The Pasque Flower (A Philosophical Tale)

The young woman groaned heavily in her sleep. The curtains flapped noisily as the warm, balmy night breeze drifted into the room, in time with her dreaming movements. The bright moon shone magnificently, casting a silver spell through her window, in much the same way as a young admirer would have held a candle so as to be able to feed his hungry gaze on the form of his adored beloved whilst she slept. The diaphanous net curtains around her four-poster bed also moved gently in the wind, & the noise of the native moths & crane flies, mice & owls, & warring stag beetles filled the humid, electric air. 

The young woman stirred restlessly , her bed covers lying crumpled on the floor, having been flung away as her dream had increased in lucidity. But of what was she dreaming?

At that very moment, her heart was beating as it never had before. Before her dreaming eyes, was the very embodiment of all her desires & even if she had wanted to look away, there was to be no avoiding his icy stare. As he glided confidently toward her, her hand gripped the pillow tightly as she followed his slender, snake-like frame, his deep, melancholy eyes & silken, jet black hair. He leaned towards her, & after whispering some silent words that only her soul could hear, put a beautiful, purple flower into her hand. With her pulse racing dangerously, her over-excited mind began to activate the safety-valve action that often awakens dreamers from those strange, subterranean depths when the dream become too sublime, as happens when a person awakes suddenly with fearful symptoms of vertigo if death brushes too close for the dreamer's sanity. As she awoke, the image in her mind's eye became nebulous & although her hair was stuck to her brow & her lace nightdress damp with perspiration, she sighed deeply, & smiling at the memory of her dream, fell almost immediately back to sleep. 

                                                             ~

There are some people who maintain that dreams are a mere recycling of the previous day's events, & that no particular attention should be paid to them.

There are others that say that dreams are warnings from another realm, & if heeded, can be prophetic in diverting unpleasant situations or preventing personal catastrophe.

Some people suggest that they are buried memories, which surface occasionally & can even take us way back in time, beyond that of the individual's life to a collective unconscious, & the very dawning of our species' history.

There are some that believe that dreams are representations of our deepest, darkest desires, & would be so disturbing to us if presented literally, that they instead appear as symbols, thus protecting the conscious 'I' or 'ego' of the dreaming person/subject.

And there are some that believe that daemonic forces are the cause, & that these forces prey on their victims whilst they lie sleeping, injecting their prey with surreal images of wish-fulfillment whilst they take advantage of their delirium to drain the life-force of the dreamer. A male demon will often father a child in this hideous way, whilst female demons will use the male's reproductive energy to impregnate themselves. For decency's sake, your imaginations will have to picture the fearful situation that arises during this type of demonic possession, & there may be little or complete truth in any of these theories regarding the source & function of the human dream.

                                                                ~

Whatever may lie behind the causes of the human dream, Viola, the beautiful heroine of our tale, awoke early that morning just as the first hazy beams of sunlight were beginning to filter into her room, when, in her misty drowsiness, she was struck by a sudden stabbing pain in her hand. Imagine if you can, dear reader, her surprise when she glanced down & discovered that she was still clutching the strange, purple flower that her perfect, ideal lover had entrusted her with just a few hours earlier in her dream, & which now lay clutched in her lily white hand.

With glazed eyes, she rose from her bed, & as though sleepwalking, left her room & unannounced, entered her brother's room. Her brother, who was just about to leave the house as he was a keen huntsman, was surprised to see his beloved sister up & about at this early hour, even more so as she had appeared to have left her inhibitions in her sleep, for her nightgown had fallen open & she seemed blissfully unconcerned at this occurrence. Before he could gather his thoughts together, those sweet eyes that he had loved for so long, held him spellbound. Suddenly, she slipped her arms around his neck & as his whole world swam he was completely unaware that she was quietly pulling his razor sharp hunting knife out of his belt. Less than a minute later, he was lying cold stone dead, killed as silently as if it had been done by the hand of a trained, professional assassin. 

                                                                     ~

There are those that believe that incest is a terrible crime against nature & that the laws that forbid its practice should be upheld without mercy, & they will often call on ancient texts & scripture to support this view.

There are others, however, that believe that the taboo against brother & sister relationships are nothing more than societal prejudice, &, like witchcraft, born of superstition, & that in fact all true lovers become after a while as brother & sister, their souls entwining ever deeper as their lives grow together, until they become so entwined it is scarcely possible to tell one from the other, & this shows itself by small tell-tale signals, such as couples finishing each others' sentences or looking increasingly like one another in visual appearance.

Whatever you choose to believe, dear reader, there is no denying that the people who found Viola's brother said that they had never seen him looking as radiant as he did when they had found his body, & the talk of the small town soon echoed far & wide with stories that Viola's brother had died having tasted a supernatural form of bliss.

                                                                ~

Immediately after the violent scene with her brother, Viola left the house , & although some of the townsfolk that she passed at that early hour called out to her, she resolutely ignored them & headed towards the olde church. Concerned for her safety, a few of the peasants decided to follow her, keeping at a safe distance, however, for all knew of the terrible dangers of attempting to awaken a sleep-walker.

As she approached the church, Viola's heart skipped a beat as she saw once again the extraordinarily handsome man who she had met in her dream. "Great God!" she gasped, "There he is! And how beautiful he looks... yet how terrified he makes me feel!" Despite her fight or flight reaction, his aura was irresistible, & as he beckoned her towards him with outstretched arms, her heart thundered against her ribs as she edged ever closer towards him.

The frightened peasants who had gathered watched from a distance as she made her way further up the path. Viola, still clutching the purple flower that he had given her, handed it back to her perfect lover & fell into a swoon as he put his arms around her shoulders. In the hushed silence that followed, she let out a simple cry as his teeth pierced her swan-like neck, & she felt a trickle of blood leave a trail as it ran down her vase like body. She then gazed up longingly at her captor, & taking her brother's hunting knife from under her nightdress, plunged it deep into his heart.

The frightened villagers screamed & ran towards her, but by the time they had got to her, it was too late.

When everything was pieced together, nobody could understand what had happened to Viola, the much-loved girl from the town on that strange, summer morning.

All the reports given to the investigating commissioner of police told the same story. Viola had been seen by at least ten witnesses walking, in her nightdress, as if in a trance up to the church, & had ignored everybody's concerned calls. When she had got there, she had stopped half way up the path & been observed acting even more strangely, gesticulating & talking as if somebody had been in front of her. She had then closed her eyes & looked up towards the sky as if in some kind of blissful ecstasy, & then for no apparent reason, produced a large dagger from under her nightgown, & plunged it deep into her own heart.

The investigator, who was much puzzled by the case, also had to report the strange fact that there had not been a drop of blood anywhere at the scene, either on the ground or, indeed, in her person, which he believed was a bad omen for all who lived in the town & the local area. Equally puzzlingly, an extremely rare, purple-hued flower had been found at Viola's side, which had finally been identified by a big city specialist collector as being of an extremely rare species, the Pustilla Vulgaris, or Pasque Flower, which only grew in the most remote & inhospitable regions of eastern Europe. This strange occurrence had been, in the commissioner's view unsatisfactorily, explained away by the theory that it must have been brought across on the unsuspecting foot of a migratory bird, several species of which used the church & its buildings to make their nests during the summer, before they returned home to the lands of Hungary & Moravia in the autumn.

                                                                  ~

The whole incident cast a huge shadow over the town & a few months later, just when it appeared that everything was returning to normal, the church gardener began noticing a number of beautiful flowers, of a strange purple hue & of a breed that he had certainly never seen before, appearing in increasing numbers in various places all around the grave stones & the church gardens. However, at this point in time, all the migratory birds had long since departed back to their winter homes in the far reaches of Europe, & this time, no one was able to explain how they had come to be there.

Firenze

"You'll amount to nothing!" screamed the father. His son had driven him into a fury once again. "You lazy good for nothing, what are you going to do with your life...spend it all lying around, stargazing and other such useless nonsense? You ridiculous, insolent dreamer! And everyone knows that mermaids, even though they don't exist, can only live in salt water so stop spouting such rubbish! Imbecile!"

And with these words he stormed out of the room, slamming the door of the old house behind him. But George simply smiled sadly to himself. He'd experienced enough of these kind of scenes to know that the best thing to do was to try and ignore them. He glanced at his mother who was sitting silently in her chair, the plate of honey cakes that she'd freshly made untouched in front of her. "It will be okay," he reassured her, and took one of the delicious cakes before venturing outside. His anxiously pounding heart began to ease as he made his way to the stream. As usual, the bees and dragonflies flew towards him as he approached, busily buzzing around him, using whatever devices that they knew to try and ease his wounded heart.

"Will I ever see her again?" he asked them.

"Of course you will, of course you will!" they hurriedly replied. "And don't be so sad, don't be so sad...your father's a fool and your beloved will most surely return!"

George felt his soul relaxing once more as he sat down in the long, luxurious grass. He lay on his back and watched the clouds drift by. "I should like to be a cloud one day," he thought, "hovering over the great earth, giving and receiving at the same time, with the only worry being whether to look down at the world or up at the stars." He looked around him, and, as always, his heart skipped a beat. And although he loved every single thing that his eyes could see, his heart longed for an even deeper connection. He wanted to be the bright yellow daisy that was reaching up to its brother, the sun. He wanted to know how it felt to wear the beautiful cloak of purple that was the mournful iris, which tolerated the day whilst waiting for its sister, the moon. He wanted to be the cheeky chaffinch, know the air that skipped through its tiny wings and experience the grand majesty of the crow. And although he felt deeply related with all that was around him, and had done for as long as he could remember, still he yearned for more. His ridiculous, philistine father knew nothing of this. He'd heard about it all many times, of course, but his coarse barren soul was incapable of understanding. And then...there was Firenze. His eyes glazed as he remembered her. She had touched him to an ecstatic fever of life. Never had he known anything like the feelings that he had experienced when he had been with her. But would he ever see her again?

His train of thought was suddenly broken, however, for his friends suddenly started up in dismay. The honeybees flew frantically away and the birds that had gathered around him scattered in all directions, and, to George's immense horror, and before he was even completely aware of what was happening, he was seized by three tall men in terrible white coats who wore grimaces known only to the devil. Despite his screams and wailing protests he was dragged forcibly away and locked in the back of a dirty white van, which roared angrily, and then sped away at ferocious speed.

From that moment on, a great change came over the land. It was a gradual process but all could be traced back to that moment. The first to depart were the birds, who were so filled with sorrow that they left for a distant forest where the nightingales lived, as listening to them sing was the only way that they could live with their grief. The dragonflies became larva once again and crept back into the water which soon flowed heavy with tears. The trees grew sad and shed their leaves, and all the flowers hid their beautiful, colourful faces, and before long, a terrible silence came over the landscape which it seemed had fallen into a deep sleep. And then, finally, even the nearby towering waterfall, with its ever cascading spray, froze to a complete standstill, and with this, a great silence reigned.

This state of things lasted for a thousand years and the household, now smaller due to the absence of George, was even unhappier than it had been before. George's mother, who never spoke anyway, became even more silent, but still made honey-cakes each day, even though her son whom she loved so dearly wasn't there to enjoy them. The father busied himself around the place, mumbling away constantly whilst trying to reassure George's mother that things were now for the best. "We had to do something", he would tell her. "You know how often we saw him sitting in the fields talking to himself. That's a sure sign of insanity and he's in the best place for that kind of thing now. He could have become a danger...to us, to himself, who knows? And he'll never amount to anything!" But with that George's mother would breathe a great sigh, and so his father would go back to hammering nails or something extremely important like that.

But then, one day, something that nobody could have foreseen happened. A great bee, which had somehow hidden herself in that day's honey-cakes, flew out without being noticed. Waiting patiently for the right moment, she followed George's father outside, and, although her frail wings were nearly frozen in the bitter, biting cold, she managed to follow him until he came to the old fence, which it was said had a sheer drop of over ten thousand feet on the other side. And then, all at once, she seized her chance. She buzzed manically around the ungrateful father and husband, who in absolute terror, waved his arms about frantically, attempting to hit the bee with his great hammer, when, suddenly, he became so dizzy that he lost his footing and fell through the rickety old fence that he had come out to fix, and disappeared into the depths, far, far below.

Utterly exhausted and freezing, the bee's wings now refused to work properly, and she fell shivering to the ground, her life force evaporating rapidly. But just as her little soul was about to leave her body for the great beyond, she knew beyond any doubt that she felt the surge of spring reverberate all around her. And sure enough, the land soon began to change. Without his father's continued consent, the asylum were forced to release George back to his home, and within hours of his return, life rapidly began stirring again.

At his tread, the grass and flowers blossomed suddenly in ecstasy and the trees replied likewise. The moths and butterflies came out of their chrysalises in a giant swarm of colour, and all around the insects danced with laughter and joy. The great old owl, far away in the nightingale's wood, was the first to hear with his extraordinary sensitive hearing the rejoicing coming from his former home, and when he told his many companions of the news, all the birds came hurrying back as fast as their small or giant wings could carry them. Colour and noise returned to the land, and even the moon broke its eternal nightly orbit to join the sun for one day of ecstatic rejoicing. And then, with an enormous crash, the waterfall sprang back to life, plunging down in torrents great masses of water which had lain frozen in sorrow and grief for so many years.

George sang and laughed with his friends who he had missed so dearly, and in what looked like a grand procession, they all bounded up the path to the giant pool that lay at the foot of the waterfall. They were greeted there by a carnival of colour. Dragonflies. mayflies, kingfishers...the entire scene was one of of glowing, flowing life and abundant radiance. And then, amid all the laughter and dancing, a faint splashing was heard coming from downstream. "It's Firenze, it's Firenze!" cried the approaching heron, and soon the name 'Firenze' was being spoken by all in a continuous echo around the valley. "She's come back for you, she's come back for you! they all sang to George, "we told you she would, we told you she would!" And sure enough, accompanied by her adoring damselflies that flew above her, Firenze, her sleek body glistening & her red hair shining brighter than the rarest ruby, was soon at the pool at the foot of the waterfall, where her captivating eyes met those of the utterly enchanted George.

"Firenze... I thought you had left for ever", he said, before embracing her in his trembling arms.

"I told you I would return and I meant it", she replied.

With a gentle wave of her hand, she asked their friends to give them some privacy for a moment, & they all duly obliged, although they immediately surrounded the happy couple once more!

George gazed into her sparkling eyes. They were as mysterious as life itself and he felt himself falling...falling deeper into her essence with each passing moment. Her red hair resembled wondrous flowers that don't exist yet should, and the shape of her body, scarcely hidden by the water-lilies, plunged him even further into an almost impossible paradise.

"Come with me," she said, "it's time for you to leave here."

"I am truly yours", he replied. "I know there is no way for me other than with you. But let me stay, just a little longer."

Firenze smiled her enchanting smile: "Take as long as you need."

Suddenly everywhere became quieter and still, and the only sound was that of the waterfall. The blue tit blinked its little eyes, eyes which saw so much more than human ones which fail to notice so very much. Firenze went to bathe under the waterfall, and the water at the top hurriedly fell in torrents, each drop eager to brush against her magisterial beauty whilst there was a chance. Returning to George, she teased him with a delicious kiss, a kiss laced with the force of everything that nature and dreams contain, and his soul tumbled once more.

"You are existence itself to me", he said. "Yet are you even real?"

"I'm as real as you take me to be", she replied. "With me you shall know wonders you can never imagine. I will take you to a Venice beneath the sea, show you creatures you've never known, give you a love you cannot comprehend. You know better then anyone how the miracle of life is being spoiled. Our realm is one of everlasting beauty and there will be a new beginning."

George glanced up and found that they had been joined by several magnificent unicorns that had come to drink from the pool. They were the personification of beauty and dignity.

"And my father, like so many, doubt all of this", he smiled to himself. "They are such fools."

Gazing once more at the exquisite beauty of Firenze, and marvelling also at the splendid sea-horses that surrounded her, they exchanged another smoldering kiss before he slipped into the water beside her, before whispering the words, "I'm ready."

And with that, they both looked deeply into each other's eyes, and disappeared into the depths below.

Meanwhile, George's mother, astounded at the sudden return of Spring, and drawn as if by a magical force, wandered over to the door which opened on to the garden. As she stepped outside, the handsome, cheeky chaffinch landed softly on her shoulder. They looked at each other for a few moments before he said, "Why don't you come and sit with us all on the grass, and you can meet all of your son's friends and hear their wondrous stories about life?"

"It would be a pleasure," she replied.