TRANSCRIPT - Episode 135: Unknowable Wonders

March 10th, 2021

Kristen Zaza

[Eerie theme music plays]

Hello, my friends.

Let us be honest this week and say that I have still been resting and struggling with this idea of rest. I have been struggling to pull myself out of rest, and I know that I am not ready to be pulled out of it, but I cannot help myself. Last week, I described myself as half-baked, and I still feel that way; I still feel that I'm not quite ready to emerge. Quite so: Indeed, I am not.

But as I grow, I also grow...older

Time passes

Even though I don't believe in it

Time passes

And I lose it, even though I never had it

These little fears grip me by the shoulders and shake me, scream-whispering:

"You're missing your chance, you're missing your chance..."

Is that true?

My chance for what?

What do I owe the world?

What do I owe myself?

For, truly, the world owes me nothing

And I owe myself...

The opportunity to enjoy the process of looking. Seeking. Resting. Growing.

It is hard

To grow, and not do.

But it won't do to do the doing, before one knows what must be done.

I keep asking myself, and asking the cards, asking myself through the cards:  "What should I do? What should I do? What's next? What's best?"

Always in the future. Always looking ahead to a thing that does not exist.

These are always things I think I will learn, and then take with me for a bit, and transform them - eventually - into action.

How often will the action happen?

Even here, it does not happen, truly, it is only pontificated on. It is only danced around. It is done, but only in a fantasy.

Or, is it perhaps, in the doing, that we find peace?

Am I already doing it?

Is this it?

Is this the creation, in its entirety? Magic-free, just a girl at a computer typing words she'll read later on and then clean up later to share? Is that it? Is that where I end?

In your imagination, I am everything I say I am.

Perhaps that is enough.

Perhaps there is no such thing as enough.

Let me get...closer to the point.

I'm having a little trouble staying on topic lately. Distilling thoughts into stories. I'm usually  quite good at it, if it's not too bold for me to say, and lately I find my sense of story a little off-balance. Perhaps stories are better that way, anyhow; precariously rocking to-and-fro, always about to tip over into either farfetched nonsense or everyday tedium,  and we must find our own best footing between the two.

(Mine tends to lean, if not fall over completely, into the latter rather than the former, I think, though I'm sure many would venture that I dabble fairly freely in the latter as well.)

I asked my cards a question this week.

I asked my real cards - the real, physical ones that exist with me in this bleak and empty and charming and very real apartment - a question.

It is a hard one, or at least, it was a hard one. Back when I asked it.

I asked my cards:

How can I reconcile these two identities?

How can I reconcile the strange, mystical, fictional, flying, powerful one,

From the one who is...

From the side of me that is...

Hm.

As I drew the card, I knew what the answer was even before I turned it over.

"We must free ourselves from the shackles of identity altogether."

And I drew

Death.

I love this card, and not for the obvious fact that I am fascinated by Death in general (perhaps because I am very very afraid of it, but this is something I'm trying to work on).

Death.

Death, in the Tarot deck, does not represent simply Death. Ending.

No, no.

It symbolizes all of the gifts Death brings.

Change.

Rebirth.

Opportunity.

Beginnings.

Transformation.

I love this card because I love change. I love chaos. I've said it before and I'll say it as many times as I please. I have been forgetting about the source of my power: that very chaos I'm so enamoured with. Anarchy. Complete freedom, not only for myself and for others, but freedom for the world to be what it will be, without people muscling their will in the most sacred and untouchable places in the universe. The futile journey of seeking and understanding and conquering and overpowering will be our undoing, surely. And that futile, false journey distracts us from the absolute perfection that are all the unknowable wonders that await within, behind, and beyond our experience living in this world, where even reality is magnificently magical, if only we take the time to see that.

In my darkest moments, I forget this.

In my brightest moments, I weep at it.

These last couple of weeks have been dark, as I've been resting and changing and transforming.

If you've listened, you know, and if you haven't listened, it doesn't matter.

It's just been me, sleeping, resting, trying to grow into my destiny, but it's been difficult.

The chrysalis won't open.

My eyes won't open.

It feels as if my heart won't open.

I seem to be stuck.

I know there is work to be done, there are people to help, there are places to save and to savour.

I will unstick myself.

I promise.

I always do, don't I?

In the meantime, I will try very hard to tell you a little story.

A simple, little story, for I can't manage much else this week somehow. 

Perhaps more of a nice story, than a scary story, because I feel I must be gentle with this card. Death needs very little else to make itself fearsome. Let us allow it some gentleness.

A story about Death.

I've told you many stories about Death before, and each time, I am sure that Death appears a little differently.

Because of course it is not one tangible, describable thing.

Do not expect Death to appear the same way you may have seen them before.

It is a personal thing, for both the dying, and for Death itself.

I say this so that you don't think I am not good at keeping my own stories consistent, which, you're right, I'm not, but in this case that is not relevant because no matter how you spin it, Death is a mercurial thing.

But so am I.

Once Upon a Time,

Death was lonesome.

[A waltz plays; first on piano, then joined by harpsichord, and also a human sigh]

And so he put on his finest suit of glittering black silk,

And he wore the loveliest red gloves and shiniest red shoes,

And he tied back his long black hair with a red ribbon,

And he practiced his warmest, most dashing smile,

And he set out to find a party.

He succeeded, and so fine did he look, so happy was he to be out and enjoying himself, that he was let in to the finest fete in town.

Warm firelight lit the great hall. Death did not know what these young and beautiful people were celebrating, but he was happy they were celebrating something, though.

Partygoers danced merrily in a waltz, accompanied by a band all in golden masks. The revelers wore colourful gowns and splendid suits, themselves, coiffed and perfumed and powdered so heavily that the air was thick with unusual, overwhelming scents. Death was never not fascinated by the different combinations of colours, textures, and scents that mortals liked to decorate themselves with. Truly, no two of these creatures were ever the same.

He didn't really do anything. He didn't really want to do anything other than people-watch. He might dance, occasionally, or maybe say a few words to someone here and there - but mostly, he stayed silent and tried not to make too lasting an impression. If someone looked a little too long at him, they might see how endless his dark eyes were. They might see past his teeth to the pitch-black abyss within his throat. They might see that his hair was so dark, that it was almost the absence of matter. If one looks too closely at him, they are rewarded with the understanding of nothingness - and most people find that terrifying.

So Death tried not to ever let anyone have too close a look, when he went on these little outings.

And the thing is, most people didn't really see him; not for very long. They might think to themself: "Well! What a fine gentleman that is!" But their gaze never wanted to linger on him too long. Their memory didn't want to hold him in it for very long. He could change his appearance enough to  both suit his mood and keep any suspicions at bay, and he did, though whether it was in sharp suits, billowing gowns, or whatever else, he was always resplendently beautiful and achingly endless (if you looked closely enough).

Do not think that he lingered in cemeteries or at funerals or any such place.

He went where the alive thrived;

Where their clocks moved faster than ever,

Or not at all.

One evening, he found himself at some soiree or other - oh, how jealous of him I am! - and the strange thing is, he found himself face-to-face with someone who was not afraid to look away.

They were in a game, a game-like dance, rather. The dancers were lined up in their own respective circles, one rotating clockwise, the other counter-clockwise, so that one's dance partner could change every few measures or so.

When she danced with him, she looked right in his eyes

She laughed as he spun her around

She clapped her hands at his wonderful attire.

They enjoyed each other's company so much, that they left the game and danced together all night long.

Whenever he would try and look down, or close his eyes, or distract her from them, she would catch his chin and gently remind him to look at her.  Most mortals found a kind of madness in the emptiness they found there; but not her. She seemed to think it was the most beautiful thing in the world. And he couldn't understand it.

"Is it going to be tonight?" she whispered, asking him the question as they spun around, perhaps for the hundredth time this evening. And when he looked into her eyes and he saw the circles under them, he saw how bloodshot they were, he saw the bloodlessness in her face, and he understood what she was asking. This was a girl who had not very long left. He was always meant to dance with her. And still, he found himself surprised by it, somehow.

"I don't know," he said, and held her closer, spinning around a little more fast.

She laughed gleefully as he did spun faster, and she kept time with him well. She was not afraid of the answer, and he noticed it. Even though the potted plants wilted and died as he passed them by, even though some of the other guests screamed or fainted when they looked at him too long, she did not look anywhere but at him.

"Where will I go?" she asked him. "What will it be like?"

He smiled at this question. He did not answer right away, though she laughed light-heartedly and pressed him to. He thought about it, and answered plainly:  "When you are there, you will never, ever want to leave."

That was all he could offer. Unknowable wonders.

And it was more than enough comfort for her, even though he hadn't offered it to be a comfort, and she never asked for one.

Of course, with all the fainting guests and the dying plants, he had let himself be a bit more careless tonight, because he was so taken with the bravery of this one sick little mortal. Fingers pointed and gasps echoed through the event, and the dancing slowed and then came to a complete halt, screams now echoing throughout the hall.

To everyone else, he must have appeared ghastly. I cannot say what he appeared to be to most of them, now that they were certain what he was, since he would have been different in the eyes of ever person in attendance. A figure in a black cloak? A skeleton only? A gaunt and ghoulish wraith? Who can say?

As the crowd began to circle him and hesitantly come a little closer, the girl with the red eyes inserted herself between Death and the crowd, pleading with them to calm down, to leave him be, to resume their dancing.

And as he looked down at her, pressing her arms out to defend him with a body that could barely even defend itself, he knew that in her eyes, he was even more splendid than he chose to appear at the start of the night.

"You don't understand!" She cried out. And they didn't. They couldn't see that at his feet sprouted new daffodils. They couldn't see the trail of animals that followed behind him, equally as enamoured as her. They couldn't see how soft his hands actually were, or how kind his smile was. They were too afraid. They were too distracted by how soft and colourful and lovely the world around them was, that they could not fathom how much more beautiful his world could be. Even when he was brought about by disaster. Even when he was spurred on by tragedy. For time and life have very little to do with one another. And this girl with the red eyes knew that. She knew that there was no Time. There was no Fate. There was only life. And then, once that was gone? Mystery. And what could be more exciting, more wondrous, than mystery?

I had the image in my head of a handsome and dashing Death, who had never done anyone wrong, really, being attacked by a crowd of people so drunk on life, they could not see the love in his eyes; only that terrifying mystery. Except for one girl, who wanted to protect him, because he was all she had left.

That is the extent of that story. It is not the end of the episode, but it was an image that I had to honour. (I guess.)

Now, many, many, many years later, in fact not very long ago at all, I went venturing out to meet Death at a party.

It was a long-shot, I knew, but I thought it would be worth a try.

I set the place very nicely. I lit up little string lights that hang from the ceiling. I turned the neon sign in the window on, just so that Death would know to come in. Of course, the place I found myself in - this place had been empty for months. As it must be. But for me and for Death, it would be all right, even if only just for this once.

I waited at the bar with a little drink in front of me.

I looked down at my hands and in the changing neon light they went from green to gold to blue to translucent purple to

just

flesh, sometimes. Sometimes they're just the colour of flesh, of my flesh, of my mortal flesh.

I suppose most of the time, they are that.

But it wouldn't be fun if that's what I told you, all the time, would it?

I waited, and music played from some sound system that needed very little tending to, perhaps because this is a fantasy too.

It is a fantasy, it is a dream, though I am as real as I could possibly be here.

Eventually, I hear the door swing open. I do not turn to see who it is, for I know who it is. Outside no cars go by. Outside, no one is out and about. This is a version of the city that I feel in my bones, but I'm certain it's not quite so deserted in reality.

It just feels deserted.

And so it is here, in my little dream, my last little dream I'll share for some time I think.

I hear his footsteps coming towards the bar.

The little stool beside me is pulled, and he sits and joins me.

I hear a strange breathing; heavy, echoing, monstrous. Not like the Death I've just told you about.

Foolish girl, he whispers hoarsely beside me. You said it yourself: Death looks different for everyone.

I hear the sound of what I can only imagine very large knuckles cracking sounds like. The shadow of two huge wings appear behind my companion, almost wrapping me up, and I'm certain that if I looked at him, he would be grinning.

But I do look at him,

And he is not grinning.

"I think I was wrong about you, before," I say to him, scanning his face, and remembering a warning someone gave me from lifetimes ago. "You're not Death, are you?"

This thing that it turns out I don't know after all, raises an eyebrow and raises a glass, seemingly telling me that I am correct. He gestures with only a short tilt of his head to the bartender, who is now there with us, and was not before. He gestures, just as the bartender places a glass of what I assume is red wine before me.

But the hand sliding the drink towards me is made up of delicate, glimmering white bones. I look up to her face, and she is a skeleton.

[The waltz from before returns one last time]

A skeleton adorned in rubies and pearls,

Wearing golden spectacles,

Teeth shining and endless black holes in her eye sockets.

Every bone is iridescent,

Every jewel is flawless,

and her smile is so large, so wide, that it is terrifying.

Like she is locked in a joyful scream.

Or a laugh.

Splendid, glittering joy

Endless knowledge and wisdom

Complete freedom, even freedom from flesh now.

For me, Death has changed from being an intimidating and beautiful stranger, one that is romantic and volatile as a stormy summer night,

To instead being...

A certain version of me

That has surpassed all of my potential

And therefore

Having no need of time

(Which I don't believe in anyway).

Death is just

You

or in my case, Me

In a state of

Complete,

Earned,

Neverending,

Timelessness.

Maybe.

And that is nothing to fear, because

That is the state that I believe we should already be living in.

How silly.

In an effort to absorb my two identities into one, I instead invented a third one.

No, no, no.

The fact is that my question was flawed.

Reconcile my two identities?

I cannot reconcile my hundreds of identities.

And having a hundred identities is just the same as having

None at all.

Except, like time, like life-time, like years lived, counting one's identities

Limits them

To the meaningless futility of a single number

(No matter how large that number can be).

The Death card, and furthermore, Death as a concept, as a character, as a presence in our lives, can perhaps ironically remind us of our eternal, unlimited selves.

Because there is no end to the amount of times we can be reborn

And transform.

I keep saying that.

But I have not done it.

Because the time hasn't quite been right.

But I don't believe in time.

I believe in everything else, almost.

Especially myself.

My eyes are opening in this chrysalis, now.

And I can see

Everything

That I want to.

Be well.

And if it will help you step outside of this painful state of time, of waiting, of running out of it, or whatever, whatever, whatever indeed,

Then by all means:

Transform.

In the name of living  life and honouring inevitable death; 

Don't wait anymore. 

Just transform.

Goodnight. 

[Eerie theme music]

(Host speaks as Kristen:)

Hello my friends, thank you so much for tuning in to Episode 135 of On a Dark, Cold Night. This is your host, podcaster, writer, performer, and team of one behind the show: Kristen Zaza. I hope your March is brightening up, slowly but surely, as mine is. It has been nice to see sunsets from my balcony in the later evening hours. I haven't found a ton of energy in myself as we're leaving winter slowly, but I'll use a bit of it to send some joy and warmth your way for spring.

I have a few shout-outs this week! First off, a big thank-you to a new Patreon supporter who I should have thanked last week - big thanks to Noah! And also, a warm thank-you to another new monthly patron from this week, K. Lem.  I'm really grateful to both of you, Noah and K. Lem, for your support, so thank you both so very much.  If you want to support through Patreon like Noah and K. Lem, you can learn more about becoming a patron of the show at patreon.com/darkcoldnight .  Through Patreon, every monthly patreon supporter receives access to On a Dark, Cold Night's ever-growing soundtrack. If you'd like that perk, Patreon is definitely the way to go - but if you'd rather donate one-time only through the purchase of one or more metaphorical coffees, you can do so through Ko-fi.com by checking out my profile at ko-fi.com/darkcoldnight .   And we also always have t-shirts and hoodies available for purchase at bonfire.com/on-a-dark-cold-night, too.

I would also like to shout-out Ayrenia from Germany, who left us a very very kind 5 star review on iTunes; thank you so much for listening and sharing, Ayrenia! If you're enjoying the show too and are looking for a free way to support,  rating and reviewing on iTunes is a great way to support your favourite podcasters. And as always, you can follow me on social media; I'm on Twitter @ADarkColdNight, instagram at darkcoldnightpodcast, and on my Facebook and YouTube pages just called On a Dark, Cold Night.

Thank you very much for listening in tonight. It's been a bumpy creative road lately, but it certainly keeps things exciting on my end, anyway; I hope it's at the very least relaxing for you. Wishing all the best for springtime. Goodnight and sweet dreams, my friends.

[Eerie theme music]

This podcast has been brought to you by the Sonar Network.