The soil of Belonging pt.1

The nameless man

A long time ago, when the rivers were full and the wise flutters of ancestors danced upon the wings of drunken butterflies, there lived a man who had no name. This wanderer, adrift in a sea of forgetfulness, roamed from village to village heavy heart-ed and burdened by the aching of his Soul.

From mist-shrouded valley villages to sun drenched peaks he journeyed, his ladened footsteps knocking upon the gates of Fate. His eyes searching the faces of strangers for a glimmer of recognition, “Have you seen my name?” he would ask, his voice a plaintive howl. The villagers, some curious, most indifferent could offer him no solace, no answers to his endless riddle.

For years, the man wandered the earthen roads, his spirit an autumn leaf adrift, blown this way and that way by the capricious currents of life. He sought refuge in the arms of strangers, hoping, a rugged kind of hope, that one of them held the key to unlocking the burden he carried.. but each encounter only served to deepen the gorge of sorrow.

One day, as Lady Dawn flew over the mountains in her rosy skirts, the nameless man found himself at the outskirts of a small village nestled in the embrace of ancient hills. There, perched like an old heron, dressed in robes of shimmering grey, her skin wrinkled into great leathery valleys, an old woman sat weaving a nettle hat.  As the man watched, the old crone, stopped her weaving, picked up a stone, kissed it and for a while seemed to whisper things that non could hear but the little Wren who hears all things.

Captivated by curiosity, the man’s feet carried him, as if enchanted, until he found himself kneeling before the old woman. He mumbled and fumbled asking why she kissed the stones and whispered to the wind. The old hag smiled a toothless smile, eyes like brilliant stars and said. “I am kissing the stones and whisper my love to all things because they offer me life, everyday anew.”

Her voice dripping like fresh summer honey, played a chord, echoing a sweet melody from within the man’s heart; a melody he had long forgotten. It stirred memories buried far beneath the sands of time; "Do you know my name?" he whispered, his voice barely audible above the rustling of oak leaves.


The old woman regarded him with a mixture of compassion and curiosity. “My poor boy” she said. “You have walked across wild meadows, climbed peaks and drowned in endless sands seeking, pleading and begging to find what is yours and has always been yours. Yet, none can give you what it is you so dearly long for. I shall not give you your name”

In that moment, as the words washed over the man, the calloused shell around his heart shattered and he wept. A brilliant waterfall of tears upon the old woman’s rough and scaly bark feet. He wept, pouring out the chalice of his suffering when the old hag, tender hearted, spoke once more; “I will help you find what you seek but first you must promise that if you succeed,  you will kiss a stone for each day of your life and offer all of who you are back to all things.”

After a thoughtful moment the man did indeed promise.

“Three tasks you will have, three tasks you must succeed. If you do not, life will never find you. If you do not, death will never find you. You will walk aimlessly as a ghost hungering for what has been lost…”

“First take the Eastern road to the grove of ageless cedars and follow it for three days and nights. There you will find a white rose. Speak to her of your burdened yearnings. Be true and soft in words.”

“Second, take the Southern road of eternal sands and follow it for three days and nights. There you will find an ancient stone smooth with time. Offer it whispers of your hearts desire”

“You third task will bring you to the Western road. For three days and nights you must climb the old mountains. There, hidden within thick mists you will find a cave and within it a flame burning eternal.”

“Child, if you succeed in your tasks, take then the Northern road, guided by the brightest star. It will bring you back to me and you will find what you long for.”

The nameless man, carving each word in thought, bowed, a new hope blossoming in the dry soil of his heart and began his long journey.

It was the sprightly eye of a fawn, who noticed that morning that the man had a different step as he entered the cedar grove at the Eastern gate of the world.

Three days and three nights the man walked, his hungry soul howling like a lonely wolf to a pregnant moon.  It was when the sun rose that something akin to a butterfly looking for it’s flower, he stumbled upon a sun kissed glade. There, at the center, grew a radiant white Rose, her petals shimmering like pearls, dew ridden in the morning light. The exhausted man, walked into the glade beckoned by the flower and quickly fell asleep at her delicate root.

As sleep enveloped him in its tender embrace, the Rose revealed herself in a dream. Her ethereal presence questioning the purpose of his quest. With a petal soft voice, the Rose spoke, "What longing drives you to seek me out, gentle wanderer?" a warm wind picked up and the dreaming mans clothing began to unravel thread by thread until he stood naked and utterly vulnerable before the beautiful rose, exposing his inner most depths. He fell to his knees confessing his lifelong search for a name lost to the old winds. "Do you know my name, gentle Rose?" he implored, his voice a dreamy and fluttery whisper.


" Beloved, I have not the name you seek and my heart weeps for you and the burning longing that brought you here. Yet, a gift I can offer. When you awaken, pluck one of my petals and place it upon your tongue. But beware; only a pure intention may touch my petals, for should a tainted touch attempt, my thorns shall awaken, growing wild, shredding skin and flesh to feed the ravens”

With a startle, the man awoke from the dream, the melody of the Rose dancing in his mind. He stayed there in tumultuous timelessness stewing and brewing over the purity of his heart, and the paralyzing fear of death . As days passed the man fell deeper and deeper into despair… his mind a tangled yarn.

On a morning that followed a restless night, as if the howls of his yearning had finally crashed upon ancient shores. The man broke. The tides of grief came galloping in like a herd of wild horses unbound as salty frothing waters surged through his every cell and finally pouring out in a cascade of pearls falling like rain onto the fragrant moss. The Rose, drank deeply of his offering, quenching herself with his pure heart.

The man, a hollow bone, a flute, an empty vessel, ripe for a new beginning. A transformation began to unfold. A softening moved through him like a gentle ravine finding its way into every corner of his being. Without a thought but a gentle smile upon his lips, he tenderly reached out to pluck one single petal from the Rose, bringing it to rest upon his parched tongue.

For a long while, the man sat amidst nature’s symphony, chewing the delicate petal. It tasted of all things beautiful: the sweet fragrance of orange blossoms and lilacs, the earthy richness of moist soil and mushrooms, of the desert breeze and pine sap, the salty musk of the sea on calm starry night. This profound softening permeated his entire being, transforming the hardened layers built by years of tempering. For the first time, the man, still without a name, felt honey upon the winds and the embrace of the loving earth beneath his feet.


Still he had no name and two more tasks ahead.

The man stood and bowed deeply to the white rose. Radiant almost as if blushing, she seemed to bow in return. He turned to the south and began to walk.

It was only the keen eye of the fox who noticed that morning that the man had a lighter step as he began his long journey to the land of eternal sands at the Southern gate of the world.

For three days and nights the man traversed rolling dunes and desolate landscapes. Softened and open, he walked on, until, it was as if the sands, in response to secret summonings swirled and nipped at his mind like a coyote heckling. Fear began to colonize his body. The man continued on, his heart still soft, remembering the words of the Old hag .

It was nearly evening, precisely at dusk when the Sun surrendered to the golden dunes, that the man found himself before the Ancient Stone. Exhausted, parched, skin like bark, he placed a tired gaze upon the stone; it was luminous in the way that honey holds the sun. The stone stood like a humble god reaching for the stars, smoothed by centuries of natures tempering.

That night the man did not sleep. He sat mesmerized, as he prayed through the night for his name not even noticing the biting cold upon his skin. His voice curled to whispers, and sometimes fell silent all together, but he never stopped praying. All day still, his voice could be heard crackling in the distance.

As time passed something changed in the man. His voice which had been full of urgency and despair began to slow and deepen, his posture became softer, more alive.

On the third day the man finally stopped, and fell into a deep resonating silence. Perhaps exhausted or without any more words, or perhaps kissed by mysteries far older than the desert itself, he closed his eyes. Remembering the beauty of the Rose, he sat quietly, unknowingly, as curious sylphs gathered around the Stone dancing a strange dance.


Although the nameless man could not see the elementals of the air, he could feel their powerful presence as his skin began to tingle, then prickle, then his whole body became like stars… and the spirit of the desert came to life, a rising invisible blanket of power undulating like a great serpent snaking through the dancing sylphs who were now flashing in and out of the mans sight growing brighter, in wild abandon until the energy rose into an ecstatic climax then imploded into the heart of the Stone. 

Utter stillness draped the wild lands, even the Stars and the Moon seemed to have gone shy. A shiver ran down the mans spine, The pores of his skin yawned, his eyes widened, his hearing expanded traveling the lands further and further reaching to hear sounds as subtle as the distant thoughts of musing coyotes, he heard waters flowing far beneath the sand dunes, he heard the stars giggling with delight at the beauty of the moment below them, then he began to hear sounds like lullabies, gentle melodies all around. Everything had a song of its own! The sand grains shifting, the distant snake slithering, even the silence had a song.

The man sat there in awe hearing like never before, life’s symphony, when a strong and ancient melody reached out and curled around his softened heart.

It was then that the man heard a voice; “ Beloved, I thank you. It has been many cycles since anyone has come. I have seen the world change, seen mountains rise and fall, seen stars be born and die, yet, what I have craved most, you have given me this night. You have heard my Song.”

The little man who still had no name began to weep. He wept for the sorrow of the Stone and for the beauty of it’s Song. He wept for what he realized, and for what he would never understand, he wept for the immeasurable beauty just beyond the known, and for the beloved that filled his heart.

The sylphs began to appear in their whirling dance, summoned by the truth in his grief, the truth in his praise. One by one they took form until all of them emerged from the darkness. The stone spoke: “Sweet child, I grieve for you in turn, for your name I know not, yet a gift I can give; Tonight you are one of us, a Man of the Sands, of the winds, of the stones. You have heard my Song and danced with the sylphs. From now on you will know the Songs of all things.”

He listened with every fiber of his being…

And so it was that the nameless man heard his own Song for the first time and saw it whirling in sweet harmony with the Song of all things.

For many hours he listened, the sylphs whirling around the primordial stone. His own Song a river merging with the vast ocean of Life.

Then in a moment’s inhale, everything stopped and it was as if all of life gathered on the delicate tip of a needle. The man exhaled, still without a name, bowed deeply laying his tired forehead upon the warm Stone and spoke: ”O Stone, you have shown me the Song of my heart and for this I thank you…and now I must go for the west beckons me. I trust our songs will find each other again.”

With this, the man with no name looked to the West and set forth.

It was only the keen eye of the hawk who noticed that morning that the man had a brighter step as he began his long journey to the mountains at the Western gate of the world.

For three days and nights the man ascended the rugged mountainous landscape of the ancient Gods. When he would glance up, prying his gaze from his keen focus on where to place his next step, he saw towering giants. Their backs like dragons scales endlessly rising, reaching beyond the clouds heavenly gates. As he climbed, the gentle scent of wild rose trailed behind. Intently, he listened to the myriad of melodies awakening around him; he mused to himself… when nature knows we are truly hearing, she rejoices in singing for us!

The walk seemed endless with no cave in sight. The nameless man continued on, higher into the realm of the Sky Gods.

It was on the third day, when the Sun had perched himself on his midday throne, that the man, almost delirious from hunger, heat and heights, found a dark cave. Unsure if this was “the” cave, for the old woman had not given much detail, he stood listening softly for a sign. The breeze was alive with whispers and the trees, dressed in fine garments of green lichen, sang unruly songs that the man drank in like a quenching stream.

Without knowing, he found himself lured like a breath drawn into hungry lungs to the musky yawning of the cave.

The man shivered as a silence as thick as the clay walls themselves blanketed the air. He moved deeper into the enfolding darkness of the cave. Into the belly of the great mystery and after what seemed like hours had passed, the man began to wonder. Had this cave no end? He turned but there was nothing to see; suddenly he lost all sense of direction, and exhaustion from the climb came flooding in. The man, surrendered to sleep with a hope that tomorrow would shed some light.

There, in a dark chrysalis the man slept deeply, not knowing that tiny keen eyes were watching. The next day, or night or a few hours later, there was no way to tell, the man awoke to find himself still swimming in the calm stream of darkness.

He wondered about the Sacred Flame, and how such a thing could exist in utter darkness. His focus shifted and he found himself asking out loud for his name. His voice echoed back to him bouncing off the ancient earthen walls. Nearly unrecognizable in tone, as instead of the heavy longing, his voice carried a songlike quality, a winged gentleness. To his pure delight he prayed as he played with his own echo. Prayed to find his name, prayed to remember, he prayed for the rose and the stone and the mountains. As he did so, an invisible nectar poured forth from his blooming heart, pollenating the cave. His prayers grew wings and took flight into fluttering songs of beautiful colours lifting him to his prayer drunken feet. He swayed and whirled remembering the Sylphs magical dance as he sang his life story into a prayerful song. The sadness, the sorrow, the longing, the pain, the envy, the beauty, the love and the joy, then as if a damn burst inside the man there came a surging of wild images flooding in. He saw himself as an ox, an eagle, a blade of grass and a woman. He saw himself murdered, torn apart by love, bathed in glory, and shamed in turn.… Singing to all of it, the mans soul unhinged, took on many forms as his voice followed. His dance shook the mountains.

Little did he know that a small mouse watched bewildered! Some crazy fool had come into her cave and was now dancing! But oh how beautiful his song is! How tender his heart! The little mouse thought…

For hours on he sang the prayers of his ancestors, stomping his feet and swirling, until the wonder of it all became greater than any one memory…

In the blink of a lash the man stumbled and came crashing to the ground. Exhausted, huffing and puffing, his body still fluttering the man sat up, a brilliant smile shaped his lips.

“What a beautiful show you have given me oh dear friend!” said the mouse. Startled, the man reeled around to discover the little mouse watching him intently with big bright eyes. “You… You have been here all along little mouse?”. “Why yes! this is my home you old fool” the little mouse responded with pride. “In all of my years, never once have I seen such beautiful dance. In all of my years, never once have I heard such beautiful song!” The mouse scurried around him in celebration.

Humbled, the man thanked the little mouse. He felt different, as if he he could feel the power of his past and his ancestors pulsing within him. Although he did not remember his name he felt a serenity he had never experienced before. For once, the man felt at home. “Thank you little mouse” he said blushing. Then, he thought to ask “I wonder… would you know where I can find a sacred flame?” 

At this the tiny mouse burst out in laughter! “You are indeed a fool! Do you not see it! There!” Utterly confused, the man looked around but saw only darkness. “I.. I see nothing little mouse”. “Look again!” she chanted running around him in circles excitedly. 

Closing his eyes, the man began to sing once again. Something was different… He courted the song forth gently, luring it out of the depths of his being. Effortlessly, the man poured himself into his song, delicately shaping each sound, each strand of the melody and sure footed began dancing.

He saw shadow forms emerge from the darkness and knew they were his people, his ancestors surrounding him.

He felt a warmth stirring like a coil of sunshine inside his belly, then as if awakened by his song, the coil rose up, snaking through his core until a bright burst of heat flooded his whole being. Then he saw it!

Bright flames licking at his body like mother doe licking her new born fawn. Brighter and brighter the flames grew until finally the man was no less than a dancing flame…

The mouse saw it all with bright eyes. She saw the flame of the man’s heart. Then as his song gently faded, she saw his ancestors all merge back with his body. And she saw too, something she may never see again.. Out of the whirlwind of colourful sounds flew the smallest songbird. It flew straight into the man’s mouth and snuggled deep into the nest of his heart…

The man sat smiling in the silence. He turned to the mouse and said “Thank you little mouse. I shall never forget you” Kissing the ground, and thanking the old mountain gods the man wrapped himself in his cloak, turned towards the North and began his descent.

It was only the keen eye of the doe who noticed that day that the man had a brighter step as he began his long journey back to the old crone…

As he traveled the Northern road, he discovered many things, heard many melodies and set his songbird loose to freely soar upon the winds of grief and praise, to greet the rising and falling of the day, to court the stars into shining a little bit brighter and found curious harmonies with the singing world around him. Each and every day, the man who now found his name in all things, took care to find a stone, praise its simple beauty, and kiss it.

Soon whispers began traveling far and wide that a wiseman walked the lands with a voice like honey. It was said that in his wake the wild things of the woods followed and that each time he bent down to kiss the ground, crocuses sprouted.

The man never returned to her wrinkled skin and owl-wise eyes.

As whispers traveled, word reached the Old Crone who sat, still weaving her nettle hat. It was the wren who brought her news, excitedly chirping upon the woman’s shoulder.

It was on the finest of mornings that the man, waking from a restful sleep, heard her ancient cackle echoing like thunder on the mist. The Wise Man picked up a stone with a glint in his eyes, kissed it and laughed whole heartedly.

The End

Story written by Dimitri
Edited and loved by Coco

Artwork by Autumn Sky