you to become a jeweler in consciousness. But, listen to me run on." He stood and motioned for Harry to stand also. "Now, you've had your rest and it's time for you to continue with your journey." He touched him on the top of his head and then turned and made a motion towards the fire. "Never forget to speak the truth; remember that truth is a fire, and to speak truthfully means to shine and to burn!"
The fireplace popped and crackled and snapped and Harry was shocked into apparent wakefulness, as if from a very deep reverie, and so it was that he found himself walking rather casually alongside the purple infrared stream still playing his red bamboo flute. As he glanced about, he was surprised to see that he must have been walking in a trance for quite a long while, for the distant, white rock cliff was no longer on the far horizon. In fact, it was now no more than a mile away and he could clearly see the large open cave that loomed at the base of the stone edifice like a gaping open mouth.
