Diary of The Journal Keeper

Entry Number Ten

Dear Friend,

Well a hearty greetings to all who return to my humble on-line diary…I must admit I’m pleased with the number of visitors that came by last month to view it. If we continue to grow and more and more people see this, and begin to believe…well, I’d like to think good things would happen in the world. On a small level, (which is my own life and experiences) I know good things have happened to me when I began to believe in the things that I couldn’t easily see…which brings us to my actual diary:

As I recap my experiences on the road last summer, I myself am still coming to terms with some of the truths that seemed to be revealing themselves to me along the path. As a result, it’s taken me a while to process this all and begin to record it. I don’t necessarily believe “truths” are something that should be spoon-fed to us. I think they take time and realization. It’s the same reason poetry works- it isn’t something that needs to be explained. A poem, like a truth, teaches through revelation. Poems, or beautiful art for that matter, are not meant to be taken in like a newspaper article; it’s a whole lot more like life itself. Life reveals itself to us in only one way- through living it. And sometimes life keeps its mouth shut until we’re ready to hear what it has to say. I think you need to begin to clear your head of what you think your life is supposed to be, so that your life can reveal itself to you. Well, that’s been my experience anyway and I suppose that is nothing new, but neither is believing. Hopefully all I’m giving to you is some inspiration to not let fear tie your feet back to the ground, but to begin to soar a bit further. I can’t say to you “you must now believe.” That isn’t what belief is. As I write this, I’m going to try and give you my version of the things I saw, and felt, and came to realize, and hopefully you, along with me will begin to see what I now know is out there.

Okay, enough philosophizing, and onto the diary. As you’ve probably read from last month’s entry, I’d recently taken up traveling with Gawen. Now, I believe I described this gentleman last time…but the more I think of him, the more I know I’m not doing him justice. Not just being an incredibly tall, white-haired gentle-giant of the forest, Gawen was something more and the more time I spent with him, the more I began to see him as this force of nature. He was so at-home outside, and more importantly so at-home with himself, and it made the time with him quite valuable to me. It helped me deal with my changing views of myself just to be around him. We were traveling the circuit, (what I like to call “the faerie roads”.) We were going from festival to festival, camping outside, traveling by foot, and later by vehicle, and sometimes even by hoof…(but I think the part with the hooves may have been a dream.) It was wonderful how life took on this simplicity while we were traveling. I’d been able to make a few dollars by actually selling some of my photography, and…well…it’s amazing how far your money goes when you’re living in a tent. I’d kind of assumed I’d be taking on some credit-card debt as I undertook this journey, but I think most of us would be astonished as to how things work out when you’re living your life from out of your own center. Opportunities just come up. Doors open. And so it did while we made our way along the mossy trail to the next festival.

Along the path, it became obvious that we were not the only travelers taking this way. Often at night, as we began to make our camp, Gawen would find little notes written in the dirt: At first, he’d brush them aside before I could read them. This happened several evenings in a row. Finally I got so curious that I made sure that I got to the campsite far enough ahead that I could look for the note myself…and there it was, written in the dirt in a fanciful script. It said, “We Are Here.” Hmmm. Well, I thought, somebody has a wonderful grasp of the obvious. But they sure weren’t here anymore.

Whenever I questioned Gawen in regards to the notes, he just smiled. He’d always respond with phrases like “We’re not the only ones taking this path, you know” or “Other paths run parallel to the one we’re taking.”

For all the mysterious melodrama, I never found it annoying. How could I? This guy had taken my under his wing, and was helping me do the thing that I felt I had to do. And, to be quite obvious, I was having the time of my life.

Early one morning, we walked through a deeply wooded path, (don’t ask me where because I couldn’t tell you) Beautiful light filtered through the trees and inspired me to take a few photos. There in the distance, I could make out through the lens what looked like a figure…yes, a person sitting very casually in a low hanging tree branch. His pose was so comfortable and casual, with his legs dangling below him. It was like a scene out of a movie; (using a logic that I’ve probably gained from a slew of Robin Hood and King Arthur stories) I half-expected him to be some kind of decoy, and that while we were distracted a bunch of wild forest bandits were going to ambush us. The thought made me laugh (Well, they wouldn’t get much, at least!)

I pointed him out to Gawen, “There’s someone up in that tree.”

“Hmmm. Skelly” replied Gawen with a solemn look, although I remember his eyes sort of twinkling all the same.

“I take it you know him?”

“Yes. And, I’d say so will you…in a few moments.”

As I got closer, I was able to recognize him from the first festival. He was the storyteller and I must say he was pretty hilarious. He read stories from this book that he’d never let anybody get close enough to see the pages, all while balancing on a gigantic rubber ball. He had the lingo down pat; you’d totally believe this guy was the real deal. Something about him seemed familiar, even authentic, but I couldn’t place how. As we got close enough to speak, I wondered if he’d been waiting for us.

Gawen stopped right beneath his branch. He smiled at him.
“Skelly. How are you today?” asked Gawen.

“Very fine, thank you. I can only assume that, as usual, you are well also.” Skelly looked at me in a way that made me a little uncomfortable. I could see a biting wit, just from his eyes. “And, have you made a new friend along the path?”

Gawen introduced us describing me as a new fan of the fae.

“Showing the ropes, eh Gawen? Well, that’s been a while.” replied Skelly. As he spoke, he winked at Gawen, which gave me the sense that the two of them probably went back further than Gawen had let on. Skelly seemed to have such a theatrical sense of timing, that I finally was able to place his mannerisms. I’d seen some outdoor Shakespeare last summer, and it was a great production. The actor that played Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream was so believable. I thought this guy had to be a Shakespearean actor. Yes, that was it! No doubt, I was sure. What an incredible way to perfect his craft. I imagined he was like the ultimate method actor, immersing himself in the role for weeks and even months at a time.

I wanted to play along, although I knew I couldn’t do the proper Shakespearean accent, but I sensed he understood that I was game. So I joined in;
“He’s not only showing me the ropes, he’s actually showing me the roads too! I needed a little help the first night we met…I fell in the river. He fished me out and has kept me on dry land ever since.”

Gawen remained silent, just the big, knowing smile as he patted me on the back.

I felt I needed to fill the gap of an awkward silence.

“So…what is it you’re doing this fine mornin’…up in a tree?” I asked.

He looked at me with a bit of surprise. I don’t think he had a good answer to what he was doing. I got the sense he never did. He was still staying in his “Puck-ish” character;

“Doing? What am I doing? Why I’m sitting in a tree, reading my book.” He made exaggerated facial gestures while opening his big, leather-bound book up.

“Oh…practicing?” I asked.

“Oh, you’ve heard of me? Have you heard my stories? Perhaps at the festival?”

“I did. I loved them. I’d never heard any of them before, although they had that same ring-of-truth that all the old fairytales have. Are they old or did you write them yourself?”

Now he gave me another of these looks. His eyes grew wide, and he took a moment to think before responding. It was kind of a look of surprise, but also like I’d made a joke.

“Well, I’m glad you liked my stories. They are the most important thing I own…but you can’t own stories, can you? Even if you’re the one that wrote them- once you put them out there-” he gestured wildly to the sky “then they belong to everyone…but no, I didn’t write these stories. My book did.”

Well, I was unsure exactly what that meant, but I had no time to think about it because his next move utterly surprised me, as he swung backwards, hooking his knees on the branch. Before I knew it, he was hanging upside down, his leather hat miraculously staying on his head, looking at me with a big, goofy grin. Then, quite smoothly, he lifted his one arm up above him to grab the branch, and while clutching his book with the other, swung down to the ground. It was highly gymnastic, even for a method-acting Shakespearean.

I think I probably jumped about a foot off the ground in surprise. (Gawen, as far as I could tell, may not have even blinked an eye at this.) Just after landing, Skelly took a quick bow.

Finally Gawen spoke. It seemed as though he was waiting for this Skelly character to dismount.
“I suppose you could walk with us a ways, Skelly. If you like?”

“Me, oh no. I travel alone. Lone wolf. El Lobo…” He stepped directly between Gawen and me, draping his arms over our shoulders while making a mockingly sad expression. “Except I’m kind of lonely.” Then he ran ahead of us several steps.

“Can you keep up with me?” I heard his voice, but he’d already disappeared around the bend of the path.

I looked at Gawen in awe. “What’s…ah…what’s his deal?

Gawen smiled again. “Good question. He’s still a bit young, I suppose. Actually he has a good heart. He comes from a family of storytellers, believe it or not. It’s in his blood, but it has taken him a while to come to terms with it.”

“Well, as far as career choices go, I’d have to say he seems to be fairly fulfilled. He certainly seems attached to that book.”

“That book is older then I am…maybe.” I thought I saw Gawen laugh silently to himself, only visible in his eyes. “It’s been in his family for many generations. The stories in that book are really his great inheritance. They are important, too.” He looked at me in a way that was a bit too knowing. “When something like that comes into your possession, it’s your duty to spread it. To fulfill the task that destiny handed you.”

I wondered if he was somehow speaking about the Journals and me. I decided to keep my mouth shut and follow him. Skelly meanwhile, seemed to have momentarily disappeared.

Gawen looked at me again, as if he could read my mind. “He’s around…he knows I have a friend camped a day ahead of us with a VW mini-bus that we can travel with to the next site.”

Sure enough, we found Skelly waiting for us around the bend, sitting on a log, pretending to be utterly bored, as if he’d been waiting for hours. For the next several hours, he walked silently.

That night, when we were setting up camp, I noticed Skelly’s mood changing. He seemed electrified as it grew dark and Gawen lit the fire. This, it seemed was the storytellers hour - his favorite time of day. As we cooked up a modest supper, Skelly began to pace around anxiously, not eating a bite. Finally, as I finished my last bite, I looked up to see him standing directly in front of me. The flickering tones of the fire light made his eyes look terribly bright as he stared at me. I knew he’d been waiting for me. Gawen settled back and began to whittle something by the light of the fire, keeping a watchful eye on Skelly. Sensing there was some sort of line that could be crossed...

“So-” he began, turning on the theatrical tone, “I suppose you’d be liking to hear a story about now. Well, I’ve got quite a story, just for you…”

…to be continued

Well as I go on & on, this Journal Entry is getting quite long! I will post the rest of the entry in the next week. Thanks for visiting…J.K.