Conversations with Christopher: Dyvian Part 1

Mist surrounds Christopher, cold and damp. He hears the roar of the waterfall, crashing down in the stream before he sees the cascading white spray. 

He catches a flash of color here and there, sparkling in defiance before disappearing. 

Dyvian stands on the bank of the stream, damp silvery hair streaked back from his face. His black tunic is unlaced, clinging to his skin. He plants one booted foot in the ground as if he’s rooted in place, unable to take a step further, yet determined not to be moved. 

Dyvian: (his attention fixed upon the waterfall) Is this what you wanted? Is this purity?

Christopher: (hanging back, not wanting to get closer to Dyvian or the spring) What do you mean? 

Dyvian: (turning his head, not moving his body) Don’t be afraid. (His voice carries in spite of its softness. Is he even moving his lips.)

Christopher: (also speaking without moving his lips) Is that what you said to Damian?

Dyvian: There was no need. He was fearless. 

Christopher: He shouldn’t have been. 

Dyvian: Yes. There are times when fearlessness is folly. You just called your Damian a fool.

Christopher: Are you here to gloat, Dyvian?

Dyvian: I’m here to ask you to listen. Can you hear them? The cries of the lost souls?

Yes, he could. Wails filled the air, swallowed and crushed by the fall of the water.

Christopher looked up to see a black tower to one side of the cascade. The screams were more audible from that direction. On the other side was a white tower, silent and glistening. 

Dyvian: What is the difference between the white tower and the black tower, my beauty?

Christopher: One is dead, merely bleached bone. The other is still alive, even if it screams with stolen color. 

Dyvian: Poetic. Here I thought one was filled with light and harmony, the other with darkness and discord.

Christopher: How can there be harmony in the light? Nothing can survive its searing heat. 

Dyvian: Shadows cannot exist without light. You and Damian lived in the shelter of being a light, a Heavenly Direction. You even called her Mother. 

Christopher: She welcomed us under her roof. Perhaps she turned away from the light enough that she could do so.

Dyvian: Becoming a fallen angel, losing her direction by taking you in?

Christopher: Taking people in isn’t the same as losing your direction. 

Dyvian: Isn’t it? Especially if they confuse you about what your direction should be?

Christopher: We didn’t confuse her. She confused us. 

Dyvian: Oh, did she redeem you with her welcome?

Christopher: Maybe she didn’t turn from the light so much as turn it down. Enough so Damian and I could live with her. 

Dyvian: Becoming an empty, sparkling vessel like that white tower. 

Christopher: No. Becoming like this waterfall. Overwhelming, still capable of crushing us, yet we can stand on its bank and enjoy its spray. 

Dyvian: Ah, so you believe Gabrielle is like the waterfall. Not the white tower.

Christopher: You are much more like the white tower, Dyvian. 

Dyvian: (smiling) Think I’m a sparkling, empty vessel, do you?

Christopher: You’re waiting to be filled by something. You’ll use the black tower to quicken yourself. 

Dyvian: And just who is the black tower? You? Damian?

Christopher: Yes. Anyone who’s still hungry.

Dyvian: I’m far hungrier than you, beautiful child. I’m hungry all the time. I’m far more like the black tower. To me, you and Damian are the white.

Christopher: Why?

Dyvian: Because you’ve achieved a state of grace. You’ve discovered a joy I have yet to savour. 

Christopher: Maybe you’re looking joy in the wrong places.

Dyvian: Or I’m looking for it in the right places, but the state eludes me. When I find joy, it’s as fleeting as a dream.

Christopher: Maybe you confused happiness with joy. 

Dyvian: Aren’t they the same?

Christopher: One is intense and fleeting as a dream. The other is fulfilling. 

Dyvian: A curious comparison for a creature of dream to make. 

Christopher: I’m a curious creature. And I’m more than just a dream. 

(To be continued next Monday) 

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