The Time Keeper is a Wizard

Dear Cronus,

“And when the wizard gets to me
I'm asking for a smaller heart
And if he tells me "no."
I'll hold my breath until I hit the floor
Eventually, I know I'm doomed
To get what I am asking for.”

- Amanda Palmer ‘Trout Heart Replica’

                These hands are covered in blood; blood which had been tainted black by the full moon. The pale light is dancing on the dry liquid like the devil dancing on my grave. I hear the rhythm of his feet on top of my coffin as I stared long at my hands. Hands which are covered in my blood.

                I have been pulling at the roots of the brunt tree around me for far too long, cutting and damaging myself. The coffin in which I lay in has been made from the ash tree, and I’m trying to break free from it. The roots entangled me like snakes trying to choke the life of their prey, and I have been fighting them for years. Years spend nursing the bites from these snakes, growing weak from their venom and losing the will to fight free. The tree pulls me back never wishing me to be free of it, never wanting to lose me.

                My friend, I fear there is a part of me that doesn’t want to lose the safety in the shadow of the black tree. There is a bitter sweet comfortable the horrors of the past. Their hurt feels more like home than the bright sunny day. The light terrifies me.

What an odd thing to fear, huh?

                The light most cultures believe is where salvation lies, and it is a haven from the monsters. It is a peaceful idea. It is a beautiful belief, but the events in my past have taught me otherwise. The light is where you can see all the wounds and scars of the past.

                Then again, maybe, these dislike or distaste of the light comes from the fire. When I was a child would have a reoccurring nightmare after the event. The dream was simple; something in the light was following me through a black maze, and the maze was a haven for me. I was fearful of the thing in the light, the burning monster. I didn’t want it to catch me.  

The dream faded as I grew older and only comes to me now in moments of great stress. I haven’t had it for many years and yet, the feeling that there is something wrong about the light still sits in my mind. I know the source of this inadequacy, and I can’t do anything to change it.

                I once heard the way you fix the dark parts of yourself is to trace back to the root the cause of the darkness. What event or actions caused you to feel this way? What emotions are you lingering on to keep yourself locked to the pain? Once you find these events or actions, then you relive them or work through them to come over them. The parts which are your fault you learn from and never do again. The parts which are not your fault you learn it was out of your hands and the past is the past. There is no changing it. There is no going back and would you want too?

                I ask myself that question all the time when I’m tired of my fight. What would I give to remove this tree from me before it was born into the world? Would I plunge my hands into the earth to rip the seed from it? Would it change me?

                I don’t know if I can tell the answer because I don’t have one right now. As I pen you this letter, I have no idea what to think of the roots around me. Some of them I need. Some of them I hate.

One of them pumps vile into my beating heart, and I’m once again battling with the lustful side of myself. I hear the breathing and snorting of the Minotaur at the back of my skull. He is on the move through the labyrinth, and I’m trying my best to keep him locked away.

                I’m pulling at the root which is trying its best to unlock the gate. The more I pull, the more pain shoots through my chest, and too many nights I’m weak and give into my desires. Desires which led me to do unsavory things and paints my mind in a lustful haze all day. I desperately long to be away from people so I can indulge is the lustful thoughts which feed the Minotaur.

                And then right before bed when the darkness is slowly breathing into the room I wish to be free from the ideas. I wish to close my eyes and dream of nothing but a field of under the stars. My heart is sore with the endless search for a lover. I’m so weary of trying to beat my past while at the same time act as if everything is fine among my friendships.

You can only speak so much of the growing pains of relationships before everyone grows tired of talking about them, but my wounds didn’t heal from the pains. My heart didn’t heal, and I never learn how to close the wound. I have tried with tape and straps, but I always find a way to rip them out. I find a way to bleed again …

So, I give up on the search. I push people away because very few of them want to fight to be in my world anyway. I lock the doors to people and shut the lights off. I’m tired of looking for something in which I’m not ready to have in my life. I can’t give someone over to the monster in my skull. I can’t toss someone into the pile of roots at the bottom of the tree, that is not fair to any lover. I don’t want the blood hands again.

I sat calmly and comfortably at the bottom the tree trying to find a way out, but my hands are too weak for this battle. My feet and legs are tired from carrying this tree around with me, and the smell of the burnt wood lingers in my nose for too long. I give up. I’m done. I’m out for the count.

Until I see the ax sitting in front of me; an ax of white and silver and a lovely golden cross at the top of its head. All I have to do is reach out and take it. I can break free from the roots with this blade but am I ready? Do I take it, my friend? Either way, all hope is not lost, and the war is not over. I might have lost the battle for now, but the cross gives me hope. I’m not alone with this tree. The Lord saved me from the fire once before; He’ll save me from the brunt tree as well. I have to ready for Him to help me be free.

I’m slowly reaching for the ax …

With a Handshake,

A Writer