Millennial Treks with the Madman: Part II

Somewhere between dreams and wakefulness, I heard the sound of a whisper
against the shores of my soul. Softly calling my name, speaking of things
and places just beyond the pale of reality, just beyond the space of time.
As I struggled to capture the words, I awoke to the darkness and silence.
Half startled, I tried without success to go back into the darkness, but
sleep would not come. Starring at the ceiling, watching the strange light
shapes from outside my window play upon the shadows of my room, I waited.
Nevertheless, no sleep would come, awake now for what seemed forever, I
slowly slipped out of bed. Perhaps a drink of water and a snack would chase
away the remnants of the dream that would not come or leave. Strange, even
now it seemed I could hear the slow paced voice whispering my name, but it
was only the wind beating against the windowpane. Or, was it?

Stumbling down the stairs, barely missing the chair, I slowly made my way
in the dark. That chair that looked so right during the day was forever out
of place at night. Working my way to the fridge, almost blinded by the
light, I searched for what was left of the roast from last evening's dinner.
There, in a corner, it lay next to the lettuce and mayonnaise, almost as if
they were all waiting for just this moment and my need for a mid-night
snack. Turning on the light above the sink, I looked to find just the ends
of the bread left. Poor excuse but this would have to do. Eyeing the last
chunk of German chocolate cake under the glass, I added this to my plate and
with a tumbler full of iced water proceeded to the lower level where the TV
and DVD were and where I could listen to both without disturbing the rest of
the household.

There, safely in my little room, I arranged my meal on a stand, turned on
the Movie. Munching on the sandwich, all seemed right with the world again.
The original owner, sure that the Russians were indeed coming any day now,
had built the basement foundation of 2 feet of steel reinforced concrete,
hell a nuclear bomb could go off, and I would be none the wiser. The sound
from the system provided the noise my mind seemed to need, for within a few
short minutes I was dozing, and again being lulled by the annoying sounds of
voices just out of earshot. As I drifted between this and the dream world,
abruptly I heard a shout.

"RODNEY"

And then a whisper:

"Where do we go, when our attempts to love
have been rebuffed, ridiculed, and criticized again
for not being quite right, not being like
the T.V. version or was it "The Young and
the Restless"?

Where do we go, when we seek the reality
of the real, tired of all the frills caught up
in the deals that get lost amongst the chills
in the middle of that insanity, we call life?
What happens when we have lost track
of the insight, can't find
the way out of this plight,
and hear only the trite
dismissals of the mundane.


Where is it that we go, when our desires
are lost within the pleas for peace and sanity
in a space now devoid of meaning and
justice, where do we find sanity?"

The wind blowing in the corner, paper whirlwinds floating in the room, I
gazed into the darkness and beheld my old friend the Madman smoking on his
pipe staring back at me. Those steel black eyes set in a rugged brown face
whose lines bespoke of ageless voyages and wisdom. Again he spoke, this
time his voice seemed to shake the very foundation of the room that now seem
void of all else save he and I.

"Search the ages for the riddles, seek the questions from within the stars,
find your answers deep within your soul, and hearken to the wonder of the
child. Listen as lovers greet the dawn, be silent when mothers share their
wisdom, take heed when fathers show their secrets. Touch the soul of those
who perish, clothe the bodies left bare, feed the hearts lost within lies,
cherish the lives you have begun. Cry for those who would tarry along this
highway for too long. Heal the devastation with your caring; strive for
perfection before the day has gone. Look within yourselves for
righteousness, and to the stars evermore."

Again silence, the Madman taking up his cloak proceeded for the stairs, but
again his chant, now a bit melancholy, far-yet close, continued:

"You must forever seek the truth, you must fight for love, you must forever
love justice, and you must forever be free. While you may seek truth, truth
comes to those who wait by the ocean and ponder its mysteries. Truth does
not reside in the transient, for how can a minute capture the year. If you
choose to love then do it freely, without the burdens of promises meant to
secure passions desired. For love will not reside where it is chained or
where it is merely a prelude to seduction. Love will not be seduced. What
good is love if there is no justice? Justice is a mistress who belongs to
those willing to die for her call. Justice will not be denied nor will it
reside in lies. Nor can She endure evil, two wrongs, revenge or jealousy.
Moreover, Justice requires freedom for it to bloom, for all life is born
toward this one end - to be free. Therefore, my Son, if you would have love,
then you must seek truth, justice and freedom. Where you find these so also
will love be. "

And as if the Madman had forgotten he was to leave, he began to tell me a
story.

"Once, in the city of Loswello on the east border of Jungoen, lived a maiden
named Juba. She was the seventh daughter, of the seventh daughter of
Jared-Zhe. Blessed from birth, all had watched for she grew into one of the
loveliest maidens in the town. Every one looked with anticipation of her
coming of age. As she matured, she did so with the care of all her aunts
and sisters, teaching and showing her the way. However, just as she was to
come of age, war followed by famine broke out and all other plans were set
aside. Juba, determined that she would survive both, prepared
for war."

The Madman, his voice becoming less than a whisper, turned and slowly moved
up the steps. Caught off guard, I stammered:

"Wait, what of Juba"

"It is late my son, the story can wait." And with that, the Madman was gone,
almost as quickly as he had appeared. I was left, standing at the foot of
the stairs, looking at the pale blue smoke that remained. As dawn was
approaching, I hastened to prepare for the coming day. Wondering when the
Madman would return and tell me of Juba. Waiting never was my best suit.