Metanoia Read online

  I questioned, “Sir can you explain the term, gender fluidity?”

  “That will be our next lesson.”

  My teacher ruffled my hair and called it a day.

  Last Week of June 1968

  Within the Arboretum

  Frederick and I stared in bewilderment at the mysterious spheroid as it grew in size. Suddenly, it burst into rays of fluorescent sparkles that fell like brightly colored raindrops atop the effervescent toadstools. Both dog and humans were agape at this mystifying sight.

  The fairy queen had grown to human size throughout the evolution. Her auburn hair floated weightlessly behind her gossamer wings. Like a pirouetting ballerina on points, she descended lightly to the ground. She was toeless like the cascading Ellyllons whose feet ended in points. Both the queen and her subjects’ naked bodies glowed in translucency.

  Surrounded by ‘Celebrating Ellyllons,’ the professor, Sherlock and I stood spellbound. The queen extended a pointy hand to us. Frederick was the first to proffer his middle finger to the queen’s squiggly tip. A gesture I learned as a greeting of peace and goodwill. I followed suit. Sherlock lifted her paw to the sovereign. The royal rubbed the canine’s nose instead of tapping her claw. This kindled the animal’s eyes to pivot to the center like a cockeyed dog. The ‘Celebrating Ellyllons’ broke out in mirth and thought it the funniest thing they had seen.

  We communicated via telepathy since we did not understand the queen’s language.

  ElderOakAsHawthorn

  “Welcome to the Queendom of ElderOakAsHawthorn,” she addressed.

  As soon as she finished her pronouncement, three Ellyllon horn blowers tooted their Gjallarhorns loudly. Their instruments sounded euphonious rather than blaring reverberations.

  “I am Queen Mab,” she telepathized. “We are honored to have a prince human among us.” She turned in my direction.

  I stared at her agape wondering how I had acquired the prince human title in fairydom. Before I had a chance to inquire, the sovereign whipped out an iridescent wand from her diaphanous ensemble. She circled the curved rod in the air and created a cloud of glistening dust in midair. The fairy dust rose towards the blossoming arboretum. We gazed fixated at the enchantment.

  The ‘Celebrating Ellyllons’ had also grown in stature. Although their head and facial features were as pointy as their hands and feet, they were shorter than their queen. The party resembled jovial teenagers in readiness to commence a celebration.

  No sooner had the fairy dust settled on the blooms, the ‘Celebrating Ellyllons’ formed an assortment of ring circles. They reminded me of Dionysian festivities depicted in paintings by Grand Masters of yore, and I wondered if the ancients did witness such bacchanalian jollifications. Before I could ponder further, I was tossed back to the moment by the queen.

  “We have much to discuss.” She beckoned us into a gigantic oak.

  We followed her lead.

  For the Beauty of Earth (Chapter Fourteen)

  “The land of literature is a fairy land to those who view it at a distance, but, like all other landscapes, the charm fades on a nearer approach, and the thorns and briars become visible.”

  Washington Irving

  Early July 2014

  Andy’s Reply to David’s Message – CC to Me

  Hi David, Thank you for your candid response. Like Young, I want to add my take to the use of water in our E.R.O.S. initiation ritual.

  Water, like Wind, Earth and Fire are one of the four essential Elements that represent the substance of the world. Many races and tribes throughout Caelereth share this belief. Plants, animals or sentient life forms depend on this element to survive.

  It is said, that water is the depth of a philosopher’s soul and an inspiration for artists. There is an ancient Santharian proverb that said, and I quote, “He who acquires everything from the Water Goddess will elude everything to her.”

  Water is the mother of all liquid matters. The Santharian Goddess of the Sea and Water, Baveras did not only create aqua but the blood and milk of everything liquor. Water, the “primal liquid” is the purest. It transmutes into a variety of shapes and forms, yet it retains its elemental properties.

  Spiritual Water

  Water epitomizes “open” emotions of diversity and acceptance of the new. It is the creative inspiration to new ideas, hopes, and desires that are constantly changing within the contemplative self.

  Flowing water is its strength as it continuously rearranges to pave for the unknown. On the other hand, stagnant water putrefy and symbolizes demise. Hence, water is used for cleansing, renewal, rejuvenation and for the survival of the fittest.

  The E.R.O.S. recruits from Daltonbury Hall were submerged in fresh water to remind us of our flexible will-power, wisdom, and are at ease with our sexuality. This is my explication to Young and my Enlightened Royal Oracle Society inception rituals.

  Illuminate me to the use of fire in your initiation rite.

  Regards,

  Andy

  End October 1968

  Sadi-Bou-Said, Tunisia

  When my professor, Valet and I rejoined our Arabian entourage, Count Mario was chatting animatedly with a handsome couple. The Italian photographer and Penny, a gorgeous female model who had returned from Milan after a three-day fashion shoot to join our entourage. Although they were Tad’s guests, they lodged in Sheik Fahrib’s luxury yacht, السهم الثاقب (Piercing Arrow), docked next to Sindbad.

  At Calypso, Tad had befriended a German named Siegfried and Kalf, his Tunisian boyfriend. After a night of unbridled revelry, he invited the duo to join our entourage at a charming gourmet restaurant; nestled above the hills of the mythical village, Sadi-Bou-Said.

  This charming hamlet, steep in history and spirituality was and still is the cross point for many artists and writers. Within this ancient settlement, colors appear in synchrony as if the ocean blues had washed over its decorative doors. Intricately crafted moucharabiehs (Arabic for a projecting oriel window enclosed with carved latticework and stained glass) counterbalanced the whitewashed walls to perfection. Fragrant jasmines and orange blossoms, together with shades of pine, palm and bougainvillea provided a utopian magnetism to this languid community. Throughout the day, the mutable play of light and shadow against an ever-changing sky and oceanscape, inspired my creativity to blossom unceasingly. Lost in artistic introspection, I was snapped back to reality by my Valet and teacher. We had arrived at the restaurant.

  Our ten-person entourage sat on the terrace overlooking the Mediterranean. Delicious Tunisian cuisines were served up to us. Apart from Kalf who was two years older than me, I was the youngest. We gobbled mouthfuls of delicacies as if we had not eaten for days.

  Siegfried

  Our dinner conversation turned to our new acquaintances.

  “Siegfried, which part of Germany are you from?” my teacher enquired.

  “I was born in Leipzig. Currently, I work as an interior decorator in West Berlin. I shop for North African antiquities for my emporium and clients,” the German responded. “And you, sir?”

  Curt gave a mischievous grin before he answered, “I’m from Münster. I live and work around the world.”

  “What line of work are you in, sir?” the decorator looked at my tutor curiously.

  Eberhardt elucidated proudly, “I’m a private tutor to privileged students. I travel when and wherever my services are required.”

  My Valet informed, “Professor Eberhardt is Young’s educator.”

  “How wonderful to travel the world and earn a good living as a private educator,” Siegfried remarked with envy.

  My teacher quipped, “You are not doing too poorly yourself. You work on your passion and with a delightful companion to boot.”

  He turned to the Tunisian before he resumed, “What’s your profession, Kalf?”

  “Kalf assists me in my business,” the German answered on his boyfriend’s behalf.

  I blurted without thinking, “Monkey business?�
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  My professor and chaperone stared at me in disbelief that I would utter such an unruly remark in polite company.

  Kalf burst into laughter while his boyfriend glared at him. The rest of the group turned our direction and wondered why the Tunisian was in a giggling fit.

  My gallant Valet came to my rescue once again.

  “This mischievous lad is playfully silly,” Andy appeased.

  His remark did the trick.

  Tad seized the opportunity to announce, “Shall we sail to Tunis after brunch? Kalf said he knows the city well and will be our guide.”

  “Of course, I’ll be happy to show you my hometown,” the Tunisian uttered delightfully.

  Louise Emma Augusta Dahl-Wolfe

  Mario expressed, “I’ve heard a lot about Tunis. Penny had done a few shots in that city for American Vogue.”

  “I fell in love with that vibrant city when I modeled for Emma,” Penny championed.

  The Count injected, “I was Louise Emma Augusta Dahl-Wolfe’s apprentice in the early days as a photographer. I collaborated with her on several shoots, and she has an excellent eye.”

  “It was she who introduced me to Carmel Snow, the editor of Harper’s Bazaar and Diana Vreeland. In the early sixties, they gave me my modeling break when I posed for the magazine,” the model stated.

  I was all ears at the mention of Who’s Who in the fashion arena and hung onto every word of the conversation.

  The photographer praised, “I love Louise’s ‘environmental’ fashion photography. Her play of natural light in outdoor locations are incredible. You know, she preferred portraitures to fashion photography and was accredited for discovering the teenage Lauren Bacall whom she photographed for Bazaar’s cover.”

  Prince P opined, “Mario, your photographs are equally captivating. You learned from the best.”

  The sheik turned his attention to me and said, “In turn, this lad here is mentored by another great artist, you.”

  “Count, before we ramble on about fashion, I have a favor to ask of you,” Tad entreated.

  “Yes?” the photographer expressed.

  The athlete gave his pal a naughty grin before he implored, “Will you and your apprentice take some enticing photos of these beautiful people?” He indicated to his guests around the table.

  The photographer answered wickedly, “I plan to do just that.”

  He glanced flirtatiously at the handsome Tunisian who pretend to look away coyly.

  “When the lighting is right, and the circumstance is correct, my camera and equipment will be at the ready. And so, will my apprentice,” the Count declared mischievously.

  Except for my professor, our group chuckled indecorously. I peered at Andy for his reaction. Even though he appeared in oblivion, my presage told me differently.

  Last Week of June 1968

  Within the Querceta (Oaks)

  The moment Frederick, Sherlock and I stepped through the towering oak, we were faced with a querceta. These stupendous trees were mirror images of one another. It was impossible to decipher the layout of this labyrinth if lost.

  We trailed behind the sovereign and her horn blowing trio. She did not communicate with us until we reached the edge of the maze.

  Not able to see beyond the horizon from our vantage point above a steep cliff, Queen Mab pointed the tip of her squiggly hand towards the expansive forest-scape. Pockets of flat land where ancient trees once occupied lay barren. Vast areas were burned to the ground while others were being bulldozed. The professor and I stared at the devastations.

  “I want to show you the destruction humans had inflicted upon Gaia. For eons, we had shared this realm in harmony. Now, consumed by personal gains, earthlings are destroying our Mother’s habitat,” the sovereign telepathized to Frederick and me.

  She resumed, “To counter this cataclysmic occurrence, Fairydom’s crowned heads had unanimously agreed that we must solicit assistance from empathetic humans on this issue.”

  I sensorized, “What is expected of me? I’m a teenager who knows nothing about deforestation.”

  Her Majesty countered, “Quite the contrary. Young man, you are capable of convincing the rich and powerful to stop raping Mother Earth for their gains.”

  I remained silent. Although Professor Thomason was clueless that I moved within the Arabian elite and influential coterie, I understood the queen’s request.

  The botanist communicated, “Your Majesty, In a week I will be in an international forum with members of the Botanical Society of the British Isles, and our international allies. I will definitely bring their attention to this catastrophic problem and will find solutions to terminate this adversity.”

  My heart reached out to the whimpering Sherlock, who was obviously saddened by the disastrous sight. I patted her head to calm her agony.

  Had not the Gjallarhorn sounds beckoned us back to the moment, we would still be in anguish over the rape of Gaia.

  On our way back from whence we came, the queen and I had a chance to interact privately.

  “I now understand the reason Your Majesty, and Dame Régence refers to me as prince human,” I sensorized.

  She grinned but did not respond.

  I resumed, “Do the fairy monarchs have knowledge of my Arabian connections?”

  She remained silent.

  I continued, “Though I cannot make promises, I will do my best to consult my ‘Masters’ and patriarchs about this pressing issue. They indeed can end this detrimental problem.”

  She looked at me solemnly.

  “I know you have the capability to help. If you reach out to your Masters, your patriarchs will listen because you possess the power of persuasion,” the queen conveyed.

  I bowed to Her Majesty.

  “We will be following your progress, but for now, I bid you and your companions farewell and a safe return to Derwentwater.”

  She circled her wand several times and voila, we were back at the bench by Derwentwater, where Andy and my bicycles leaned untouched against a gigantic oak.

  Faith (Chapter Fifteen)

  “Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.”

  Martin Luther King, Jr.

  Last Week of June 1968

  By Derwentwater, Keswick, North West England

  The botanist and I sat bewildered. We wondered if our recent experience were figments of our sprightly imaginations or warranted reality. Sparkling fairy dust that flew off Sherlock’s furry coat provided the answer. She resembled a fluttering snow globe as the sparkles fell around her.

  Frederick patted his companion lovingly for the dog’s response to our bafflement.

  The professor pronounced, “Wow! What an adventure.” He glanced at me before he resumed, “Thanks to you, prince human, we got a chance to visit Fairydom.”

  I, dumbfounded by the recent event, did not respond to his pronouncement.

  He continued, “Aren’t the Seelie Court playful?”

  “What’s the Seelie Court?” I queried.

  “Haven’t you heard of the Seelie Court?” the fairy expert simpered.

  I shook my head in ignorance.

  “The Seelie Court, also known as The Shining Throne, The Golden Ones or The Summer Court, seeks to help humans and to warn those who offend them. They return the favor when humans honor their kindness. They also avenge injustices foisted upon their kind,” he explained.

  “I thought the faeries we encountered were Celebrating Ellyllons,” I chirped.

  “Celebrating Ellyllons is part of the Seelie Court. Although they are known to play pranks on humans, they are not malicious. Due to their lightheartedness and merrymaking attributes, their disheartenments are quick to dissipate.”

  “Is that why they had a Dionysian revelry?” I twittered.

  “That’s correct,” Frederick expounded.

  “If the Seelie Court is benevolent, is there also a malevolent court?” I questioned.

  “Definitely! Th
e malignant fairies are known as the Unseelie Court. Unlike the jubilant faeries, these dark entities will inflict harm and assault humans at will whether injuries had or had not been inflicted.

  “That said, Unseelies have been known to be affectionate to humans, especially to those who grace them with respect. They’ll treat them like pets. Bogies, Bogles, Boggarts, Abbey Lubbers and Buttery Spirits are part of this group,” Thomason explained.

  “I didn’t know there are so many different types of faeries,” I remarked.

  Before the fairy expert could respond, I noticed my lover rowing ashore. We went to greet him at the pier.

  Over Tea

  Andy was astonished when I introduced the professor.

  “How did the two of you…,” he asked puzzlingly.

  The botanist voiced before my Valet could complete his sentence, “Earlier, we saw you wrestle with your boat, and you fell into the water.”

  “Rarely do I have problems when I am in a boat, but the undercurrent is havoc in these waters,” he surmised.

  Frederick glanced at me not to comment. He did not wish to let on the Asrais’ prank until the correct moment arose.

  The professor announced, “A cup of tea will do us good.”

  We followed Sherlock and the faery expert to Greenlawn, their humble abode.

  “Thank you, professor, for the invitation,” my Valet expressed, as Frederick placed a pot of brewing Kangra and a plate of delicious cookies before us.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Andy. Sherlock and I were expecting you.”

  Our host added, “She has a way of detecting your presence.” He patted his companion. “This lady has been with me since I moved to Keswick. One day she pawed on my door, and she never left. I thought she had wandered away from home, but nobody claimed her.”

  “She’s such a good companion,” I opined.