t r u e n a m e s
My joy is like Spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.
My pain is like a river of tears, so vast it fills the four oceans.
Please call me by my true names, so I can hear all my cries and laughter at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.
Please call me by my true names, so I can wake up and the door of my heart could be left open,
the door of compassion.
Thich Nhat Hanh, Please Call Me By My True Names
o n e
in the forest where the children play,
i return to viktor, whom i had misled
with the false name of
c. smith. i tear up the paper.
t w o
viktor accepts my rapprochement
with amiability and grace.
he is not the cold, calculating sort i had suspected.
a gust of wind becomes a cyclone.
"get down on the ground," viktor counsels.
i obey.
t h r e e
the wind howls above us.
we are safe while laying prone.
viktor, with intention, lifts his head
just enough to be swept up in the cyclone.
i follow suit. we are swept into the night sky,
dancing in a cosmic vortex.
f o u r
the winds subside
and place us within the inner
sanctum of the prison of princetown.
earlier, we had discussed chess.
here, a board awaits us.
f i v e
the floor of this
prison courtyard,
smooth tiles of polished marble,
replicates the chessboard
upon which we play.
eventually, viktor lays down his
king in defeat.
s i x
in the center of the courtyard,
the circular, stone well
that the well maiden had tended.
she is absent.
viktor points to the mandorla
encased within the cube above,
i gaze into the empty well.
s e v e n
viktor leads me down
into the well and through
the shiny, copper pipes
that run beneath the prison.
as we progress deeper into the earth
the circumference of the pipes becomes
greater and greater.
a thin trickle of water flows
beneath us.
e i g h t
throughout all of this,
viktor has been referred to me
by my nickname, chad.
i ask viktor why he has used this name.
he responds, "would you prefer i call
you by your true name?
charles, prince of whales?"
as he utters the name,
i am taken aback. i begin to
transform into a humpback whale.
n i n e
viktor fills a cup of water
from the tiny stream,
repeatedly pouring water over my spout,
speaking to me gently and with encouragement.
"sing," he counsels.
i sing my whalesong, weakly, at first, then
gathering force.
t e n
viktor continues tending to me,
informing me that the whales
in the deep ocean will clear the blockage
that has caused these copper channels
to run dry if i they can hear my song.
whales of many species
come to clear the rock plug
that has formed around the underwater
entrance to this system of pipes.
a narwhal uses his tusk to break up the rock.
a sperm whale clasps the plug in his
great jaws. the water rushes in.
e l e v e n
the water fills the pipes,
becomes a torrent.
i must use all my strength to swim
against it, knowing that if it carries me
i will be squeezed into the smaller pipes
behind me.
finally, i make it out into the open ocean.
viktor is there, floating nearby. i bid
him onto my back and swim him to the surface.
upon a spinning disk, he ascends to the sky.
t w e l v e
a pod of whales congregates around me.
as we swim through the great ocean,
the waters transition to the vast,
dark space of the night sky.