Of Becoming Titans

The Strength in Surrender

There is an old weathered stone that erupts from the middle of the town square
covered in black and green lichens and ancient runes.
No one remembers how it got there, since no one alive put it there.
But it has always been there in the square
near the well where the villagers draw their water
too unwieldy for anyone but the bravest children to climb
Far too large for anyone to think about moving.

If you listen closely to village lore you may hear a story about the time of giants
ancient ones who shaped the land with their great acts of passion and fury
They sleep now beneath the earth in dens of earth and crystal
Hidden deep beneath the boisterous feet of the villagers
pounding out their daily beats across worn down cobbles.
Remembered only occasionally
when the runes are held in relief by a dusting of fresh snow.

According to the village grandmothers, the stone is a Titan stone
deposited there by giants of times past.
It is said in the village about particularly stubborn elders
that to move the stone is a fools errand
So there it remains in silent witness
a stalwart obstacle to the bustle of carts and carriages

A small crowd gathers around an outspoken crone
who has captured the attention of passing schoolchildren
she speaks as she pushes her cart door to door, delivering the day’s fresh milk
"There was a time when we could move the stones” she tells them
as she places a cloth-wrapped bottle on a narrow doorstep
"But to move stones, one must become a Titan."

The crowd falls silent in thought
until a young boy of schooling age dares ask
"How does one become a Titan?”
“Strength, courage, valor, and service” the woman begins.
To move something previously thought unmoveable
one must love something previously thought unloveable.
You must set sail on the dark ocean of your heart
without sight of land to guide you
Alone, even though your people will be with you
Powered only by your cunning and skill

There, in the dark water beside your craft, when the wind goes still
you will meet a monster you will recognize from your childhood terrors
consumed with rage, grotesque in shape
And you must stand and face its glare
until you can see yourself in the blackness of its eyes."

“But what will become of us? Won’t we be devoured?” asked another child.
The woman set down her cart and turned to face the questioner
"You will be free.
You see once you have given up hope of surviving,
adrift at sea, under the stars, without your oars to save you
will you truly understand what it means to be alive.”

Floating on my back
head tilted back, eyes closed at the waterline
I have been carried by the ocean swells for days
divorced from my small craft
buoyed by my shallow breathing
I have become the ocean

I feel a tug at my right leg.
Woken from a parched half-slumber
I am pitched aboard a small vessel by capable hands
I heave water from my lungs onto the deck and the crew rebounds
“They’re alive!”
A cold canteen reaches my lips
and I realize while peering at my rescuers through swollen eyes that I have been praying.

This is what it means to believe
To move the unmoveable. To love the world into being. To become Titans.
For in the depths of our love lies our power
And in surrender to the impossibility of our lives
lies enormous strength.