The Story of Fanny Piff (A Personal Myth)

Dream Nameless

     There was a nameless town of many cultures that sat at a crossroads between the three kingdoms of Haverworth, Valinoth, and Ixie, respectively.  The town sprang up around a small spring surrounded by three lemon trees, each tree facing one of the three kingdoms.  The town’s founding happened when three trading caravans, one from each kingdom, all happened to meet up one day in Autumn around the clear, glittering spring.  That the traders all happened upon the place at once was mere chance, wasn’t it?  Whatever the case, their six day journeys to and from each of the other kingdoms, having been cut in half by the chance encounter, became the foundation of the town that grew there.  The unique location made the place a center for trade and commerce between the three kingdoms that the town soon had a monopoly on, but there was always one problem.  The people from each of the three kingdoms all had different ideas of what the name of the town should be, but once it came time to decide a name, the campground-come-village had seen a generation or two and the children born of traders from entirely different towns no longer cared to be associated with one kingdom or another.  The area was simply known as The Crossroads, though no one that lived there particularly liked the name (or the notion that The Crossroads’ citizens would be referred to as Crossroadians, Crossroadanites, or Crossroaders).  Instead, they all chose to have their town be nameless until they could all agree or until one of the kingdoms decided to annex them and force them to take on a name.

One of those (bursting) times . . .

Did you ever have one of those weird nights where all of a sudden your humanity is made apparent and the terror and wonder of this is simply too much to bear?  It's like this great freeing weight that's trying to crawl right through your chest and explode in energy and abandon.  You know that it won't last, but you've got to do something with all the feeling- it's going to leave as soon as you stop rejoicing or crying or wondering or loving or hoping or knowing.  Like a petulant child you're screaming in your head, "No!  I don't want to let it go! It's not fair! It's not fair!"  But there it goes, softly and quietly and disturbingly, particle by particle into the humid summer air that fills the room.

O, I haven't been connected to it for such a long time that my body can't handle it's onset, much less its departure!  It is the pain that a body seeks out and revels in with heartbreaking abandon, this wonder-feeling.  I'm sorry!  I'm sorry I haven't been there to feel you!  I'm sorry I haven't been there to let your presence be known to me and the people that I try to touch with my work. I'm sorry that I have done no work. I can't apologize and you don't even know what remorse is, you can't feel it because you are simple energy, The Good, The Mystery, The Grace.

I am having an epiphany, and now I see that I am a servant.  I am a servant of hope because I want to capture you in words, though no one has been able to yet.  Our valiant efforts just tell us that we are still alive and that in the end the effort is worth it because it shows others that there is something to reach for. This is what a religion should be.  It should be feeling connection instead of severing it. I don't know how to love this feeling yet because it is so shattering and wholesome.  Only I can forgive myself for letting it fall by the wayside for so long.
More coherence, after the jump.