The Nomad and the Princess

19.12.2011 07:39


The Nomad and the Princess
Who knows how many times you return. Your soul is traveling all over stories and the stories travel all over your soul in the same way, they touch each other, talk, laugh and cry – they laugh and cry over their own laugh and tears. After water life and after death, dark and awesome as the sea depth, life in a desert is coming. Water spliced with blame is being changed for sand and dust and nothing is going to stop desire to learn a new face of the Death. North Africa, our era - 860 or 750, desire tribe of nomads, strollers and warriors.

Those people are the same as the desert itself, you cannot recognize them. The sand I am, the sand I am going to turn in, I rush between the desert and heaven as this sand, I am a child of the Earth – I am the Earth herself. My love is wild, passionate. My love for the Earth as well as for a woman and the woman as well as the Earth and my love for both of them as well as both sink or swim. I am a sand drift that does not stop spilling from one place to another, I am and I am not at the same time, I am as a sand atom that does not create sand storm, however what else the desert is than couple of sand atoms and what else is the tribe than you and me, racing the rocks, on steeds black like a veil of mysterious dancer.

No, it is not possible to say. It is unclear, misty, untouchable because always in move, is not going to wait for itself but what´s wrong with that? This movement is huge, gorgeous, humming, it is endless.  What is wrong on the fact it is not me – it´s desert and wind, unstoppable breeze that stopped, falls straight in non being, insensibility, cause what is the wind that does not blow, what is desert with no straight sun igniting? I am a warrior of unchained tribe, unchained myself, I myself am the whole tribe, whole kind, whole desert and Earth and heaven as I have no end and no beginning...

How simple, how gorgeous, wild, how ecstatic. 

But yet. There. Far away. You see it once and try to ignore it. Seeing it again, you peer into. And when you see it for the third time, you are lost. The city. Strange shapes. Structure. Fluent curves of the desert crashed into straight, sharp lines and those hit your eyes and your dreams. How unusual sight for nomad. And how fascinating. That inert. That stark. The shape that lasts, that does not change. Unnatural and though, so close to your eye by something. In its simplicity, in its innocence. It drops inside and does not leave your thoughts any more. Where does is this feeling, this sureness come from? Power? Strength? You do not come from this world. But what are you? What more than this world? What else?

The nomad is standing without single move with his sight fixed on the horizon, sun is setting and sharp shadows are getting larger, huger with coming darkness. Wild thoughts broke down as the wing crashing high walls. They do not understand, do not comprehend. Just like it was achy tooth, they return to the picture that grows more and more inside them.

And the wish must not be unfulfilled. So the nomad appears in front of the gate, he let it swallow him up with his head fling back, he is looking round stunned, wandering with his eyes, does not understand the sounds, voices, shapes. Where your gallop on the endless table land disappeared? You are looking round you, almost non breathing …

I am not sure what this feeling is like, reminding the nomad. Is he for the first time here? Did he see materialized thought for the first time? He watches, uncomprehending, this creation of those who forced the stream that had been his home to obey their will. Those who stood over him, over the stream, over the desert, over the world and so also over gods. He might unclearly think of Atlantis. Of the palaces belonging to people who preferred their games with stuff to games of the sea with them. However, people form Atlantis had been  swallowed up by the sea at that time and he, the dolphin, forgot in never ending games long time ago…

It is fascinating. And frightful at the same time. Yes – he is attracted by this and horrified at the same time. He does not know why. Something inside that he has not known about yet?

The nomad hushed, was struck mute, lost wind in his back and sand and rocks under his feet, it seems that he does not feel the stream any more.

Though, he cannot go back.

The city drew him into. His fortune.

Impersonated power, strength, will, existence.

And something else.

Modality that does not exist anywhere else. Something that must come from the other world. That strange. That something which penetrates into his world by people´s hands, their will, their mind. Other world? Other will? God´s will? His gods are the stream gods. You obey them and they may save you. But who are these gods? Yes, this is the battle of gods! And who are the gods of the city? He is looking for them. He must find them!

Dumb, he is standing in front of the palace. He is getting lost in exclamations of the festival. He is looking out for the rulers. Can he see them? Maybe, from a distance. It is not important because he can feel their presence everywhere. He might see them to sail in spectacular boats on the river. To sail through the crowds in high litter. They may be really gods! Who are you? He is calling them in his thoughts. They are attracting him, more and more.

And wish has to be fulfilled. Wild nomad wants to flow with gods, with these gods who are probably more powerful than those he had known before. He wants to flow unchained as he know and much more! But how in the narrow and crooked lanes? Narrow, crooked human power? No, nomad does not know this – to obey human. So it does not take much time and he is standing in front of one of these gods for thievery or other incorrectness. He does not realize human power that is keeping him. He never obeyed this, he does not know this. He, although, does not resist as he feels that the stream is carrying him to the place he wanted to be. That he will see the gods of the city soon. Or goddess?   

Yes, Berber princess. She is sitting close to him, in her veils and carpets and at the same time infinitely faraway. Power is commonplace for her. The city is commonplace for her. Her folk is commonplace for her. All their lives that she holds in white, gentle hand slovenly laid on golden arm. But the desert is enemy, it is there outside, that strange, unknown and dangers, as it is beyond control. The same as desert people. The same as him, the nomad. Behead!

Real gods? The easiness they govern with! The easiness they order death with! No counsel of patriarch, no duel, no pain, no fight body on body, life against life, knife against knife and hand against hand. What power is it?! Nomad can see divinity, it cannot be anything else! He does not realize he lost his head, that the goddess took it by one wave of that careless hand – and did not think too much of it. Death is not important for nomad. Death is actually like to cross from the top of one dune onto another, like sand storm that changes a face but never can change the desert itself. Nomad always obeys the stream, wind that blows, caravan, patriarchs, unknown, dreadful, faraway gods. And death from the hands of goddess – beautiful, alive, breathing, smooth – what else can he wish? He is faint, he held up his throat and still he is feeling like to shout about his happiness and pride …

However, something is breaking. Shout and noise. Does nomad know this voice? Graceless awakening? Nomad´s lover falls down on the stone floor in front of goddess. Please! The desert woman who tastes like a desert, making love to her is like making love to desert itself. Wild, flexible, steady, tough as a tamarisk and now, she is begging! Falling down and begging on her knees! For nomad´s life. For her love. Nomad does not understand, he did not want this, deep inside he was happy with his choice and now, he is he hesitating, confused, hurt. Goddess is excited, too. Behead as well! Can nomad now see it through? Did goddess change into human in his eyes? Into a woman? A girl? Maybe. He may not realize but he does not die convinced. He is angry with his lover who ripped him out of his dream and connected their lives in such a cruel way. He is angry with goddess as he is sure that real gods fulfill real human wishes. And he is angry with himself that he allowed his wind to die down, to stop his unchained soul gallop and sold his head out to false godhood.

So he is loosing his head – the machete cuts his wind in the vocal chords and his head is falling through to goddess – a woman who, like him, could not recognize godhood inside her from human. This is the reason why they are going to meet again…