It is said that the Great Mother of the Welfare Womb of the North from birth has given all her great children endless possibilities, regardless of their social and cultural background or physical attributes. In the eyes of the Great Mother, all her children are born equal. No one is greater than the others. What the Great Mother hates above all are those who think of themselves before others, those who set aside the whole to benefit themselves, and in doing so hurt the Great Mother’s feelings. This is why being selfish in the Welfare Womb of the North is a mortal sin. The Great Mother expects her children to set themselves aside, as she has set herself aside, so they can live in the best of possible worlds. And since the Great Mother has set aside her own needs and suffers to fulfil the dreams of others, she cannot be blamed for any of her children’s mistakes and failures. It can only be their own personal inadequacy that is responsible for their limitations, and, of course, the increasing contamination of the Welfare Womb from the outside world.
In the last chapters of our story, our great hero, in search of the meaning of life, found his way to a bar called Heimwekrank. There, in a hole deep under the floor, he dug up a wonderful woman with a seductive smile and the sweetest eyes who called herself the Illuminating Girl. But soon he discovered that she was possessed by an evil spirit, which lived in the dark at the bottom of her heart. In his struggle to free her from this evil spirit, so she could bloom and become the woman she dreamed to be, our hero lost his mind. It was somehow trapped deep, deep down in her hole, where it was doomed to sail with the tide of life on the furious stream through the cave of dreams waiting for her to decide between him and the evil spirit.
Since then, he had come to the bar, night after night, hoping she would defy the evil spirit and, under the cover of night, open her hole so he could get back his lost mind. And when the night once again turned to day without him feeling any redemption or change, he could only think about how to burn the daylight away, so that the hope of night again would fall upon him. If it did not bring about reunion with his mind, then at least he might drown his sorrows and pain, while one more night passed in vain.
The Great Mother of the Womb
What did he do wrong, the Great Dane asked himself, while sitting in the darkest corner of the bar, looking at the floor where he once had dug up the girl with the seductive smile and the sweetest eyes. He had tried everything that he imagined a girl would like a guy to do. He had left her beautiful flowers, delicious handmade chocolate, sparkling jewels and romantic books. He had even set up a candle-lit dinner for two. But with no result. She only blew the candle out. The rest, she left untouched. And then there were all the letters he wrote, explaining his feelings so that she would understand why things had gone so wrong. She, however just replied shortly: Please, be so kind as to leave me alone.
This left him with a nagging doubt and great concerns. It had been his desire to save her from the evil spirit and lead her out of the dark hole she had been living in for so long. He, her great hero had, however, failed. The evil spirit had cheated him, so he had followed his lust instead of his pure heart. He, the greatest of all Danes, the hero of her dreams had let her down. But she had to understand. Under his greatness, he had hidden the part of him that was just as ordinary as any common human being. And people made mistakes. Of all people, she should know. She herself was far from perfect. She had to forgive him. She had to tell him that she did not blame him. That everything was fine. That she did not need him any more. That she could take care of herself. He needed her to tell him that. Until then, he would not be able to forgive himself and begin living his own life. Until then, he would set himself aside. Until then, he would carry both their hopes and worries on his shoulders. Until then …
He needed another drink to prop up his strength, so that he could endure the great and noble burden he had taken on his shoulders. It was, however, with some difficulties that he managed to walk from the darkest corner and over to the bar. After a continuous flow of drinks, he was beginning to get drunk and besides, he did not dare to look, but he certainly felt it: He had a hard-on. And the more he thought about his own generosity and the possible rewards it could bring, the harder it got. It expanded his feeling of being in the world, and with it he began to sense the presence of the Great Mother of the Welfare Womb of the North. His mother would be very proud of him when she heard how he had set himself aside, not just for the Illuminating Girl, but for the whole world, by letting everyone else’s needs come before his own.
Yes, his Great Mother would be very pleased. Every Wednesday when she met with her close circle of friends to knit, talk about the latest diets and afterwards eat plenty of delicious cake and chocolate, she would tell them about her son’s great deeds. Maybe she would even make a public announcement on the national neural network and tell all the inhabitants of the Welfare Womb how proud she was of her great son and how he should be a role model for all of them. And as he returned home to receive his glorious tribute, she would put her arms around him and kiss his forehead and say he was her favourite little knight of honour while her immense bosom surrounded his head and pressed against his cheeks so his tongue would stick out, giving him a sensation of throwing up in this overwhelming pleasure.
And then, as a final gesture to his Great Mother, he would let himself be fully integrated into the almighty state of the great womb where no ego, feeling of self or thought of anything else than the Great Mother of all Mothers’ expectations existed. In this state of primal union with the Great Mother they would form a prefect symbiotic unity, where all conditions would be ideal and he would experience the satisfaction of all his needs. This was the teaching of all children of the Welfare Womb of the North: That there was no need for independent thoughts and feelings when the Great Mother could think and feel for you.
A Gift of Compassion
He felt a terrible pain when he bumped into the bar with his now greater-than-ever hard-on. The collision brought him at once back to reality. The elderly woman but still handsome woman behind the bar, who still seemed to have a firm grip on the prime of her glory stopped her gently rolling a drink and put down the shaker with a discrete: Don’t-Worry-I-Know-It-smile. The Great Dane did not, however, stop worrying. His treacherous body had once again seized control and made a fool out of him.
And if that was not bad enough, everyone in the bar probably by now knew every detail of what he was feeling and thinking. He was as transparent as a jellyfish in a spotlight since he had been so incautious to step out of the darkest corner of the bar and exposed himself in a room filled with people whose only meaning in life was to weep silently over their own misery while they sought out the latest gossip about the intrigues, mistakes and lows of those who were greater than themselves. At the very moment he came out in the open, these vile and corrupted creatures had somehow managed to tune into the frequency of the brain transmitter which his mother had gotten implanted in his head when he was an infant so she always knew what her son thought about his mother and other women.
Such was the state of this savage world. And now that he had uncovered himself, it would not take long before his great mother knew everything about it, and more than that. Every mistake and selfish thing he had done with the Illuminating Girl in her hole would be placed before her. People’s cruelty was without limits when dealing with his actions, especially his wrong ones. Not a moment of truth would be included and no details would be left untouched by their filthy minds. They circled tirelessly around him. Jealous. Hoping for the worst. They wanted him only to fail so they could feel better about their own faults. They used every opportunity to get down on him. They wanted to destroy his greatness. Make him small as them. Even smaller. The smallest Great Dane alive. They wanted him down, down, down. And they got it. He was defenceless against their sick imaginations and false accusations. No matter how wrong they were, he could never be right.
He heard the sound of a door being slammed open, and a cold breeze reached the bar. It was the great wind of the north. With it came a whisper. It came closer. Became more intense. He knew this voice. This penetrating voice filling up his head.
My son, what is all this fuss about, his mother said. Why do you always have to worry me with your foolishness. Don’t you ever think of anyone but yourself? Don’t you know how hard it is for at mother to live with a son that … she did not finish, or if she did, he was not listening. Another voice drowned out her monologue inside his head.
“Are you all right?” the voice said. “You seem more worried than usual tonight. If you want to tell me about it, I’ll buy you a drink.
The bartender was now standing right in front of him. She seemed very serious. She poured the drink straight up and then gave it a nice, fresh twist of lemon. He was astonished. The rind of lemon was peeled perfectly. How should he handle such an exquisite invitation? Or, could it be a trick to lure him further out in the open, where he would be totally defenceless, an easy prey. The drink sparkled in the light from above the bar. So delicious. So marvellous. He had to withstand the temptation. Avoid any humiliation. When she heard his story, she would probably laugh of him. She would … he felt ashamed. How could he think such dreadful thoughts about this sweet old woman in front of him? Where else than in a bar called Heimwekrank could he find true compassion and understanding? He was … he was not feeling well. The dark clouds that overshadowed his inner landscape grew heavier. He felt his eyes become wet.
“In case of sudden rain,” the bartender said, and placed a small, colourful umbrella in his drink.
It reminded him of his little sister playing Barbie and Ken at the beach. He had always adored Ken. The way he had Barbie exclusively for himself.
The umbrella held back the first shower of rain, and the drink was saved, for now. Then more dark clouds gathered at the horizon in his mental landscape of endless troubles. Worried, he stared at his drink, as if it contained the answers to all of his questions. Did he deserve such generosity, after all the selfish things, he had done?
His Great Mother was pushing herself forward, trying to seize control.
Bad boys don’t deserve dessert, she reminded him. While really bad boys don’t even deserve their mother’s love.
He should gently refuse it. Give the drink to someone else who was worthy of such a gesture.
“Just bite it,” the bartender said. “That usually helps you loosen up.”
The Lady of the Bar
It really did. Although, at first, he hesitated and tried to hold back his feelings. He was afraid of what she might think of him. That he was a bad and selfish boy. That she would say it out loud so everyone in the bar could hear it. But she did not. She listened and only stopped listening when some of the other guests needed her services.
Each time, in the few moments she was gone, he missed her terribly. He would sit restless in his chair, looking with envy at the other person who now had her attention. He hated how she smiled and talked to them, how she showed affection to anyone other than him. For every smile and every word she gave away, he felt as they had been stolen from him. It should be him and only him who had her attention. Soon she would forget him and not come back.
He began to shrink inside. He did not feel great at all, but very small and alone. The only encouragement he could find was that none of the other guests had got an umbrella from her. That had to mean something. And each time he was at the point of complete dissolution, she returned. And she did not seem to have forgotten where in the story she had left off. She remembered details even better than he did himself, and made sure to give him a sign if certain parts of the story interested her particularly. Otherwise, she kept silent. As a true lady would do when a true hero spoke from his heart.
He must admit that he had been wrong about her. She was not just another woman behind the counter. For him, she was The Lady of the Bar. She was his secret enchantress on his journey through the darkness of his life. The Lady of the Bar. The words tasted like fine champagne in his mouth. She would teach him everything there was to know about life and women, these strange, inexplicable creatures. Soon he would know exactly how to free his lost mind from its imprisonment deep down in the hole.
When he came to the end of his story, he took her hand.
“Dear Lady of the Bar,” he said, “as you can hear from the story of my heart, I’m just a noble hero who has chosen the wrong path in life and therefore is lost. You have listened sincerely and thus already given me much. Now I ask you one last favour: To help me find my way out of the dark, so I once again can walk on the glorious path of life.
Her face showed no expression. She looked at him as if was she not there. Then she disappeared down behind the bar, so that, for a moment, the Great Dane thought that his world would disintegrate. When she came up again, she placed three bottles in front of him, each in a different colour.
“This one,” she said with pride, “is deep blue as the greatest ocean. The possibilities can seem endless, so if you do not take care, you will soon drown and never find a safe shore.”
“This,” she said and trembled, “is white as the mountain snow. Only a handful of brave men have ever crossed its blinding horizons and experienced the coming of a warm season.”
“And here,” she whispered, “here is my own favourite. Dark red as a true virgin. Nobody has ever returned untouched after drinking this. They will be forever changed.”
The Great Dane was very pleased. Such an easy way to accomplish such a great deed. Soon he would have regained his mind and its great intellectual capacity, and be free to do whatever he desired.
“Oh, Lady of the Bar,” he said, “what a gift, what a gesture you show a humble hero. Tell me at once what I must do, and I will follow your guidance without any doubt in my heart.”
“It is quite simple, she said. You must choose one and only one of the bottles, and when it has been served, you must drink it all up, or else you will be banished from this fine establishment forever. Do I make myself clear?”
How to Make a Choice Without Your Mind
His hands trembled when he reached out towards the bottles. Which one should he choose, if any? Was this merely a trick? All her kindness and attention, had it only been to lure him to this: The grand finale of his lifelong humiliation? Was it even real? Could it be an illusion created by his lost mind to punish him, because he had left it behind in the cave of dreams? Or was it the evil spirit down in the hole, who still had power over him? Could this be a part of its great scheme? How could he be sure? He did not even trust himself any more. He felt paralysed. Maybe, if he waited long enough, everything would return to normal and he would be great again. But maybe this was exactly what the evil spirit had planned. That he would give up. Stay put and do nothing. Just wait forever. If he at least knew what it all was about, the meaning of all this. But how could he know anything if he did not at least try something?
He struggled to get a sense of what colour he should choose, but without his mind to guide him, his heart wanted to choose them all, so he could be sure – or, rather, cease to be unsure. It would be so much easier. To do everything that he wanted, so he did not have to choose ever again and have the risk of making a wrong decision. How could she be so thoughtless and expect him to choose, when she had not told him which was the right colour for him.
But maybe it didn’t matter which colour he chose. In his situation of distress, one colour could be as good as the other. Or maybe she had given him a sign, when telling him which one was her favourite. The red one. He had always liked red. It reminded him of his mother’s lips, and the smell of nail polish, and his first fight for honour giving an annoying boy a bloody nose. It also reminded him of cherries, tomatoes, strawberry jam, and all the girls he had helped enter womanhood – a gesture he liked to see as his own version of women’s liberation.
The virgin one. He pointed at the red bottle. He had a good feeling about it.
“You have chosen the difficult path,” the Lady of the Bar said, and began to pour some in a tiny glass. Who knows if we will ever meet again?
He watched it for a second or two. Was it the right choice? Where would it lead him? The red substance looked almost alive, like real blood. Without further hesitation, he took the glass and drained it. Just doing it made him feel better than before. His body became warm and heavy. It was a sign. He was becoming great again.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” the Lady of the Bar said. “If you need anything from me, just order a drink.”
Her face began to blur and with it the bar faded away in front of him. He felt tired. His Great Mother said it was past his bedtime. He should at once turn off the light and go to sleep. The sound of her voice told him that it was not up for discussion. The chair beneath him dissolved. He fell backwards, expecting to slip gently into his childhood bed and snuggle down under the duvet. But it did not happen. Maybe he already was in bed with the light turned off and sound asleep. That would explain why he kept on falling.
Health is Green
How long he fell, he did not know. At some point, it just stopped, as suddenly as it had begun. He lay on the ground in front of a forest. It was late at night and the moon stood high on the sky. Around him in the clear moonlight, he could see an endless plane of grass, while inside the forest no light managed to break through the trees. The forest was a dark and undiscovered island on a great ocean of green. Nothing else than the green plane and the dark forest. No sign or sound of life. Not even a breeze. Nature seemed to be holding its breath. Waiting. He looked at the forest. There was something in there. He could hear voices murmuring from the darkness between the trees, telling secrets that humankind was not to hear. Were they speaking to him? Giving him a sign? He somehow knew that the very meaning of the forest was that he should go through it, to come out on the other side forever changed. But even that was absurd. There was no road or path leading into the forest. It seemed as dense and impassable as it was dark. It felt truly depressing.
He decided to stay outside the forest, on the grass. There was no point going through the forest when instead he could go around it to reach the other side. So, he got to his feet, straightened his clothes, in case he should meet someone important, and began to walk. And as he had predicted, at some point he reached the other side of the forest. Here he stopped and waited for something to happen. A special sensation or some great miracle. The reward for reaching his destination.
“You have been such a good boy,” his Great Mother said. “I’m so proud of you. You deserve some candy and a great big hug.
He took the candy in his mouth and disappeared into its sweet ecstasy, while his mother’s huge corpus surrounded him. Then the taste of candy was gone, and the only feeling was nothingness. An all-embracing motherly nothingness that sucked all life out of him. He hoped that if he kept calm, he would get another piece of delight. He deserved it. He wanted it. Now. Why should he always have to wait to get what he wanted? He had done his part and arrived at the other side. And still nothing happened. Should he be disappointed or relieved? He hated the forest. Why should it be so difficult? Why could it not for once be easy for him? He had made life easier for so many people. When was it going to be his turn to relax, and be carried through life?
The endless plane of grass attracted his attention. There had to be someone or something out there that could serve his needs. A house or a village, or just a simple cottage or a lazy shepherd and his sheep. He began to walk. After an hour or so, the landscape had not changed. He might as well be in the same place as where he began. It was flat and very disappointing. All that green. All that uniformity. Everywhere. It made him sick. He hated green. It was such a self-righteous colour. Confident and arrogant. Nature at its worst. It reminded him of all the things they told him were good and healthy. What they wanted him to believe was right. How he should be a good boy and behave, like all decent boys should. It was in his nature, his mother had told him, while holding him tight in her arms. His mother and nature had formed an alliance. How could he disagree with her when she was wearing nature’s green impenetrable armour?
But what was really behind all this? Was it more nature and more motherhood, as there wasn’t enough of them both already, or maybe all this green was a cover, to distract him from the real source of evil: Some wicket ancient creature which, since the dawn of humanity, had been dreaming the world to life but without noticing that the glorious light of day had become a terrible nightmare of its own. This was a possibility he liked. He could then be the hero that in the moment of truth saved humanity from a world of terror and injustice.
He turned around and went back to the forest. Somewhere in the dark, this creature was sleeping while the greatest army the world yet had seen stood ready to defend it in its fragile state of sleep from all intrusive forces. But in their plans, they had not thought about the Great Dane, the great hero of the heart. For him, no army was too great a challenge.
Behind the Eyes
The murmur from inside the forest rose alarmingly with his return. He held his erect sword proud in this hand, while his heart beat with the sound of legions of great and noble men, and walked straight in between the trees. None of them dared to stop his progress through the forest. They were all stunned by his great courage and his great strength. He could feel their branches shaking and their leaves falling, one by one. There could be no doubt: He had won even before the battle had begun. The only question that remained was what kind of creature he would be facing in the final battle. It was a creature that once had managed to break free from nature, and in here had created a world of its own in perfect disguise, deprived of everything what was good and healthy. The forest indicated this. It appeared for him as black as the world’s conscience. But this wicked creature should not settle too well in its bed. Soon would he, the greatest hero of them all, be knocking on its chamber door.
His struggle through the black forest was already a legend of tremendous dimensions. In this very moment, thousands of his followers were gathering in front of the statue of the great hero of the heart, singing his great victory hymn. Each of them kneeled down to feel the presence of his mighty sword, and when some of the braver followers touched this symbol of his extensio corporis, a giant globe of the world which he held over his head made a spin in triumph. While remembered it, he should give his craftsmen instructions not to make his smile too great, he didn’t want to be presented as a self-reliant hero, but as a humbler one who showed gratitude for the worship of thousands and thousands. And when a certain brave and beautiful woman stepped forward to show her adoration towards him, two of his servants would take her into a secret elevator and bring her up to the head of the statue where the great hero of all times was waiting for her in his Chamber of Gratitude, just behind the statue’s eyes. From here, there was an outstanding view of the whole world, and while they watched how his many followers touched the mighty sword of his statue, she soon began to tremble of desire. Gently he would put his arm around her, saying that she was the most beautiful and brave woman he had ever met, and that she meant so much to him, he could feel it in his heart that she was very special, and he would whisper that he loved her as he had never loved a woman before, he would say just what he imagined every woman wanted to hear so she would adore him. And when she was warmed up and relaxed, he would take her hand and lead her to the third eye: The Eye of Enlightenment. Here they would make great love while they continued to watch how his followers performed their ritual in front of the statue of their great hero, and in a moment of immense satisfaction, when all her female defences were down, she would be impregnated with his great semen, and together with the many other beautiful and brave women who had experienced his great enlightenment, a new race of extraordinary people would arise and take control over the world, with him as their unchallenged leader, known as the Good Ruler of the Heart. The first thing he would do when he came to power was to … to …
A feeling of doubt seized him. Were all these thoughts really his own? Maybe some unknown force had been mingling with the brain transmitter his mother had installed in his head, so that it not only transmitted his thoughts, but also could receive other people’s thoughts. That would indeed explain what had been going on with him for a long time. Someone was obviously trying to convince him what was right and what was wrong, that black symbolized things that were evil and bad for him, while green represented the things that were good and healthy. But even though that the forest was black and mysterious, who was to say that it was a bad place and that the creature sleeping in here was evil? Maybe it had turned away from the world and created this forest of its own to have a safe place where it could be alone, because it had been misunderstood too many times by too many people. While he, only understood it too well.
He suddenly felt tired. Or rather, his head did. It somehow came out of focus and his vision began to darken, almost as if he had lost the connection to his head.
“How stupid of you!” a voice said, and it was not his mothers. “Did I not tell you that it sooner or later was doomed to go wrong? Here, let me wipe it up. You just sleep on.”
The Black Forest Girl
He stumbled out through an opening between the trees. There was a small cabin, and next to it a stream came out of the forest. The water was calm and clear. He could see water plants and small fish swimming around, ignorant of his great struggle to change the faith of the world. He felt pity for them, their meaningless lives. What a shame. What a waste of time.
At the other side of the cabin, he found the front door open, leading into a simple room with a bench and a table set up against the wall and a rocking chair near the fireplace. There was nobody in there but from the fireplace he could see flames.
There was nobody in there, but from the fireplace he could see flames rise abruptly.
“How stupid of you,” he said, wondering why he said it in the first place and who he was speaking to.
“How stupid of you to say that,” he said, having the same doubt about who he was speaking to and why he said it. “It is no good, you know,” he continued. “Not after all the other bad things you have done. You should know that unattended, fire can cause a lot of trouble.”
He was right about that. He, should have known better.
Outside the cabin, he found an empty bucket and hurried to the stream where he filled it with water. Then, as a true hero of the heart, he put out the dangerous and corruptive fire.
Once again, he had proven his worth and saved the world. The potential damage this wild fire could have done not only to the cabin and the forest, but to the rest of the world was something that ordinary people could never understand. Why else would they be so irresponsible leaving a raging fire unattended? Only he understood its greater consequences, and had therefore in the interest of the common good acted on his superior knowledge. Soon the people would acknowledge his heroic deed and thank him by sending more beautiful women to his chamber, where he would be ready to show them his humble appreciation by planting the seeds of inspiration within them. What a joy! What bliss! What a spectacle it would be!
It had become hot and dense inside the cabin. Maybe he had not put out the fire properly. He stripped off his shirt, shoes and socks and sat down in the rocking chair with his back to the fireplace. It was good being indoors. Here he had found temporary shelter from the world. He deserved a break from the endless battle between good and evil. He could not even begin to imagine how much blood he had shed to save the world. His mother would be … no, his mother was not here. Slowly he moved his hands downward to his trousers. He was sweating and felt dirty. Being deep inside the black forest, he could not sense the presence of his Great Mother. The forest somehow blocked the signal. Even when he concentrated, he was unable to perceive the motherly connection of the Welfare Womb. His hands reached his trousers and he began to unbutton them. He was alone. Disconnected from all shared feelings and bounds with the womb. Inside the black forest he could be safe. Alone with his innermost needs and desires. His mother would be furious. She would not hesitate to terminate all her love and kindness. The deadliest of all punishments.
A feeling of doubt filled him. Maybe some of her spies had managed to follow him into the forest. Dealing with the Great Mother of the Welfare Womb, he could not be too careful. She was as loving and caring as she was jealous and suspicious. He looked cautiously around the room, to ensure that there were no other intruders in the cabin other than himself. Then he closed his eyes. His hands were on the move again. They were out of his control. Gently they touched his mighty sword. It was hard. Very hard. He felt courageous. Being such a bad boy.
“A very bad boy indeed,” someone said. It was the same female voice that he had heard earlier in the forest. He felt as if he were being ripped out of a pleasant dream. In the open door, a young, beautiful girl smiled at him with the same discrete Don’t-Worry-I-Know-It-Smile as the Lady of the Bar. He sat motionless in the rocking chair. The girl represented the world of will and motion, while he was captured in the wrong moment: Naked and vulnerable as a hero without his armour. His only hope was to scare her with his mighty sword.
“What have you done with my fire?” the girl yelled. Her smile had vanished and she was on her way straight towards him. “You have put it out. Are you stupid or what? We are deep inside the black forest and … stop playing with that thing of yours!”
She was upset. Becoming emotional and out of control.
“It is all your fault! Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
She began to cry.
“You must help me, before he wakes up and asks about the fire. He is sick, you know, in the mind. Sick of anxiety and concern for both worlds. I should have left a long time ago, but I’m too afraid of being alone in the forest.”
“Who are you talking to?” someone mumbled from behind the fireplace.
“Be quiet!” she whispered to the Great Dane. “He is awake. But I think he does not know yet. There is no time to waste. We must distract him before he realizes something is wrong.”
“Who is it? the man’s voice shouted. You know I’m not to be disturbed in my sleep. Or do you prefer that I put an end to all this. Don’t forget, I’m the one who is creating this world, who makes it all possible. I ask you so little, and yet it seems impossible for you to do just that.”
The Great Dane could not just sit and do nothing while this guy insulted her. He had to come to her rescue. But when he tried to get out of the rocking chair, she at once pacified him by gently rubbing his mighty sword so that he began to purr like a happy kitten.
“It is nothing to be concerned about,” she called toward the fireplace as she wiped the tears away from her face. “Just foolish me speaking to myself. I’m coming, my dear. I’m coming.”
“And why is it so cold in here?” the voice complained. “Why should I continue to create this world, if there is no such thing as warmth in it? I’m freezing. Hurry up. I need your warmth.”
“Whatever happens,” she said to her Great Kitten, “don’t come into his sleeping chamber. Trust me. It will be the best for all of us.”
The Great Kitten purred stretching its back. He would do everything which this nice girl said he should do.
The Missing Link
She let go of his mighty sword and went in next door. The Great Kitten stopped purring and began to move back and forward in the rocking chair. It was like when his mother had tucked him in his cradle. Safe and comforting as the beat of a heart. He felt tired. So, sleepy. It was really relaxing. Suddenly the heartbeat stopped. He listened with anxiety. Would she ever come back? Had she left him for someone else? The rocking chair shifted rapidly between yes and no. It could go either way. The waiting was like torture. He felt as if he were going to throw up. Too much of everything, except her. Suddenly he felt so alone. Without her, he lost control over his mighty sword, and it began to shrink. And he could do nothing to stop it, no matter how much he tried to encourage it to stay hard and strong. Its power seemed to disappear between his fingers. Soon it would be gone, and he would fall into a dark nothingness. The thought of being nothing scared him. All his thoughts began to rotate around one single subject: Himself. How sad he felt. How small and defenceless he was, without the vital energy flowing from his mighty sword. No more heroism. Then he also began to lose the feeling of himself, and his focus shifted to another subject.
He hated the guy next door. Who was he to talk to this nice girl in such a manner? It was very childish of him. Did he really believe that this nice girl would stoop herself to warm him? She had much better things to do in here with him, her great hero. The guy next door treated her as she was just an object of his every need and desire. A true hero like him would never do that. This wicked guy was using her in a most selfish manner.
The Great Dane could only begin to imagine what this wicked guy had forced her to do: She should get out of bed early in the morning without waking him. Clean the fireplace and cook breakfast, take a bath in the river and look hot and sexy when she gently woke him up. She should remember to put out his morning slippers and clothes, and not to get in his way. She should not be allowed to speak to him while he was eating his breakfast. Then she should kiss him goodbye. While he was having a tough time out in the real world, she should do the gardening, gather food for his dinner, wash clothes, iron his pants and shorts, polish his shoes, paint the fence, call his mother, clean up and wash the floor, and sort out the basement. Then she deserved a short lunch. In the afternoon, she should also paint the windows and doors, and remember to have time to bake a delicious cake and make some of her special ice cream while she made a nice jacket for him to wear tomorrow. Now it would be a good time for her to pick him up. She should remember to bring him a piece of the cake served with some ice cream and hot coffee. When they were back home, she should make him a couple of drinks, cook dinner, massage his neck and feet, sing and dance while she made it comfortable for him. It was important that she kept herself busy while he was relaxing. She should look attractive and beautiful, serve more drinks, make the bed and entertain him until he fell asleep. He had had a long day and would be very tired.
The Great Dane was quite exhausted himself, just thinking of all that. It would be nice if she also would take care of him in such a manner, just until he had regained his strength and virility. He would, however, have to make some changes. But first he had to get rid of that annoying guy next door. He could no longer be a witness to how he treated her.
The rocking chair stopped abruptly. Something was happening next door. There were noises. Then she started shouting.
“No, I said. Not now. Don’t even think about it. Keep your hands for yourself. No, let go of me, you naughty boy … or … or …”
The Hero of the Heart tried to control himself, but he was caught in a great conflict. On the one hand, she had explicitly warned him not to enter the room next door, and as a true hero he should always respect a woman’s wishes. He had been born and raised to be a good and faithful boy, unlike the guy next door, who seemed to be a very naughty boy, whose mother would not be proud of him at all. But on the other hand, what if someone was threatening her, so that she needed his heroic assistance. As a true hero, he was also bound to save every woman in need, even when they did not yet know that they needed it. Should he then be allowed to put aside her wishes and interfere in her doings even that she had said that he shouldn’t?
It seemed obvious that she did not know better, while he did, because he was a true hero by heart. Often, women did not know was what best for them. Such was their volatile nature. They were the victims of confusion and doubt. The chaos of nature had in the beginning of humanity planted its corrupted seed in them. Therefore, it was the duty of every Hero of the Heart to purify and protect them from themselves. It was his task in life. The meaning of every heartbeat. What was the meaning of life if not to sacrifice oneself for every woman in need? Otherwise, he would not be a great hero any more. He would be degraded to a lonesome guy waiting for nothing. Before he knew it, he would disappear, cease to exist. He just needed a sign from above to be completely sure. Then he would be ready to protect her from all the evil in the world.
How much he missed his Great Mother. She would know what he should do. She always did. He shook his head, trying to get the neurotransmitter which his mother had implanted in his head back online, but the field that protected the black forest from the outside world was still too strong. He did, however, seem to pick up something when he held his head a quarter more to the left: A voice, somehow familiar, but different from the other voices that for so long had been terrorizing his head. However, the noise coming from next door made it difficult for him to get any meaning out of it. The girl was moaning from exhaustion and whining in despair, and he, her great hero, was being caught in a world of conflicts, trapped in the rocking chair, and unable to rescue her. It was unbearable.
Then something incredible happened. He was lifted upward and out of the chair towards the door. His feet did not touch the floor – it was as if someone carried him along in their arms. He felt how his sword began to quiver. How it grew. Became even harder and stronger than before. This was the sign he had been waiting for. Maybe his Great Father had managed to penetrate the field which surrounded the forest so that he could transfer some of his divine male energy to his great son in need. The father-son connection had long been lost, but now it was re-established. He was ready to show his worth and live up to his Great Father’s great expectations.
TO BE CONTINUED …
Just Another Alter Ego is a series of articles about a bumpy road trip into an urban utopia: not one still to come, not one that someday may be, but one that already is the hard, thrilling and colourful hyper reality of life in our cities.
Story © The Great Dane
Illustration © Sally Wilde