The Woodland Pool

I haven't forgotten my promise, my scientific friend.  You asked to come with me on a voyage into imagination, and there's time now.  School has closed, and my chores, except for dinner, are done.  Are you ready?  No alcohol, no drugs in your system?  I won't take you unless your mind is alert.  You must remember all you'll see, all you'll hear; it's more necessary than you know.

Now then, where shall we go?  What do you seek?  So.  Truth; restoration of spirit.  Yes, yes, I know the place for you‑-the Woodland Pool.

Now for the best route.  For you, I think, it'll be the senses.  Come, near my house there's a grove, a place of burnt wood.  We'll start there.

Sit quietly: listen, look, and explain.  What do you hear?  Nearby traffic, the chirp of crickets, a leaf's rustle, a bird's call.  And the explanation?  Man's sounds and nature's.  They blend, don't they?

Now, what do you see?  The charred stumps of trees, yes; wild blueberries near one, yes; grass returning to the burnt clearing.  Very good.  And the explanation?  A campfire out of control, possibly someone's careless cigarette.  Yes, possibly.  But the blueberries?  True, true; nature returns, it reclaims.  Given enough time, the wild things triumph.

Tell me, were you taught in school of dim stars and the right way to see them?  Yes, you must look at them from the corner of your eye.  You see less if you look directly, don't you?  Very well, then, I ask you to look again at the burnt wood, but this time from the periphery of vision.  And listen again, but this time for sound not heard directly.  And explain again, but from the edges of your mind.

Why is the wood burnt?

Pan took the priestess for his own,

Within a verdant grove;

The kindling of her passion charred

The clearing where she strove.

Now those who dare that blackened site,

To claim their own embrace,

See sacred beauty in burnt wood,

Nor ask a greener place.

Ah, you thought of Pan's priestess.  She calls us all, eventually.  What, I should summon her for you?  But if I do, she'll lead us to Pan.  And if you decline to go to him, spurn her offer‑-have you never heard the lament of him who refused her?  It's one of many echoes:

She served a wild and pagan god,

And offered me the world he trod,

A gift I spurned‑-could I foresee

The vengeance they would call on me?

I may not touch a blossom's swell,

Nor hear the sea within a shell,

Nor watch the crescent moon define

A woodland bathed in autumn wine,

Except to know my loneliness,

Except to seek a lost caress;

I walk in silence where she ran,

Joyous at the call of Pan.

She's not summoned lightly, then.  Ah, you won't give up your quest for the Woodland Pool?  I don't blame you.  Very well, we'll call her.

"Priestess!  Priestess, we are here!"

There she is.  How do you see her?  White gown, hair tumbling free, the visage of spring.  Oh, my friend, how much you have to learn.  Go ahead, speak to her.  Go on.  She won't hurt you, and I won't laugh‑-never I.  The quest for truth is not to be mocked.

"Priestess, we seek the Woodland Pool."

"Traveler, I'll not bar your way.  But I must warn: there's no blessing for those who don't answer Pan's question, and answer it well.  Do you still seek?"

"Yes, priestess.  But if we don't know the answer, wh‑
"

"All know its answer.  Regard me."

What do you see?  She's different now, changed.  Gone is the aspect of spring, gone the soft countenance.  But tell me, my friend, is she less beautiful as autumn?  Isn't she still Pan's love?

His love's a wild and willful thing,

Too wayward to be bound by dreams;

She spurned the pastel step of spring

To search for bold and vibrant themes,

And took from fall her native pace‑-

October crackles at her feet,

And on her lips men stir to taste

The wine of autumn, sharp and sweet.

She has changed, yes, but she is the same.

"Traveler, regard me yet.  I ask Pan's question: do you accept?"

Accept?  Accept what?  That she can change?  That autumn's as compelling in its beauty as spring?  But autumn's a dying time....

I told you when we began: you must remember all you'll see, all you'll hear.  Remember, then.

...burnt wood...I walk in silence...bound by dreams...truth and restoration...to know my loneliness...the call of Pan...vibrant themes...sharp and sweet...

"Traveler, do you accept?"

"Priestess, we accept."

"Then follow."

What do you see?  The priestess's bright form leading us deeper among the beech, the ash, and the oak's green and gold, dappled, not quite clear, and‑-a patch of white.

The priestess stops and gestures to it.  Is it snow?  No, its form is‑-oh, it's a sleeping girl, another nymph!  But‑-her position: she's not asleep‑-she's...

"Traveler, I ask again Pan's question.  But first:

Behold that crumpled whiteness; let it lie,

And do not grieve that even dryads die;

No woodland thing may leave its sheltered place

And move untouched among the mortal race.

And if, forgetting, she slipped from safety's

     grasp,

And laughing raced with arms outstretched to        

     clasp

A human splendor, beyond the woodland bourn,

Let no man weep; the grove alone may mourn.

"Seeker of the Woodland Pool‑-do you accept?"

Accept death?  No, never!  But wait: before you blurt that desperate answer, remember.  Remember all we've seen, all we've heard.  Remember.

...burnt wood...nor ask a greener place...sacred beauty...crumpled whiteness...let no man weep...wild blueberries...returns...reclaims...enough time...the wild things triumph...

"Seeker, do you accept?"

"Yes, priestess.  Yes."

"Then follow.  Pan awaits."

Pan; Pan.  Is he what you expected?  Tell me what you see.  No, you're right, he isn't frightening.  And no, there are no pagan orgies, no frenzied lusts.  Just Pan, quiet, reflective, his pipes near him.  You've come a long way, my friend, and you see more clearly.  No more conventional white-gowned nymphs, eh?  But there's more to learn.  We've answered his question; now he'll answer ours.

"Pan, why?  Why is there no dancing, no gaiety?  Why is there death, even here in your woods?"

"You sought the Woodland Pool.  You longed for truth and restoration.  Would revel and gaiety satisfy you then?  There are dances elsewhere in my groves, yes, but are they truly what you sought?"

"No, but why death, Pan?  Why the crumpled dryad?  And why must we accept?"

"Even I accept."

"You, Pan?  You can die?"

"I've died many times.  I await the triple goddess even now.  And for me, as for you, she'll come mercifully guised, in unexpected robes.  Listen, I'll play you her song on my pipes, and my priestess will sing of her."

I have seen her wrapped in white,

Maiden of the Moon is she,

Beyond the touch of men's delight,

Serene in her virginity.

And I have seen her robed in red,

Mistress of the Wanton Sea,

Her senses roused, her reason shed,

In shameless promiscuity.

And I have seen her veiled in black,

Mother of our Final Fate,

Her gracious blessing taken back,

Destroying, sworn to re-create.

Lady, grant that I am sage

To clothe myself in mortal hue,

That none my know my heritage

As daughter, duly bound to you.

"But if you know this, Pan, why do you wait for her?  Why not run, or hide, or‑-or come back with us?"

"Is there no death in your world?"

"Yes, but‑-but we don't just wait‑-I mean we don't accept‑-that is..."

"Mortal, I know very well your defenses, and they're futile.  Shall I play your song for you?"

What guard to set against the Night?

   Some moments torn from Time.

What net to spread against their flight?

   Reflection, and a rhyme.

"But Pan, even if we can't prevent death, we don't worship it.  Not as you seem to."

"Traveler, traveler.  You see the goddess we wait for as Hecate, or Kali, a goddess of death.  But she's a triple goddess, traveler, and the Woodland Pool you seek‑-it isn't mine but hers.

"The Woodland Pool is...Kali's?

"Yes.  Behold it for yourself.  Gaze deep beyond its shimmering surface.  What do you see?

"A woman, moving and beckoning."

"Yes.  The goddess."

Naked, nine times round she danced,

As woman's ancient curse she gave,

Destroying with her blood-flecked chants

The god whom once she sought to save.

"Now, mortal, here's the water you sought: the Woodland Pool, Kali's Pool.  Will you plunge into it?  Do you accept?  Think well before you answer."

...Kali...a goddess of death...the crumpled whiteness...let no man weep...what guard to set...truth and restoration...it's Kali's Pool...a triple goddess...the god she sought to save...destroying...sworn to re-create...the burnt woods...the blueberries and the new grass...she reclaims...the wild things triumph‑-they triumph!

"Pan, Pan!  It's not a Pool of Death!"

"No."

"Kali's Pool, the Woodland Pool‑-it's the Pool of Life!"

"Of life and death, of all that is and will cease to be and then shall be again.  It's the pool of infinite love, of truth and restoration.  Do you accept?"

"Yes, Pan.  Oh yes, yes!  We accept!"

"Then plunge.  Plunge deep and with my blessing."

Why are we here, again in the burnt grove?  Why the sound of traffic?  My dear Seeker, where's that famed scientific reasoning of yours?  We plunged into life, didn't we?  Did you think you could dwell forever at Pan's side?  Then forever would you be locked within the confines of your mind.  Surely you wouldn't be so?  Well, then, come; I have dinner to make yet.

What, that echo?  Why that's the blessing Pan promised.  Listen, listen to the echoes:

Among the living walk the dead;

The stillborn hopes, the phantom fears,

The specters of the past still tread

As sad companions through our years.

From some these shadows move apart:

Where love is made a manifest,

Where laughter frees the haunted heart,

Among the living walk the blessed.

And now, really, we must go.  There's dinner you know, and our families are waiting.  It's much later than you think.