From: glen%pandora@SDSU.EDU (Glen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Rain (Poem? - Long)
Date: 11 Oct 92 00:46:36 GMT


This is something that came into being almost two years ago.  I had
lost parts of it for a while, and then was reunited with it.  I thought
I'd share it here, although it is rather long, since it is a direct
view of one I knew, or thought I knew, at the time.


                             Rain

Another night comes.  The rain falls quietly down through
  the trees.  Through the open window, gentle night winds
  bring the memory of another place and time.  A place where
  the cool winds were always there, and the rain always
  gentle.

In the darkened room, he sits alone, remembering.  Far from
  his native home, he lives each day alone, separated from the
  peaceful time and quiet friends he once knew.  Here, it is
  always too cold, or too hot... too dry, or too humid.  It
  is different enough that he can avoid the memories, for
  short periods of time...

And why did he come here?  At the time, he felt he had to.
  Now, he does not know.  Maybe, had there been a 
  way...but he is here, now, and, although he survives
  from day to day, that thing called happiness - no - peace...
  has been out of his life for too long...

As were his friends.  There were friends, here, but he was
  different, and they all knew it.  What was the difference?
  He did not know, exactly.  It was an attitude.  He used to
  be as they are still, but his life was touched, and, in the
  touching, changed.  It was plain to him that, here, he did
  not belong.  It was time to go home.

The rain continues.  There was/will be someone in his life. 
  There are pieces of her in others, but they are never *her*.
  Her appearance would not come to his mind, but he had
  been able to *feel* her presence somewhere along his
  timeline.  Still, the feeling was faint... distant.  And
  now, he was getting ready to go *home*.  Would she be there? 
  Or be gone...

Memories... other people and other times.  There had been 
  those for whom he would have turned aside, dropped his ties
  to his idea of home and stayed in this place, knowing that
  having a companion would have been enough.  But
  companion, to him, had an added meaning of time... yet
  they were gone almost before time itself.

Life.  It is the ultimate human experience.  There will always
  be people, and friends.  The rain will fall, here, and the
  cold will continue.  Where will his life go now???

Only in the night was there peace.  The day went by
  blindly, as they all had... just another day in the
  long wait.  His mind had filled with unimportances...
  but his spirit remained empty.  The rain had stopped,
  but the cool winds continued, and, alone again,
  slowly, his mind was able to clear again.

There had been a crossing in the road that day.  Not
  *her* - not the one, true, but one, a might-have-been,
  a kindred life.  In the darkness he can see - can *feel*
  the possibilities - see that alternate time in which,
  maybe, this one had been her.  But this one, as had
  the others, began to vanish almost as soon as she had
  come.  Still, there always were... possibilities...

Through the darkness, a memory of light... the first time
  he had discovered a kindred spirit - a life that could
  be close enough to his to share their spirits with no
  thought of balances, or debts.  On the shores of what
  was the only land which still held *magic* she had come
  to him a friend, and left... left a mark on his life that
  would remain with him for time and eternity.  "Jannie,"
  she called herself, he remembers.  How easy it would be
  now, he knows, to find her - to have found her, again,
  if only he knew something else... a last name?  a number?

He knew why he did not know.  Young, uncaring, suddenly
  his spirit had been touched in the most unassuming, open
  way possible - but, unknowing and unfamiliar, he couldn't
  understand why she couldn't stay - didn't realise that she
  had to leave, even though she wanted to stay.  On the day
  she left, he avoided her; rather than asking for that one 
  thing she so wanted to give him: a hope for the future, he 
  instead hid, following her unseen, feeling only the pain
  of the loss that he unknowingly brought upon himself.

Now, alone again, he sees all those that have passed through
  his life - many truly leaving their footprints on his soul,
  and knew that, though he had lost many, he had gained
  more by knowing those who brought light into his life than
  any of his friends ever would.  But at a cost?

He thinks of several of his friends here.  Alone, and afraid,
  they are unable to reach out at all - unwilling to take the
  one small step that might bring to them all that he knew.  A
  spirit kindred to theirs might be at their doorsteps, yet, he
  knew that, afraid to say "goodbye," they would never open
  the door - never say the "hello," that has more power to
  change lives than anything else in the universe.

Instead, in their shells, they think they are protected.  In
  reality, they are trapped.  They think no one can get in -
  but the truth is that they cannot get out.  In their private
  circle, there is no sadness, but there is no happiness.  
  There is only... existence.  "In every trust," they say,
  "there is the opportunity for betrayal."  And that, he
  reflects, is the difference.  That is the thing he knows
  that they do not.

In every trust, there is the possibility of betrayal.  But
  without trust, there is the possbility of nothing.

And as he realised these things, the knowledge came to him,
  sure as the column of smoke in the night, that there *was*
  someone out there, waiting for him even as he waited for
  her; but, not yet able to find him, any more than he was
  able to find her.  But he knew, as the last memory of the day
  dissolved quietly into the night, that he would be ready.  He
  knew what he needed to know.

There can be no love, without trust.  Yet, he still did not know
  where to go.

Another night comes.  The rain falls quietly down through
  the trees.  Through the open window, gentle night winds
  bring the memory of another place and time.  A place where
  the cool winds were always there, and the rain always
  gentle.

As dusk draws to a close, leaving behind only
  a trace of the twilight, the night winds slowly
  pick up.  The passing storm leaves a freshness in
  the air that is too often missing from the land.

Awake, and alone, he sets out.  From the houses come
  hints of firelight, sounds of life.  Still, outside,
  there is only the breeze.  Far above, the stars send
  down a soft radiance, seen only on nights like this
  one, when the moon is new, and dark.

Ahead, the forest sits quietly, awaiting his approach.
  It is strange, he thinks, that the forest is here, that
  such a place should still exist among the tortured and
  busy cities.  But here, though the towns themselves
  may be nearby, their influence has not yet reached.

It was not always this way.  Ages ago, the forests were
  alive at night.  Fires, feasts, music, dancing and
  merriment were standard fare here.  There were no
  large cities and careless people - no hint of the
  loss that was so evident now - only joy, happiness,
  love.  By day, the sun shone peacefully down between
  the maple leaves and pine needles, and at night, as
  gentle winds drifted through, there was a continuous
  party.  The people, and the land, were one.

He never knew those ages... but he could remember them
  nevertheless in his mind.  As he entered the forest,
  the troubling memories and thoughts of the night 
  before left him, at last for good.  At last, he knew
  the *feeling* of peace.  He walked alone into the 
  forest, with only a quiet flow of air for a companion.

The smells stood out the most - clean, quietly fragrant -
  things that many people cannot experience, and that
  many more choose to ignore.  As he inhaled each breath,
  he took in more of the calm that surrounded him.

He came to the stream - close to the source, it ran clean,
  for a time, talking quietly to him in the night air,
  speaking of other lands, and other times.  It spoke
  to him a wordless truth - that it is, and he is.  He
  knew what it was saying, yet it could never be expressed
  in mere words.

This would be his last visit here, he knew.  The signs at
  the edge of the forest were unmistakable - and he knew
  that soon others would walk here, without ever knowing
  where they were.  Construction signs.  Destruction signs.
  And, regardless, it would soon be time for him to leave
  forever.

As he turned slowly for home, he knew that the spirit of
  this place, of what it was meant to be, would remain 
  with him, rather than with the forest itself.  The 
  forest might die - but only to others.  To him, it would
  be where he was, even though he still did not know where
  that would be.

Walking back along the path, he can feel without looking
  the two that walk beside him.  Here, there is the forest
  and its peace - its quiet life in the night - and it is
  now his companion.  And here, his other companion, the
  one he is bound to but has never met, she walks with him
  also.  Not yet in body, perhaps, but, somewhere, always
  in spirit.

His mind and spirit finally at peace, he leaves the forest
  for the last time.  Through the hills ahead, there are
  hints of firelight, sounds of life.  Still, outside,
  there is only the breeze.  Far above, the stars send
  down a soft radiance, seen only on nights like this
  one, when the moon is new, and dark.

A heart cries out in the night.  Wordlessly,
  soundlessly, the spirit's voice reaches out
  across endless space in search of another
  of its own kind, to end the lonliness it has
  felt for so long, without knowing why...

In the day, in the evening, in the morning, this
  heart is surrounded by people.  People - 
  none alone, but all lonely.  The do not know
  where they are, or why the are.  Many do not
  know that they are.  Days and nights pass as
  in a blur, unnoticed by the uncaring.

More than two decades ago, the journey began.  From
  beyond the heavens and stars he came with the
  others of his time to live among the forests
  and exist in peace.  But things were not as they
  should have been.  He came, only to find that
  the home he sought was gone, destroyed before
  his arrival, and that he was all alone.

Many of the things he valued were gone, his personal
  history - a place, an object - important to him then,
  but all lost now.  Now, he wanders with only his
  memory to sustain him, his future always far away
  and uncertain.

The cry continues.  It is a sound he knows well, for
  his heart has made it, too.  In the knowing and
  accepting of his own pain, he has become sensitive
  to the pain of others like him.  For him, there was
  no one left to answer the call, and the lonliness
  became familiar to him, yet the pain never lessened.
  Like the people he had come to live with, he was
  rarely alone, yet often lonely.

So he stopped talking, and started listening.  Quiet
  now, he paused to reflect on the decisions he made,
  that truth he had learned, that no one else around
  him could (or would) grasp:  The things in his life,
  the human things - made by people, and the places he
  had been, the human places - made by people, they
  no longer mattered.  Why would he run each day to
  the distant call?

They did not understand him.  Why he would sacrifice
  so much based only on his feelings.  Because, for him
  the things, the places - they were just things.

This is just a thing... and things can be 
  replaced.  Lives cannot.

Out of the darkness beyond the remains of the forest
  he had visited, he came.  He could feel her now,
  closer, and knew where and to whom he had to come.
  He was not bound by society standards or humans'
  physical laws.  He knew only the path, could feel
  only the life.  He did not know, for certain, whether
  this was the one he himself had felt in the past,
  but that was not important here.  He knew only the
  need to go to this person, now.  Here was a true
  kindred spirit, alone and searching.  This
  was where he was.

Across the leagues he could already speak to her,
  hear her voice, feel her spirit, and though he had
  not yet reached her, he was comforted by the 
  thought of her, the smile he could feel inside,
  the sound of her voice in his mind.  A few words
  would come to him, as he traveled, and they sank
  deep into his soul, warming him through the cool
  night air.

It would be three days before he reached her, yet a
  part of him was already with her, and she with him.
  There was already a bond, a connection, and he knew
  they both could feel it.  As the days passed, the
  bond grew stronger.  And the journey continued...

She was in pain when he found her.  A victim
  of old wounds both physical and spiritual,
  she did her best to hide the hurt.  Yet,
  even though she smiled at his approach, he
  could tell that all was not well.

It was clear to him that she needed a friend.  Her
  mind was full of life, running through the
  deep forest with her friends, visiting distant
  lands that lay beyond the edges of the river;
  yet, it seemed that it all was in the past for
  her.  He could see that she was at once happy...
  and sad.  She was full of joy, yet quiet, as
  one who has both a love for life, and a memory
  of a life lost.

As the sun set he found her, guided to her by a
  sure knowledge of the need for him there.  She
  was moving through a clearing in her forest,
  almost searching, waiting for the one she knew
  was coming.

At his approach, she stilled.  He spoke to her
  quietly, smiling through the words; yet, it
  was not the words that she heard, but the 
  feelings behind them.  And this was well...
  words can say very little, at times, but the
  heart has no need of words for its thoughts.

They spoke quietly, neither saying much.  There
  was little to say.  Over the days their spirits
  had already touched, already come together, and
  their meeting was as a meeting of friends only
  briefly parted...  their minds were open to
  each other...  it mattered only that he had come.

For him, the end of the journey in was only the
  beginning of the journey on.  For this was his
  life... moving ever onward on his own search...
  yet always listening for the sound of her voice,
  and the feeling of her spirit close by...

As they spoke, the sound of his voice calmed her,
  yet still he could see her pain.  He knew that,
  apart from his presence, this night would be
  long for her, the pain always present inside
  her.  She fought it in the best way that she
  could... and drifted slowly to sleep.  He knew
  that, tomorrow, she would continue to fight,
  yet tonight a special healing would take place
  for her... and, perhaps, the pain would be
  lessened for her then.

As she slept, he thought of this new life he had
  discovered here in this land - the new person,
  sleeping quietly, who had brought him here.  He
  knew that her spirit was great, and that, if he
  took her with him, they would never part, each
  there for the other... two lives in a very deep
  love, walking down through the ages together.

Yet this was her home, and he could see that her
  fear of leaving was equally great.  Although he
  knew that he needed her, he knew that she needed
  the forest more, and that her feelings would be
  her own.  But, for a time, he would put his own
  search aside, and remain with her... for this was
  the innermost core of his being:  He responds
  to the needs of the kindred spirits, wandering
  often, coming unlooked-for, bringing peace to 
  those in need of it, wherever he can.

As the sun dropped finally below the horizon, the
  man, never sleeping, drew quietly back to
  the edge of the clearing.  The girl quietly
  slept, awaiting the healing that would, she hoped,
  come with the morning... as he quietly waited
  for the still-far away dawn.

From out in the distance, a gentle breeze
  slowly started to blow through the forest, as
  the sun set finally below the horizon.  A 
  night and a day had passed, yet still he remained
  in the forest for a time.

They had come in the night, quietly, lifting the
  body of the girl and carrying it back to her
  home, even as she slept.  He knew that his time
  with her was done, for she had other people to
  care for her and befriend her, as he sought to do.
  Yet still he was slow in preparing to leave.  He
  wanted to remember this place as it was, for the
  memory had touched him, and would leave its mark
  on him always.

As night finally fell again, he stood.  Taking a
  final look at this clearing, he turned, and
  disappeared into the trees, even as the breeze
  quietly slipped from place to place.  Nearby,
  around him, he could hear quiet noises as the
  wind and the animals of the forest moved quietly
  on through their lives, and their night.  He
  was not alone, yet he was the only person there.

As he walked, his thoughts strayed back to the girl.
  The call had gone out, and he had come; yet, he
  was only with her for a short time.  In the past,
  he would have been surprised at the leaving, yet
  he knew that often people had a need for friends,
  and often, this need was short-lived.  Before, it
  would have hurt to leave; now, he understood why
  things were.

Each human lives with a certain amount of fear.  For
  many, the fear is a fear of loss.  This can take
  different forms - fear of one person deciding to
  leave, fear of one person not liking the other,
  fear of the feelings not being the same, fear of
  some personal, imagined inadequacy.  He understood
  this very well - for losing someone is always
  painful.

But life can be a very transient thing.  Many people
  come and go, often leaving very special marks on
  the lives of those they touch.  There will always
  be such people, for everyone.  But turning such a
  transient meeting into something more requires
  an extra step.  The person must grow beyond
  the fear, take the chance, and reach out.  Only
  then can they find what they need.  It is very
  easy to run and hide.  It is not easy to stand,
  but it is the faith that brings the magic home.

As he continued through the darkness, he reached
  out with his thoughts, his feelings, trying to
  catch a hint of the one he continually sought.
  She was there, but still far away, and it would
  take time to reach her.  Even then, he knew that
  when he came, they would both have to step beyond
  themselves, or that bond might itself become
  transient.  Still, he felt ready.

He was used to the wandering journey, and always
  found joy in the meetings that came to him.  He
  understood his purpose, and the feelings of
  those he encountered.  Still, for each, the
  decisions were their own to make.  Many could 
  not take the step, and so lost themselves,
  and became lost to him.  This was the risk he
  continually took, and the heart of the pain
  he bore.  Yet he knew that, in the end, there
  would be one who would make all the waiting
  worthwhile.

As he passed from the forest, the rain began, a
  quiet mist drifting down through the trees.  The
  night grew quiet, the forest more peaceful for
  his time within it.  And still his journey went on.


Glen Barney [January 1990]
glen@cs.pdx.edu