This is an old story from 1968 full of symbolisms.
The Forest – Canto I
1.
Be it far from me to have pretensions
to be any kind of poet,
but in this world and the other one
I think that anyone would certainly agree,
there are some things that can not well be told
except by words transcending sense
and the conventional reality,
as we accept and know it.
Such things I am here about to tell,
a story strange and difficult to grasp,
and lacking skills in verse and language,
my humility and poor simplicity
will hardly be sufficient to describe
this truth, that I nevertheless
experienced personally all the way,
although I never knew myself
some persons that were part of it.
Accept it as a humble offering
by me, a humble monk,
on ancient altars of tradition,
beauty, wisdom and experience,
and forbear my innocence
and incapacity to render credible
such matters that are visible
to only sentient human souls
and the mind's eye, that sees beyond
the lying sensuality
of this most insufficient limited reality.
2.
I used to take those morning walks
down to the sea as early and as soon as possible
after the sunrise, and my abbot gave me leave himself –
he knew that exercise would do me good,
and not just me, but all my influence
on others for the whole remaining day.
I used to sit down in the sands,
enjoy the rolling waves so generously coming in
sent forth from out there in eternity
to gloriously commit their foaming suicide
against the gentle shores,
caressing them with tenderness
in this eternal process;
when an object in the water caught my eye.
It was a shining object which the sun had found,
some beams had entered it in glimpses of reflection,
which went on into my eye and my attention,
striking me with wonder and amazement,
for immediately I felt it as a message meant for me.
I sat there still with my bare feet all sandy
basking in the glorious sun, as if transfixed
by sudden new and strange sensations,
as if I already was quite overwhelmed
by feelings that belonged yet to the future.
Finally I rose to carefully approach the object,
overcoming the last doubts concerning its reality.
It was indeed a bottle well closed up,
quite light and empty, but for something
that indeed made all my hairs rise in excitement.
There was a letter in it! And it came to me,
of all the people on this earth,
to me alone, there on the beach,
where I had wandered quite alone
exclusively to find this bottle!
Naturally I just had to open it.
Here is the letter, in original verbatim,
that since then has changed so many lives
by opening a world of lives of others:
3.
"My friend!
I pray you, do not judge me
for my awkwardness in language and expression,
but please try instead to understand and to investigate
my case and matter, and then judge me afterwards,
if I have given you the truth or only fabricated lovely dreams!
I am a wanderer gone totally astray
and facing death approaching in some hours,
for the ship that I am sailing on will not endure this tempest.
Seeing no chance to survive, I offer all I have of any value,
my life's secret, the one knowledge
of some consequence that I acquired,
to this stormy sea of destiny.
The fact is, that I once discovered Paradise,
and I left it as the crazy fool I was!
Now it is lost forever for my part,
and all that I can do is in my blindness to give directions
as to how it can be found again.
Just go to Winchester in Hampshire
and to Wynyard not so far away from there,
then follow the old southern road
until you pass the ruins of a castle and then cross a brook.
Get off the road and follow that brook upstream,
and you shall find the Paradise that I have lost forever
in despair and foolishness and desperation,
following my folly in my life's supremest deprivation!
All that I can do about it now
is to stand trial by myself
and let my life pass on from this life unto God."
4.
This spoke this enigmatic wondrous letter
anonymously with no signature
to me, who was unknown to this unhappy writer,
shipwrecked now, no doubt, and lost at sea
and dead and never buried.
I was totally beyond myself for pity
and committed instantly myself in tears and prayers
for the poor man's fate and soul.
And although he was dead, and I would never know him,
thus he spoke to me in graver earnest and directness
than did ever any living man
whom I met in my lifetime.
5.
My steps were burdened and slowed down
by serious pondering and wondrous feelings
on my way back to the monastery,
and my fellow monks there wondered
what had turned me so reflective
all of a sudden and tried teasing me and cheering me
with no success whatever. They had to be satisfied
with my simple explanation that I would discuss the matter
only with our abbot and with no one else –
of course, I dared not show my confidential letter.
My old abbot, like a father to us all,
sat quietly as usual in the monastery garden
busy at his roses, herbs and other lovely flowers
when I dared approach him, and he saw immediately
that there was something deeply serious
that had happened to me of some bother.
I went to the point directly,
showing him the flask and the fantastic letter
and explaining the concern of this new situation.
He immediately laid all his brows in wrinkles
and was perfectly immersed in the predicament.
He understood me wholly and looked serious about it.
Finally he spoke, and I was all attention.
6.
"My son, this is a matter of delicacy
that can not be trifled with.
Not only is it a concern of life and death,
but it is also evidently the last words and will of someone dying,
leaving a most vital message for posterity,
which he has committed to the ocean without any other choice,
which Fortune has placed in your hands,
the humblest monk among us of all people.
There is certainly a hidden meaning in this matter,
and I have to ask you to investigate it.
The directions could not be much clearer,
all you have to do is just to follow them
and see what place, if there is any,
this poor outcast shipwrecked sailor talks about.
Do not expect too much. There might be nothing in it,
but if there is something, you should certainly discover it,
fate having put his secret in your hands.
Good luck, my son, and I expect you to come back
when you are ready, with at best some very interesting report
that even might turn out intriguing."
He turned the letter back to me,
and I was free to go, entrusted with a sacred mission
that, I can't deny, enlivened me with joyful spirits.
7.
My fellows in the dormitory turned of course quite curious
when I packed my rucksack for a journey of some week or so,
but I said nothing to them of my errand,
but: "When I return I'll let you know,
but how can I inform you of my journey's mission
when I haven't started on it yet
and knowing nothing of where I am going?"
They were satisfied with that and let me go.
And so I started on the first and greatest journey of my life.
8.
It was not difficult but only pleasurable,
leaving everything behind in basking sunshine
as the spring was entering triumphantly
and light was king all round the world.
The walk was nice and long,
I passed the site of Glastonbury on the way
and visited my uncle, who was bishop in old Winchester,
who wondered greatly at my errand.
"Why on earth are you let loose?
Don't tell me you've been sent upon a mission!"
I could only gratify his worst suspicions,
and I told him everything and showed the letter,
whereupon he laughed his sides off
rattling all his vicarage and Winchester
to its foundations, whereupon he let me go
as soon as we had finished a most glorious dinner,
that would last for days and better than supplies.
9.
Thus I went on and followed the instructions of the letter.
They were clear enough, and not even the weather
offered me the slightest difficulty.
I walked swiftly on and found the river and the bridge
and started following the brook upstream.
I felt the strangeness of this moment
of some destiny of truth unknown
and wondered in what fairy-tale
this wonderful adventure would project me.
I was soon enough to know,
as gradually the country grew less habited
and wilderness grew more apparent
as the brook led me into a forest finally.
It was an ancient forest mainly of majestic beeches,
and the prevalent characteristic mood was peace
and quiet of a most inspiring and awesome nature,
so as almost some old chapel or cathedral
was to be expected somewhere near.
And then I came to what I almost felt
that had to be the centre of the forest sanctuary,
where silence ruled and everything was still
and where the waters of the brook was like a mirror
parted in two streams that joined together
peacefully and formed a little island.
Then I couldn't keep my feelings any more inside me.
They freaked out, and I freaked out with them
in a most irresistible exhilaration
that knew no bounds but burst out laughing
in a joy of universal freedom and release,
the like of which I never had experienced before.
It was sensational and could not be contained,
as if I suddenly had found the formula of world salvation
but could not explain it. I just had to sit down,
relax and laugh my heart out
in this greatest joy of bliss that came from nowhere
but replenished, permeated, overwhelmed
and influenced so palpably all life around me
that I knew for sure I had to have arrived
in paradise itself and nowhere else
directly, manifestly, definitely and demonstrably.
10.
As I calmed down the greatest miracle of all awaited me.
There was a house! It was a small house by the stream,
magnificently pretty in its humble aspects,
built with love undoubtedly, with lovely wooden carvings;
but what baffled me the most was the apparent fact
that someone lived there, and – my heart made quite a leap –
was even there at home! My heart made many thumping leaps
as I with quaking expectations neared the lovely house
and slowly and more slowly by each step,
until I finally dared move the handle of the door.
Yes, it was open, and it was not even fully shut.
And at that very moment, that most gentle voice
was heard, that spoke directly to my heart:
"Welcome, my friend! You have been long expected!"
I dared then push the door more open,
and there was but one most spacious comfortable room
with some small space for cooking in a corner,
and close by the window there was someone sitting in an armchair.
I had never seen a more resplendent youth in all my life.
It was a young man clad in white with hair so golden
as if he was actually an angel, but he wasn't.
"I am Gabriel," he continued gently to present himself.
"What message do you bring? For you must have been sent here
certainly by someone of my friends. Am I correct?"
I could not speak a word, but found the letter
which I pulled out of my pocket to present to him.
He read it with some consternation, and his brow was bent in sorrow.
"Did you actually receive this by a flask?" he asked me finally.
I told him the whole story. Then I asked him to tell his.
"What do you want to know?" he asked,
"where do you want me to begin?"
"My first most thirsting question is about this forest.
I feel such a beatitude in here. How is it possible?
Where does it come from?"
"You are not the first one to feel that sensation,
and you boldly step right into the main issue here.
My friend, relax. You shall remain here for some days
as my most celebrated guest, and I shall tell you the whole story.
It begins in fact with this our friend, this very man called Manuel,
who was the first one who came here, a sailor lost
and roaming round the country, fleeing from some fault,
some trauma or injustice. He found peace in here
and was enchanted by a tiny thing that glimmered in the water
just where these two streams join up together.
Go thou and do likewise, watch what you can find,
and then came back here, and I'll tell you all about it."
I was naturally most intrigued and followed his advice.
11.
As I lay down there by the stream and searched into the waters,
what I found was something most extraordinary.
Shining on the bottom of the brook there was a golden ring
of such amazing regularity and charm and beauty,
that I could not leave it by my sight.
And there, I realized immediately, was the whole story.
I had to tear myself away by force,
returned to Gabriel in the house and told him
what I had discovered. "I could read the story
in its beaming force of wonder, but I would prefer
to hear it more exactly from yourself," I told him.
"You were wise, my friend, to keep away from touching it,
and your reward shall be of course to hear it all,
the full account of this most fundamental love story of all,
as Manuel read it from the ring, and as I lived it through myself
with my own parents and especially my mother.
But it is a lengthy narrative indeed, so I suggest
we start our session with a cup of tea. Is that all right?"
Of course that was the best way of an introduction,
so the last thing I did was to protest.
He prepared the tea, I had some milk in it, he didn't,
and then he sat down and started to recount
the most intriguing fairy tale that I so far had heard.
The character of his amazing story suited him so well,
since he was actually a child of it, with his long golden hair
that flowed so generously down his back to reach his bottom
and his simple but so perfectly white dressing
that could certainly have matched the clothes of Christ.
And this is now his matchless story.
(to be continued.)
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2008-09-14 at 11:32
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