TRANSCRIPT - Episode 126: Quietus

December 30th, 2020

Kristen Zaza

[Eerie theme music plays]

Good evening, my friends.

How have you been enjoying this time of year?

Has it been busy? Exciting? Joyous?

Has it been restful? Rejuvenating? Quiet?

Mine has been...quiet.

Everything has been quiet here.

After a flurry of activity, and visits from strange spirits here among the trees, with me, things have grown quiet once more.

In my little winter wonderland all of my own.

The end of this year is coming.

I've been hearing an awful lot of thoughts and feelings surrounding this idea that this was a bad year and that many cannot wait for it to be over.

I won't preach anything to you. I don't believe that I'm here to teach you anything you don't already know.

But.

I would like to encourage you not to think about time like that.

Because, what will the end of this year actually be? What is the change from one year to the next?

There is no difference. There is no such thing as a year. Not in the present. In the past, sure, it is helpful to categorize time that has come and gone, maybe. (Maybe it isn't. Maybe I hate that we even need to think about the past at all. I'm not quite decided on that. Time is a construct, we all know this to the point of it being a joke. But we don't really believe it, do we? Forgive me. I'm pontificating. Let's return to the point.)

I think it is not healthy to categorize the past into a year, and into a year that we consider "bad", perhaps even "evil".

I encourage you to stop categorizing things.

I encourage you not to think of the year as cursed.

Because that tells us that next year could also be cursed.

And that's simply not true.

Next year does not exist yet.

Next year will never exist.

It will be a sequence of "Now"'s and "Present"s, and in the Now and in the Present

We have control.

We can make it beautiful

And Good

And we can tackle anything that comes our way.

Yes?

Yes.

Good.

Now, being that I have been frustratingly satisfied with my present of late,  I  have found myself unsure of what to ask my Tarot cards

Because I have been unsure of what I want.

Since I cannot go anywhere other than my Forest right now,

And Since in my Forest I have everything I want,

I can go anywhere.

In this restricted place where my body cannot travel, since I have somehow and probably infuriatingly found peace, I can breathe deeply and go anywhere I want.

So as I sat in the snow, my body numb and blue and my hair frozen and silver, I shuffled my cards and I asked them a question that had nothing to do with place or time:

"Where do I want to go?"

I shuffled, shuffled, shuffled,

I played with the cards between my hand,

And one called out to me and I flipped it over.

The Two of Wands.

Hmm, indeed.

So, the Two of Wands means planning. Calculating. Deciding. Progress, goals, ideas.

Not only does it indicate inspiration; it indicates the discipline to carefully map out the road to achieving your inspiration. Manifesting it. Acting upon it. It tells us to be guided by passion and instinct, and to explore all of our options within those. One wand makes us proud of what we have achieved so far, and allows us to revel in that achievement - the other wand is what we have yet to achieve, and lets us keep moving towards goals that have not yet been attained.

I like this very much.

It is funny, too, that I asked my cards "Where do I want to go?" And my cards just told  me to make a map.

Fine.

If you leave me in charge of my destination, I will usually go to macabre, eerie places.

I want to go to gothic, idyllic places.

Tonight, I want to visit a cemetery.

Not like the one that came to us for Halloween.

I want to go to someone else's cemetery.

One I have a story about.

I like this one. I've never told it before, but I like this one.

There were once two friends.

They had known each other as boys, and their bond was strong and lasting. They both had the same love of adventure and mischief, and this served them well as they grew into creative and resourceful men. They attended school together, they moved into the city at the same time,  and they went into business together, and for some time, they thrived. They had an embarrassment of customers and acclaim, they wanted for nothing, and they developed a taste for the finer things in life. For awhile, with ease, they had all of those things. And though one wanted more and more and the other was satisfied to enjoy what he had, they were great friends, indeed.

When they were older, and the business was successful, they decided it was time to sell it and pass it along to someone else. Never mind what they did, it doesn't matter. They sold it and split the profits.  The one man saw his share and exclaimed: "Oh! This can provide me with a great opportunity to increase this amount tenfold!" The other saw his and simply said, "I think I shall retire and enjoy my life in peace."

And they went their separate ways, and lived out their separate plans.

The former of these two friends saw what he had, and felt it was not enough. He wanted more. More money, more acclaim, more success.

The latter of these friends saw what he had, and he rejoiced at how very much it was. He had never had so much of anything in his life!  It was more than enough to have a beautiful life. And so he did.

And when they were older, old men with aching backs and wrinkled brows, they found themselves in very different places.

The Man who wanted More found himself in a dark, dismal shack, cold and alone and hungry. He had lost his riches by either gambling it away, or losing it on frivolous, ill-advised investments. And the more he lost, the more he threw away: Since the idea of "Not Enough" was so terrifying to him and occupied all of his thoughts, it became his reality, you see. Miserable and frightened, he no longer knew where to turn.

The other man, though, the Man who Had Enough, had a lovely home in a lovely place and lived in comfort and wealth. His joy brought joy to others, and his generosity brought generosity from others. He had often tried to send money, food, or anything at all really, to help his friend, who he knew was struggling. He invited him to live at his home. He welcomed him at every point that he could - until finally, the Man Who Wanted More grew so angry that, in a rage, he said things he would always regret, and he demanded that The Man Who Had Enough never speak to him again. Pride is a dangerous thing, and when it is wounded, a lion can find himself biting hands that are trying to feed him. And that is what happened here. Sadly, the Man Who Had Enough respected his friend too much to ignore his wishes, and they lost touch. And eventually, At a healthy age and in a comfortable bed,  the Man Who Had Enough died, surrounded by those who loved him, except for the one friend he loved the most. 

[A melody on piano is heard; sad, but with a touch of mischief to it]

His last decadence, one he had been planning for some years before his death, however, was a beautiful tomb.

More like a mausoleum, he had ordered it be built in the most beautiful cemetery in the country, a day's ride out of the city.

Carved of stone and marble and adorned in shimmering copper, it was a beautiful building. Large enough to house five people in their coffins, and yet he had no wife or husband or children who would join him. It was guarded by four stone angels, one outside each corner,  and it was hidden away deep, deep in the oldest parts of this famous cemetery. It wouldn't be easy to find, if anyone chose to (he only said this so that those he knew would not feel so guilty for not visiting him). His friends and neighbours were perhaps surprised by this extravagant project, but his years of kindness and sharing his wealth had earned him this extravagance.

And so, here he was buried. Among walls of beautiful artwork, shimmering stones inlaid in the walls, silk curtains draped in the windows. When asked if he was worried about graverobbers stealing any of these riches, he answered: "If they can find my mausoleum in that old and hidden place, they deserve to take whatever they can," he said of it with a smile.

Anyway. There he was buried.

There was a funeral.

But his friend didn't go.

His friend was ashamed of the patch in his hat, the stains on his coat, the holes in his boots. He no longer belonged in the world of shining buttons and powdered wigs and fat wallets. He also would not admit that he was ashamed that his pride had been so great as to not let him accept help when it was offered. But he was ashamed for that, too.

And he was angry.

He was angry, because his friend had died rich and here he was without a penny to his name. Foolishly, his friend had given away everything he had to charity, and apparently spent it on some great tomb for himself.

He was angry, because his friend who had never even given a single fig for increasing his wealth, had so much of it when he died; while here he was, someone who had spent so much of his life obsessing over coins and banknotes, hands shaking and heart pounding.

He was angry, because his best friend had died, and he hadn't got a chance to embrace him one last time.

"What a terrible year it's been," he thought to himself, as he looked out of his window and watched the snow falling. He clutched at his chest, which ached a little, but it did that quite frequently nowadays.

And a knock came at the door.

It was a letter.

In short, his friend's will had indeed been read, and this letter was left behind for him. But a letter, it was not.

It was a map.

A map to that wretched Tomb.

He held it in his hands, considering. Surely, this is in my hands just because my friend wishes I would visit him, he thought to himself, and he scowled at the audacity. Even in death he wants to shove his wealth in my face.

But then, he thought about that wealth, and the rumours he'd heard of that tomb.

He set out to find that cemetery.

He traveled there, in a way that sort of seemed like a dream at the time.

There was no gate; only acres and acres of grass, peppered with graves, old and new, upright and crooked, elaborate and simple, as far as the eye could see.

Mist rolled over the hill and through these graves as the sun set.

And the Man Who Wanted More cursed under his breath, pulled out his map, and began to journey.

He followed the map with meticulous accuracy.

Holding a lantern aloft, the mist around him seemed to glow dim and gold around him.

And he felt that anger that had brought him here begin to be replaced by fear.

For there was something howling in the distance, ahead of him, that was not a wolf.

And there was something cold pulling his ear that was not the wind.

And there were two points of light in the mist ahead of him that were not fireflies.

The snow crunched under his feet, and he felt that perhaps this was a bad idea. He was old; he was weak; he was sick; and he wanted what his friend had so badly that he had taken the risk to come out here and treasure hunt.

He felt a little guilt at the idea of himself as a graverobber. But he didn't have the time to worry about his conscience. This would be his last adventure, he knew; he needed whatever was inside that mausoleum.

He pressed on.

Why did he come out here at night, when it was so difficult to see? For hours and hours, he searched for different marks on the map; miraculously, he found them all. The Great Tree. The Grave with the Headless Statue. The wooden bench. The abandoned fire pit. He found them all, as those golden pinpricks of light ahead of him always seemed to guide him in the right direction. Despite himself, the Man Who Wanted More found himself smiling. Hopeful. Excited.

He began to feel like a young man again, in fact. His chest wasn't quite so tight. The cold wasn't quite so biting. The air didn't sting his lungs. It's funny, what a little adventure and mischief can do for a person. The things he found frightening before, he found exhilarating now.

It was not as difficult as all that.

Piece of cake, he said out loud with a laugh.

If he stopped to wonder when the last time he laughed was, he wouldn't have been able to do it quickly - so he didn't stop to wonder about it. He just laughed, and whistled, and kept on through the fog, a lightness in his step.

He saw,  from a distance, the tomb.

He knew it, because it had a four lanterns lit, glowing at each of its corners, being held by its own angel.

The Man who Had Enough had been buried so recently, after all, so it made sense that someone would be tending the place - but who? No one lived nearby. It took so long to find this place from the cemetery's entrance.

The question didn't interest the Man Who Wanted More for long.

He ran - yes, ran - to the building.

What a sight it was.

An angel the size of two men at each corner, each holding a lantern aloft.

They all smiled.

How Strange, the Man Who Wanted More thought to himself. Usually angels mourn at graves. As they looked down at him with almost entertained smiles, he stuck his tongue out at each one in turn, until he found the door.

It opened readily. It had not been locked.

It didn't even have a lock.

The wood creaked as the door opened inward.

He shut it behind him.

In the center of the room was the stone coffin.

The Man Who Wanted More ignored it, because the thought of it hurt him too much.

Instead, he looked to the silk curtains,

To the stones inlaid in the murals on the walls,

To the statues, to the paintings, to the decadent items inside.

And he suddenly felt all his debt melting away from him.

He bowed his head, brought his hands - no longer shaking - to his eyes, and he wept.

He heard stone shifting against stone.

"Why do you weep?" A voice said on the wind. "Take anything you want."

"I need it," the Man Who Wanted More said, ashamed, again. "But I don't want it. Not anymore, and not like this."

The stone lid from the coffin kept sliding until, with a loud crash, it fell to the ground. "It's yours," the voice said. "It's all yours."

The Man Who Wanted More gasped as the flame in his lantern shrank. He held it closer to himself, as he heard whispers all around him: "It's yours, it's all yours, it's all yours, it's yours...take it, take it, take it..."

And he knew he had to go to the casket, now open.

He approached, and as he did, the air grew colder and the lantern grew dimmer, and those whispers grew louder. He did not want to look into the coffin, but he knew he had to. He wanted this, didn't he? It was his, wasn't it? Wasn't this what he had to do? Wasn't this what he deserved?

Weeping, he regretted ever entering a friend's tomb with the plan to steal.

Sobbing, he wished he could turn back the clock. Turn it back to before he came here, to before the funeral, to before their fight.

Begging, silently, he prayed to whoever was listening to not let him be buried alive here, among these silent, priceless things.

He held the lantern to the  coffin,

He leaned in slowly,

And looked in...

"Finally!" His friend said, joyfully, and reached up from the stone box and embraced the Man Who Wanted More warmly.

Though he was old and gaunt and his eyes were milky and dead, he moved with the quickness and lightness of youth. He laughed and he laughed and he laughed.

His friend's eyes went wide with shock as he embraced him back, dumbfounded.

"You came! I knew you would!" The Man Who Had Enough said, child-like in his excitement. He hopped and he sang and he clicked his heels together. He began to show his old friend what he had built. "I designed this for you! Look here, at this painting - and look here, at this other one.."

"Wait." The Man Who Wanted More said, shaking. "For me? What do you mean?"

The Man Who Had Enough shrugged. How strange he looked, so wrinkled and ghastly, but his smile so pleasant and kind. "You wouldn't have it in life, my fellow, but you cannot refuse it in death, can you now?" He said, wagging a finger at him and winking.

"But it is you who has died," the Man Who Wanted More said.

"Well, you were always one to follow me, weren't you?" the Man Who Had Enough replied. And suddenly, he wasn't so old. In fact, he was young. A Young man, in shining boots and with a clean stiff coat with golden buttons, and a clean grey wig and a brand new hat. "How did you get here, after all?" He said, laughing.

And the Man Who Wanted More thought about it.

At first, he could not remember.

He was in his home, cold and alone.

He hurt. He was old and ill and he hurt.

A knock came to the door, with a map, with a letter, but

then there was shouting

And there were people all around him, people who didn't know him but for some reason were trying to help him anyway

But it was too late.

He died in his home.

And he was brought to this place

"In a beautiful black carriage, for a day's ride," the Man Who Wanted More said.

[The theme from before returns, this time with a sighing voice soaring over it]

And he looked down at his hands.

They were smooth and young.

And the lace at his sleeves was rich and clean.

His clothes were silk and fine.

He stood tall and with no pain.

He turned around and saw his reflection in the window.

He, too, was young, in a crisp coat and a white wig and silver buttons,

wearing the costume of a young man of business, eager to start a life for himself

With his best friend in the world.

"I know it's not how you planned it," the Man Who Had Enough said. "But here we are."

The Man Who Wanted More (but who no longer wanted for anything) answered: "Lucky for me, you had a plan of your own."

The two friends opened the door to their beautiful new home, and they looked out at their front yard.

Acres and acres of cemetery.

"Wave," the Man Who Had Enough said.

The Other Man Who Had Enough, his friend, obeyed, and waved his hand.

As far as his eternal eyes could see, hands raised up through the fog from every grave. Hands reached up high from tombs everywhere, from all these people who rested here whether they were alone or with loved ones - from people who decided this was their place of rest from now on - and they all waved back. Hundreds, thousands of hands waving, while happy "hellos" and "Happy New Years" whispered across the wind.

The waving man laughed, and his friend clapped him on the back. "Let's go back in," he said, and they went home, happily chattering and enjoying each other's company again.

"There's one thing I can't figure out," the Man Who Was Buried Here Most Recently said. "If we are both living here now, then why is there only one coffin?"

The Man Who Had Enough in Life and Had Even More Now in Death laughed a little. "Oh, that," he said, and peeked out the window at the spirits of people in the fog going for strolls, embracing in the moonlight, laughing at each other's jokes. They made him smile, and he was so happy to be resting here with his best friend. When he finally answered, he casually said: "That's nothing, really. I donated my body to science."

That's the end of the story.

It didn't take their bodies being buried together for these two friendly spirits to find their ways to one another again. As I can tell you, where their bodies were had very little to do with it.

But the Man Who Had Enough had made this plan, and it was a good plan, for them to find each other in this mischievous and adventurous place. 

I saw them just now, actually. Since I decided that this cemetery was where I wanted to go, tonight, I saw them just now. I'm waving at them now.

It would be easy for them to wonder what they could have done differently.

How they could have been happier. Richer. Better.

But instead, they realized that their time was better spent not looking behind, not looking forward, but just doing their best right now.

And their best was easy to do, now that they had each other again.

How do you know that the dead don't continue to have adventures once they're gone?

I'm certain that they do.

At least, the ones I'm waving at right now seem to be having fun.

So listen, Happy New Year to you, my friend,

But do not take the year so seriously.

Do not think of past time as being cursed or lost or gone.

Do not think of future time as being happier or richer or better.

For me, in this moment,

Think of Right Now.

Isn't it amazing?

Now, keep doing that.

I will too.

Thank you for joining me tonight.

I wish you a Happy New Year,

but mostly a Happy Right Now.

Goodnight,  my dear, dear friends.

[Eerie theme music]

(Host speaks as Kristen:)

Welcome my lovely friends to Episode 126 of On a Dark, Cold Night. This is Kristen Zaza; I'm your writer, host, producer, performer, composer, team of one behind the podcast.  I hope your holiday continues to be wonderful, and I'm grateful for you joining me as we wrap up this year and enter a new one - which again, doesn't have to mean anything other than a reminder to live in the present. That's my resolution (which I'm starting now) anyway!

I'd like to take a quick moment to talk to you about NordVPN.  A "VPN" is a Virtual Private Network, which NordVPN describes on their website as a service that protects your internet connection and privacy online.  I'm not tech savvy at all, but I know that that's a big deal! Anyway, Right now, you can now get 68% off NordVPN! It's only $3.71 a month, plus an additional 4 months free at nordvpn.com/goodnight. Or, you can go to checkout and use my coupon code "goodnight" in the description box. Again, that's nordvpn.com/goodnight or offer code "goodnight". Thanks very much, my friends.

I'd like to give a shout-out to two new patrons of the show through Patreon - sending my warm thanks to Kelly Farr and to Christine Harber, who both pledged a monthly amount in support of the show. Thank you so much, Kelly and Christine! If you'd like to support in this way, every  patron of the show receives as a perk access to my ever-growing soundtrack of the show. You can find out more info at patreon.com/darkcoldnight.

If you'd prefer to donate one-time instead, you can buy me one or more metaphorical coffees at Ko-fi.com/darkcoldnight - And I have t-shirts and hoodies for On a Dark, Cold Night available at bonfire.com/on-a-dark-cold-night, if you'd like to check those out too!

Another great way to support the show is to leave a review and a rating for On a Dark, Cold Night on iTunes, Stitcher, Facebook, or wherever else you like.  I'd also love if you gave me a follow on social media - I'm  on Twitter @ADarkColdNight, instagram at darkcoldnightpodcast, and on my Facebook or YouTube pages, just called "On a Dark, Cold Night".

I spoke enough about my very loose relationship with time that I'm trying to cultivate, but while I want to wish you a Happy New Year, I mainly want to wish you joy and peace now and whenever you find yourself in need of it. We can make time whatever we want it to be. Enjoy yours. Celebrate it however you can (safely of course) this year. And come the new year, I'll still be here in my forest, waiting to tell you another story.

Goodnight my friends. And thank you for being here with me now.

Sweet Dreams.

[Eerie theme music]

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