Written at thearcticcircle.org in Oct 2016
In the very North of the world at the source of the world river, where the ice melts into the purest of the waters we drink here on Earth–live the Hunter and Elk Queen. This world of the North is the land where the Sun goes to sleep, and our souls go when we die, it is where all life comes from, and where all life ends.
The Elk Queen and the Hunter had picked each other, and so they stay with each other always. In fact, so strong is the trance they put each other in, that new creation does not happen outside of their domain. Everything we have here comes from the well spring of their love.
The Elk Queen has a magical power and that is that she can create life. Any kind of living thing she dreams; it comes into existence. She created communally distributed moss consciousnesses, photon fields whose distribution patterns act like mobs in town halls, crystalline flowers that seem to be changeless for millennia, entire universes full of organic and inorganic life, all interdependant and mixed in such a way that the whole thing is a single organism. She doesn’t always make these things on purpose, sometimes they just flow out of her as she walks or talks or dreams. Sometimes they’re the monsters of her deepest fears, sometimes her wishes and memories.
The Hunter meanwhile, has the power to give or take away immortality–he can make anything re-generate, and he can make anything die. They balance each other out perfectly–he makes her monsters come to their ends, or freezes them in time, he makes one moment of bliss last an eternity.
Together they play at making entire planets of eternal spring, they extend the brief moment of life flourishing on the surface of stars into forever. They take walks through black holes.
She makes him all sorts of offerings, just for him to play with. He guides and loves them from the beginning of their lives til the ends, and he is always, always with them. All the creatures in the universe feel his love even if they don’t know it. He can give us guidance when we are lost, and when we return to the underworld, it is he who is there to take us into his arms.
Periodically the Hunter and the Queen have to separate. Before she met her husband, the Elk-Queen lived with her Grandmother Zoya. Grand-mother Zoya is the origin of all love and joy in the universe, and when the Elk-Queen was young, she lived in her grandmother’s stories.
So, every spring the Elk-Queen leaves the great North to visit with Grandmother Zoya in the South. Grandmother Zoya lives on the very edge of the Southern forest where the world river re-enters into the North. On the way to her grandmother’s house life bursts and grows beneath the Elk-Queen’s feet, sometimes it dies immediately, sometimes it bursts and grows out of control.
There are all sort of strange things birthing and flowing from her wake, things all mangled and writhing together, sometimes even things that would normally be living worlds apart. But mostly they are things that belong together, things from the same dream. The creatures fight and twist and creep for dominance. They find strange corners of dirt and darkness to dominate, they bask opulent and luxurious and falling apart in lassitude and their own decay. They get sick and quickly deteriorate, or live long in luck and joy. They eat each other, even when they are of one and the same family, they steal each other’s skin for warmth They dance, drunk on the spectacle of life coming through their eyelids in a gruesome dance of violence.
Only once she passes by every bit of the world river does her grandmother’s house appear. Then they sit at the edge of the underworld, and visit together for three full moons. But what they do, and what they talk about when they sit together, is the subject of another story. Grandmother Zoya can only step with one foot into the underworld, and so at the end of their visit she stands on the edge, hugging her grand-daughter good-bye.
During this time the Hunter falls into a deep deep sorrow, and all around him is tinged in sadness and a dark stygian blue. But even then the creations the Elk-Queen makes come back to him, and every time he receives one, he recognizes it as the endless love she has for him, takes it into his kingdom and gives it all the love he has for her. Until one day finally, she is the one that comes back.
in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything, in all time and all space with all of us, and everything,
For my final I am generating the myth of myths. Though it is no longer widely believed that the earth is a flat disc held up by four elephants, the question of infinite regression is just as relevant and fun to think about as it ever was. If our universe began, and other theories posit that it did. Then there was something that caused the universe to begin, which begs the question, what caused the first cause? and so on.
The structure of the poem is as follows:
a turtle in a turtle in a turtle in a turtle in the mind of a turtle that we cannot relate by any means, all we know is that everything and all of us in all time and all space is in a turtle etc.
the basic element of the title : in all time and all space, with all of us, and everything
is taken from a Hazmat Mondine song called bahamut which you can see here.
enclosed in an unfathomable auburn hollow, which balances perilously on the brow of an immense sun streaked tortuga, whose knotted and knurled claws are firmly grasping the sides of seven craggy bluffs, that emerge from a bare and wasted field of still-smoldering, darker than yesterday is grime, and the field is resting tangentially on top of a minuscule emaciated black as regret dogwood tree, that emerges from the breath of a boundless flesh colored stag, with 19 horns that cast thunder the color of a forgotten moment, the stag’s hooves are balancing on top of a single gram of lead, which ebbs in the dreams of the tortuga, like a seed in the sky, no tale can tell the tortuga, all we know is that it drifts perpetually in all time and all space with all of us, and everything
within a vast ochre ravine, which floats carelessly on the back of a pondering darker than night giant squid, whose knotted and knurled appendages are firmly clenching the tops of nine collapsing cliffs, that emerge from an arid plane of stale putrid sun streaked ash, and the plane is resting tangentially on top of a minuscule starved burning red crab apple tree, that emerges from the breath of a vast whiter than white goat, with 50 eyes that cast lightning the color of a summers day, the goat’s hooves are poised on top of a single gram of gold, which lingers in the forgotten thoughts of the giant squid, like a fact in the mind, no voice can ever sing of the giant squid, all we know is that it ebbs forever in all time and all space with all of us, and everything
within an unfathomable burgundy nothingness, which rests hazardly on a single hair of a limitless flesh colored elephant, whose deformed and leathery appendages are firmly gripping the sides of nine collapsing cliffs, that emerge from a desolate field of listless reeking imperceptibly neutral grey cinders, and the field is resting precariously on top of a minuscule fragile imperceptibly neutral grey crab apple tree, that emerges from the brow of a boundless whiter than white raven, with 48 heads that breathe thunder the color of a lover’s memory, the raven’s talons are resting on top of a single gram of ore, which floats in the dreams of the elephant, like a mote of dust, the pen cannot describe the elephant, all we know is that it errs for all time in all time and all space with all of us, and everything
surrounded in an insurmountable vermillion cave, ensconced haphazardly on the crown of a boundless, burning red whale, whose knotted and knurled fins are steadfastly fixed to the summits of seven decaying bluffs, that accend from a bone dry field of listless rancid burning red ash, and the field is resting tangentially on top of a minuscule and starved imperceptibly neutral grey myrtle tree, that emerges from the crown of an unfathomable sun streaked boar, with 19 horns that scatter lightning the color of a lost horizon, the boar’s hooves are settled on top of a single gram of sulfur, which hovers in the forgotten thoughts of the whale, like a mote of dust, no tale can tell of the whale, all we know is that it floats perpetually in all time and all space with all of us, and everything
ringed in a giant ultramarine canyon, which meanders on the tip of the tail of a gargantuan flesh colored jelly fish, whose scaly appendages are unflinchingly clenching the sides of nine crumbling ravines that emerge from a vapid breadth of stale smoldering blood red ash, and the breadth is resting precariously on top of a minuscule emaciated whiter than white crab apple tree, that emerges from the tip of the tail of a boundless burning red ox, with 60 mouths that scatter stars the color of a forgotten moment, the ox’s hooves are poised on top of a single gram of lead, which hovers in the thoughts of the jelly fish, like a fleck of sand, no voice can ever sing of the jelly fish, all we know is that it floats eternally in all time and all space with all of us, and everything