Traversing the Seas of Dis

Of all my conversations over the past three years, I remember my time with The Doctor more than any. The memory still fills my body with cold, and even to this his words to me shake my core and purpose.

Over the past three years of my travels I met many an oddity, The Lotus Eater, The Lion... The White Rabbit. It was not, however, until the second year of my travels that I met The Doctor.

After I had left The Island of The Dead Star, and sailed my tiny boat through the Sea of Orchids, I found a series of mountain rising from the water. Between each sat a wide waterway. From the position of each I estimated that there would be more than the three that were visible to me and that they would create some circle or bowl once I could see them all. But first I would have to sail through one of their passages.

The mountains were of an almost black jagged rock. And, once between two of the mountains I caught glimpses of the strange creatures moving among the rubble and disorder of the mountainside. The creatures were black and sleek, with wide eyes and gills. One, I saw emerge from the water at a bank with something in it’s mouth, though what shocked me most was not it’s claws nor the strength that it’s movements hinted at, but rather, the familiar human qualities of its face.

The channel itself was not deep at all. The mountains wear merely prongs of a greater mountain the rose from the sea floor up the air. Beneath the water the mountains continued downward. Jagged blades of the black stone rose from their common source. Had I but been in a ship of larger proportions than my small dinghy, I have no doubt that those the submerged claws would have pulled the vessel down, and left me victim for the skulking creatures that watched me from the rocks.

After sailing through the straight for over an hour, I saw the claw of one of the creatures taking hold at the side of the boat. I Jumped up, oar in hand, just as it pulled its head over the boats edge to look at me. Perhaps It meant me no harm, but I was not about wait for it's intentions to become clear. The beast’s head and neck, made a crunching snap as my oar impacted the side of it’s face. As it’s body flopped back into the water, the thing’s body convulsed for a short moment and then lay lifeless. Others of it’s kind wasted no time in taking advantage of the fresh meal. From that point, none of the others came near my boat, but instead were content to watch me from their hiding places, from outside of my wake.

As I cleared the straits I saw a dark sea that stretched as wide as a city. I was now indeed aware that the mountains formed a circle outlined of seven points. Between each lay a strait, I assume, similar to the one I had just come through. In the center of the sea was a single small island, toward which I would make my way.

The sky inside the Island’s crown was full of dark clouds, by now, the sea bed was visible and only seldom did the rocky cropping jut up out of the sandy floor, but still I did not trust the water and would neither touch it nor stare into it for more than a few moments.

The Island, I made out from a distance, maintained a number of rocky outcroppings of the same element as the mountains, but the island had, as well, been covered with what seemed to be a dark shiny sand.

I forced my boat as near to shore as I could, to avoid wading through those dark waters, but it was only so far that I could manage. The fact that I would only have to trudge through little less than two yards of ankle deep water was little consolation. Little Consolation indeed when confronted with the oddity of the place, the strange loathing I felt toward the water, and the sand that could have once come from a red black volcanic rock.

When at last I worked together the nerve to step from my boat into the waters edge, I at once felt as though the sea bed was pulling me deeper into itself. The water froze me to the bone the instant it touched my skin and I was overcome with the desire to let myself be dragged into the sea and sand. I remember thinking that none should care, none would have chosen differently. What if I did sink, thought I? to whom did I owe any explanation?

As I felt the water rise up my thigh, I heard Margery’s voice. She was laughing, as she did when we laid in the sun on those near forgotten summer days. A laugh meant only for her love. I could see the sunlight cascading across her dark hair. Her pale skin soft beneath my hand. I could feel nipple become hard as it slid between two fingers.

The water rose. Or I sank. all I could feel and hear was the rumble. My eyes snapped opened, and with all my rage and pain I tore my legs from the sand. I pulled myself, screaming her name, through the water.

I have no recollection of how long I spent on that shore before I was found, but I wish now that I had never left my boat. I wish I had stayed upon the island of The Dead Star, or that I had remained among the city of fools.

When at last I opened my eyes and looked up from the sand I found myself not alone. Two granite angels stood before me motionless. Each was perfection of the human form, and although they were hermaphroditic one could easily distinguish which was male and which was female. A means of reproduction was not all they lacked, though. Neither of the sentinels bore any facial feature.

I was fascinated at once with the statues. Although carved by expert skill, their skin seemed course and unpolished. I moved closer to touch one but, as I did they both moved away from me. I had been wrong, they were not statues after all, but rather automata, or otherwise were in some way enchanted. They moved with grace. As they lead me forward I noted that there was a dancing quality to their movements.

I followed the stone angels from the shore into the dark woods of the island. The trees in that place bent and twisted in every direction as if the wind itself tortured them into their writhing forms. In the distant shadows, and sometimes not so distant shadows, I heard growls and hisses. Sometimes I could hear movement but I never once saw the sources. But the angels led on, taking no notice of the surrounding wood.

It is strange that I have spent so long sailing these seas that I have still never come to understand the movement of time. Days seem to come and go at will. I have crossed countries in seconds, and I have spent years walking through a doorway. It is because of this that I am never truly aware of how long I have spent in the places that I have visited. The only true measurement I have is of how quickly a place wears upon me and that does time little justice.

Suffice it to say that if I spent a second walking through those woods, then it was an eternity. Despite my compulsion to further investigate the inhabitants of the Island, I prayed again and again that I could just know that the answers I was seeking were not here, so that I might leave without worry. As it was, I would at least learn of what my guides wished to show me.

I thought of my journeys to other, less chilling places, to distract myself from my surrounding. Watching the female angel walk ahead of me I began to think about Margery. The way she looked when she walked. I remembered being inside of a glass box, the cloud of dust tore through the city toward me.... but that has nothing to do with the island, and I shook those thoughts from my head.

After some time the angels brought me to a ring of monoliths. As I walked between two of the monoliths I noticed that the held to the same theme as the mountains that surrounded the island. a circle of seven. Inside the circle was a temple. I do not know if it was The Doctor who built that place or another more mad architect. A pair of eyes and the sound of fluttering wings watched me from the shadow of a monolith.

As one entered the temple an immediate sense of vertigo seeped deep into the mind. At times I felt as though I had been walking on the ceiling. At other times I could see shadows scuttle away along the walls.

The angels had remained at the gates of the temple and I alone descended into its core, guided forward, by a low hum.

When I came to The Doctors laboratory I thought the doctor to be simply a corpse. He sat in a large leather chair slumped over himself. I looked about the room at the odd collection of machinery. Many of the devices reached the ceiling of the laboratory, sending sparks between them. The room was a jumble of wires and tubes. Bottles and books littered the shelves. My attempts to read the titles proves fruitless as the their text shifted and blurred with each attempt.

With the sudden sound of thunder, the humming stopped and all was quite. It was then that I noticed the faint sound of raspy breathe. It was The Doctor. Still slumped over himself. I came closer.

“Sir, are you alright?” I asked.

“who is there?” his voice was low with a croaking, or grumbling quality.

“Just a traveller, I have come from far away and I have seen many wonderful and terrible things, but never have I seen a place as dismal as your Island.”

The Doctor chortled. “And why have you come to my dismal island?” he stood as his sarcasm spilled out, his knees quaking beneath his weight. I could see him then, emaciated, and yet powerful. His robes hung on him loose and ragged, as though they were gossamer. His bony chin jutted forward and his milky white eyes peered at me.

“I am searching for something,” a sense of vulnerability grew in my body as the doctor watched me. I felt as though I was naked before him. “How did you come to inhabit such a place?”

The Doctor looked and laughed at me. As he began to walk away from his chair, the few wisps of hair on his balding head swayed.

“I am here,” his voice bore an air of arrogance as it flew back over his shoulder at me, “for the envy of others,” His walk was swaying as he limped across the room, “There are many who fear my greatness, and for it this mountain has been raised from the water for me to carry. All of this place rests upon my shoulders, I give it what little life it has through my machines.”

He ran his fingers over his devices as he spoke. “I have strained my mind and body, devising new technologies that spit a heaven back in the faces of those who would bear a hell down upon me.”

“Who has forced this hell on you, old man?”

The Doctor turn to me with a look of indignation “I am a great doctor.” He began to yell, “and you will address me as such.”

I raised my hands in defense, “Forgive me, good doctor, I only wished to know who was it that has placed you in this hell.”

The Doctor had a self satisfied look on his face, “It is not something you would understand.” He calmed down, “you are searching for something, you say?”

“Yes, I have been searching for some years now.”

“Oh,” The Doctor's cackle was unnerving, “Some years, you say. In a place were time means nothing you speak of years.”

“Well...” I wasn’t really sure, “It just feels as if it’s been two years.” The answer made the Doctor laugh again.

“And what is it, I wonder, that you are searching for” The Doctor stepped closer to me, “something in my laboratory? one of my machines?”

"No, nothing of yours, good doctor."

He looked at me, inspecting my face. The skin on his steepled fingers was pale and flaking, the old scar on my hand began to hurt. "Then what are you looking for,"

“What does that matter to you, Doctor?”

"Because I wish to know, if you even understand why for years," He spit the words at me, "you have sailed these seas," The Doctor took his eyes off of me, "Of course you would have no idea." He spoke more to himself than to me.

I did not trust The Doctor. He was unstable. His machines had a haphazard chaos in their construction and I would not have been surprised if every thing in that laboratory were to come crashing down and I buried beneath it all.

"I have upset you," I admitted, "I think it would be best for me to leave."

He moved closer to the stairs that led back up to the temple, "Nonsense," he croaked, "It has been long since I had company, tell me what are you looking for," His lips spread into a crooked smile. He looked predatory, "Surely you must have an idea of what it is you are looking for?"

"I will know it when I see it," said I.

"Well," he began, "what about the why, child? Why have you been searching? have you lost something."

I heard a man and woman laughing together somewhere in the back of my head. old memories, that should remain buried have a way of tearing at the mind, causing doubt. "NO!" I was afraid of losing composure, "No, there is just something I must find."

Again he laughed, “You have run too far child, and you have found something indeed,” his hands waved in grand gestures, “But on this island you have not found false charity and empty encouragements.”

The Doctor prowled around me as if ready to pounce. The old man was speaking gibberish. Gibberish and nothing more. I took a step back and found my way blocked by one of the experiment tables.

“But I wonder, traveler, if you knew the truth would you bother,” I felt his cold breath on my shirt, "Would you bother to go back, or will you keep running," My hand fumbled across the table.

“Do you even know what you are running from?” The doctor stared at me with wide, insane eyes. My hand found found something hard.

...”Thank you again for joining us tonight viewers, for those who don’t know we are here With Dr. Eli Lucious from the University of Chicago, discussing the relevance of Catholicism in modern America. Now Doctor before our break you mentioned that the idea of the seven deadly sins is difficult for many Americans to understand, Please explain”

“Certainly, Diane. One reason that Americans have such a hard time understanding the concept is because the culture has internalized a sort of false courtesy where it is more acceptable to overlook something that could be considered destructive to a person rather than risk offending someone by telling them that you disagree with their action. Beyond this, the fact that Christianity openly calls these acts sins drive many non-christians to ignore any possible wisdom found within the philosophy. Many people have their problems the christianity, and therefore discount much of the deeper wisdoms that can be found among the dogmas.”

“That’s very interesting Doctor, could you please explain how these concepts still apply today?”

“Well, take Sloth, for example. By current popular understanding, you’ll see this in movies and television, Sloth is a sin of laziness. Though this concept is incorrect and it is poorly received by our culture. In actuality the traditional understanding of sloth, as a sin, was that it was the sin of sadness.”

“Sadness, Doctor? Sadness was a sin?”

“When sadness is internalized, absolutely yes. I mean we aren’t simply speaking of being sad because something bad has happened, but rather a refusal to love the wonder of God’s world. It is something that is often triggered by the refusal to deal with hardships and tragedy. The sinner is one who escapes, because of unhappiness, into other vices. It’s the idea of making little of yourself, because of one’s unwillingness to love the world and take control of one’s life. In Dante, in the Purgatorio, illustrated that the punishment for sloth was to always run...”

The room blurred in and out of focus as Margery woke up. She had been startled by the sound of the cable going out, leaving only static on the TV. She reached for the remote on the night-stand but couldn’t find it. Doesn't matter, she thought, they’ll probably cut the electricity in a few days anyway.

The sun was starting to come up outside and she could see the frame with Jonathan’s picture still broken in half in the corner of the room. There was a dent in the wall where the frame impacted. Her hand was bleeding. She felt around the pillow and found a small shard of glass. From when she originally broke the picture frame, she thought, before she threw it.

Margery hated september. Go to the interview, she told him. You’ll do great, how can we afford to live in New York City if you don’t get a better job. She remembered most of all asking him, what was the worst thing that could happen. They'll tell you no, she remembered saying, at least they'll know who you are John honey. She waited for him at a restaurant a mile away from the trade center.

The the rumbling reached the Restaurant before the cloud did.

Margery shook the memory from her head. September was always the worst. she always needed a little extra in September.

Margery reached under her pillow and grabbed another two pills, she used to keep them on the night stand with the water, but they always seemed to fall off somewhere.

Her throat was dry, and the barbs hurt going down. She drank some water. The last thing she heard was the static of the TV. Who cares, she thought, soon she would be somewhere else, maybe someone else. The TV static would be gone soon.

I awoke in my boat just outside of the Island’s circle of mountains, a strange and distant buzzing, a static, filled my ears. My hands where feeling the clean pure water again. As I became more alert the buzzing receded. To this day I cannot remember what happened to The Doctor, or what he had done to me before sending me on my way. As I sailed away I watched the island, and all of it’s mountains, sink back into the sea.

I can’t fathom how many years it’s been since I left that dark place, and I have never seen the Doctor since, for which I am thankful. Even as I write this the memories fill me with a fear that I cannot understand. Nothing good can come of lingering though. I still search the world, and I feel no closer to my goal, but I will not be deterred. someday I will find what I seek. And though the Doctor’s last words may frighten me, I have faith that what I am on the right path, and no madman will shake that faith.

But for now my hand hurts, so I will end my memoir for the time and lose myself in this sea. that is so like a dream to me. I noted a small spider building it's web in a corner of the boat