Becoming Stars

A bright light jetted across the night sky. It hurtled towards the moon which was emerging from its hiding place and formed a curved scythe in the rich darkness. When the light would cross the luminescent crescent, the two lights would converge and make a great bow and arrow in the sky. Thousands of stars splashed in the black expanse and the Milky Way’s current ran in the southern sky. Peering into the vast expanse above him, thousands of wonders turned before the boy’s eyes.

He couldn’t have been more than 15 and the tale tells signs of puberty raced across his body. A thick covering of peach fuzz spread over his face and he had taken to secretly saving with his mother’s razor. He wasn’t so much ashamed of using his mother hygiene products as much as not knowing how to phase the request for razors of his own, without causing a moment of awkwardness. Of coarse this would be unavoidable either way, for any parent who sees the maturation of their children tend mark of the significant, or less-than-significant, moments of their children’s upbringing; shaving being one of them.

But on this night, the boy not yet a man stared at the night sky, pondering the mysteries of the universe. He wondered what the stars were. He had read tales of how they where the spirits of the gods. In the day time, when there light vanished by the coming of dawn, they would walk among us, causing havoc or bestowing blessings. To other’s they were known as “The Star People”. Once again, when the black of night faded into ocean blue and then fully laminated by the sun, they would walk among the living but hide in the corners of houses and in the attics of barns, not wanting to be seen by humans. Even still, there were tales in the old woman’s books that said that the stars were chewed into existence by a great black mare Her body was the night sky and she tore into her own flesh and she spilled the sliver blood unto her velvet coated flanks. With so many interpretations, and his teacher not exposing her beliefs to him, how could he make up his mind over what these mysterious forces were?

His mother stepped out from the shadows, which was to say that she stopped leaning against the side of the house and stepped towards her son. He heard her approaching, like anyone with ears enough to hear would have but when she had been leaning against the outside wall, he could feel her presence there, though he was not sure if it was his mother or anther person lurking in the night. His senses were becoming more acute and he wasn’t sure if it was his training under the witch or just the simple process of growing up. The detection had been faint and he had hardly needed to concentrate upon her presence to notice she was there. But before he could have contemplated the though farther she spoke.

“What cha looking at?” she said with a air of lightness on her tongue.

He hadn’t needed to turn towards her to know a soft smile formed on her lips as she spoke to him. He took a moment to drink in her demeanor, the moon, the comet, and the multitude of stories regarding the stars and what he felt true in his heart.

“Ma, what do you think the stars are?” he said never turning away from the moon’s gaze.

Two Temples

On the opposite corners of Pine Street and Fjord Avenue stand two churches. One is greatly bigger than the other but each hold to their ground with solid foundations of stone and concrete. The smaller of the two is covered in pine planks painted a clean egg shell white. On either side of the simple doors are two towering cedar trees. In the spring they sprout new sets of needles that emerge otherworldly green and fresh flowers will be planted at their trunks. The black tiled roof matches the black pavement of a now unused parking lot, and each will fade to a dull gray in time. It is a subtle and humble building singing a song of it’s time. A dozen rows of scratched and polished maple pews make up the only furniture, save for a simple pulpit and even less ornate alter. Bees wax is now in abundance and candles burn upon the high table often. In the sweltering days of late summer, the scent of lavender or chamomile clings to every surface and the congregation leaves dripping sweat and oil. 

Across the way from the effortless church is the other house-of-worship. Its many walls have heard the sermons of several faiths and the voices of countless practitioners. When it was first built, it was much like the white church but was made of ruddy red and mottled brown bricks. Pews of walnut and maple studded the floor and a dais was erected for priests and priestess to address lay women and men. The ceiling was much higher than that of its cousin; three times its height and vaulted. It is no longer like this thought. It was the first place for the towns people to seek divine wisdom and as such required an expansion in due time. This was before the white church and well before Pine Street and Fjord Avenue were the official names of a dirt road and a goat path. 

No, the first church, or temple as it should be properly identified as, is if nothing a shifting and changing building. The clergy and towns people tore down the first bricks and built in its place a tower with a ziggurat for roof. A narrow set of stairs wound its way around the square building till it reached the top where rafters were constructed. From the rafters was hanged a chandelier and bowls of rose and lavender water. Occasionally a band of traveling peoples would pass through town and exchange citrus fruits and fragrant spices for meals, shelter and a story. Some of these precious spices, herbs, and rinds would be placed in these bowls as well. Newly initiated acolytes would light the great hanging fixture and refill the clay vessels. 

As the town grew so did the temple. This time instead of tearing down the structure and ruining the work of their progenitors, a new addition was made. This time a circular room was constructed with white clay found at bottom of the river which lay the edge of the town. The Great Hall, as it would be called, was then painted with thick blue lines which depicted the waves and currents of the river. Here people would come to celebrate the thawing of the snow and rejoice in the flooding of the river. This was before it took the lives of so many and the people prospered because of the river. The room with the ziggurat for a roof was then given the name Tower of the Ancestors. The pews were moved to the edge of the room and some went into The Great Hall. The alter moved to the center of the room and a larger alter was constructed on the dais and the towns people came to morn their loved ones. Gone were the scents of flowers. Replacing them was the smoky and resinous pine pitch. 

Finally a third building was added to temple. This one was larger but not nearly as splendid as the other two, but not nearly as tall as the tower. From the outside it was a simple square building of yellow brick. Glass-work had become a skill known to a few craftsmen and craftswomen and large cloudy black glass windows were placed in the additions walls. The simple exterior was nothing compared to the feat of engineering inside. The room was a mess of tiers and cloisters. Ladders connected some levels to others. Brick stairs lead into single rooms emerged from the tops. These cell like structures, connected to one another by various means, were the rooms of priests, priestess, those who wished to become one with their choice of deity or ancestor, and the occasional holy traveler. The rooms were caved into the earth and rooms were built deep below the ground. They tunneled below The Great Hall and Tower of the Ancestors. This habitation center became The Beehive. 

But this evolution of the big church on Pine Street happened so long ago that it some had relegated it to legend or delusional thinking. Construction and demolition of the various rooms happened in later years and by this or that religion of the century. It was said that the small church on the opposite corner was built to counter the heathen and pagan activities done in the depths of The Beehive. These clams are even more far fetched then the tale above and those who claim it’s truth are bitter, jaded, and wounded by the events of the last few years. What ever the truth is it does not matter as much as what is in the moment and a plural history is better than one that claims to be the one and only. 

What probably happened is a town was settled near the river and through it’s economic prosperity a number of people form a number of faiths traveled to bask in it’s booming success. In time the temple had to expand and architecture was choice by the residing religious tradition. The Beehive was probably a monastery and the Great Temple was probably room in which dances could have been held; it’s circular design conducive towards a twisting chair dance or familial jig. Even I who came to this town by means of following the stars and believed to be guided by spirits, or gods, or astrological whims have a hard time swallowing the parts about the Beehive and it’s cacophony of chambers.

The Queen of Crustaceans

She was the Queen of Crustaceans and her sister was the Duchess of Cephalopods. The Queen of Crustaceans kingdom lay in the ecotone on the western most edge of France. At high tide, only the spires from the palace and the temples of the Crab God and Lobster Goddess speared through the tide. Those who would peer over the cliffs at this time would think nothing of these jagged and rocky minarets. But when the tide recedes the sandy city is exposed in all its aquatic glory. The cities quartered sections appear as tide pools with the Queen of Crustaceans palace in the center. Giant fans of sea weed and kelp cling to door frames and hang from window frames. They dry in the midday sun and become delicate and crisp nutrients to her majesty. Her armored children crawl over every surface, risking their life at the hand of the black-tipped seagulls, and harvest the kelp for their queen.

Look, she can be seen at her dais. Great coral bowls of dried vegetation lay at her feet. See her rust, ochre, and rouge dress hang from her great shoulders. Thin and segmented crab or lobster legs make up her bodice and crab shells cover her small breasts. Her pale blue skin can be seen in the sunlight, he turns her face skyward and it flushed a deeper blue, shades of the ocean. Many believe her to be made of cast off shells and sea spray. But those who know her well have come to find that her clothes are made of the naturally deceased and the blue tint is formed by copper infused blood. She told me this and I quote.

“Unlike the mammalian blood which runs red with an iron molecule sounded by protein, at the center of my bloods core lies a beautiful copper nucleolus. My children and I share this.”

She has served me plates of her kelp and sea grass, sweet, salty and crisp. I have given her bottles of ruby red wine but never a white for this would seam to cruel.