The Fearless
"Out beyond ideas
of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field.
I'll meet you there"
-Jelaluddin Rumi, 13th century
(Ed and Iris meet in a dream, in a field, where anything is possible.)
Iris:
Love! You must be asleep.
Out beyond desires and fears
there is a field,
I'll meet you there.
Ed:
I was indeed sleeping.
But I'm in that field now, where are you?
Iris:
I'm not sure.
Somewhere with my feet leading me, and memories dripping from my fingertips.
Ed:
I have called. Cried out even.
In the mist of the sunrise I've looked beyond the wheat and wildflowers, past the magnificent oaks of the wood line.
Ive heard the voices of the morning birds, but their songs have fallen on lonely ears.
Iris:
Is that what that beautiful song was?
Ed:
There's a swing in this oak.
Lonelier than I.
Untested in its solitude and seclusion.
Abandoned by those of us afraid to be beyond fear, and further than our own desires.
Iris:
I'll meet you there!
Ed:
I'm already waiting.
Ed:
There's a clearing here, where the oaks form a circle. Standing guard of this most private of places. Their long crooked branches with deep rough bark nearly rest on the ground, as if arthritic and buckling under the weight of the wispy moss.
Here is where the tender flowers grow.
Protected by the mighty oak whose offering, is not too much sun, and not too much shade.
That beasts of this size are required for the life of something so soft, so small that a whisper, if spoken too loudly, could whisk it away is a testament to the magic of this forest.
So now, with sunlight filtered and the winds hushed down to a broken breeze, and the clearing floor alive with delicate colors, I can rest. I am protected.
And I will wait. Like the flowers, the oaks offer me solitude and a spot to flourish.
I see you here!
Amongst the posies and the pansies.
You've blended with the supple. Thousands of petals touching, pushing, holding against your body, unaware you're not one of them.
They cover enough of you so as you are not bare. There's decency even in the primal.
But it's what's left uncovered that causes even the oaks to cast their eyes heavenward.
Iris:
We have found one another!
In this place I thought was true only in our dreams.
Cast off your clothes, your fears, lay beside me.
Ed:
But my fear lies in my vulnerability, my awareness in truth.
My memory.
My fear is the past.
It creeps froward in perfect time, remaining in the gap, as if to never fully distinguish itself.
It needs the shadow to disguise its true self.
Can I only watch you from here?
Iris:
My darling, these flowers have no memory.
They do not know they suffered death only last winter.
They do not know this same fate awaits.
If they did how could they bear to continue on for the ages?
Who could agree to die a thousand deaths?
Now come, lay amongst the forgotten, the tender and fearless.
Be with us.
Lose your memory here.
Ed:
I will. But how long can we stay?
Iris:
That swing you spoke of, will you push me on it?
Ed:
Yes.
Iris:
Will you push me forever?
Ed:
I'd love to.
But what about winter?
Iris:
What's winter?
Ed:
It's the dark time.
It's cold.
The leaves will fall from the oaks and allow the winds in.
The biting wind will cut through us, it's frost will descend upon us, the oaks will betray us.
The soft will not survive.
Surly it will come. Every year it comes.
Iris:
Come, lay with me my love.
Don't allow your fears to rob you.
Don't allow them to steal the beauty that's so fragile.
Here, I have this spot for you. It's been waiting.
Ed:
It's so soft here.
The petals supporting my body.
It's clear!
This is where I flourish.
Iris:
No more fear of winter?
Ed:
What is winter?