by Jann Burner
There it stood--imaginatively cloaked in dense jungle vine, securely wrapped, each stone a separate package in jungle moss. The centuries-old, cold stone castle hovered in the moist, warm foggy vapors, silent, like a ruin at the bottom of the ocean, like a scene from the depths of the Big Sea.
It had twenty-seven rooms and antechambers, three corner turrets and one medium-tall tower. Circling around the once nobel structure ran a moat both deep and wide, filled with the irradiant runoff from the distant caves of the most mysterious Nth Degree. Beside the medium-tall windowless tower was a massive, grated metal gate and drawbridge. Fortunately for Harry, the gate was open and the bridge was down. Indeed, as he approached he could see that the bridge had been down and the gate open for a very long time. In fact, the wooden drawbridge was secured in place by trees hundreds of feet tall that at one time had been but tiny burls attached to the rough underplanking used in the bridges original construction.
As Harry threaded his way between the massive trees of redwood and across the bridge, there was no fear in his heart, for he intuitively felt that peace reigned in this ancient place. He could feel it clinging to the walls like condensation. He walked through the open rusted gate and into a wide central courtyard.
"Hello!" he yelled, listening to his voice roll through the cold stony interior of the apparently empty castle. "Hello!" he yelled again, listening for the echo. "I've been sent to this place by Sir Vain, the White Knight!"
"And who," came a booming reply, "is this Sir Vain creature that he should fling open my noble door to youthful transients of dubious origin?"
Harry observed someone standing in the shadows on the far side of the courtyard. As he looked closer, he could see an old man standing proud, his luxurious, long white hair and beard extending out and around his face like crystals of ice, high in an autumn sky. His rather short, thin body was wrapped in an overlong, dirty black robe and he stood looking at Harry, impatiently tapping one foot. He looked more like a foolish old hobo than the rightful master of this once noble estate. The old man beckoned towards Harry with a long thin hand and turning, disappeared through a heavy wooden door. Harry followed through the door and down a dark entryway into the main part of the castle and emerged in a large room brightly lit with candles, torches and oil lamps. In the center of the room was a long dining table, surrounded by at least fifty high-backed wooden chairs. Heavy tapestries depicting heroic scenes from ancient times adorned all the walls. Directly opposite the entryway, against the far wall, four, high stone steps led up to a platform and upon the platform sat a large intricately carved wooden throne. The old graybeard stood beside the throne.
"Well?" he inquired. "Who are you and what of this Sir Vain creature you speak of?" The old man stood impatiently with his hands on his hips waiting for the booming echo of his own voice to subside.
As Harry launched into his explanation the gray beard began to pace and strut upon the stage, growing ever more impatient. In his practiced poses and rehearsed expressions of peevish impatience, Harry thought he detected an accomplished actor unashamed. Though his body was indeed frail, his form seemed to contain a strong and vital energy that sustained him in smooth, cat-like movements that separated and defined his carefully practiced series of foolish old man stances and poses. Like an ancient Peter Pan or a cynical Santa Claus, he was a most resourceful wizard constantly grinning off sparks from the corners of his eyes. It was his eyes that gave him away, for there was an irony in the lines circling there about, folding back upon themselves in the memory of once recorded laughter.
Finally the old wizard interrupted Harry with a feigned expression of total exasperation. "I have no idea what you are talking about, young man, but I can assure you that there is no White Knight!"
"But I can assure you, sir, I met him! He told me his name was Sir Vane the Avenger, and that he lived in this castle!"
"My dear boy, this individual you encountered in the forest, was he dressed in a white smock and riding an old white plow horse?"
"Plow horse! Sir, the horse he was riding was a most fearsome beast, certainly not a plow horse and as far as his clothing, I can assure you that he was wearing white heavy metal scales and not a smock!"
"My dear boy, how you exaggerate. What an imagination. The person you encountered in the forest was undoubtedly my personal man servant."
"But, he told me his name was Sir Vane, the Avenger."
"Now you do exaggerate. He probably just said he was 'serving the avenger.' I am the avenger and he is my servant. Quite simple now, don't you see? He was just playing."
"But sir, when he rescued me from the Black Knight, he certainly wasn't playing!"
"Of course he was," said the old wizard in a loud booming voice. "Or rather, he was attempting to play. You see, my servant has a fine and noble heart, but his mental growth has been neglected, which is not to say he is crazed, no, no, that's quite another matter; rather, he is stuck at the level of 'Ambition'".
"Ambition?" Harry inquired.
"Yes," said the old one, "Survival, Ambition, Love and Play, now don't you know--the four steps to Ecstasy. The five movements which compose the human symphony or the five acts that make up the human comedy."
"No," Harry said, feeling estranged from what was apparently common knowledge. "I'm afraid I've never heard of the 'Four Steps.'"
The old man looked at him in utter disbelief. "Yes, yes, you understand. Of course you do! I understand what I am saying perfectly well and if I understand, you certainly understand! Do you understand what I am saying?"
Harry seated himself on one of the high-backed chairs that lined the long table. The old man sauntered down from the dais and began to pace back and forth in front of Harry explaining what he already understood, but didn't realize he understood. Harry felt the need to interrupt the man and establish one important point.
"Excuse me, sir, but I really am completely lost."
The wizard stopped in mid-stride and turned towards him with laughing eyes and an expression of mock horror.
"Lost, you say? My, my, that is a problem."
"Yes, it is. I mean, I'm sorry to interrupt but really...I'm afraid I've lost my way. I have no idea where I am, nor am I even sure how I managed to find myself so lost."
"Is that so?"
Harry nodded seriously and then started to smile, realizing that the old man was putting him on. At the first sign of his smile, his host abruptly stepped back and struck a dramatic pose with one hand clasped compassionately across his chest. He then began to speak as if he were a politician delivering a speech .
"My good man, life is a veritable bog of petty annoyances and minor distractions, all intent on capturing our attention and thereby diverting the errant spirit from its rightful path..."
"Yes sir! That is certainly how it seems to me."
The old wizard looked quizzically at Harry. "Is that so?" he said, slowly stroking his long white beard. "And where was it that you were before you became ah...lost?"
"Oh..." Harry said, "I'm afraid I've been lost for a long while. But I seem to remember...an old house high on a hill."
"You don't say?" rejoined the old graybeard raising his voice dubiously. "A likely story. Why, I bet there really isn't even any such place."
"Oh, yes there is. Of that I'm sure."
"Now, now I'm sure you think there is such a place, but I suspect that it is more apt to be found within your head than upon any specific piece of ground. And if 'home,' as you remember it, is in your head, then I ask you, how could you ever be lost? Just remember young man, wherever you go, there you are."
"But then there is really no such thing or place as home?"
"On the contrary," replied his host with a sly smile. "Everywhere you go, wherever you find yourself, anywhere you can even imagine...is home."
"Why, that is comforting," said Harry, "but hard to believe."
"The truest things in life are often the hardest to believ
e," said the wizard with a wink. "It is easy to imagine the dreadful, the horrid, the threatening. But just to cast your eyes upon the world and see a veil of gloom doesn't make it true, just easy." And with another wink, he swirled his dirty black robe around him like an ermine cape and immediately stumbled over a nearby chair. "It all depends upon how you look at it."
Suddenly he leaped up and straddled a nearby bench as if it were an unruly horse. "You see," he continued, "one person might become lost in the mere act of survival, while to another, survival would pose no challenge, rather his own ambition might prove to be his undoing. So it goes with love, play and even ecstasy!"
Harry smiled. "Yes, of course, the four steps to Ecstasy."
The old man smiled back, "Now you've got it! Now you've got it."
"Oh, but I'm not sure I do." Harry said.
"But of course you do," said the wizard, resuming his pacing. "At least you remembered, it's almost the same thing. It's just that you don't see what you truly understand. We see what we once understood and we see what we wish to know. Very few of us ever really see what we understand at the moment." He paused to stroke his beard. "We never see the step we are presently standing on, only the one in front and the one to the rear."
"Ahhh..." Harry said with gradual realization. "As I climb the stairs I fill which ever step I stand on, thus I only see the one in front and the one immediately behind?"
"Exactly! What did I tell you, eh?" The little old man took a small bow and then dashed across the spacious hall with the agility of a quick grey fox. He ran alongside the large table, across the tiled floor and up the four steps to his throne.
Harry stood and approached the throne, "But sir..." he said in a rather loud, but respectful voice. "I still say Sir Vane was not playing out there in the forest when he rescued me from the Black Knight!"
The wizard spun around and fell smoothly backwards into its time honored softness of his throne.
"Of course, you do. I'm not deaf! It's quite obvious to me what you say, and why you say it! Now approach the throne."
Harry moved tentatively forward, feeling as if he was within the grip of some powerful force field.
"No, no!" said the graybeard. "Come even closer and I will show you what you know, but cannot see. Stand upon the first step."
"Now, you are standing on the first step and it is called Survival...eh?"
Harry nodded
"So, look in front of you and behind you and tell me what you see."
Harry looked to the front and to the rear and then recited his observations in a high, clear voice, like the attentive student that he imagined himself to be. "In front of me I see the next step is Ambition and behind me I see...oblivion."
"Exactly right! Now, take the next step and tell me what you see."
Obediently, Harry stepped up and felt himself relax. "Why, I see Survival behind me and Love next in store."
The old man feigned limp applause, "Very good. Very good! And now..." He motioned and the young man ascended yet another step.
"Now I see Ambition as a thing of the past and Play ahead of me as my desire."
The wizard smiled.
"Oh," Harry said. "I see what you say now! This third step is where your man servant stands."
"Exactly correct!" said the old man, standing and abruptly whipping off his dirty robe with a flourish and carefully laying it over the arm of his throne. Beneath his robe he wore a magnificently beaded shirt with curious patterns. "His only reality is his past, thus he sees himself as stuck in the rather sticky realm of Ambition!"
"Ah ha," Harry said as if suddenly discovering the source of a rather annoying noise. "But his real desire is to play. So you help him to play..."
The old man reseated himself once again upon his throne. "You need not specify 'real,' young man. There is no degree to desire. Desire either is or it isn't! But yes, you are essentially correct. You see, since he relies on a past level of awareness to point the direction toward a future desired goal, he wishes me to assign him tasks so that he might win over the challenge of the task and thus realize his ambition."
"That must wear you out, thinking up things for him to do."
"Yes indeed, yes indeed! You're catching on, and you're right, of course. A dismal prospect thinking up continual tasks. So, one fine day I decided to cut directly to the root of the matter and assign him a perpetual task. I say perpetual task, which is what play is in essence...a perpetual task!"
"You mean tracking down the elusive Black Knight?"
"Balderdash!" said the wizard explosively. "I most assuredly do not mean tracking down any such thing! I don't wish to startle you, I mean, don't become faint, but you still don't seem to catch on...there is no Black Knight!"
"But..." Harry said. "The black arrow? I saw it!"
"The arrow, the arrow...a rose by any other name would still stink of sweet romance and bitter intrigue. It's all in the name, my good man." He crooked his index finger toward Harry and bent over. "A secret, my friend, as well as a riddle: If there were such a thing as creativity and if such a creature were to have a home, where do you think it would live? On the fourth step, of course! Play and creation are synonymous expressions describing the same activity. So..." he continued in hushed tones. "One fine morning, when my servant came to me in hope of cajoling me into assigning him yet another meaningless task, I happened to unobtrusively place the black arrow in his pack. It was the same one that you observed in the forest. He discovered it, of course, and came directly to me with the wicked-looking wand and asked my impression. Well, I examined it closely and looked at it most studiously and then handed it back to him and said...'Hummm, what do you make of it?' From that day forth, he has never bothered to ask me for another assigned task."
Harry had to smile. "You mean he invented the Black Knight?"
The old man nodded with a smile. "Everything! The armor, weapons, horse vestments...the full catastrophe!"
"But that is certainly remarkable!"
"Not so remarkable, look where he was standing."
And Harry looked down at the step he occupied: it was, of course, the third step...Love.
"Though his desire is to play," said the wizard, "and though his past lies with Ambition, it is the space of Love that his innate awareness presently occupies and love, at least in the initial stages, can be a vengeful and creative master. Thus, with nothing more substantial than a single black arrow, he became the White Knight: Sir Vain, my avenger and protector!"
"And all of that came from just the one black arrow-amazing."
"Not so amazing when you think that universes have started with less..."
"But surely, he must realize by now that there is no Black Knight?"
"One would assume," said the wizard, carefully placing his hands upon the arms of his throne, "since it was he who shot the black bolt at you!"
"And he could have killed me! How was I to know there wasn't any Black Knight?"
"How indeed!" chuckled the old man, "Wouldn't be any fun if you both knew. Let me tell you, though, I don't think it is play for him. No, I can assure you of that. I'm afraid he will have little realization of play for a long while yet. We are still witnessing the Ambition he utilizes to fuel his Love, in order to ah...play."
Harry looked into the wizard's wrinkled face. It had as many lines as a cross-sectioned log from an unbearably ancient tree. He took another step up towards the platform.
"Who are you, anyway? Or maybe I should ask, 'what' are you?"
He slowly cleaned his pipe and looked up from time to time at Harry standing brightly on the fourth step. He admitted only to having once been a specialist in 'pre-war reality;' an organizer of divergent opinions and other people's prejudices. Made a fortune once changing lead into gold. Harry pressed him for details, but he immediately cut the traveler short.
"Let's just say that what I once was, I was. The important thing to remember is
that I am...now! In fact, I am what I am as much as possible."
When pressed for his proper name, he once again evaded the subject.
"And what is it to you, my young friend? Making a list? Writing a book??
"Why no, but it is just proper to exchange names when meeting a new person. I find it helps immeasurably in remembering one's past experiences to be able to connect a specific event with a particular name."
"Young man," replied the old man with a rueful glance, "there are only three reasons why any reasonable person would ever have need of a proper name. One, if he were accustomed to using the public mails. And two, if he habitually frequented crowded places. I do neither."
"And?"
"And what?"
"You said there were three reasons. What's the third?"
The old graybeard looked Harry directly in the eye, "I forget!" he said.
"You forget? How could anyone forget something as important as the third most important reason for having a proper name?"
He stood up and dramatically pointed his pipe at Harry like a small gun.
"Look. I'll remember you as a fourth level vagabond on an ecstasy quest and you can remember me as a playful, foolish old goat, sitting on the throne of ecstasy dreaming of a timeless place! Is it a deal?"
Harry glanced down at the level on which he was standing and then up at the old man seated in his high chair and realized that a truth had been shared.
The wizard observed his moment of inner reflection. "Listen, Harry, let me give you some advice. In case you haven't noticed yet, the transition stages are the hardest. When you are going up or coming down, you are vulnerable--the window is open. When the elevator is moving, there are no doors between floors. The blast of reality will blow right through! Sometimes it will blow right through you and other times it will blow you right through, to the other side of the maze where all things are...different."
Suddenly the old man smiled and begin to fumble around in his pockets like a mime in an old time movie. For the first time, Harry consciously noted the small, clear glass pipe that the old man had been holding in his hand.
"Say, ah," said the wizard, nervously patting his empty pockets. "I seem to have misplaced my smoke..." He looked woefully at Harry and rolled his eyes in imitation of a bowery bum. "You wouldn't happen to have any, ah...extra?"
Harry stepped forward, only too glad to assist, but as he started to lift his left foot onto the platform that held the throne, the old man stopped him with a shriek!
"Look out! Easy now. My good fellow, if you step one, I say, one foot upon this stone platform, you'll quickly turn into a frog or worse," his hand fluttered through the air, "a bat! And," said the wizard with an upward glance, "goodness knows there are certainly enough of those furry little creatures around here already!"
As Harry glanced up into the smoky gloom that hovered about the wide wooden beams of the roof, he could detect what appeared to be the animated flicker of hundreds, perhaps thousands of the small sullen black forms.
At that very instant the old man quickly scampered down off his throne, almost knocking Harry over, and assumed a seat at the long table in the center of the room. When Harry regained his balance, he withdrew the pouch and handed the last remaining leaf to the wizard. The old man looked rather doubtfully at the mixture and then tentatively sniffed it as if it were the decaying remains of an exotic animal. He shook his head, wrinkled his nose and quickly tossed a sizable pinch over his left shoulder and then touched a second pinch to the tip of his tongue. Harry watched in surprise. He was about to voice his objections to the old man for wasting his last remaining leaf when suddenly the wizard smiled, as if satisfied, and began to cheerfully pack his pipe.
"Never can be too careful these days!" he uttered with searing conviction.
Harry nodded. As the wizard touched flame to pipe, he leaned back comfortably in his chair and lifted his feet up onto the table, motioning for Harry to do the same.
From the courtyard, they suddenly heard the agonized roar of a lion.
"It's the lizard," the kindly old gentleman said with a wink, "thinks he's a dog."
After a few moments of silence, he blew a satisfying stream of smoky vapor between his yellowed teeth, handed Harry the pipe and said, "You may call me...And."
Harry looked at him. "And what?"
"And, nothing. Just AND! You wanted a name, a cage, a container, a mental recovery symbol for your idea and memory of me, so think of and refer to me as...AND."
"But I don't think I understand." Harry said. "What sort of a name is AND? It doesn't even mean anything? It doesn't make any sense."
The wizard peered at him through the smoky blue haze.
"At least I don't think it means anything..." Harry said, wavering beneath the wizard's steady gaze. "I could be wrong..."
The wizard continued to stare at him through an apparently never ending stream of smoky possibility and rising expectation.
"So, O.K.!" Harry said, abandoning prior prejudice and making the blind intellectual leap necessary to transform a conjunction into a proper noun. "'And' it is!" And suddenly, somehow, it seemed to fit. "By the way, my name is Harry," he added quickly, almost as an after thought. "Glad to meet you."
"By the lizard, there's only one creature that's got leaf like this!" And suddenly rocked forward in his chair, dropping his feet to the floor and bringing his fist down hard upon the wooden table with a resounding smack! "By Jove, this smoke is smooth! This calls for a drink. What do you say? Got time for a drink?"
Harry nodded affirmatively and fearing that And hadn't heard him, he announced yet again, "By the way my name is Harry and..."
And's hand slapped down explosively upon the table once again as he erupted in laughter. "I know who you are, boy. I also know where you are from and, I might add, I even know where you are going." At that point his laughter erupted in short ominous bursts, like fire from an automatic weapon, threatening to send him tumbling from his chair.
And then stood up and began shouting. "Where is he?" he bellowed, slapping the large refectory table like a gong.
"Where is who?" Harry inquired.
"Where is Who?" said And. "Who, indeed!"
And with that, the old wizard collapsed into his chair which immediately tipped over backward, sending its occupant sprawling.
Harry leapt to his feet just as the old man's head popped into view over the table's edge.
"Sir Vain is Who! My White Knight, my champion, my...wine steward! That's who! Ah, ha, ha, ha..." And down again he went in a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
Harry had to laugh. "Where are you going?" he said, observing And crawling across the cold stone floor on his hands and knees.
"Where is Who going?" replied And, innocently.
Harry was now laughing hard.
"No," he said, "Who is out playing."
At that, And began to laugh so hard, he fell over on his back and began to kick and paw at the air. "Ahhhhh, ha,ha...no, no. He that is 'Who' is out searching. It is you and I that are playing!"
"But who are you...really?" Harry said, suddenly serious again.
"Ah, ha, ha," laughed And, struggling to his feet. "That is really funny. Who am I, indeed. Certainly not an open ended question-ah, ha, ha, ha!"
And with that he ran from the room, holding his side with one hand while trying to slip on his dirty black robe with the other. As he departed the room, Harry picked up the fallen chair and slid it back into place. And's head suddenly popped back into view around the corner of the doorway. "Be back in a FLASH!" he said and as Harry stared in utter disbelief, there was a brilliant flash of light and And miraculously stood before him holding a cut crystal decanter of amber fluid in his gnarled old hands. "You look like a man who could use a drink," he said, matter-of-factly.
"How did you do that?" Harry asked.
"How did who do what?" replied the wizard with a sly smile.
>
The young man was astonished. "How did you do that? With the flash of light?"
And looked at him and began to laugh again.
"No," Harry said, "Seriously, I mean how were you able to vanish and then reappear in front of me holding that decanter?"
And looked sternly at him and shook his finger in mock admonishment. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, my liege. Haven't you yet realized that there are no truths, no dragons, no...serious?"
And shook his head sadly and walked to the table and set the decanter down beside two clear-cut, crystal goblets which had quite mysteriously appeared. "If it truly be 'serious,' that you desire, Harry, I can assure you that there is world enough, as well as time, and if you should find that even that be not enough, then rest assured you've but to die, and eternity will gladly offer up the necessary space for you to fill with your...'seriousness!' I kindly request, though, that as long as you are within these hallowed halls, please refrain from uttering that word! Do I make myself clear?"
Harry was stunned, as well as a little ashamed, for once again he knew in his heart that his vanity had managed to slip between that which he truly desired and that which he had merely observed. He also felt that somewhere behind the raucous laughter of And was a level of reality whose gravity made his own 'seriousness' appear quite absurd.
While Harry was thus lost in reflection, And had began to slowly fill the two goblets with the dark amber fluid. As Harry watched, he felt the tension in the air, and in a sincere attempt to break the mood, he uttered a rather brash reply to And's request.
"And what if I don't," he muttered satirically, "refrain from being serious?"
And looked up at him in disbelief, as if he had been slapped. Then the deep furrows etched in his face began to deepen and bend slowly into a simple, peaceful smile-indeed, a living model of the very first smile.
"If you don't," said And quite simply, "I'll merely transform you instantaneously into a real human being and compel you to take tap dancing lessons along with the rest of the company!" And with that he winked and handed Harry a glass full of the dark fluid.
"To the Dreamer of All That Is," he said raising his glass in toast. "May his sleep be pleasant and untroubled."
Harry raised his glass also. "To the Dreamer of All That Is!"
And of course after the first toast, came a second, and then a third, and then...