Episode 258: Dancing Bones
January 8th, 2024
Kristen Zaza
[Eerie Theme Music.]
[Your Narrator:]
Well, well, well, would you believe it?
I don’t know if you could guess where we are. Try.
We’re in the story room again.
Bet you thought you wouldn’t see it again, didn’t you? Well, I mean, you’re still not seeing it, I suppose, but if you’re here, then I assume you’ll be able to take my word for it, that we’ve met here, in the story room of my castle. But I can’t tell if it crumbled to bits and bits or if that was just a dream
Maybe we’re just in the room
Maybe there’s no more castle
Maybe the room just floats in space, in a vacuum of darkness or stars or a black hole
Who knows?
I shall have to draw the curtains later so we can look out the windows and find out.
Not right now, though. Right now, we’re far too cozy. The fire is warm and its light is gently dancing from the fireplace, projecting dancing shadows once more against the walls. It is the only source of light. Perfect to have one’s imagination focus in on the story being told. Your chair is soft and comfortable, you have just as many cushions and blankets you desire. jI’m in my own chair across from you, though I’m not sure whether you can see me in the firelight or perhaps just my silhouette, sometimes light bouncing off my skin now and then or reflecting briefly against my spectacles I decided to bring with me tonight
Or maybe I’m not there at all, just a voice in the darkness, a whisper in your ear.
Who knows?
I have been thinking about…
[sigh]
What am I always thinking about?
These days I can’t get away from the idea of Death
The hold it has over our lives
Whether we deny its existence or whether we embrace it, fear it or hate it or even love it, it’s always there, isn’t it? Looming large over Life.
We assume they’re opposites, Life and Death. Some of Us. But I can’t help but wonder if that’s our ever-mistaken need to create binaries, to enforce a dualism that may not be so helpful as we imagine.
That we like to think of Life and Death as opposites suggests that we believe we know anything whatsoever about what either of those things truly is.
I don’t think that we do.
I choose to love the idea of Death because of the utmost, ultimate, omnipresent mystery it contains
Something like that must have the strangest power within it
Yes I suppose it could be nothing, it could just be an ending, not an entity, not a character, not an event, not a happening, it’s possible it’s just the lack of something
But then we wouldn’t be so afraid of nothing
We wouldn’t make such a big event out of nothing
And we create all these wonderful, beautiful, frightening, terrible things in our imaginations - at least, I know I do - and we bring them into reality - why not a mysterious, lovely, powerful and dreadful something like Death?
That’s what the God of Death has whispered into my ear, anyway
When he found me at the lake last week
I was not afraid
I was relieved
Enchanted, even
If not petrified
When I feel afraid I try to fall in love instead.
I haven’t stopped falling.
Anyway
Forget the shadow overtaking the room
Let the fire warm you up and brighten every corner of the room
If you find that you can,
Rest your bones
Take a deep breath
Let your ribcage rise and fall
Let your skull give its weight to something soft
Let your shoulders sink down
Let yourself be free of effort
If you find that you can.
Just for a little.
Now, imagine a different room. A large one. Perhaps a building from a not-too-distant past. There are tables with elegant red cloths draped over them, the settings made with fine silver cutlery and elegant porcelain plates. Crystal wineglasses. Little vases in the center of each table, each holding a fresh and fragrant single red rose.
Red curtains line this great hall, and the light is soft and welcoming.
[Music; piano, strings, guitar and voice, playing an emotional tango that will come in and out as the story goes on.]
There is a stage where a band plays, the musicians and the singer dressed in their finest black suits and gowns, the music they play is gorgeous, just my kind of style, really, my favourite kind of music indeed. And though they are performing spectacuarly, the lights on them are rather dim and coming from behind them, so we can’t make out their faces or features, just their shapes and the passion of their playing.
There are guests who sit at the tables and chat and wave empty wineglasses around, seeking servers to fill their cups.
There are dancers on the ballroom floor, eagerly and gracefully twirling, dipping, holding each other close then spinning briskly away from one another.
It’s a ballroom from a different time; a time when you could eat, drink, dance, talk, laugh, dress up, see and be seen, all in one place. What a feast for the body and mind. What a place of life and liveliness.
One man sat at a table alone.
He was not a particularly good man. He had been involved in some violence and crime, war and manipulation, and more.
But he was not an especially bad man, either. He cared for people. He was kind often enough. He worked hard and gave much, all things considered.
He was not young, but not very old either. Not incredibly handsome by whatever his cultural norms were, but a pleasing enough appearance nonetheless. Not very rich and quite comfortable, at least where he was in his life now. Enough that he could be here, in his best suit which was a little worn and outdaded but mostly acceptable, enjoying fine music and company and hopefully wine and food, if he could only find a server in this place.
I suppose we’re not hearing a story about him because of his goodness or badness, his beauty or ugliness, his successes or failures, his material wealth or lack. To his credit, he was reflective; he stared his moral failings in the face and had tried to grow from them throughout his life, as much as he was able. He did not think of himself in any particular way, he just tried to do his best at each turn, and sometimes he made mistakes along the way or fallen to his human emotions or wants, But, what is life if not an exploring, a growing, a learning? Either way, no, that is not why we are hearing a story about him. In fact, we’re not hearing a story about him. He’s just in a story we’re hearing. And we’re hearing it because of the place, not the person. Not the people.
For example. There was another person here by herself. A lady who sat at a table some tables away from his, all alone. She seemed a little like him; neither old nor young, nor conventionally lovely nor plain. He couldn’t tell if she was happy or sad to be in this place, but she was wearing a nice dress and holding an empty glass, looking for a server to come by, just like him. He thought perhaps they might like to wait together.
He rose from his table and passed others, and though he saw the shapes of people at them he did not pause to observe them, the light was dim and they were engaged in conversation or flirtation or celebration, so he left them to it and made his way to the only other person on their own here, or so it seemed.
“Hello.” He introduced himself, and gestured to an empty chair at her table. “May I join you?”
She smiled, nodded, and gestured back at the chair indicating that he could help himself. She fidgeted a little with the layers of her faded red gown, tucking away a loose thread or sequin here and there, not having expected anyone to look at it up close. She seemed a little nervous, shaking, perhaps a bit weak or tired, it was difficult to tell.
“So, what brings you here tonight?” He asked her, trying not be obvious in his appraising her appearance, and coming to no conclusion, neither liking nor disliking it.
She sighed and traced her finger around the rim of the empty crystal wineglass before her. “I don’t know, really. What about you?”
He shrugged, crossed his arms, leaned his elbows on the table. “I don’t know either. But it’s a nice change of pace. Been a tough year.”
She nodded and agreed. They talked about the place; how they’d never seen it before, must be new, they can’t remember if they came with anyone or not but it seems everyone else was talking or dancing or laughing, weren’t they each awfully glad they found someone else in this big and fancy place in the same position? Certainly, it was agreed, and they toasted with empty glasses that reminded them to look around for a server again. The band struck a tango, and the lights dimmed even more, while little sparkling colourful lights danced across the room, reflected off a great shining mirrorball. They danced a little, enjoying it immensely, though they moved with hesitation and a bit of pain and awkwardness, tough year, tough years can do that, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t want to dance. They soon went back to their table to try and call over a server again, or at least get back to some calm conversation.
After a bit of time, a man came over to their table.
“Excuse me,” he interrupted. “But may I ask the lady for a dance?” He said, turning with a grin to the woman sitting at the table. Her eyes softened a little and her cheeks flushed to see him; a dashing figure in a suit finer than the other man’s, it was shining, almost, a radiant satin. The crisp white of his shirt almost sparkled compared to his. At least, that is, it seemed to be white, and his suit seemed to be black - difficult to tell, the way the dim light danced around, skittering across the shards of mirror overhead. His clothes, his skin, his hair, his eyes, even, were all tapestries of mottled colours, blues, pinks, greens, purples, reds, yellows, sparkling here and there. A complete mystery, the colours he actually contained. Hard to tell exactly what the man looked like, but he was graceful and strapping and his features were sharp and strong, and his suit was expensive; the not good but not bad man had enough to find competition here. Though something didn’t feel quite right, either. The lady he was with looked at him with such curiosity and fascination, but the stranger worried him. Something about his eyes. But it was so difficult to see in the changing light…
“Oh, you don’t mind, do you?” The woman said, turning quickly to her companion at the table.
“No, no, be my guest,” he said, and watched her smile and take the other man’s hand, who gave him a respectful nod before sweeping her away to the dance floor.
Maybe everything was fine.
Maybe the feeling was fear, but not fear of the man. Maybe it was fear instead of his loss of significance. For a moment, he had been seen; it’s all he really wanted anyway, if not always, then certainly tonight.
He really didn’t remember what had brought him here tonight. He’d answered her question honestly. He felt he’d been here forever. Or is it simply that he couldn’t remember quite where he had been before coming to this place?
He didn’t remember anything from immediately before this. But he did remember his life. Fragile as it was and as much as he had tempted fate here and there, danced with death, if you will, he had never broken free of fulfilling others’ idea of who he was and what he ought to do. Fought for others, stole for others, worked for others, but had never felt he’d been really seen, through any of that.
What was there to see? Who was he, outside of the things he’d done? Who was past all that, behind all shields of duty and performance and expectation and every safe or unsafe choice, who was there?
His heart began to pound and he responded with concern - a familiar feeling, though he couldn’t quite remember why, though a ghost of flashing lights and sirens crossed his memory briefly
That almost immediately passed him by as he turned his attention to the dancefloor, where the lady who saw him even if only for a moment danced a hypnotic tango with a handsome, elegant stranger
They moved so exquisitely.
The man’s smile was placid and charming, while hers was absolutely radiant with joy. She was captivated. Of course she was.
His eyes held her, the colourful lights still bouncing across them and through them, maybe even from them
He dipped her deeply but caught her gently; he spun her quickly but tenderly; and she laughed, she breathed freely, she was not shaking or weak any more, she was
Strong
Free
Held.
He watched her dance with the stranger for what seemed to be hours, though it probably wasn’t, right?
They must have tangoed across every inch of that dance floor.
The man at the table’s heart beat faster and faster, and his hands were shaking a little now, too. Unwanted memories came here and there, memories of gunshots and spraying blood and fear and guilt and anger, and his heart beat faster and faster and faster
He grabbed a crystal wineglass and held it up, calling for a server, but no one came
He looked around to the other tables, and everyone else in this place held a glass in their hand up in the air, desperately seeking a server to come and fill it
In fact, they were frozen in place
All except for him
And
Her
He looked to the dancefloor where she and the beautiful stranger were cheek-to-cheek, dancing just a few feet away. He stood and was about to shout, to call to her to come back, something was terribly wrong, this place could not be trusted, don’t go with him, stop dancing with him -
The other gentleman had dipped her down and away, and turned towards him
Looked him in the eye
And he saw the strange gentleman’s eyes clearly for the first time, in the shadow, away from that mirror ball.
They were white
Maybe
More like
Glass
Glass windows leading to a room
Containing only
White light
The gentleman smiled and raised a finger to his lips.
And the dance continued.
A voice came from the table he’d been facing away from. “Hey, stranger.”
He turned, and suddenly his heart stopped beating so rapidly. In fact, his heart stopped.
There was a woman sitting there
She was a work of art
Hair shining, skin sparkling, eyes dancing with the technicolour lights speckled across them, the only colour that was discernable the bright red of her silky dress
Her smile was so gentle, so patient, yet so alluring in its confidence, its honesty
But otherwise, such a mystery, almost disguised in the lights and shadow. Such a lovely mystery
His heart was still stopped
As he looked around the room and realized there were no servers whatsoever, no host, bartenders or busboys, no staff whatsoever
The musicians, the singer, all gone from the stage, not even their instruments remaining
And the guests with their hands raised in the air with empty glasses, they were all gone now, too
He turned to the dancefloor, and the beautiful, dancing man and woman were gone now too.
He turned back to the woman who’d joined him, terrified now she would be gone too and he would be all alone. That would be so terrible. Being all alone here, in the dark, without even a piano to play.
But she was there.
He exhaled a tiny sigh of relief, though it concerned him a little that his heart still wasn’t beating.
But he wasn’t afraid.
She was here.
And she was so lovely
And her smile was so kind
And as he looked into her eyes he realized that he was looking through glass windows into a place full of white, pure light
A place of white, pure light that was looking right at him. Seeing him.
He got lost in them for a moment, but she brought him back by extending a delicate yet strong hand towards him, nails long and red and skin otherwise perpetually sparkling with multicoloured light,
“Wanna dance?”
Hmm. There it was. That was the story that came through the story room this time.
It’s all right to be afraid.
Oh, especially because I told you I’d open the curtain so we could see where exactly this room is now.
Maybe I’ll draw the curtain and we’ll see a huge glass window peering into a room full of the purest, deepest white light
Maybe it will just be some trees and a night sky where it’s meant to be, some birds, the castle parapets, maybe.
Maybe it will be the swirling black and purple emptiness of outer space, adrift, maybe a universe collapsing in on itself in the crushing existence of a black hole
No matter what
We’ll be fine.
Whatever’s behind there, whatever’s outside, we’ll be all right.
Trust me. My dance partner said so.
All right, on three, I’ll draw the curtain and we’ll find out where this room is existing. Ready?
One, Two…
Three
[Eerie theme music]
(Host speaks as Kristen:)
Hello my friends, thanks so much for joining me for Episode 258 of On a Dark, COld Night. This is host, writer, narrator, composer, podcaster etcetera, Kristen Zaza here, and it’s lovely to be with you in this space for the 258th time.
I’m sending thanks this week to my newest monthly patreon supporter, David Paul Prendiville. Thank you so much for your generosity, David Paul, it means the world. If you’re interested in becoming a patreon member, for $1 US or more a month you can receive access to my complete soundtrack, and members of the Kindred Spirit tier which is $5 US or more a month get that, a monthly tarot reading video uploaded every full moon, and a weekly bonus “Quick Moment” meditation. Learn more at patreon.com/darkcoldnight. The Quick Moment meditations are also available on the Sonar+ apple podcast channel for 3.99 a month, and you can also access other great bonus material from other Sonar Network shows - search for On a Dark, Cold Night or the Sonar Network on iTunes to sign up for that if you like. And you can donate one-time only without any perks on ko-fi.com at ko-fi.com/darkcoldnight, or buy a t-shirt or hoodie from bonfire.com/on-a-dark-cold-night.
I’d also really appreciate if you left a rating and a review for me on iTunes, Spotify, Facbeook, or wherever else you like to do so. You can follow me on social media; I’m on Facebook and youtube under page names On a Dark, Cold Night, on tiktok and Bluesky under kristenzaza, instagram at darkcoldnightpodcast, and on Twitter @ADarkColdNight.
Thank you for joining me. I hope your 2024 is off to a great start.
Life is full of ups and downs and leaps and stumbles, all that good stuff
And it’s normal to be afraid of life and death alike
But I suppose I also think it’s healthy to feel that we’re allowed to let go of that fear, too. You don’t owe anyone or anything your fear.
Anyway, here’s to letting go of fear for this New Year.
If it rhymes, it must be good, right?
Sweet Dreams, my friends.
[Eerie theme music]
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