Episode 266: Never Ever
March 26th, 2024
Kristen Zaza
[Eerie Theme Music.]
[Your Narrator:]
Meanwhile, here I am
In the story room
Even still
The castle has been distilled to this, hasn’t it?
A room floating in a black hole, a chaotic void all around it, open the windows and you’ll see it eating everything all around us
And yet we’re safe, in here
In this space where we agree to share time and consciousness for a little bit
I have been busy haunting myself
A me that doesn’t know what to do with me
She’s quite all right
I was just teasing her, that’s all.
I’m all right too.
We’re fine.
In the stillness of the shadows here and the action of the fire and the chaos of the void, we are absolutely fine.
And I have a story for you.
It’s a story for this full moon tonight
For the lunar eclipse
A story about hiding and revealing, about big and terrible and wonderful feelings
But most of all, it is a story about love.
There was once a man who was very angry and very sad and very ashamed and very frightened.
The truth was, that he was very flawed
But he was quite human.
He had hurt others
But he had been hurt
He had regret in himself and resentment for others
He had wonderfully big feelings that caused him pain
Some of which were brought about by things he had done, others by things done to him by others
It doesn’t matter what it was he did
He had had enough of All of It anyway
And he was removing himself from everyone.
He was retreating into the silence and the darkness of solitude
Because, at least there, he wouldn’t have to worry about others hurting him or others being hurt by him; he wouldn’t have to feel the weight of their - or his - shame. Or so he thought.
How powerful, after all, is shame?
He marched off into the woods with only a little bag of food over his shoulder, tied into a cloth parcel, carried on a big stick, and he was bound for solitude.
He walked towards the sunset and down a lonesome path, and he kept thinking that, as soon as I reach that horizon, I will feel a lightness I’ve never felt before in my life; I will be free from pain and judgment and hurt and envy and all those nasty things within me
But the horizon kept stretching further and further away from him
And that lightness never came.
But the forest grew more and more dense and dark, and he felt a little like a scared child, alone in this wilderness as he was now.
Owls cried out in anger around him; hidden tree branches were sharp as they scraped his skin; toads bellowed mocking croaks as he stumbled in the mud; wolves howled in the distance their threats to come closer and closer.
Just as he thought he might just curl up in a little ball and weep for the first time in his adult life, he saw a little light flickering in a lantern far away.
He followed it.
He didn’t even give himself time to think that it might connected to a person, and that he was done with people; he was frightened and he sought out that light, that’s all.
Which is more powerful, after all?
Shame, or Fear?
When he reached the light, he found that it was brought about by a candle sat in a little lantern.
[A sweet little song, on guitar, and hummed]
The lantern was decorated with colourful glass, and that glass was painted over with charming little shapes. Red Hearts. White Rabbits. Pink Flowers. Yellow Bumblebees.
He looked under it, and there were pages and pages of little drawings on mud-stained paper. Little poems with funny little rhymes.
“I love you, said the daisies; I love you, said the fawn;
I’ll love you in darkness, I’ll love you by dawn.”
He found himself smiling for a brief moment at the sweetness of the thing; perhaps it was written by a mother or father to a child, who could know? The unconditional love pouring out of the simple words drawn simply were impossible to not love back unconditionally
But the conditions came back, as he thought he would never know that kind of love. That was not meant for him. He frowned. He felt jealousy towards these items. He felt shame for feeling that jealousy. He felt guilt. The familiar feelings came back and he then felt resentment that he had not yet travelled so far as to avoid pain, even through all this.
And when he saw a pair of yellow eyes watching him from the shadows, flickering like fireflies but impossibly fireflies given it was not yet summer and they stood so perfectly still, he felt Fear once more.
He ran.
Past the owls, the trees, the toads, and the wolves.
And he slipped and fell in water, realizing quickly and dreadfully that it was a frigid lake.
Something large and scaled angrily brushed agianst his leg and he cried out and stumbled backwards
Into a boat that was almost falling apart, so old was its wood.
But it still stayed afloat, and it was still dry enough inside. He took a deep breath.
His hands stretched out to find balance in the thing, and they immediately crushed themselves into something brittle and flimsy; like dry paper
But he cut himself on a thorn and realized they were roses
[The humming once more]
Piles and piles of roses in this little boat.
In the night he could not tell their colour; perhaps they were black with age.
There was also a little parcel full of rotting strawberries, little cakes, an empty bottle with a ribbon tied around it.
His hands found papers here, too; little notes once more. And in the bright light of the full moon, it was surprisingly easy to read what was here as well:
“I love you, said the roses; I love you, said the lake;
I’ll love you in joy and in deepest heartache.”
Lovers were here, he imagined; two people deeply in love with one another.
His heart was pulled this way and that in the blissful presence of that love, even ancient and decayed as it was.
But then a coldness crept into him again; a bitterness, at all the lost loves he’d never acquired. At all the rejection he’d endured at another’s hands. At the friends he’d seen find someone, their one particular someone, and the ever-growing rage that he had never found his. He crushed the roses. He threw the bottle in the lake. He tore up the love notes.
And he couldn’t believe that he almost felt tears well up in his eyes. There it all was, again - shame, guilt, rage, resentment, regret, all that wonderfully decadent pain he was running away from. In the moonlight it was revealed to him in his heart and he hated himself for it, he basked deliciously in that boiling self-hatred
But then he noticed those two yellow, flickering eyes, like firelight, like little candles, watching him less than six feet away on the shore
He cried out and pushed the boat far away from the land, grabbed the rickety oars and rowed, rowed, rowed his way across.
He feared he was lost on this lake, so difficult was it to see land in the approaching fog. It must have been bigger than he’d anticipated.
He rowed, rowed, rowed, his eyes drooping and his mind finally quieting down, until his boat knocked against wood and startled him awake.
It was a dock.
He tied the little boat with the rotting rope he found there, and was glad to pull his cold body up on it.
Through the fog, he wandered off the dock towards grass. It was a little snowy; early spring, after all, in the middle of a lake, was quite chilling, and his hands shook and his nose ran and his lungs hurt.
He’d long lost his parcel with food.
What he wouldn’t give for a warm fire and a meal.
No sooner had he thought that, but did he smell smoke; the pleasant smell of wood burning
And he saw a light in the distance
It was coming from a little window
One foot after the other, he hobbled his freezing self towards it.
The window belonged to a little house on this little island.
He tried to look inside, but it was so filthy with dust and cobwebs, he couldn’t see inside.
He found his way towards a door and found it to not only be unlocked, but to not have a lock at all. Why would one need it, he figured, on a little island such as this?
He knocked and there was no answer
He went inside
And though a fire was roaring within the hearth, he found everything else to be quite decrepit, rotten, dusty and ancient, as all the other artifacts he’d been discovering along the way.
There was a chair by the fire. He sat and he warmed himself.
His clothes began to dry.
He didn’t have the energy to wonder who had lit it.
He didn’t have the sense to wonder if they were nearby.
He only thought of his cold feet and hands and resting his weary eyes.
But no sooner had they begun to close, did he hear something in the distance.
[sung; distant; echoing and ghostly]
“I love you, said the willow; I love you, said the moon;
I’ll love you the most when we’re together again soon.”
The song came closer and closer
[The song is continued in a hum]
He tried to imagine what dreaded creature was coming his way; what phantom. The ghost of a long lost child, maybe? Two undead lovers, searching for each other in the mist? A witch, luring children or men to their doom with promises of flowers and strawberries?
Worst, he thought, was if they found him…
He wasn’t an innocent child
He wasn’t a joyful lover
He wasn’t a caring parent
He was just a bitter, angry, hurtful man
What would they do when they found him in their home?
It was right outside the door, now
Growing louder and louder
Maddeningly so
Something about it filled him with that anger
It was mocking him. It was threatening him. It was pointing out all the things he never was and never would be. It stayed and sang its silly song.
And that anger grew and grew and grew into hatred
And which is more powerful, after all?
Shame, fear, or hatred?
He rose up with a roar, finally having had enough. He had run away from everything to find peace, to release himself from shame, from fear, from hatred. It seemed it would never be his lot to be free of those things, anyway, so why not let him be taken by whatever monser stood just outside this door?
He threw the door open
And no one was there.
But in the fog, he saw something he’d missed the first time in his hurry to get warm.
It was a monument of some kind.
A tall stone by a tree.
He walked towards it, drawn, knowing that’s where the song came from.
The closer he came, the more he realized with dread that it was a grave.
He was very close, and suddenly the humming stopped
It made him stop, and a good thing, too - for the ground was open below him.
There was a pit.
An open grave, apparently.
And in it sat, smiling, holding a rotted, wooden instrument -
A skeleton; not fresh, but still with its dusty hair and long nails and warm clothes.
He looked at the headstone, and on it was written the following words:
[Sung at the same time:]
“I love you, said I; I love you, said you;
I’ll love everyone I don’t know or I do.
I love you together, I love you alone;
I lived life in love with you all on my own.”
The bitter man clenched his jaw at the beautiful words
He ground his teeth at their saccharine message
For how on earth did this soul love him? It was a pleasant lie
It was a lie based in ideals, in a belief he didn’t share
A nice message for a lonely and probably insane soul
He didn’t know if they were man or woman or neither or both
He didn’t know if they were old or young or handsome or hideous
He didn’t know their politics, their intellect, whether they actually could play that instrument in their dead hands at all
But there they were
Alone in the grave they must have dug by themself
After a solitary life
All alone
Pretty lies.
That’s all.
No one would love me, the man thought, if they knew me.
If they knew the rotten thoughts in my head.
If they learned all the selfish things I’d done.
If they felt the pain I brew inside me, or have caused in others
If they knew my shame
If they knew my fear
If they knew my hatred
In that moment, he heard a sigh behind him.
He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.
He turned round
And there were those flickering golden eyes
Only a breath away from his own face
He couldn’t see anything else of the person
The skeleton had revealed so little
Other than that they grinned and they sang
And when their time came, they dug their own grave, wrote their own epitaph, and sat down in the earth joyfully
And sang, until their last breath, love
For every one.
“But not for me,” the man whispered, shaking, as those eyes didn’t falter, only looked into his.
“I love you.” The voice sighed.
“No you don’t,” the man said, though his jaw unclenched a little and his teeth parted a bit.
“I do.”
“You don’t know me.”
“You don’t know me.”
[the singing once more]
“I love you, said I; I love you, said you;
I’ll love everyone I don’t know or I do.
I love you together, I love you alone;
I lived life in love with you all on my own.”
The man found his way inside the stranger’s home
And he tidied it up.
He repaired the instrument that was in their hands
He buried the skeleton
He said some kind, loving words
And he learned to play the solitary spectre’s song at their grave, under their tree.
Spring came, and then summer, and with it fruit and vegetables and fish and rabbits and bumblebees and daisies
And he had his wish, his desire to live alone
But he wasn’t alone.
He would never be alone.
Never, ever.
For which is more powerful, after all?
Shame, fear, hatred
Or love?
I’ll go back to her tonight, the one typing this as we speak
I’ll remind her we are friends
I’ll remind her that I love her.
She forgets sometimes.
And I know she loves me too.
We’re trying to love everything, you see
And you’re a part of that, too.
Sweet dreams.
[Eerie theme music]
(Host speaks as Kristen:)
Hello my friends, and thank you so much for listening to Episode 266 of On a Dark, Cold Night. This is your host, writer, narrator, composer, podcaster, solitary spectre, etcetera, Kristen Zaza. How has your experience been, this full moon? Have you had a chance to look at it? Have you had a moment to reflect on all you’ve been able to do, to explore, to love, leading up to it? And how will you rest, how will you settle in to yourself, now that it will start its waning?
Thank you so much as always to everyone who supports the show on a monthly basis on Patreon, where every supporter of $1 or more a month US gets access to my complete soundtrack, and every supporter of $5 or more a month US gets that, a weekly bonus meditation episode, and a monthly tarot reading video uploaded on the full moon. I will say that this month’s reading that I released yesterday heavily influenced the direction that I went with for this episode, and I was unable to do that reading until midnight last night, so I’m grateful I listened to my instincts and delayed this episode just a bit to let some of those concepts sink in. You can learn more about joining my patreon and getting the perks there by visiting patreon.com/darkcoldnight. You can also donate one-time only with no perks at ko-fi.com/darkcoldnight, or by buying a t-shirt or hoodie at bonfire.com/on-a-dark-cold-night. The Quick Moment Bonus meditation episodes are also available on the Sonar+ Apple podcast channel for 3.99 a month, where you can also access lots of great bonus content from other Sonr Network shows - look up On a Dark, Cold Night on itunes to learn more.
You can also find my new album, Favourite Little Songs from On a Dark, Cold Night - Volume 2, on Spotify, apple, or I believe other streaming services by looking up Kristen Zaza there - I’d love you to have a listen.
It would also be wonderful if you left me a rating or review on apple, spotify, facebook, or anywhere really. You can follow me on social media on Facebook and YouTube under On a Dark, Cold Night, on instagram at darkcoldnightpodcast, on Bluesky and Tiktok under kristenzaza, or on Twitter @ADarkColdNight.
Thank you so much for listening everyone.
I will need to miss next week’s episode, I think - I mean, never say never, but I’ll be back at it the following week either way.
Wishing you lots and lots and lots
Of love.
[Eerie theme music]
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