bracken

how pan's love is so difficult to imagine...there's no such thing as impossible, but there is such a thing as insane or mad or...pathetic. and i sit with a hundred needles piercing my head, some of them going through my nosebridge, my brain a porcupine inside-out, my heart finely minced with all the grassblades munched by pan's goats. will i ever move from this squeaking chair? will i ever move from this dreadful rickety chair that's bringing me nowhere but here within the stone-cold walls of my mind?

even my blood is sludge, not flowing, just inching its way to i don't know where since my heart has been reduced to pulp. for it to thin, i have to bleed, but i do have a wound somewhere, somewhere in me, where everything else is bracken and black and about to fall apart. i have to find that wound.

oh, god. where is pan?

secret love

in a village at the foot of three scraggly hills lived a goatherd with his faithful dog. pan the dog would go about his tasks everyday with the fervor of every herder's dog; he would make sure the goats stayed in the grassy area his master chose and led them to their quarters at the end of the day. he was, by all standards, an efficient assistant, and he could not imagine himself any less.

pan was very proud of his job, and he was quite contented with the life it gave. he had the luxury of sleeping in his master's house, eating full meals, and going to the town plaza with the family when he could. all the other dogs envied his comfortable life, yet they admired his tenacity and perseverance in his work. it was not difficult to like him; he was a pal to everyone.

he had everything. except for one thing.

at the end of every day, he would curl up on his master's porch and search the night sky. he would see her once in a while--her pale round face framed by thick long purple hair with garlands of tiny ice flowers. she was everywhere but beside him. and he wanted her.

he looked forward to the end of each day, for the chance to have a glimpse of her. but she would not always be there. maybe she had her own herd to take care of. it's not that she was hiding from him, because sometimes she would be smiling down at him. she was his only company on cold nights.

and yet it pained him to see her just as it made him delirious: she was of the sky, and he was of the earth. and all loyal farm dogs mix only with their own kind.

still, he wanted her.

one chilly night when all the lamps were extinguished, pan walked out to a patch of grass and looked up at her. there were tears in her eyes, and they fell lightly on his face. why are you crying, he asked. pan wanted to get closer to her and hurriedly climbed the rocky ledge of the hill. when he was on the highest point where no trees could block his view, he howled with all his might that she might hear him. please, dear lady, don't cry. and he howled again.

suddenly, her arms reached down to him in swirling mist and wind and she kissed him. pan was lost in her embrace and the ice flowers on her hair became flames, and he became one with her.

tomorrow, he would be back on the fields with the goats again. he would still be faithful to his master and carry on his duties. he would still be the popular dog around town. and he would be with his beautiful lady, when they meet again.