The Library in the World Tree

Those who fear truth cannot be made to turn their eyes to it. Even so, will you open the door?
  

'What is your name, child?' said the Librarian.
  

'I--I don't know, sir.'
 
He cautiously stepped closer, with the same look of fatherly kindness an ordinary man would have had if I were a baby rabbit. I recognised him as the Magician who showed me the winter fireflies.
  
'Are you lost?'
 
I thought for a moment, 'No, sir.' After running away from the book-burners into the forest, I couldn't possibly return, could I--possibly? They have probably already stopped believing in me; I am an impossibility, after all.
 
'What is it you wish for?'
 
The Library was filled with books which only existed there (along with the few books existing outside its trunk). There was all of this knowledge they would never know about--all of this knowledge I had never known about. Now that I knew the way to this tree, I could never possibly forget it, given to being lost in the forest as I was. There is no 'road back' anymore.*
 
'Please, sir,' I began with the immature frailty of a baby rabbit. 'I want to learn everything in this Library.'
 
The Librarian smiled warmly and gestured for me to follow him. 'I've been waiting for you, my apprentice.'
 
--
 
I thought I'd forgotten how to write, but perhaps it was really that words are not quite enough to tell my stories. If not 'to write', what is quite enough? 'To draw'? 'To sing'? 'To read', 'to bake', 'to dream'? To 'play with dolls', 'hold stuffed animals', 'cut, pin, and sew', 'string beads and bend wires'? English? German, Japanese? Spanish, Dutch, Latin, Finnish, Italian, Gaelic? Would even Angelic be quite enough?
 
The only thing quite enough to tell a story is 'to live'.
(Still, I want to continue to write.)
 
--
 
Image is not mine.
 
*Even now that I've been writing quite a bit since earlier this year, I still have trouble finding just the right words in English. (My thoughts are a mix of English, Japanese, German, pictures, colours, songs, voices, scenes, and tastes.) The sentence I would have liked to write is, 'Kaerimichi wa mō imasen.' 'Kaerimichi' literally means 'returning path/road'; the sentence means 'The returning path is no longer there,' or 'The returning path no longer exists.'

Lost Story No. 10: Evensong

I stepped into the cathedral, through its wall with all of its collected faces and all of its collected years and all of its collected height. (I thought I was a mouse or Thumbelina.) Tiny shoulders tied up in an oppressive, dull sort of pain, feet had walked too far, round eyes heavy, ebony-black jacket, snow-white stockings, faded gold shoes all soaked through with grey rain, cold... and, suddenly, the sound of a pale blue light.

The pale blue light was very gentle as it led me into the chapel, and yet I would not have been able to run away from it if there had been any will left in my feet. Soon the evensong grew louder and filled the cathedral with pale blue stars, pale blue stars which only I seemed able to see. (My own secret stars.) It was a sort of warm coldness which makes you forget coldness,--what to compare it to? Winter fireflies. A nighttime snowfall when, somehow, moonlight-dust has brought the snowflakes back to life and you stand there alone in the middle of all of it. (It wasn't quite the moon, though.) Being Home with my real family and sitting up late while my Brothers and Sisters and Mama and Papa sleep, finally feeling content. An un-lonely sort of loneliness, completely awake. I hoped it would go on forever, just the stars and my wishes and me, in that cathedral.

Both pictures are of Wells Cathedral in Wells, Somerset, England; neither of them belong to me.

Lost Story No. 21: The Ghost Story of Marienne; or, The Secret Halloween Party at Midnight; Part I

I woke at midnight to celebrate a secret Halloween. Rolled up striped stockings, slipped into my nicest black dress with lots of panniers underneath, fastened my prettiest shoes I never wear, tied my hair in ribbons, imagined I had a pretty little black hat. I couldn't leave the house for fear of waking up the Lady and her Husband, so I went to Wonderland.

Bruder and Schwester were waiting there, in an odd village I'd never seen but called Home anyway. They had changed; they were the Bruder and Schwester from that time before, when they were a good deal younger and I was a little bit older, when it was only the three of us in that tree-shielded house, when we'd forgotten who we were again. They had dressed for the occasion, too. Hand in hand, we walked through the jack-o'-lantern lit village and into the Forest.

In the Forest, we met a story-teller. His stories were short and never seemed to have an ending; he told us several stories of girls who wandered in the woods at night and one story of a marionette who fell in love with a certain piper. As he began a longer story about a dead bride who fell in love with a living bridegroom, a crow picked him up in its beak and carried him away.

We walked deeper into the Forest where time stopped at midnight to the House of Sweets where time stopped on Halloween, stepping through the shortbread door to the some-hundred-year-old Halloween party. Spiced black tea and German biscuits and marshmallows and fine china made of sugar candy and a pumpkin pie (which, sadly, I had made with tinned pumpkin, as it was really July outside of the Forest) were set out on a Baumkuchen table surrounded by guests without faces. After tea, I carved a face into a red apple. The Hostess's sweet voice cut through the silent chatter, announcing that the dances would begin.

Bruder took my hand and asked me to dance with him. (I could reach his shoulder rather easily then, he didn't even need to bend down a bit.) The songs played from nowhere; some were blackberry jam, some were chocolates, some were crystallised ginger, some were treacle, all were waltzes. I danced blindfolded. Though I could remember the box step, my feet had forgotten it (as they hadn't waltzed in so long) and soon changed to the waltz I had learnt first, down-up-up, down-up-up, but they were still too slow to match the song's rhythm. Bruder smiled patiently. Finally, a slower waltz played; it didn't taste of sweets, only a starless night sky. Though it was such a death-like song, my feet were livelier than ever. Turning, then spinning, I fell into a dizzy sleep, but my feet danced faster and faster.

When the dance ended, the blindfold disappeared; though my eyes had opened, the room faded away (as did my feeling and my balance), and I heard myself land on the floor as though I had been standing beside myself. The room reappeared quickly, and I found the hostess standing over me, staring as though she were planning something. In that moment, I saw that the hostess was none other than Marienne (the girl Hans had been searching so sadly for). Upon hearing his name, her expression softened; 'Let's go Home together,' Bruder said. Before leaving, I contemplated whether or not I would eat the apple I'd carved (which I then realised was poisoned). I set it on the ground instead, and we walked together, Bruder, Schwester, Marienne, and I, away from the endless party in the endless night with its faceless guests.

I bathed in pumpkin and cinnamon and milk and honey and soap bubbles once Home. As we said our 'good night's, I leaned against Schwester's shoulder, which, naturally, surprised her. 'Just for now, please--?' Silently, she smiled a bit. I slept beside Bruder just as I had in that time when I always cried. 'Bruder?' I looked into his eyes, wider then than they are now (but just as gentle). 'You're going to disappear when morning comes, aren't you?' I could no longer look into his face. 'I don't want for you to disappear.' He smiled a little sadly and squeezed my hand. (I didn't see him smile a little sadly, but he always smiles a little sadly at me, especially when I cry.) I fell into a quiet sleep.

I woke to daylight and aloneness (as expected). Somehow, though, I'd felt as though nothing had been resolved, and, just as I'd thought that, I realised that I was still in Wonderland, still in that house I'd probably seen before and called Home.

Although I normally post photos and old-fashioned styled artwork, these images suit the story best; in order of first appearance, they are from: the animated music video for the song 'Mrs. Pumpkin's Comical Dream'; the opening video to the video game 'Zettai Meikyuu Grimm' (or 'Labyrinth of Grimm'); and the opening video to the animated adaptation of 'Umineko no Naku Koro ni' (or 'When the Seagulls Cry'). Also, please do excuse any technical difficulties; I tried to use a cut so that the post would not appear so lengthy on the main page, but it doesn't seem to be working, and now I can't delete it.

The lost stories

Photo taken by me at the Tower of London.

The story-teller in Dublin told me that untold stories are lost stories.

I've lost

the precious photos

with their stories of adventures

and my feelings of wanting to reach you.

My stories won't be lost

because I will absolutely never forget them

I'll write them a thousand times in my memory

and tell them in hopes that

you'll hear them.

And I shall

find the Lost Stories, too

on treasure hunts

in battered and ivy-covered castles

and in the swans' story-time

I'll gather them together

and tell them to you, too.

Yes, starting today

I'll work harder than ever

to reach for you.

--

I'm back from my adventure in England and Ireland, but I regret to say that most of my photos have disappeared.

Jet

Yui Horie - JET!!

Look, hey, I can see tomorrow.

--

She would set sail for the country of Ink-on-Paper and the Island of Green in the morning in search of lost swans and torn-out pages (and perhaps a pretty dress).

I am leaving for England and Ireland tomorrow; I'll be back in about two weeks.

Squall

The second, third, and sixth pictures were taken by me. None of the others belong to me.

The pieces of chalk that weighed down my wings are finally gone and the wind is blowing forward again. A squall is coming in, but the squall-winds don't carry clouds or rain, they carry sunlight and songs and song-birds and the sail of my tiny ship forward and hope. I'll sail on with a bright smile.

the lighthouse

All photos taken by me at Old Point Loma Lighthouse in San Diego, California. I wish I could have taken a picture of the outside of it!

They all called it "lonely", but I think it must have been nice to live there--away from the rest of the world, with only my family (my real family), the sea, the fog, the flowers, and the sailboats which I give light to; a place where time stops. I would never leave.

Adventures in the West

Image found on Google Images.

The cool wind of spring blows forward; it gives me the strength and courage to run with it and fills my head with thoughts of aeroplanes and sailboats and trains and bicycles. With books and my compass rose journal in my rucksack, I take a first step.

(I'll be exploring in San Diego for the next week.)