Short Story. "Land of False Memory" - Fantasy - by Steven Benjamin * -
We’d been traveling for days, I don’t remember how many, before we found the old man. I only call him old because he was the oldest of us there, but it was mostly in his ways, capped off with his dark brown handlebar moustache. He sometimes wore an old woolen cap to keep away the chill from his greying sparsely-haired head. But he was strong; perhaps the strongest of us, because he’d lived in these lands and climbed these crags and mountains many times. But he needed help, help from us, to get him to a place where he’d remember. A day or two of aimless wondering through the cold wilderness followed, before we finally found a clearing. The old man led us to the far end of the clearing and then squinted up at the steep slope. He rubbed his arms and then grunted. He left us all behind, striding swiftly, hugging himself against the cold, his legs pumping as he climbed. He must’ve given his coat to one of the women in the team… all he had on was a dark trousers and an old pullover, tattered at the edges. We were left looking at each other, and then watching the figure move, without rest, up the slope with his hulking shoulders leaning into the breeze. Eventually we followed up after him. A while later we came up behind him. He was almost lying down on the ground, poking his head up over the jagged rocky ridge every now and then before hunching down again. He was busy. He felt us coming, hearing our footfalls behind him. “I need to draw it,” he said, scanning the landscape peeking over the ridge again. He’d spread a large white paper on the ground, pinned in the corners with rocks, and was sketching a fairly decent image of what he saw, using a piece of charcoal and dirt. Some time later, with the group huddled together for warmth, he got to his knees and squinted up at me, then back over the ridge, nodding. The sun was setting in the far horizon, the rays reaching below the cloud cover, casting his face in a burnt orange glow. “I remember now,” came his raspy voice. “I have to draw it to remember it.” He blew his warm breath onto his dirty fingers, rubbing his hands together and them tucking them under his arms as he got to his feet. I don’t remember much more of that night or the next morning... what I do remember is like a puzzle, the blank parts filling in as I think about it more, winding the clock back, seeing things I didn’t consciously notice when in the moment. I remember we’d descended into the valley, coming down from the dragon’s back-like ridge into the rising mist. By afternoon the mist had cleared and there was only this odd hazy steam. We found ourselves at the river’s edge, though it was scarcely a river as the water wasn’t moving. Maybe it was a river once upon a time, but now it was more like a stagnant toxic culvert. The ground and rocks at the edges of the slope, where the earth fell away to the steamy liquid below, was a scorched pale tan colour. In the fresh sunlight at certain angles the surface of some of the rocks reflected a rainbow colouring. The chemical rich liquid was undoubtedly heated by natural underground geysers. It was a strange place that looked dead, but felt dangerous and alive. A place that sought to claim those who ventured in.
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Yes, you’ve heard this line from a Maya Angelou poem… I was thinking about time, and how it doesn’t apply to dreams And if you know me, then you know by now that at some point my thoughts will always turn toward God . . . in this instance, the inventor of time. It’s awkward to think of life outside and apart from time, but to think about it, our dreams are like glimpses into this world. I look at my dog who is growling and barking in his sleep, his whole body is moving… so even animals can dream, or maybe just dogs. One time his leg twitched, so maybe he was chasing a cat in his dream. Since man’s infancy we have wondered about this thing, why we have it, or where it comes from, and if it has a deeper purpose and meaning. I could tell you that it’s a remnant of our forsaken spirituality, as we plunged into this moment of time called life. That it’s a fragrance or a hint of something more than the physical, of a place beyond the natural, a place without time. But we’re free to choose or imagine for ourselves, to attach our own meanings. I realise though, that this taste of a timeless place, is an entity often taken for granted, left unexplored or forgotten, relegated to superstition and fantasy… a playground for your subconscious imaginative power, nut nothing more. But contemplating our existence and the concept of an immortal soul and awakened spirit, the dream becomes more relevant, makes more sense if we are actually spiritual beings living in these temporary skins. But just like the dreams themselves, which waft in and out of our lives, so too do these deep thoughts, pushed aside by the natural world, by the reality we make before us. This world of endless distraction. Perhaps this is the duty of those like myself, as we’re given license to tentatively reach out to these realms outside of time, because we’re naturally seeking more than what we see, recognising that there appears to be something behind or above this natural world… We chose to turn from the eternal and embrace the temporal, because the immediacy of the things around us placed a great power within our fleshly hands; ruled by our senses, we mould our future with our own works. We chose to rule our lives, instead of submitting to something spiritual. But in turning to our own devices, forsaking the spiritual, we bowed to time, and with that, we too would become like dreams – the very thing that haunts us now, as we lowered ourselves, our lives, to slip in And eventually out Of time. For without the spiritual eternal, we placed our heads in the jaws of time, of age and decay And in our passing, if we continue to place highest value in the pursuit of things governed and hunted by the clock, then our destiny is tied to the forgotten dream, Forever lost. * We only occupy a space in time. --- Photo: [Václav Chochola: 'Night Walker' - self-portrait standing in the night city. He put his camera on a tripod and left quite a long exposure and he stood near this street lamp. Eventually he went back and closed the shutter.. "Every picture may show more than I want to say.."] [Image credits: Nadya Lukic photography, Vaclav Chochola self portrait, meetville.com]
Article by Steven Benjamin I've heard it said that there are three types of men in the world (intentionally generalizing and painting us with very broad strokes); worldly men, religious men, and men of God. The first is those who are subject and governed by worldly things and desires, the second are those who practice religion but live worldly lives (riding the fence so to speak), the third are those seeking God in earnest (still fallible and not without sin or immune to temptation, but who truly and humbly seek God and live for Christ.) Finding the nude through the lewd, with Faith It’s a tricky thing, narrowing this topic down in one article, but I’ll try to zero in on the basics, though there’s enough material here to write a thesis and more. It’s always been difficult to differentiate, especially in the photographic arena tiptoeing through nude-Art, sensuality and sexuality. It’s one of the reasons that any topic involving sex or bare flesh, has been shunned by the church for so long, and that neglect, when looking at the current state of society, well let’s just say it’s telling… These days (in the modern age), the vast majority of men have seen or ‘experienced’ or ‘been exposed to’ pornography at some stage or level. But is there a need to differentiate between the mediums, to find when something actually becomes pornographic, – In short, yes there is. Of course this issue/debate is subjective, but there are discernible lines, however faint they may be at times, made so mostly by the people involved in it – in the making and perceiving - and it is important to find these lines. Many ultra conservatives in the church have a blanket regard for anything involving sensuality and nudity, and see it ALL as sin, actually, not just sin, but SIN – THE Sin of all SINS, because some still abide by the belief that there are varying degrees of it. But of course the Bible outline’s it quite simply, that everything that is not of faith is sin (Rom 14:23). I was given a word by a total stranger some time ago whilst going through my own encounter with pornography, that I should “stop doing whatever is not of God”. Now, as God has been working in me, I must highlight that it was interesting that the message was worded in this way. In my experience, when someone has a God sent word for you, it’s usually quite specific… and this got me thinking (something I do very well), additionally, it set me into a pursuit - of what? A pursuit of the truth. But why is this issue important? Simple - It is Fundamental. – It is a fundamental struggle of man, as God reminded me, when ‘taking me’ back to the beginning to the Garden of Eden. This though, was sparked by a question I had had since I was a teenager, to which I already knew the answer, that of; Can a man love [a] woman more than God? I simply needed to understand why I knew the answer was [of course] ‘Yes’. |
[Banner illustration by Joel Kanar]
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