Mnemosyne’s Stream

If there is somewhere you would rest,
it is beside Memory’s molten stream.
William Michaelian

When I left the Ouroboros’ cave, Joey stood waiting for me, a look of inquiry shining in his eyes. “Everything good, Bo? Want to talk?”

“I’m fine, Joey, but I don’t think I want to talk just yet. I need to think before I say anything.”

“Then climb aboard and I’ll give you a ride. I’ll be quiet and you think all you want. Once we reach the valley beyond that hill, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised and feel quite revived.”

But I was concentrating on other ideas. “Eternity, night and day, completion.” That was my message from Ouroborus. But I didn’t understand. I could only ride along the Serpentine Road and contemplate the serpent underneath the ground. He had been kind, but so mysterious.

Joey and I had been traveling nearly an hour when he turned off the road and followed a narrow path covered with weedy overgrowth. The forest became darker as we moved on, the trees grew closer together, nearly obliterating the trail. Joey picked his way through the dense cover.

“Joey, where are we going? Can you find your way?” I could barely see Joey’s top hat from my perch on his back.

“Yes, Bo. I could walk to our destination blindfolded. I have been here many times. Lie your head upon my neck and rest. I will wake you when we arrive.” I only realized it when he spoke those words, but I was dead tired. I leaned against Joey’s shaggy mane and closed my eyes. I awoke when Joey came to a sudden halt.

The sky was lightening and sunrise would soon streak the sky. The air had taken on a fresh, salty smell and I could hear constant rumbling ahead. “Bo, it’s time. Please get down. We can walk side by side, and come upon the grand sight together. That seems a fair way to proceed.”

The trail was wide in this part of the woods. Evidently someone had taken a scythe to the overgrowth as fallen grasses were lying on the side of the road. Masses of sea daisies and sandwort popped from the sandy earth. I recognized the sound of waves sloshing to and fro as the moon’s gravity pushed and pulled. When I peered through the thinning trees, I caught glance of a large stream, surrounded by grassy stands of sand. Just as there had been a handwritten sign at Ouroboros, another simple sign was tacked to a lone tree near the stream. I slipped on my spectacles and read ‘Steam of Mnemosyne’. Always a puzzle. I couldn’t grasp the message from these cryptic signs.

Joey had advanced to the sandy ground, and whistled when he read the sign. “So we are here!” he brayed with delight. We were lost for a few hours back aways, but that was truly a grand piece of luck. We’ll sit by the Stream of Mnemosyne and enjoy the sunrise. Let’s rest first. I do believe there’s a Red Delicious Apple in my pack which I would love to munch. And rummage deep. Do you see the tomato juice and cheese sandwiches? Those are yours. I admit not breakfast fare, but I daresay you’re hungry enough to eat just about anything.”

Joey, of course, was right. I scarfed down the juice and sandwich in record time, even going so far as to lick the crumbs from my fingers. “What has happened to me? I eat like a savage.”

Joey laughed so heartily, he got the hiccups. They he could control himself, though barely, nodded and replied, “Yes. We are a bit on the wild side, though I anticipate we will be more so at the journey’s end.”

We both found this bit of information quite hysterical, and laughed hanging on to each other for support. Joey in his glee rolled over and over in the sand, and I followed suit. “What a fun time we had together”, I thought. We haven’t laughed so hard since the day Joey found me at the Outpost, the day we were re-united after several long years. “Oh, Joey. I haven’t felt so happy in such a long time.

“Before us is the Stream of Memories. Come gain knowledge from Mnemosyne. She is waiting for you.”

I looked at Joey askance. “How can a stream anticipate my arrival? More tricks up your sleeve?”

“No, Bo. This is legitimate and sponsored by She-Who-Knows-All. Perhaps she has tricks up her sleeve, but I am unaware of such. I am only to direct you to sit on the stream’s bank and dip your burning feet in the cool waters. Perhaps you recognize the name Mnemsyne?

“Why, of course. In addition to being a Goddess in her own right, she was the Mother of the Great Muses. Muses celebrating and encouraging music, dancing, poetry. Others that I can’t recall, but I think they were nine in all.”

“Good girl! Absolutely right! But the Nine Muses represent the Muse of History and Epic Poetry, (Cleo); the Muse of astronomy and astrology, (Urania); the Muse of the Tragedies; (Melpone); Calliope, the Muse of heroic poetry and the head of all the Muses); Euterpe, The Muse of flute playing; Erato, the Muse of lyric poetry; Tepsicone, the Muse of dancing and choral singing; Thalia, Muse of comedies and pastoral poetry; and Polyhymnia, the Muse of music and dance.”

“Joey, I’m truly surprised. How do you know such things?”

“We donkeys are trained in myth and magic.”

“Is that true? You can snap off the nine muses and what they represent? I smell a rotten fish.”

“No, Bo, not a fish, though perhaps a donkey fits that bill. Ahem! All the donkeys are capable of encyclopedic memory. And when that fails, there’s always Google. Tee-hee.”

“Google? As in the search engine Goggle? Never mind, Joey. I don’t think I want to know.”

“Whatever. Now go dip into the stream. I think it will be most eye-opening.”

“Joey, is is eye-opening good or eye-opening bad?”

“Stop procrastinating, Bo. Just go. Think I’ll take a dip myself. Can’t hurt.”

So Joey and I stumbled through the thick grasses and reeds at the river’s side, and reached the Stream of Memories.

“Hey, Joey it’s beautiful. Sparkling clear, lovely rock bottom. Maybe I should take a swim myself?”

“Uh, Bo. I think you should dangle your hands and feet in the water first. Ponder the thoughts that enter your consciousness. Then perhaps a cooling swim if that is still your wish.”

Was I Joey’s leader or was he leading me? He knew a lot about our trip. And obviously Enchanteur trusted Joey more than she did me. I supposed it didn’t matter, as long as we reached the House of Serpents safely. Okay! To the water!”

With Joey’s brown eyes watching me, I pulled off my socks and boots and dipped my feet in the stream. So refreshing, almost tingly. Then I danced my fingers upon the water, occasionally picking up a small pebble and skipping it across the waves. Funny how this stream had waves, but in Lemuria anything can happen and I had grown to expect the unexpected.

I became so relaxed, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Instead I moved into a state halfway between sleep and awake. Everything was quiet for a while. Then a woman’s gentle voice whispered in my ear. I was in a trance, but I could hear and understand what she said.

“Bo, I am Melpone, the Muse of the Tragedies. Let me speak. Although tragedy does refer to performance art, I like to think it applies to everyday ups and downs, too. I know of your tragedies and can shed light upon your concerns and worries. Would you like for me to continue? Nod your head if this is your intent.”

I nodded.

“Very, very good. You have been dealt much tragedy in the last half-century. You have walked through the fires of calamity and at one time, these feelings conquered you and you were ill for many years. You have risen above your condition through sheer will. You have walked through the fires of calamity and despair and, with courage, you have re-appeared unscathed from your trials. You are very brave, very strong. I recommend you travel the Serpentine Road until its’ final destination. You will re-enforce the skills you have accomplished. This is within your power.” Melpone disappeared and all was silent.

From the highest reeds, emerged a second woman. I could feel the presence of another Muse as she approached me on cat’s feet. “I am Cleo, the Muse of heroes and heroines, epic poetry, and history. Would you like to listen to my words?”

Again, I nodded yes. More self-assured this time.

“So be it. You are a heroine in your own right, but your role of heroine is not complete. You have conquered personal loss and have saved many a lost soul by channeling their energy into constructive art projects for their benefit. You are well thought of in that circle of friends. Yes, they are friends, for your compassion and love transcended barriers and your clients now count you among their friends. It is with pleasure that I commend your work with those less fortunate. Your understanding and acceptance are acts of a heroine. Take my words and believe.” Her words faded and there was quiet. Only the waves lapping at my feet.

Soon a translucent figure came to me, walking lightly on the flowing stream’s water. “I am Erato, the Muse of poetry and lyrical poetry. You are a poet, yes?”

I nodded, though I felt unsure of my answer. Yet, I could not help but nod.

“Your poetry, of which I am aware, is truth-sharing, compassionate, and demonstrates your gifts of self-found strength and your large capacity to love your fellow humankind. Your openness and strength are signs of good spirit dwelling within you. You writing will multiply and bear fruit. You show determination and hard-working skills. Use these gifts wisely.” The Muse walked into the forest cover and disappeared from sight.

A womanly shadow stood by my side. She sat and slid her bare feet into the running water. “Do not mind my audacity at using the stream of memory. I am Polyhymnia, an old woman, the eldest of the Nine Muses. I am the final muse you shall meet this morning. Do you wish for me to share my words with you?

This was an easy question by now. “Yes, very much so.”

“I am the Muse of Music. Do you like that alliteration - muse and music? I send melodies to you and watch your response. You are very moved by song, a sign of acceptance of your feelings. As a child, you were thwarted in you determination to play a musical instrument. You were admonished with words of “There’s no money?” “Why do you want music - no one else in the family is musical?” and “You don’t have musical talent and you can’t carry a tune in a bucket.” There were also words of discouragement when you spent your time pursing art. “Stop wasting your time!” and “You can’t make money as a starving artist. Be practical. Put that nonsense out of your head and study a career.”
While these harsh words daunted your creative abilities, you are no longer a child listening to angry parents. You make your own decisions. To pursue a career in the arts is of importance to you. You have never let go of your dreams. It is time to pick up your pen and brush and create. It is time to play sweet melodies with an instrument. One is never to old. Remember my words. You are a creative woman and your art will bring you peace and joy. The Muses must now bid you farewell.”

There was braying in my ear and Joey brushed his soft face against mine. “That picked up your spirits, didn’t it? So what did they say?”

I wanted to share my excitement with my buddy. “Melpone said I was courageous, brave and strong. Cleo called me a heroine and praised my compassion and ability to love one and all. Erato said I was open-minded, determined to succeed in my own way and hard-working. And, oh my, Polyhymnia claimed I was creative. Oh, Joey, is this really true? I feel so inadequate most of the time.”

“The Muses are always correct in their evaluations. Now you must take your special set of skills, and improve on them, accept them, use them.”

“Joey, you are such a brilliant donkey. We make a grand team, don’t we?”

“Yes, Bo, a grand team. And now that you accept your abilities - courage, determination, compassion, and creativity - we shall conquer our enemies, both inner enemies and those from the outside. Success is yours if you use your talents.”

“But Joey…”

“We shall celebrate our journey now, Bo. Just you and me.”