In the depth of the forest a baby cry rips the silence of the night. The coldness
under his white, smooth and silky skin makes him long for his mother's arms. He can still
taste her skin and the flavour of her hair... but now where is he? Is he not in the arms of
another person? He scrambles the views, but he still does not recognise anything...but
that sound...he must have heard it somewhere else...it probably was in one of the stories
his mother used to recite to him. It was something about…
Calmly and peacefully I feel myself dripping; bouncing up and down on the
merrily leaf…Barely awake and still…the light of the Supreme Drip overwhelms me…I
stare at him, gasping just for a short glimpse from the mighty luminescence…The hues
play around me, this means he is on his way to me, I waited this moment for so long!
but…what happened?! Oh, no! He is gone again…I'll die on the cold, wet earth to be
born again in the hours of the morning, to listen again to the leap of the wind in the deep,
dark forest…
At the beginnings of the world when time was still an orphan and jinxes played
tricks on the morning hues, two angels wandered around the Land of Arcady: Asha(the
Truth)and Tvin(the Illusion). Nobody could see them but everybody could feel their
presence; in the air, water and even in the swelling buds of the spring. Pan, the old man
with pearled eyes, accomplishing the golden rule stood in the hollow of The Wisdom, the
old sequoia dominating the whole forest, and felt the loneliness of the air he breathed. All
the Winds, the Trees, the Beings were not enough to him. Ever since the Infinite aroused
him and his land from the wink of Hope, he has never needed someone as badly as now.
Hence, calling Asha and Tvin, he asked them to bring him the most glamorous drop of
dew they could ever find in Arcady.
'Long live the Queen!' would say those strange people living in the clearing. I
would say 'Long live the Forest!' with all its widening, deepening greenness brilliantly,
and concertedly coming about its own business. Reminiscing about the times before Pan
insisted to have a beautiful, glamorous being to fulfil the happiness of all the Beings, I
can still feel the smoothness of the rose petals receiving my rainbow-coloured hues under
the morning dew. Now, all I can do is prey for redemption of all the Things and Beings
that have been created since times immemorial. I see the Four Horsemen passing the
Universes curve and getting nearer every day. The red one brings war.The white one will
cause civil strife while the black one will fill the Forest with hunger. And the last, a pale
one, but not the least will bring about death. And all because of what?!… Nevertheless
her song tries to help people foresee the disaster…
Across the woods and down the valleys, my song gets through to pines and
daisies. I abide by the rules of this endless Forest now when fate can't be cheated
anymore. Envy and greed have brought me pain. Killing my sweet, precious baby by
mistake with my own hands made me become in thrall to grief. Me, Aedon, born from
the most glamorous drop of dew that the Universe has ever seen, raised by Pan in the
spirit of good hope, me to become the nightingale to sing the whole way to the End!? My
job would be much easier if the Beings didn't drink from Lethe, the river of forgetfulness
every time they return to the land of living from Elysium. Singing my song in the bright
bloom of the wild flowers in spring subsists the hope, that no one will repeat my error…
White as a lily, frail as a kiss, the baby craves for the long lost bliss. The heat he is feeling is not from a person, yet it seems so familiar … He is in the arms of destiny. Will he know how to listen to the rhythm? Coming from brooks, springs and fountains, will his life be filled with youth and beauty, will he be gifted in music and dancing, will he have healing or prophetic powers? He dreamt about the song, he can still hear it! If he chooses to listen he saves his inner world. Hence lust, greed or lie will be just another word to hear but never to understand. If he forgets about the nightingale's song he seals his destiny with melted metal. He will be just like any other being in the Forest: he will hear the buds swelling in spring, the rustle of leaves and patter of rain in autumn, the sighing wind in the silence of summer and the howling wolves in the mid winter.
Pan and the other Beings have always desecrated me. I have lived so long that I
can't even remember. Sometimes at night when the light of the city become too tiring I
close my eyes and listen to its sounds. In the dawn I feel as if being born again. The dew,
the light and the song make me feel proud to exist. The time seems to swallow bit by bit
the hope that one day a child would listen to the rhythm. What would the time be without
us? What would us be without time? Probably some raw, staggering substance in the
Universe looking for a reference to continue our evolution. Did you here the song? Try to
remember. Maybe it was on one of those beautiful rosy dawns when you were walking
along the beach, or maybe on one fresh morning on the top of the mountain you heard the
silence in a melancholically, strange way. The hymn is there mingled in the life, you hear
it every moment you just have to listen to it carefully.