the fountain

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A Quest For Xibalba


  • Dedication

    Darren Aronofsky

    For the most wondrous of films

    Clint Mansell, The Kronos Quartet & Mogwai

    For the perfect soundtrack

    The Mayan Culture

    For leaving just a hint of a possibility

  • Overview

    Occasionally the poet encounters something that serves as muse. It is always a cherished moment for the creative impulse knows no bounds. One such encounter was with the film The Fountain which serves as the title for these musings. Rarely is beauty portrayed in such a wondrous way and accompanied by a perfect soundtrack, the titles of which serve as chapter headings. We take to the aethyrs on wings burnished gold. Our favoured piece, Xibalba serves as the central motif and here we acknowledge the Mayan and their body of learning. In many respects such a tale is summed up in the simple phrase

    Together We Will Live Forever

    Chapter Headings

    The Last Man

    Holy Dread

    Tree Of Life

    Stay With Me

    Death Is A Disease


    First Snow

    Finish It

    Death Is The Road To Awe

    Together We Will Live Forever


  • Death Is The Road To Awe

  • The Last Man

    The last man stood within a marble hall which bore witness to the might of the empire, which he, its last ruler, now attended in its dying hours. His kind had brought the world to heel and upon every lip had echoed the phrase Pax Romana.

    And who is this last man we speak of? By name, for that is a simple thing, Flavius Valerius Aurelius Constantinus Augustus,

    sometime Constantine. Before him the shadows flee as the day star begins its ascent into the heavens and he now attends the pages of the book he has yet to scribe.

    Long had his gods been absent and in their passing they had ceded and cast the nobility that was Rome into the bloodied claw of the barbarian horde that ever watchful, like its jackal cousin, would take down the noble beast. History, the provenance of the victorious, tells another story and yet it is in his darkest hour that Constantine dreams and on the wall before him is cast the vision of the times to come and he its architect, scribes this upon the parchment pages before him. For this is he called the last man for all that has followed has been but a dream within the mind of a failing ruler, cast down but to be remembered throughout time.

    Amongst the zealots that abounded in the empire the devotees of the Nazarene would best serve his purpose and into the body of their faith, ill formed and nave, he would cast the honeyed words of his predecessor the divine Marcus Aurelius who on campaign against the tribes of germania had scribed his meditations upon the fabric of time. Yes his empire, reduced to dust around him would rise yet again and long after his passing and that of his descendants, the might of Rome, whose heart is eternal, would beat within the breast of The Holy Roman Empire, who ever catholic

    in their persuasion, would await the time, millennia away when once again upon the shores of germania one would rise and attempt to claim the world yet again. He would fail but as Constantine stands within the dying moments of his world he is ignorant of this and as such continues his folly.


  • Holy Dread

    Meanwhile and half a world away Siyah Kak, Born Of Fire, uttered his first cry upon the air and in that single act were the Americas to rise in prominence upon the world stage. Q'uq'umatz the plumed serpent wove his spells into the now sleeping new born and showed him the

    wonders of the world yet to be, for at its height the empire basked beneath a bountiful sun and its people knew Eden. Years were yet to pass before, with the coming of age, he ascended the throne that grants dominion and led his people through times of plenty. Centuries had gone into the crafting of this empire and little is known of its pre history other than it flourished. It is to this time, measured by the Christian calendar as between 250 and 350 AD that we see the first of Constantines dreams unfold for whilst his empire was in decline that of Born Of Fire was in its ascendance. Where better to be?

    We will speak but little of this time and place for it is but a stepping stone upon the path that is the unveiling of this our tale other than to say, here the gods ruled and order prevailed and blessed its people with the bounty that is the fruit of the body of the goddess.

    The people, wise and gentle, given to study, mapped the heavens and mastered the art of agriculture and fed a vast empire on what was little in the way of cultivated land. Their art is long forgotten but amongst their priesthood were the inheritors of the ancient, now extinct culture of Khem and amongst them were the Alkhymysts who by their arte had defeated Death itself. This arte known to the cult of Khephren, now but a dim memory, rose amongst the Mayan where it bloomed all but briefly.

    Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast


  • Tree Of Life

    A millennia passes and we arrive at the third point of our brief sojourn through history which brings us to Spain and the fifteenth century. Here ruled Ysabel who raised a failing empire to its former glory and the first to send emissaries to the New World, as called. First amongst

    these was Columbus who believing in the god that guided him brought destruction to Eden and the beginning of the true dark ages. Yet it is not to history that we cast our glance for it is here, in truth, that our tale begins.

    Within Eden two trees graced the land with their presence. The first, The Tree Of The Knowledge Of Good And Evil has cast its long shadow upon creations mirror and history is revealed by its presence. The Second, The Tree Of Life remains but a dream. Its very existence questionable and yet the adepts since time itself began have tasted of its fruit and it is to this fruit that Ysabel casts her gaze for she would reshape the world and though catholic in her mind, her heart is graced by the wisdom, borne of long study and instruction. She would be as Eve and enter the first day of the worlds rebirth, baptized in the waters of life and rendered immortal by the tasting of the one true substance before which all else is spectre cast upon the mirror of life. She commissions her emissary and with a ring taken from treasury grants him dominion in her name and would have him as her Adam upon the face of this brave new world she would craft.

    Eden eternal drifts upon the aethyrs, burnished gold and remains but a myth to all that lives and breathes. Perhaps the mystic glimpses it in their reveries? Perhaps the philosopher grasps at its skirts with soiled hands? Perhaps the poet wraps it in a mantle of words crafted in beauty and longing? Perhaps we all glimpse it in the deepest of chambers of our own slumbering hearts? Perhaps Death whispers its seduction into the fibre of our souls and the promise of fulfillment descends like golden rain upon a parched and barren world? Perhaps ?


  • Stay With Me

    Once upon a hill of flint beneath an ocean of stars I called unto thee. Vision burned within eyes, pale mirrors of thy glory and in the velvet silence of midnight an answer came. Now like one turned to ash beneath thy gaze I wander upon the shores of night. Shadows attend me, their whispers seductive yet bereft of life as they turn upon the wheel of thy becoming. Errant shades caught within a web of whispers. Burn their presence from my sight and grant the benediction which is thine alone to grant. Make of my body a sigil, celebrating thy presence and within thy embrace might I reside until time itself tumbles into memory, dull mirror of thy glory.

    Once within a lake of fire I called unto thee and as my form evaporated into thy breath did I rise purified, made whole in thy sight and yet a shadow cast upon memories dull mirror. Flesh melted into a pool of amniotic mist. Blood boiled and became as liquid gold. Bone dissolved by thy acid touch and as thy kiss parted lips parched did I ascend on thy breath. In that crucible was I formed and upon midnights eternal shore was I cast. Sent forth amongst the legions of the damned. Anathema to all I beheld. Witness and scribe cast thy spells upon the aethyrs. May thy body be thy pen, thy blood the very ink of inscription and upon the papyrus of life inscribe the axiomata of bliss.

    Once beneath the ocean I called unto thee, reached out a hand and felt thine in mine, only to slip away. Was it but a moment ago that flesh met flesh and melded into a single heart? Through eyes yet dim did I behold thee? With ears confounded by deceit did I yet comprehend thee and upon my lips did I not taste of the nectar that drips, honeyed, from the petals of thy rose? Life steps briefly behind the veil of eternity, takes a bow and collapses into singularity. Waves resolve themselves into ripples and as the reflection settles a new form arises, takes a stumbling step and the pageant unfolds.

    Once upon a summers breeze I called unto thee. Wings unfurled did I descend into thy embrace, felt

  • thy heartbeat upon my breast and released an anguished sigh. Mistress of my soul I serve as a reflection of thy presence within the vale of tears. Thy whispered word a thunderous command. Thy desire a template of mine acts and thy form the vessel in which I travel across the aethyrs celebrating thy song of rapture. The breeze rises to a scream and upon its echo do I now continue my quest beneath a field of golden stars, each bears witness to thy presence and in the sanctuary of their hearts is thy judgement reflected upon the mirror of their minds.

    The Hill Of Flint [ extract ]


  • Death Is A Disease

    Old Age

    The la