Desert of Limerence, and the Mystery of Love

Desert of Limerence, and the Mystery of Love

It began with the storm.

Leaving all she knew, traveling in an old jeep that growled a base tone like a beast in some long forgotten cave. The sheet metal tank-like vehicle with an exhaust pipe situated high, was built for an adventure into the unknown. Quiet fitting she thought, while anxiously monitoring the gauges on the dashboard for any signs of mechanical complications. I'm not an ordinary woman, she thought, comforting herself through the bellows of snarling thunder and lightning that lit the sky, and gave slight luminescent to puddles of rain that had begun to collect quickly. If anything happens, I can fix it. I have done it a million times before, I am all I need, and I don't even need me, she thought comically.

The backdrop of the sunsetting on the desert sands was already a sight to behold, but the storm was the icing on the cake. The fright of it took her mind from pondering the reasons she left anyway, the words said in anger, and the questions asked that although pointed and sharp still came from a place of truth. Why? And where? A simplicity that still eluded her trained intellect, the answers to the questions unobtainable at least at this point.

Suddenly a flash of lighting struck a tree that stood not far from the endless winding road. It exploded, sending embers of charred bark flying. She swerved quickly as a large flaming branch now stood not 5 feet before her. “That was close”, she shouted wiping her brow, she already had her gloves and boots on, her reaction was like that often, shocked but stoic to the core. Stepping out of the jeep, and closing the door behind her, she approached the artifact as its flames settled.

The embers hissed, and the heat turned to thick smoke as the rain suffocated the passion with a cooling embrace. She could easily move around it, but what of the next woman who comes down this road. Dragging the warm branch into the sand, she stood for a moment, becoming drenched in seconds. Yet it was exactly what she needed, like tears she could not cry, a release that she could not pull from her own eyes. Noticing the tree, now blackened by flame, it still burned, the fire was red hot, so intense it seemed like fresh blood. Not orange at all, but as strikingly sanguine as the sunset that was beginning to give way to a dramatic nearly full moon.

She walked across the sand to the tree, leaving her own prints, in the sands of time that seemed to be untouched. Time is like that she thought, it always seems untouched, yet it is touched by all. The wind was light but strong enough to remove the sands as she stepped, renewing its freshness for the next women. A couple feet from the tree, she could feel its intensity, seeming to grow hotter, as if making a statement against the rain, maybe asking it “Who are you to stop me, who are you to change me, who says you can contain me?” Still it is the law that rain will consume the flame, and only in our dreams could that fire rage forever. Yet the rain can reign till the end of time, just as the sand, and wind. Why is that? She thought. Reaching for her notebook to jot her thoughts as she often did, but removing the small leather bound book, it was drenched, and her pen could scarcely leave even the faintest, fading mark.

She turned to walk back to her jeep, still growling, and releasing noticeable exhaust. But she noticed just beyond the tree a reflection, catching the light of the flame. It almost seemed like a crystal with its endless reflecting edges. Glancing at her jeep, and brushing it off her shoulder, saying to herself “That beast will be fine, I'll only be a moment” she began to march across the firm sand damp with rain, and cooled by the approaching desert night.

Each step felt heavier than the last, and the glimmer seemed to keep getting further and further away. Over the dunes, she could no longer see her jeep, but could still see the burning tree, “That will be my bearing, as long as I can see the fire I'm safe.” As she continued her envoy into the abyss of sand, the wind grew stronger, and the rain harder, but finally she could begin to make out what was before her.

An eerie feeling passed down her spine, plummeting her heart into her toes. Her eyes were wide and aware. What stood before her was a teapot, as clear as glass, but with edges like crystal. It sat on a small prayer rug that was slightly buried in sand. But not much, it must not have been out her long she thought. As even the kettle was hazy with steam. 4 cups sat around the edges of the carpet, helping to hold it in place. Each tea cup was made of crystal but in a different shape. While the liquid inside the tea kettle, most likely tea, was a dark maroon, and had a few delicate pink flowers floating within its wake.

The area she stood was more lit than any other space of the desert, the tea set was reflecting such a massive amount of light. Was it from the fire that was only a spot on the horizon, or the moon's radiance bearing witness in the sky, maybe it was the endless bolts of lightning , or all three in tandem expressed on the fault-less face of the tea pot?

No way I should have a taste that would be even too much for me to do, who knows what's in there or who left this, she thought as she continually scanned the environment. So open no one could sneak up on her from here. She ran her hand along her hip instantly comforted by the cold metal of the petit revolver she concealed behind her back.

She grasped the warm tea kettle, and poured a bit in a circular cup. And began to sniff the aromas. Deep and pungent, a fruity smell rich like pomegranate, but also floral like lotus, or frangipani. Even a delicate sharpness like that of an aged rose seemed to rise from the liquid. But oddly enough it reminded her of her father's tobacco for whatever reason.

Who would put so much effort into poison? I'll have a sip. The storm begging to settle, only caused slight ripples in the cup every so often. Raising the glass to her lips, she parted them and took a cautouse sip. Pressing her lips to the glass and leaving a lipstick mark reminiscent of a kiss.

Immediately she was filled and complete, overwhelmed yet at peace. As if in the arms of a mother god, who took all the words she needed to say out her mind. A few tears fell from her eyes, replacing the drops of the rain that had already come to an end. After a few moments she began to hear more clearly the sounds of the desert, a few owls spoke in a walling whisper, insects buzzed on beat, keeping the metronome of the night. A breeze seemed to carry in it words from those she suddenly left behind, she could feel their love for her tugging her heartstrings lightly. Before she could catch the reflection, she heard footsteps across the sand. Moving at a casual unhurried pace.

She could slowly make out the dark silhouette, which seemed to glow like a mirage, in the back light of the full moon dancing on the wet sand. Stepping back from the table she gently taped her revolver, to restore her sense of peace. Reminding herself nothing could happen she couldn't handle. Soon the silhouette stood only across the table from her. He was not drenched, but she noticed neither was she. The condensed heat within the sands made everything dry quickly, making the rain itself seem like only a passing thought.

“How's the tea?” he asked in a disarmingly soft voice.” She was so stunned by his presence she was petrified, not sure how to respond. The man dressed in flowing garments as if he were a Sufi in 11th century Arabia. The piece was handmade, glistening as if silver was woven into the dark blue black fabric. A pattern was subtly intertwined, but she couldn't make it out in the somber lighting.

“The tea?” she responded confused, having forgotten the moments that led up to this one. “Oh yes it was pleasant,” immediately shocked by her actions she continued, “was it okay to drink was there anything odd in it,” he let out a forced chuckle, “just my evening bush tea, nothing strange about it” the man smiled showing his full set of white teeth. “My name is Yokai, I know this may be a startling experience for someone passing through, but I assure you, you have nothing to worry about with me, I live in this desert, and I was simply preparing my evening tea.”

“I know, I was not startled, after all what do I have to fear,” she said, gaining composure, “My name is Neena it is a pleasure to meet you out here sir.” extending her hand to his. He hesitated a moment as if this was not customary, but finally shook her hand. Equally as foreign he held her hand a bit too long, causing a still moment, where their eyes locked. She thought he seemed older, but now looking at his face I can tell he is young and trustworthy. Her shoulders dropped a bit as she finally exhaled, allowing the gun of her spirit to un-cock. Quickly snatching her hand out of his. She turned and looked for the blazing tree. But now could only see the darkness of the desert under a disorienting full moon that seemed to be moving unpredictably.

“What is it you are looking for?” He asked. “Oh nothing, just the way in which I came, I'm sure I can find it easily If I begin walking.” she replied. “You may be right, then again you may be wrong and you may be lost even once the sun does rise, the road you came on is the only road through, and even I could not find it at this hour”. “Please stay with my family this evening, we are only a short journey away.” As uneasy as she felt about it all, what option did she have, thinking for a moment she said, “Maybe I just stay here the night” Yokai replied "you can, however there are many wild cats I wouldn't want to get a hold of you.” Inquiring deeper she asked, “So your family will be alright with me, your wife, and child” He replied “Oh yes they will be glad to see a new face, it's rare maybe every blue moon, which happens to be tonight.” I'm sure you're tired, so we ought to get a move on, he said , folding up the tea set in the carpet and tossing it over his back, making a loud clanging noise, as if he had no care if it was damaged at all.

They set out for the Man's home in the desert. “Walk in my footsteps so you don't get lost in the dark of night” he shouted over the wind which would periodically pick up and die down. Breaking the ominous silent was a shriek through the night. One that she was familiar with having come from a big enough city. It was the gut wrenching sound of at least two cats facing off for some arbitrary reason. Gargling, and spitting with rage as if there wasn't endless space. “Cats all the way out here?” she asked confused, “Yes you could call them that I presume. I'd more think of them as wayward souls without a home.” beginning to seem annoyed with her questions. She went on “How I love them, I can't help but feed them when they are around,” reaching in her pocket to pull out some scraps to leave behind. “Oh you better not, " he said with a piercing frankness expressed in the depth of his eyes.”

“It would be better to simply allow them to die then to give them such a false hope” she gasped at his harshness, He continued, “I once was a feeder of the cats, but I fight my deep desire to love now, as this love is cruel, Id share the salmon from the spring with the cats that came to my feet begging, they would eat and enjoy of course, then latter come back for more. And again I would feed her, and maybe a couple others that were curious as well. This would go on for a while. Until I realized I was growing thin, my clothing falling from my body, so I suddenly stopped. Now these cats would follow me everywhere, and stand outside my doors scratching, and screeching across the silence of the desert endlessly. Causing my beloved cat inside to become agitated, and to pick to destroy my home, making it impossible for me to rest at all. This was all before, those desert cats finally died.”

Shocked, “How did they die, when so many of these cats live in the desert and survive each day. He continued “That's just it, death by love, once I turned away and stopped feeding them they would no longer eat the waste of the desert, and whatever they could scavenge. Now that they have a taste for salmon only salmon would do.”

“However it's not only the cats,” he said as Neena reached out to a small frog hopping across the desert sand, “You will notice no wild animal allows you to touch it, why do you think that is?” Well they must be afraid, as a natural response” she replied. Yes but afraid of what? “Once you touch, you connect, and in this connection is the base of the attachment as well as dependance, or in other words a romance. Clearing his throat as he finished speaking.

Neena stood dumbfounded, amazed that so much poetry could be extracted from a simple innate reaction of animals. She thought back to the moment their hands touched, and she could feel in her heart the truth of what he shared. In that simple moment of connection she had fallen for him, although she could not even admit to herself. As she would not let her guard down about the stranger who was leading her into the abyss of the sands of time. A place that seemed to envelope sound, yet she could hear him as clear as day. The sound of lighting now replaced by the howling of seemingly out of place house cats, they may have lived on the frogs, hairs, and small birds that burrow into the endless cactus.

Rapidly approaching foot prints could be heard scraping at the sand, accompanied by labored breathing. Neena shouted “watch out.” Sensing that whatever was coming out of the dark was just about to be upon them she reached for her revolver but could not find it. Hearing the screeching roar like a banshee lunging towards her. She shut her eyes, and froze. When she finally opened them there was only a pool of blood right between her and Yokai. Footsteps could be heard moving away quickly along with a whimper, and the combative hissing of feral cats. Sobbing, she said “How could you attack a cat like that?” “Like I said better off dead, " he said with a chuckle that lingered beyond the acceptable amount of time, echoing into the endless open ocean of earth.

A gust of wind blew through as if excited by his maniacal laughter, it was cool, and tasted like the ocean. Now at the top of the dune, he pointed to a space darker than the rest of the onyx desert, it was not reflecting even a bit of the moon's light. “That's where we are headed,” he said now back to his soft soothing tone. It seemed like each time they conversed, new details of his face were revealed. I wonder if he is seeing more in me by the passing moment as well, the thought made her slightly blush. He smiled, noticing her increasing pink hue, she could tell his eyes didn't miss even the slightest detail.

The two of them descended the steep dune, walking a zig zag path crossing back and forth still following, his prints would seem to vanish just as she stepped in them. Merged into the landscape by the temperamental winds which whispered their own parables into her ear.

Reaching the infinitely darker space in the desert, the sound and smell of water was now palatable, in fact she could taste it. Smacking her lips together, as if her growing thirst was being quenched. Her heart began to beat quickly as they entered its massive imposing embrace. Continuing to walk in his footsteps although she could scarcely see them. But she could feel the sand that easily gave way to her feet turn solid and still more solid.

So she reached down to touch the earth. It was damp firm soil. “An oasis” she thought aloud, “Yes the best places in life often are," he replied. She reached out from the path that he had made before her, and felt the dense and lush greenery. As her eyes adjusted she could see the leaves of palm trees, and the vines that surmounted them. Green but reflecting a gray hue from the full moon. Looking ahead she noticed several moving streams glistening like a scene from a fantasy script. Her eyes sharply intensified noticing all the detail of the landscape, as if there was no more to see then this even when daylight illuminated this place, there could not be more detail held in one space. Her ears, and noise were equally as fulfilled by the sound of running water trickling over rocks, adding the ambiance of a passionate waterfall. The steam that lifted into the air seemed to carry crystals as it twinkled like it was made from the contents of stars fallen to the earth several millennia ago.

Suddenly Yokai paused, and took a seat. Pulling from his pocket a long pipe, he lit a match and began to smoke without any warning or even a glance. Then spoke as the smoke rose from his nostrils and lips, blurring his piercing gaze through the haze. The aroma was light and fruity, a blend of smells, but somehow reminded her of her fathers tobacco all the same.

“There was once a kind of farmer in these woods, one who became obsessed with two trees that had appeared on his land. Each tree was so rare, he could let all his other crops fall to the way side to nourish these two, as they provided all the wealth he needed. However here in the desert, water is the ultimate resource, and trees need lots of water. So each day he would water his trees and sing to them, and tend to them. One tree was mature, it bore many sweet fruits, so ripe it was almost a sin how it put other farmers' fruit trees to shame. While the other, a youthful tree bare only flowers, but the flowers he found useful as herbs. He boasted of his splendor to the local inhabitants, and they were amazed. Not only by the trees, but the man's ability to keep them both alive in such a ruthless environment where hardly anything can grow, as rain was more scarce each and every year. Over time the farmer noticed the fruit tree and the flower tree needed more and more water as they grew. Neither tree seemed to mind the other as long as they both were hydrated. One day as the man went about caring for them he suddenly collapsed. He was dizzy and weak, having not drunk enough water for weeks. Below the shade of two trees he died.

“How anticlimactic,” She said unfulfilled that really the end of the story? What a ridiculous death, even a child could see their way through this conclusion.” At this he blew smoke and smiled, impressed by her question.

“It could have been the way he died, but instead the man, having been shaded by the canopy of the fruit tree, was protected from the heat that would have surely ended his life. He reached out, and he found the limb of the delicate flower tree. Grasping it he was able to be lifted to his feet. That evening he took his sword, the only blade a man ought to carry. And struck the base of the mature tree, cutting it down, and ending its life. As if he were the reaper of love.”

Continuing the legend “Once it collapsed he counted the rings of the trunk, finding it was not an old tree at all, but only appearing as such on the outside. But keeping the flower tree, and placing its medicine in his water he had tea, and drying its flowers he had smoke. He grew wise, and strong, he poured more water into this tree. Fantasizing about the fruits it would one day produce. Yet as he watered the young flowering tree more, and more it seemed to only grow weaker. Until the day he was brought to his knees lifting the fallen tree with his own hands, attempting to give it a spine, but it was no use.”

“He mourned the loss of his prized tree, for many days, refusing to leave his home, unable to even look in its direction. One day from his window he noticed something growing, walking into the field and up to the old fruit bearing tree, there was a green sapling growing through the old cut trunk. Looking now at the young flower bearing tree, it seemed deeper in the earth than before, as if something was pulling it underground. After digging at its thin trunk, he found the aged dark and dense woody roots had strangled his delicate pride.”

She sat pondering the many meanings of this story, reaching into her pocket for her note book, yet she could not find it.

Yokai's pipe finally stopped burning, and he stood. Extending his hand to her, but she had already begun standing on her own. Not wanting to touch his smooth palm again, afraid of what feeling it would inspire in this romantic, yet treacherous setting. She asked herself, What am I doing? I could very well die in this place! I have left myself at the mercy of him. How incredibly naive I am. I have no escape, all I can do is trust.

So the two continued to walk, now side by side, since no footprint could any longer be made.

Her stomach growled, and her lips began to feel dry, they had not been walking long yet it felt like an eternity. At the river he kneeled and drank, Neena noticed his garb had been blown open at some point, revealing his flesh. He glowed in the white light of the night. His skin is like dichroic glass, his smile like fine porcelain. His eyes contained a depth she had never known. Her heart fluttered, like the strange effervescent mouths that studded this sacred land.

They continued forward into the dark of the thick opaque jungle. Neena had stopped walking, Yokai turned to see her rubbing her eyes, trying to clear them like smudges from a glass. He smiled saying “It's not your eyes I promise.” The Oasis becomes more foggy by the moment, something to do with the abundance of water, paired with the heat of the desert.

But why she really rubbed her eyes is before her was an incredible metallic dragon, one that released coppice steam from its nostrils. Yet its clad scales were more like silk than talus. Its eyes a hue of blue green. Its nails were like an emerald made of lapis. Its Constitution that of patience, it was not in the slightest disturbed or aroused by our presents. It sat noticing its environment as it did before we came across it. Aware of the steam's tantalizing dance through the moon lights fragmented glit through the sand forest canopy.

As a cloud passed before the moon, the already obscured light vanished momentarily. Once its glare returned, the dragon seemed to vanish into thin air, leaving not a trace except the steamy damp grass where she sat, coiled in the vale of her tail.

Yokai pointed to a snake, “Notice the serpent, is it male or female,” he announced like a university professor that came to her mind. Taking a slight pause of examination replied, “Hmmm I'm not sure,” “My point exactly,” he interjected, “the two of them live duplicate lives, besides one of them must lay eggs.” The snake coiling around a thin tree, began to climb inching itself onto a low branch, where a praying mantis sat motionless, so still it was more leaf then the amber leaflets that sprouted around it.

Immediately the snake and the mantis began to dance around each other. Each taking turns striking and dodging. Finally after losing motivation the snake turned away and slithered off into the shadow to find easier prey.

“Notice the mantis,” said Yokai. Another being who lives its life as an individual that is until it decides to mate. Its ritual around procreation is also its ceremony of death. When it finally meets its lover, it will passionately embrace. There is no connection stronger than this one, two mantises praying together, saved for each other without knowing, they awaited patiently. However only the female will survive, her mate will never see another mantis more beautiful than her. As his still conscious head is devoured, she will be the last thing his kaleidoscopic eyes will ever perceive.”

They continued walking through the majestic steaming oasis. Until a clearing could be seen in the distance. The sand becoming slightly blue, an omen of the coming light. Neena exhaled a sigh of relief, she had made it through the night. I guess I can trust him this much, not one moment did I feel threatened or uneasy. I rather enjoyed this time she thought. I look forward to seeing his home, maybe I'll become a family friend, invited to visit this time each year.

The thought of it warmed her heart. As they pierced the veil of the arid jungle. The light of the sun could be seen slightly peering over the dunes. Synchronized with a rooster crowing nearby. “Hear that”, Yokai said, “Yes,” Neena replied, now becoming impatient. “The rooster is typical, the strongest one will win the most hen hearts, not because of his strength but because of his endurance to chase. As the hen will always run. He continued, In fact if he wasn't only able to have one hen at a time, the other roosters would die never having reproduced. But alas we all have our limitations”

Now clearly seeing his home, she was overjoyed. It Spoke volumes about the man she had met. It was maintained and inviting. Walking towards the gray smooth stone building, it stood elegantly as if it was made from granite, how wealthy is this strange man she thought. Walking up the path, and arriving at the door she reached out to touch it. She was shocked at its splintery, weathered feeling, it was not aligned with what she saw. A disconnect in her senses caused a moment of pondering. Stepping back from the door to observe the home again, she could see clearly now it was not any longer an ivory palace, but instead a charred, forgotten rotten, and consumed mess of aged wooden planks, melting into the sands of time.

She turned to find her guide, tears welling in her eyes, begging to understand where she had been taken and for what reason. Neena was immediately furious, afraid, and reached back behind her to find the revolver, she grasped for it continually. As Yokai approached slowly, his skin appearing more like sea glass than ever, his royal garbs like forgotten fabrics torn and blowing through the desert. He grasped his side, and removed a long steel blade from a hidden space.

“No No No you don't have to do this, I can find my way back, I won't tell anyone you're here, finally she shouted let me join you, let me be with you, I… Love ….you.”

Just then his sword dropped from pointing to the heavens, with the force of a guillotine.

Slowly her eyes opened, she felt nothing, except dampness running down her face, she began to cry but was too distracted to notice. Rubbing her face, the tears were intermingled with blood. Turning around to see Yokai walking off into the rising light, she lunged towards him, but tripped. Falling to her knees and grasping the sand beneath her. She watched as Yokais' pipe smoke obscured his form, as he faded into the sunlight, becoming more and more translucent, until just his lips remained, and finally his handsome slanted eyes looking back at her.

The sand in her palms began to clot with the residue of sanguine tears. Looking back at her feet, she had tripped on a broken chain. Analyzing it she thought, I don't remember ever being chained.

She stayed on her knees and simply wept. Her weeping became sobbing, and her sobbing became a hiss, and finally her hiss a blood curdling howl. As she called for the mysterious man creating an eerie ambiance that echoed throughout the landscape.

The End .