Death poem …

DEATH POEM … (a story about gay suicide)

monks
Buddhist monks, Street photography, 2011.

 

Death Poem is dedicated to the many gay men, all around the world, who take their lives each year .. because they cannot cope with not being accepted for who and what they are…..

DEATH POEM: the story of Keiji and Ichiro.

 

Red on red - Luck is fleeting, oil on canvas, 50 x 50 cm., 2013.
Red on red – Luck is fleeting, oil on canvas, 50 x 50 cm., 2013.

PART ONE: ICHIRO’S JOURNEY TO TOKYO.

Ichiro had just boarded the Nozomi train from Osaka to Tokyo, a trip that would take approximately two and a half hours. Ichiro lived with his parents in Ashiya, a residential and industrial suburb of Osaka. He would meet his long-time friend Keiji at Narita Airport the next day, and together they would embark upon the adventure of their lives: a two-week journey to Norway – the land of salmon and fjords. Neither Ichiro nor Keiji had been to Europe before, and Ichiro had never even been outside of Japan. Ichiro could hardly wait to see his friend again. Keiji and his family lived in Yokohama, but Keiji could not leave for the airport before early tomorrow morning.

Ichiro was fortunate compared to Keiji. Keiji’s family (especially his father) considered him to be somewhat of a ‘disgrace’ and his father had more-or-less disowned him. Not only had Keiji chosen to study fashion design over a more practical and (in his father’s eyes “honourable”) profession like shipping, or even biotechnology (like his older brother), but after overhearing gossip about his son being “gay” Keiji’s father (Sadao) and his mother (Akemi) decided to confront their son straight out. This was quite unusual (especially in their family) as embarrassing issues were simply not discussed. The problem was that Keiji’s father (in the management team of a company with several important government contracts) was one of three persons in the leadership group being investigated under corruption charges. It was hell at work, and it seemed as if the internal search for a ‘scapegoat’ was getting more intense all the while. One of Sadao’s colleagues from work had commented to another at the job that he had seen Sadao’s son Keiji in Shinjuki ni-chome (Tokyo’s popular gay district). Aside from being an added threat to the already difficult situation at work, this rumour (which had quickly spread like wildfire throughout the executive offices) was also a personal insult for Sadao: he had not only “failed” at his job .. but also in raising his son. Sadao was so full of anger and consternation that he broke with his traditional rather stoic fatherly demeanour and confronted his son directly. Although Keiji dreaded the psychological abuse he knew would come from his father in the form of silence, avoidance of eye-contact and shortness of communication, he could not lie to his parents – as that would be the ultimate sin. So he confessed not only to being gay, but also admitted that his relationship with Ichiro, his close friend of many years (and who was much liked – especially by Ichiro’s mother) was more than a mere “good friendship” between two young men.

On his 22nd birthday, and after eight months of “sitting in the doghouse” Keiji decided to leave his family home and Yokohama. He and Ichiro had decided to move into an apartment in Tokyo together – enabling them to create and live a gay lifestyle together without the scrutiny and judgment of their families and neighbours. Ichiro, 21 years of age, had never been to Tokyo before but had always dreamed of one day living in the bustling city of hopes and dreams. Ichiro’s parents had known that he was gay for years, but had always hoped that it was just a “stage” in his life and that he would eventually marry and grace them with grandchildren. They knew from experience that to pressure Ichiro in any great way would only encourage him to do the opposite of what they wanted.

Ichiro was worried about Keiji. Keiji had been suffering from depression the past half-year, and he had told Ichiro that his symptoms had periodically ranged from agoraphobia (fear of leaving one’s safety zone) to obsessive-compulsive behaviour and panic/angst attacks. The worse the relationship between Keiji and his father became, the more Keiji was convinced that he would soon die: either of an accident or other disaster .. or from an act of violence. Sometimes Keiji would make appointments only to break them just a quarter of an hour before he was supposed to show up. When his panic attacks were at their worst, Keiji had to breathe into a paper bag to regain control.

Together, Ichiro and Keiji had agreed that Keiji must get out of Yokohama and away from the negative situation that his failing relationship with his father had created. For Keiji it was a question of sanity and survival, as well as self-respect. He felt “dirty” in his father’s presence, and constantly took showers and washed his hands in order to feel and be seen as “clean” .. but nothing helped. Things remained the same. No arguments .. no physical violence .. just silent shame that was re-warmed over and over, again and again, day after day, moment after moment. It was unbearable.

As the train pulled out of the station Ichiro leaned back into his seat, relieved that no one else was sitting next to or directly across from him. He reached into his knapsack and pulled out a novella that he had ordered over the Internet (and which he had covered with cloth in order to hide the original book cover). It was a homo-erotic gay fantasy about a group of gay friends in Europe, including their gay lifestyles, their adventures and their love affairs. The novella was written in English and French, which made it all the more exciting for Ichiro, as he had studied European literature at school and had also studied both English and French. It seemed like the perfect story to read before their journey to Norway as the novella took place in Oslo as well as other cities in Europe and the USA. Even though Ichiro had received the book in the post a week and a half ago, he had decided to wait until this train trip to Tokyo before reading it. He had actually ordered two copies, one of which he had sent to Keiji as a gift of inspiration for their journey and their new life as an “out” gay couple. If nothing else it would give Keiji something to read on the long plane ride to the airport in Oslo.

Ichiro opened the book and nestled into the world of fantasy. After reading for about forty-five minutes, Ichiro closed the short book and looked up at the man in his mid-twenties who was seated across from him. Ichiro knew that someone had gotten on the train and taken a seat across from him about twenty minutes earlier, but he was so engrossed in his reading that he hadn’t bothered to look up and see whom it was. The man was attractive and well-dressed; he looked like he must live in Tokyo. The slightly older man smiled, nodded to Ichiro and commented: “It must be a good book! You have been quite involved in your reading, and I could not help but notice that at times your face looked quite flushed – almost as if you were embarrassed – and at others you seemed to be snickering to yourself; and even looked a bit sad at moments.” Ichiro felt embarrassed at the attention, and by the stranger’s astuteness.

“Are you a writer .. or a psychiatrist?” he asked – half-joking, but also half-serious.

“Neither,” replied the man in amusement. “My name is Chokichi. I am an aspiring television actor. I have only had a few small roles so far, but things are looking up. I spend a lot of time studying facial and body expressions. They go right into my theatrical repertoire for future use. And you – are you studying in Tokyo?”

“Me, no! I am moving to Tokyo soon, but first I am off on a trip .. abroad”, said Ichiro in a manner characterised by boasting young men. Ichiro did not normally speak so freely with strangers, but he felt a slight affinity with this man. Nonetheless he thought it wise to watch his tongue.

“I see; how exciting! Are you by chance going to the USA? I was just there a year ago – in Los Angeles and New York City for two months.”

This caught Ichiro’s attention. “No, I do hope to travel to the USA one day. We are .. I mean, I am going to Norway – with my best friend – for a few weeks. It will be my first time in Europe. I am very excited.”

Just then they noticed that they were approaching Tokyo, and most people began scrambling to assemble their baggage before disembarking but Ichiro and Chokichi just remained calmly in their seats. Neither was in any rush. When the last of the passengers were about to walk out of the train car, Ichiro and Chokichi both gathered up their bags and stepped off the train onto the platform. They shook hands, and Chokichi gave Ichiro his card saying: “If you and your friend need help finding work or an apartment, you might want to give me a telephone call. Here is my number. I have a lot of friends and contacts here in Tokyo. By the way, have a wonderful journey and please bring a little European culture back with you when you return to Japan. Most only bring back photographs …”

And they both laughed and went their separate ways. Chokichi to the nearest taxi stand, and Ichiro in search of an inexpensive hotel room not too far from the airport since he would meet Keiji there at 10 a.m. the next day.

Japanesescreen
Japanese screen, Indoor photography, 2013.

PART TWO: ICHIRO AND KEIJI EMBARK UPON AN ADVENTURE.

Ichiro did not expect gay life in Oslo to be like it was portrayed in the sex novella. He barely believed the authenticity of the scenes portrayed in France and the USA. After all, who could really believe that policemen in New York City had sex in their uniforms, or that an electrical power outage in the Le Marais district of Paris could result in such free sexual behaviour? He certainly could not imagine such things happening in Osaka or Yokohama … or even in Tokyo. But then again, Ichiro had seen a television report on Gay Pride Day in several cities where some gays were dressed up as policemen, and he knew that several policemen in large cities in the USA and Europe now were openly gay. The homo-erotic stories of these “crazy” European and American gays were exciting to him – both sexually, and also in terms of the sense of freedom and personal identity portrayed. As he sat alone in his small hotel room Ichiro’s thoughts turned to his friend Keiji. He wondered how his farewell with his family had been; if Keiji would soon begin to feel better now that he had made the decision to leave Yokohama … and he wondered how it would be for them finally to be able to be together without pretending that they were just good friends. And then he thought about Keiji’s swimmer physique, his soft eyes, his perfectly-formed long fingers … and wondered if their relationship would grow or be challenged by the possibility of sexual openness and opportunity. They had never discussed having a monogamous relationship and Ichiro did not know if Keiji had sex with other men than him. He never told Keiji about his own escapades with strangers. Would they end up like the characters in the novella ‘Entre Nous’ – wanton, jealous and creating one scandal after another? The idea both frightened and excited Ichiro. He knew from the Internet and from television that morals connected with scandals and shame were changing radically in many countries in the West, and even in large cities in Japan. Young people all over the world were becoming part of the “free generation”, leaving the official old values of the previous generations to crumble in the dust. Recently Ichiro had even seen naked women reading the news and presenting weather forecasts on Japanese mobile TV.

Ichiro had trouble sleeping with all the excitement of tomorrow’s plane trip, of meeting Keiji … and all the thoughts and questions going through his mind.

He arrived at Narita Airport early, and ate a leisurely breakfast while reading the morning paper. The paper contained a disturbing article about sickly HIV-positive persons on Papua New Guinea who were buried while still alive … some screaming out to their relatives as the dirt was shovelled onto their not-yet-dead “corpses”. Ichiro knew of one person who had had HIV in Osaka. He had committed suicide by hanging shortly after his condition was confirmed. The “disgrace” to his family was too great a burden for him to carry. Ichiro thought to himself: ‘The world can often seem quite a cruel and cold place … beyond the realms of human justice and empathy.’ Just then Keiji called out his name and waved to him: “Ichiro! Ohayo! Good morning my friend!”

Keiji looked good. He was wearing a red shirt, white trousers and a black jacket. He looked as if he had spent the last week at a sun-tanning studio. “How healthy you look!” exclaimed Ichiro.

“Konnichiwa (hello)! Thanks – you too,” replied Keiji. “But do not be deceived … it is all clothes and make-up. Inside myself I feel like shit.”

“Well you could have fooled me … but I have always liked the way you look,” cooed Ichiro while pressing his palm firmly into Ichiro’s firm abdomen as he released himself from their salutatory embrace. “Now what is this about ‘make-up’?’” he asked, stepping back a couple of inches to observe more closely.

“Oh, just some cosmetic cover-up cream I borrowed from a girlfriend to help hide the bags under my eyes from not sleeping. The past week with my parents and relatives has been extremely stressful. So much suppressed emotion – and then there is my father who is still treating me formally, as if I were a stranger to him. I tried to talk with him one last time yesterday – that is why I could not be here before today – but it was no use. He cannot accept my being gay; and nothing will ever change that. ‘We are just not compatible’ he says. Imagine saying that to your own flesh-and-blood; to your own son!” Keiji had tears in his eyes, which he quickly rubbed away saying: “Damn it! There goes my make-up job…” Then they both laughed, and Ichiro bought himself another coffee … and Keiji bought himself breakfast.

Their flight to Oslo entailed a transfer in Paris. Unfortunately they would not have enough time to explore the city, and just as well that they did not try to either: they got lost several times in the Charles De Gaulle airport terminal. Heaven knows if they had made it around Paris and back to the airport in time – even with almost three and a-half hours layover before the connecting flight to Oslo.

While wandering through the tax-free luxury stores at the airport in Paris, Ichiro asked Keiji if he had read the novella he had sent him. Keiji blushed and said: “Yes … it was very hot. I had a difficult time keeping it hidden from my mother and my all-too-curious brother. The novella afforded me an opportunity to get ‘lost’ in some other (more pleasant) thoughts … ”

“Perhaps THAT is why you have not been sleeping, Keiji,” quipped Ichiro while putting his arm around his friend’s shoulder. Keiji laughed and commented back: “Not the primary reason, but it did help to take my mind off of other things for a couple of evenings. By the way, I hope you realize that that was just gay fiction … and that that stuff just doesn’t really happen in actual life … But an exciting fantasy all the same.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” replied Ichiro. “However, I am not so certain that all of the situations in the novella are so very far from gay reality in some big cities. Gays in large Western cities are much more free and open in their lifestyles than we are in Osaka and Yokohama, but I do sometimes hear stories about some crazy things going on in Tokyo. However, I do not expect to fall in love or lust with anyone other than you on this journey to Norway, Keiji. Think! We do not have to ‘sneak around’ anymore in order to be together.”

They both looked at each other, smiled and Keiji held Ichiro’s hand briefly. Almost instantly, Keiji then looked around to see if anyone had seen their momentary intimacy. Not only did everyone seem indifferent and self-occupied, but Keiji even noticed a “gay couple” not far from them – the one giving his friend a kiss on the cheek as they slowly walked in the direction Keiji and Ichiro had just come from, pulling their luggage behind them. Keiji looked at Ichiro, gave him a peck on the cheek and said: “No, Ichiro … you may be right. I am no longer in my father’s house.”

Ichiro was surprised at this sudden display of public affection … but inside himself he was glowing with pride and excitement for things to come.

Once on the airplane en route to Oslo, Keiji pulled a sealed envelope out of his knapsack before putting the bag in the overhead carry-on luggage compartment. When he sat down beside Ichiro, Ichiro asked: “What’s that?”

“I am not sure,” replied Keiji. “My father handed this to me as I left the family home, and asked me not to open it before I had landed in Norway. My curiosity is unbearable, so I thought I would open it now. Perhaps it is an apology, or some sorely-needed loving words from father to son.”

Ichiro smiled and squeezed Keiji’s hand saying: “I am certain of that, Keiji. You are the most lovable and honourable man I know.”

Keiji quickly tore open the envelope and began reading the paper inside. His expression quickly changed from expectant happiness to horror and sadness. His eye ducts overflowed with tears as he shook his head and mumbled: “You x9@**+ … how could you do this to me?!! And who the hell do you think you are: Yukio Mishima?!!”

Ichiro – moved by his friend’s reaction, and quite concerned about what Keiji’s father had written – pleaded with Keiji to show him the letter. Keiji let the letter drop from his trembling hands, and Ichiro immediately scooped the letter up and began to read it. It was a traditional death poem (jisei) – announcing his father’s impending death. True to form, the poem was full of metaphors and images (autumnal references, sakura (cherry blossoms), setting suns, impending nightfall and softly falling snow on distant mountaintops). The word death or suicide was not written specifically, but the meaning was not to be misunderstood.

The most dramatic aspect of the poem was its form: Keiji’s father had elected to write the poem in the style of waka – five units consisting of five – seven – five – seven – seven syllables. Ichiro gasped and uttered: “This is a seppuku jisei – he has committed ritual suicide!”

Keiji’s swollen eyes, clenched fists and flushed cheeks expressed both sorrow and anger. “He might just as well have thrust the sword through my own heart – the effect would have been the same … or perhaps easier for me. Now I have to live with the shame I would not own – he has found a way to get me to feel the shame and disgrace he has tried to enforce upon me.”

Ichiro could not comprehend that Keiji’s father had written a seppuku jisei. Not only was it very old-fashioned, but it was generally only used by persons of extreme importance. He therefore understood Keiji’s remark: ‘And who the hell do you think you are: Yukio Mishima?!’ He had perhaps understood it better had Sadao chosen one of the more popular forms of suicide today, employed by the overworked and those who failed at their jobs. But seppuku was extreme.

Keiji continued: “If only I had not been seen in Shinjuki ni-chome that day … perhaps then … No, he is an arrogant, sick, selfish son-of-a-bitch – blaming me for his problems at work. And my poor mother … I can only imagine what she is going through …. “

Ichiro embraced his friend and asked a stewardess to please bring them some water, explaining that his friend had just received some very sad news.

When the stewardess had returned with the water Ichiro thanked her, and clasped Keiji’s hands insisting: “When we arrive in Oslo, you must call home immediately. Perhaps this is just a dramatic gesture; a warning. It may not be too late to stop him …”

Ichiro tried repeatedly to convince Keiji to call home as soon as they arrived in Oslo; and was prepared to cancel the trip and return on the first flight back to Tokyo. But Keiji pulled away, saying: “Never! Besides my father never bluffs. It is too late, and the worse thing I can do is to take contact now. The family’s shame is now doubled … and so is mine: not only have I caused this tragedy, but I have survived my father at my family’s expense. Let us not discuss this again, Ichiro. It is too painful. My family now consists of you and me.” And with that, Keiji folded the poem into a paper crane and tucked it into his wallet. He slept the rest of the way to Gardemoen Airport in Oslo.

Keiji awoke suddenly to Ichiro’s nudging and gentle voice: “Wake up Keiji. We are about to land in Oslo. We are in Norway!”

Sushi table.
Sushi table.

PART THREE: DISCOVERING NORWAY.

Both young men were exhausted – physically and emotionally – when they arrived at their hotel in the centre of Oslo. It was the thirteenth of May, and it was raining outside. While Keiji made his way to the hotel room bathroom, Ichiro moved the two twin beds together – making a full-sized bed – and closed the curtains. He was already half-undressed when Keiji stumbled out of the bathroom and literally fell into bed. Ichiro kissed him lightly on the forehead and then on the lips and whispered: “We both need some sleep – let me help you out of your clothes.” Keiji did not resist, and soon they were both sound asleep – with Ichiro’s lean body spooning that of Keiji. It was almost seven o’clock in the evening when Ichiro awoke. Keiji was already awake, sitting in his underpants at the small desk on the window side of the hotel room … with his back facing the bed.

“Have you been awake for a long time?” asked Ichiro from the bed, while rubbing his eyes.

“Only for about an hour,” replied Keiji. “I was full of thought and decided to get up and write a little in my diary. I was just about to take a shower … care to join me?”

“Wouldn’t you rather fool around here in bed a little first?” suggested Ichiro while kicking back the sheets to expose his aroused manhood showing through his briefs.

Keiji turned half-way towards Ichiro and smiled, saying: “I would like nothing more … but later. Right now I mostly want to take a long hot shower, and then to go down to the restaurant downstairs and try some typical Norwegian food.”

“I am also hungry. Go ahead … I will follow after you.”

After Keiji had closed the door to the bathroom, Ichiro stood up and stretched and pulled back the drapes – delighted to see that the rain had stopped. On his way to the bathroom he heard Keiji brushing his teeth and shaving. As Ichiro was about to walk past the desk he saw that Keiji had not closed his diary. He was very tempted to take a little peek at what Keiji had just written. He did, in fact, begin to read the first sentence on the latest diary entry page, but quickly pulled himself away realizing that it would be an imposition on his friend’s privacy that was well beyond the boundaries of their close friendship.

Ichiro felt a bit guilty as he opened the bathroom door … although they usually shared most of their thoughts with each other, Ichiro could feel an underlying uneasiness between them regarding Keiji’s private thoughts about dealing with depression. At moments Ichiro felt as if even an all too lingering glance felt like a transgression to Keiji. At the same time, he was relieved to see that Keiji was at least trying to express his thoughts in his diary, and was (therefore) not in a state of denial. He knew that Keiji had been diagnosed as “manic-depressive” (bipolar) and was familiar with his mood swings. He totally understood – especially now after the “mind trip” his father had put over on him – the effects of the traditional old-school of “shame and silence”. It was a murderous form of control which had destroyed many who could not accept the confines of social and familial expectations. They both knew of many young gay men who led double lives; who were married with young children and who still had their secret lives – which entailed sex with either other women … or men. No one made such a big deal about it as long as appearances were kept up; and as long as it was not put in others’ faces. ‘This was the big problem for many gays today, he thought … the segregation of life expressions and the shame of living a lie contra the fear of creating shame for one’s loved ones by being open.’ “The best thing I can do for Keiji is to just be there for him … exert no great pressure, offer no unasked for advice and to follow his moods as best as I can …” And with that thought in his head he put on his most endearing smile and opened the glass door to the shower, snuggling inside the one-man shower stall with the love of his life. After a bit of kissing, some fondling and washing each other’s backs they dried off and tumbled back into bed – not caring that the heavy drapes in front of the almost see-through white curtains were not drawn – and made love for the first time in weeks. They never made it down to the hotel restaurant, but turned on the television, and watched some American situation comedy re-runs as they devoured the smoked salmon with egg and the shrimp with mayonnaise sandwiches they had had delivered by room service. And that was how they spent their first evening in Oslo – sitting in bed together, eating, laughing, watching TV and drinking Norwegian beer. Ichiro had never felt happier; and Keiji managed to put the deepest reaches of his depression temporarily aside. Even his constant migraine headaches and backache seemed to be diminished for the moment. His emotional chains and shackles permitted him a bit of reprieve … he was on vacation with the love of his life; his newly-established “family”.

They enjoyed an early breakfast the next morning. It was excellent Spring weather, and they were advised by the hotel receptionist to buy the “Oslo Card”, which would enable them to gain free admittance to most of the city’s museums and free public transportation for either one, two or three days. This seemed perfect for them as they had planned to do sightseeing in the capital city and to enjoy the national day (“the seventeenth of May”) before travelling further to the western city of Bergen, where they would take a ship called the “Hurtigruten” up the coast, before flying back to Oslo from Tromsø in northern Norway and returning to their new life in Tokyo.

Ichiro asked the hotel receptionist if there had been any messages from Japan for either of them, but the receptionist said: “Sorry, not that I can see.” Ichiro looked at Keiji in puzzlement – certain that his family must be attempting to contact him. They had not brought cell phones with them on the trip but Ichiro had told his family where they had a hotel reservation in Oslo.

Keiji replied shortly: “Things were so tense when I left that I forgot to write down the name and telephone number of the hotel here in Oslo for my mother. But I just cannot deal with this right now; I feel so torn between anger and sorrow … and there is nothing I can do. So please stop nagging me about calling home. I will make a decision when we arrive in Bergen … Besides, my mother knows the name of the boat we will be taking up the coast. I can ask if she has sent me a telegram or left me a message when we check in.”

Ichiro was shocked at Keiji’s resolve. Keiji could be quite stubborn when he had made up his mind … ‘Like father, like son’ Ichiro thought; but would never dream of saying that to Keiji. It was a real tragedy … both father and son suffering from deep-seated depression; and with such dramatic consequences.

Ichiro must have dragged them to almost forty museums, and art and photography galleries in the course of the three days. Keiji’s favourite places were the Vigeland Park, with its fantastic statues by the famous sculptor Gustav Vigeland; and the Holmenkollen Ski Jump; whereas Ichiro was fascinated with the Kon Tiki and maritime museums, and the many exciting photography exhibitions about town. They enjoyed both Norwegian, Turkish and Indian cuisine … and even ate at a McDonald’s restaurant once. On the third evening they went to a Japanese restaurant recommended in the tourist guidebook. Ichiro thought it was ‘okay’, but Keiji … being the demanding cognoscente that he was regarding Japanese food traditions … was not particularly impressed … but enjoyed the experience of seeing and tasting “Japanese” food in a foreign environment.

While they did not see any “gay cruising” or transvestites in Vigeland Park (as described in the fictional homo-erotic novella they had read before leaving Japan for Norway) they did see many ‘gay-looking’ men on the streets, and read about the gay saunas in town. They ventured into the city’s oldest gay bar for a beer, but it was almost empty as they were there too early in the evening … and, besides, it was a weekday. But that did not matter. Ichiro and Keiji enjoyed each other’s company and needed nothing more than the personal freedom to be themselves. This also seemed to be great “therapy” for Keiji, whose headaches and back pain still seemed lessened for the time being.

Their last day in Oslo before the short plane trip to the western coast was spent watching Norwegians and persons who had emigrated from other countries to Norway celebrate “17de mai” (“the seventeenth of May”) which is the national day of independence. The entire downtown area was full of persons in diverse costumes – traditional dress from all parts of Norway – singing, eating hot dogs and ice cream, drinking beer, wine and coffee, carrying flags, and smiling to one another while saying “Gratulerer med dagen!” (“Happy birthday!”). Keiji was particularly amazed at how crowded the streets were, and at how connected everyone seemed – so different from the feeling he had had the days before, when most people seemed to keep mostly to themselves and their own business. This was a huge party!

They both got a little too inebriated from the strong Norwegian beer, and Ichiro got a bit of a stomach ache from eating too many hot dogs, and ice cream and cakes. They returned to their hotel around eight p.m., packed their bags in preparation for an early morning hotel check-out and crawled into bed – happy with their time in Oslo, and very excited about the impending boat trip up the coast – which they had read so much about. They had already taken almost one hundred photos between themselves, and there would certainly be many more before the trip was over.

They arrived in Bergen around noon, and therefore had a few hours to walk around town before finding their way to the boat which would take them northward. Bergen was a charming city, and they were fortunate to be there on a day full of sunlight – as they had heard that it often rains there. They had a delightful dinner at a small fish restaurant on a side street. Keiji had codfish with potatoes and vegetables, and Ichiro had fish soup with bread and salad. On the way to the boat they stopped at a store and bought some Norwegian dried fish, which Keiji had tried in Oslo and had become addicted to. The boat was due to sail at 8:00 p.m.

Once onboard, Keiji inquired as to whether there was a telegram or a message waiting for him from Japan. The smiling woman behind the counter replied: “No, I don’t find anything here for you right now … but check back a bit later, as things are rather chaotic at the moment.”

Keiji retired to their small sleeping accommodations, while Ichiro explored the ship. They had agreed to meet at the ship’s main bar at 10:00 p.m. Ichiro waited for Keiji until 10:35 p.m. and then walked back to their room to see if he was still sleeping, but Keiji was not there. Ichiro got an uncomfortable feeling inside himself … knowing that something was wrong. He searched all over for Keiji but could not find him anywhere. Suddenly he thought of Keiji’s diary, and ran back to the room to find it in Keiji’s knapsack. Frantically leafing through the journal to find the latest entry, he re-read the first sentence that he had begun reading previously:

“The softness of the approaching winter is apparent even in the quiet, cotton-like skies on the Norwegian horizon …”

Ichiro felt the first of many tears racing down his right cheek as he read the following words: “I can neither go back, nor can I stay away … for both choices would mean losing myself. The only real choice I have is to join my honourable father in quietude … and together can we perhaps find peace between us in eternal solitude.”

Ichiro was full of grief, inner rage and confusion – but he did not quite know where … or how to direct it. As he passed by the information desk the young woman smiled and waved, saying: “Please tell your friend that there is an urgent message for him from Japan.” Ichiro looked at her with tears in his eyes and replied: “Thank you … I will.”

He took the diary up to the Captain’s office, and avoided gazing out into the sea as best as he could.

THE END.

marina1
Marina, street photography, 2012.

Wiccan poems.

@The Archetypal Kouros

Seated before the altar

at the Minoan Palace at Knossos,

I drink thirstily from

the chalice of Divine Essence.

The intoxication I attain

from the nectar of sacrifice

tightly binds the

scrotum of my devotion,

and demands unconditional surrender.

Finally,

as the relentless frenzy

of my invocation

reaches an orgiastic climax,

I both consume and

give birth to myself

in generous libation.

# # #

@Hieros Gamos

Longing to be raped of humanity

through possession by the Gods,

the priestess Lexa dances the

ancient sacred ritual

like a bitch in heat.

Writhing in the pattern of Uroboros,

the eternal circle of One,

she raises the power and rebirths

in the womb of the

Mother of Darkness.

# # #

@The Zen of Sorcery

The highest magician

has divined that

the mystery of the veil

behind the veil

is revealed through

the bloody consecration

of his very desire.

Scourged by the beauty

of the Names,

he salutes the dagger

of severity

in ecstatic anticipation of

the Angel of Death.

As all light is borne

from the Darkness,

so is the illusion of Hades

exposed but through Resurrection.

In this way,

the countenance of Isis herself

is unmasked to all

who suffer under oath.

# # #

@The Chalice

Behold! For within the Great Rite

lay the mystery of the chalice:

swept upwards upon the wings of

divine love and victory,

we consume the Spirit

and re-unite with the Source.

Verily — I am Rhea,

I am the Minotaur …

I am the Chalice.

# # #

@The Coming

On the twelfth day of Bacchion,

the god of magical grace and rapture

is summoned from the sea

by those willing to suffer to learn.

All hearts on Mount Parnassus are inflamed

by the scent of burning ivy and vine

as the nymphs of Nysa imbibe of the

ecstasy of madness and destruction.

“Come to us, Thyonidas,

beloved of bacchantes and panthers …

Join us, O nocturnal one,

in our sacred rites.”

The frenzy at the Festival of Thyia

is soon stilled by the prophetic Great Whispering

and the miracle of wine,

which herald the coming of Lord Dionysus.

Dripping with libations of honey and bloody flesh,

the sated god smiles,

for lifeforce itself is borne

in the womb of pleasure and pain.

Notable excerpts from other multilingual works.

EXCERPT FROM “2014: the life and adventures of an incarnated angel”:

ZINGARA STEN FARNO!

Icueza cantare moenø pei
solani veinå quon mare
icueza mentari elizena che
quale øpfani en tana.

Zingara sten farno,
fantuvi goan rulci mene,
eluelco neuxpå zentaven amu.
Ulempå skovå nnana
cquerca wuleka … intelgo;
cquerca wuleka … zingara.

Zingara sten farno –
sten farno accompli.
Tes quofta Kristiania,
Tes quofta.

Tes qofta Kristiania, tes quofta Kristiania,
Tes quofta … tes quofta.

EXCERPT FROM “THE STALKER”:

Cher Jacques,

Félicitations ! Ta chanson “Ne me quitte pas” est devenue un succès énorme. Tu fais sentir ta douleur … en utilisant la veine ensorcellante de Maurice Ravel, comme dans son ” Boléro “, où tu gardes le même refrain et le même ton calme, mais la colère en plus, dans tes mots. Et tu te protèges d’une manière si poignante en me demandant à plusieurs reprises de ne pas te quitter, à en devenir fou de rage. Ta chanson nous ravit, mais en même temps, elle a plongé le poignard dans le coeur de notre conte de fées.

Si seulement tu n’étais pas si lâche. Pourquoi n’as-tu pas pu exprimer tes craintes et tes émotions dans la vie réelle, au lieu de me faire passer pour un citoyen banal? Comme ta stupide maîtresse, qui a voulu exploiter ta gloire et ta réputation ? Tu sais que je ne me suis jamais soucié de telles choses. Je t’ai simplement aimé. Et toi, tu … tu as seulement été amoureux du romantisme, du simple fait “d’être amoureux “. L’annonce de notre “enfant d’amour” s’est avérée trop pesante pour toi. J’ai aussi eu peur. Mais tu étais un enfant, jouant à être un homme. Ma fierté ne m’a pas permis de porter les ombres que tu décrivais dans ta chanson. Et comment oses-tu inclure mon chien adoré dans ta chanson pitoyable… ? “Laisse-moi devenir l’ombre de ton ombre, l’ombre de ta main et l’ombre de ton chien “

Tu exprimes ta colère et ta confusion tout en me priant de ne pas te quitter. La vérité est que tu n’étais jamais complètement là dans notre relation d’amour. J’étais un jouet pour toi, un joyau à chérir dans le secret … mais tu ne m’as jamais vraiment aimée comme un homme devrait aimer une femme. Je sais que je dois sembler amère. En vérité, je ne le suis pas. Je me sens finalement libre de devenir la femme que je suis … libérée de cet homme immature qui me détruisait avec ses émotions toujours changeantes et extrêmes. Tant d’apitoiement sur soi-même, tant de colère et d’indifférence soudaine ! Non, notre “enfant d’amour” n’a aucune réalité et il n’existera jamais. J’aime ma chambre sans berceau. Pourquoi n’écrirais-tu pas une nouvelle chanson, Jacques ? “la chanson des vieux amants …”?

Ne me quitte pas …

ne me quitte pas …
ne me quitte pas …
ne me quitte pas …

Assez !

Je ne t’ai jamais quitté … parce que je ne t’ai jamais eu.

Entendons-nous : tu ne me parles pas – et je ne te parle pas. C’est mieux comme ça. Tu peux maintenant écrire toutes les chansons que tu veux de notre amour perdu et devenir ainsi encore plus riche et plus célèbre.

Et je me contenterai d’épouser le plombier ou le charpentier.

Je pourrai alors chérir mes enfants, des enfants conçus avec amour.

J’aurais d’utiliser ce subjonctif que tu aimais tant, je regrette de ne pas y avoir pensé plus tôt!

Penses-y,
Z.

EXCERPTS FROM “THE TUNNEL AT THE END OF TIME”:

Kjære Lysarbeidere,

TAKK FOR MEG …

Jeg ble født her på Jorden i august 1962, og jeg har alltid ønsket å vende tilbake til den evige Kilden – i hvert fall så lenge som jeg kan huske. Det er mulig at jeg aldri burde inkarnert på Jorden på dette tidspunkt. Jeg har gått fra det å være en naiv person som forsøkte alltid å tro på det beste potensialet i andre mennesker – uansett hvor mye de såret meg eller andre; fra det å prøve å være en «engel» og rettighetsforkjemper på Jorden overfor mange som lider på grunn av at de ikke passer inn i samfunnets bilder av «fine, gode og lykkelige» mennestyper; og fra det å uttrykke gjennom mine kunstneriske arbeider mitt syn på menneskehetens helhet til å være en liten del av Gud som er utslitt og som har sluttet å skinne. Jeg har nå innset at jeg er kun et menneske … uansett hva jeg eller andre trenger å tro av ulike grunner – og at jeg også trenger en viss livskvalitet for at livet skal ha verdi i den daglige tilværelse.

Jeg har alltid sagt at jeg ikke er redd for å dø, men heller for å leve et liv uten mening og livskvalitet. Jeg har også sagt at jeg tror gjerne at jeg vil eventuelt dø av mine egne nevroser. Tiden har nå kommet. Mine avtalte oppdrag i denne inkarnasjon er ferdige, og jeg har bestemt meg for ikke å ta på meg flere i denne omgang. Jeg skulle kanskje gjerne vært med og stått i frontlinjen helt frem til 2012 og senere, men jeg velger å avslutte turen ved å følge Dere til døren. Nå er det opp til hver enkelt å bestemme om han/hun vil gå inn i den høyere dimensjonen, eller ikke. Jeg er ikke lei av mitt åndelige arbeide, men veldig sliten av det å leve i et verdenssamfunn hvor både «Gud» og egen identitet karakteriseres av grådighet, selv-opptatthet, manglende medfølelse, penger, makt og separasjonsbilder (dvs. troen på det at mennesker er separate enheter uten sterke tilknytninger til hverandre, plante- og dyrearter, miljøet osv.); hvor mennesker ikke vil forstå og akseptere at vi er alle sammen Gud – at vi alle sammen utgjør «guddommelighet» her på Jorden, og har dermed et stort personlig og felles ansvar med hensyn til det vi skaper og de virkeligheter vi opprettholder gjennom våre tanker, ord og handlinger. Det er blitt veldig vanskelig for meg å se hvor lett det hadde vært for Jordens innbyggere å snu på den utviklingen vi har skapt og som vi skaper for oss og våre etterkommere hvert minutt, og samtidig oppleve den store motstanden som stadig hever grensene med hensyn til både kynisismen og vanskelighetsgraden til den åndelige oppgaven. Motstanden skyldes ikke bare de firkantede og uhensiktsmessige politiske, sosiale, økonomiske og religiøse systemer vi har skapt og institusjonalisert over hele Jorden, men kanskje mest det store antallet individer og grupper som opprettholder tankeganger, ord og handlingsmåter som vi vet at vi selv ikke ønsker å måtte oppleve; men så lenge vi har det bra nok selv i øyeblikket (med hensyn til helse, til personlig og materialistisk trygghet og frihet) så ofrer vi ikke noe for å stå sammen imot det vi vet innerst inne er urettferdig og destruktiv. Enkelte stemmer har begrenset innvirkning – de blir forbipassende og best husket i historiebøker; men en «samlet stemme» kan bevege både mennesker og tankemåter. Jeg skulle ønske at vi var flere på dette viktige tidspunkt i Jordens historie. Det kommer flere nye hver dag, men til og med to menneskeår til blir for mange for meg nå. Jeg vet hva og hvem som venter på andre siden av sløret … og jeg har hatt hjemlengsel siden jeg ble født.

Jeg forlater dere her på Jorden, men ikke i den åndelige og virkelige helheten. Jeg håper at noe av det jeg har tenkt, sagt, skrevet, kjempet for og gjort har inspirert eller kommer til å inspirere noen andre til å gjøre en ekstra innsats for menneskeheten; og jeg håper at de som har vært såret av meg eller som har såret meg forstår at vi var alle mennesker og en del av det samme guddommelige uttrykket. Ingen er perfekte, og ingen kan bli det heller … det finnes ingen absolutt sannhet – men vi er her for å oppleve, for å lære av våre erfaringer og (forhåpentligvis) for å legge igjen noe positivt og verdensutviklende i den tiden vi er her på Jorden. Jeg håper at jeg har gjort det for mange … jeg har i hvert fall gjort det jeg har kunnet og frykter ingen fordømmelser i denne verden eller den virkeligheten jeg har nå valgt å gå mot.

Takk og farvel fra en som kanskje aldri var ment for denne planet, men som ble faktisk her mye lengre enn antatt.

Z. Christensen

ALSO FROM “THE TUNNEL AT THE END OF TIME”:

“En este momento”:

Tenemos sólamente este momento. Una pausa sola, sin aliento.
Un momento sin comienzo o final. Una eternidad.
Un beso que quema nuestros labios. Una pasión ilimitada.
Un momento que nunca puede ser olvidado.
Mis sueños son siempre mojados cuando me duermo … pensando en tí.
Una mujer; un hombre … somos perfectos.

Pero no siempre perfecto juntos. Vivo para aquellos momentos
de perfección. Vivo para morir de amor por tí.
Tenemos sólamente este momento. Una pausa sola, sin aliento.
Un momento sin comienzo o final. Una eternidad.
Mi cuerpo tiembla … cuando tus pestañas cepillan contra mis mejillas.
Una pasión ilimitada. Un momento que nunca puede ser olvidado.

Abrázame, y nunca me déjes ir. Este es nuestro momento.
Una mujer … un hombre; somos perfectos.

Perfectamente ahora … somos perfectos.

AND FINALLY, AN UNPUBLISHED FICTIONAL LETTER FROM PINOCHET TO FRANCO:

Francisco — mi Mentor querido,

Pienso en usted a menudo … incluso ahora. Usted es, y usted siempre será, mi Mentor. Somos tan parecidos, usted y yo – ambos hombres de conciencia que condujo nuestros países a hacerse sociedades fuertes con economías modernas. No es siempre fácil conducir aquellos que rechazan ser conducidos … que deciden permanecer en la ignorancia. Ellos a veces deben ser eliminados para el bien de muchos. Es para eso que los militares y las fuerzas de seguridad son: mantener ” la verdadera democracia “.

Una de las grandes decepciones de mi vida era también uno de mis momentos más orgullosos. Era triste de ver que yo fui el único jefe de estado extranjero a asistir en su entierro. Al menos Ferdinand Marcos envió a su esposa Imelda en su lugar. Pero esto era un momento orgulloso para mí : estar solo ante el mundo en la conmemoración de uno de los mayores líderes de la historia … mi Mentor.

Somos tanto Católico, como por lo tanto somos concedidos con la gracia de Dios. Pueda la memoria de la historia de usted nunca morir. Un día seremos ambos reconocidos por nuestra grandeza y nuestro amor supremo y compasión por nuestra gente.

Hasta entonces, mi amigo querido, descanse en paz y le uniré sobre “el otro lado del tiempo” bastante pronto.

Pensando en tí,
A. Pinochet

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