Date: Sun, 07 Mar 2004 14:41:30 -0800 From: Lael Stalnaker Subject: Fantasy in Crystal and Earth The cave is deep beneath the ground and far from any people. Its floor of beaten earth is smooth and well worn with the footsteps of the mysterious. Torches line the natural walls, spreading an even light. The air is moist with the spray of an underground stream that splashes in a pool at the caves back wall. Ceramic pots sit in a circle, filled with various stones. A man enters and goes to the pool. His body is bare save for a layer of clever paints. Red ocher and ground cobalt make swirls of patterns that outline his strong muscular frame. Other minerals mixed with fine silt clay form geometric shapes that accent his square facial features. Even his hair is slicked back with silt. His manhood swings free as he bends to the pool. He dips out a bowl of water and stands upright once more. Carefully, moves back to his circle, to the figure that he has been working on. Dipping his finger tips into the water, he runs his hand over the clay. It leaves a smooth trail and he quickly continues his endeavor. Within minutes he steps back and surveys his handiwork. The clay is now in the form of a man, complete in every way. Satisfied with his efforts so far, sets down the near empty bowl of liquid. He moves to a pot and removes a handful of sparkling clear quartz. These he then places into the clay, though shallowly. Various runes are formed that throw back the torch's light. Nodding to himself, he goes to another jar and pulls out two oval emeralds. These he places as the eyes, spring green. Another pot is raided and sapphires take their place as a circlet upon the clay's brow and carefully formed hair. Granite pebbles become finger and toe nails. Obsidian adorns the throat, gleaming with inner light. A single opal rests where a naval would be. Finally, a blood red ruby is pushed to where a heart should be. Once again the man stands back once more and looks for any flaw. Seeing none, for the feet to groin to head's top, he is well pleased. His dream is now realized, in all ways perfect and complete. One detail remains to be done and all rewards come due. The man goes to the wall opposite to the pool and picks up a small hand held drum. Using the flat of his hand he begins a twofold beat as he moves around the clay form. He moves slowly and deliberately, eyes always on the clay form. His spend increases and doubles again. Soon he is nearly running, the two-part beat rapid, matching his own heart. Sweat is running down his painted body, smearing the paint. With a final thunderous rumble, the drum stills and he again faces the front of his dream man. The clay has changed. The skin looks like flesh, the color that of a well tanned man. The other stones no longer show and even their outline is not to be seen. The dream looks like a brown haired man, standing still with his eyes closed. The artist watches a moment then shakes his reverie from his mind. His hands run over his body, wipes the paint and sweat into his cupped hands. Carefully, gently he smoothes this mixture onto the dream. At his loving touch, the eyes open and look at him. Bright green, those eyes watch as the artist paints symbols over him. Delight grows as the hands caress and fondles the firm skin and flesh. Both figures are deeply aroused. The dream's own hands reach for the artist and mirror the strokings. Both are in a state of near bliss. They circle each other, admiring the play of moving muscle. Playfully, the dream moves away, glancing back at the artist. The artist grins and pursues. Their chase has consequences though. Too near the water and the spray becomes heavy. Their play has brought them to an unforeseen point. While watching the artist over his shoulder as he danced teasingly away, the dream found the water. In shock, the artist watched the dream crumble and fall. The clay ran and softened. The stones fell away and tumbled to the ground. The artist last sight of his dream was the joyous smile that knew not what happened. Then the water washed even that away. Stunned at the quickness of dream's loss, the artist sank to his knees. Perhaps the next dream will be sturdier, perhaps all of stone. The artist sighed and lowered his head. Time to dream again.