Short Story: From the sea to the sky

I wrote this back in august in a brief state of disillusionment. I was flipping through my old journal and found it.. I'd like to see what you all think.. and i'd like to see if anyone can interpret it right. (Well, theres no wrong way). Well, Enjoy.
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Like a coyote, i wander endlessly. This once beautiful land is now a wartorn conglomerate of greed, and vicious lust for power. How many years this has dragged on, i cannot say. A Land which was a nirvana most suitable for the gods, became the defintion of the eternal fires, that only the devil himself, could reside in peace. In the minds of the young, this war has always been, and it is the way of being. My Village has long since crumbled into dust, and my beautiful wife has long been in the realm of the Buddha, Jesus, Socrates and Xenophon.

My Heart exploded like heated glass on that sinister winter night. The longest night of the year. When the great communal fires were lit, and the children gathered in great anticipation, for the timeless stories told by the eldest in our seaside village. It was here where the Great Bear shone brightly, and the Little Bear stood at the zenith of our world. Father Moon lit the body of Mother Earth, and his moonlight kissed her gently and softly, on this longest night of the year. And We, Mother Earth's children, sat in grateful solitude for a time. The occasional whisperings of the impatient young ones were drowned out by the roar of the communal fire.
And One by One, the elders entered the spectacle. Tea was brought to the women blessed with coming babies, and the eldest Grandmother of the village kissed the stomach of each. The Stories Began. Father Moon drited across the sky, just as the eternal words of the elders drifted in and out of the hearts of those deep in listening. As the night drew on, the children fell asleep, cradled in their mothers arms, and the men fell deep into meditation. Then all was silent.
This was the longest night of the year.
Then the bombs fell.
And my wife left this realm.

Oh, How long ago my dear wife died is unknown to me. Like Dali's clocks, time has warmed beyond comprehensible logic. How long could it have been? By counting the sleepless nights since, one might have a vague estimate. But the nights have blurred, and the happenings of day to day life have, like a melted candle, lost all original form and structure, to the point of complete distortion.

I arrived at a signpost, indicating the Village of the Sky was very near. This was a windswept land sporting only a few scattered juniper trees, which were completely dwarfed by the sheer rockfaces on the both sides. Bare, Lifeless, Monoliths of polished stone rose up from all directions. I had been travelling for a very long time, with no destination in mind, I focused soley on the present, and now I was very high in the mountains. I had endured the climb, and had followed the ancient path described to me by the Monks at the base of my ascent. I had previously spent a few weeks living in a temple of the Buddhas followers, working the fields daily, but also following a strict doctrine of mediation and fasting, which would prove vital to my ascent. It warmed my heart to see such a place, in such a land of decay, but alas, this was not my home. The noviates of the Temple were kind enough to house me, pray with me, and show me the secret path up the mountain, through the valley of the rocks, and ultimately to the Village of the Sky. But i was not to be one of them.
I saw the Village of the Sky on the horizon, twilight had overcome the sky, and the distant flickers of warm houses stood in the distance, up on a mesa of polished, flat granite. I slumped down in exhaustion by a glacial stream spurting through the rocks, and drank heavily. I rubbed my face with the icy water- and looked down into the creek. My beard had grown very long, oh, It had been a long time since i had shaved- (I had lost my razor, along with many of my other provisions, when a flood of snakes in the Great Salt Lake had attempted to pull me into the depths. I emerged safe, and it was then, when i realised how little these material possessions meant to me.)

I noticed how long my hair had become, tough and matted like rats nest. Had it not been cut since the passing of my lover? Had it been that long? She had been the love of my life! The stars in my sky! We had met on a pilgrimage to the grave of Alex the Great. This Pilgrimage had left even the hardiest, and most faithful traveller bruised, battered, and blistered to oblivion. Many had undergone the journey over many millenia. But few had ever reached the final destination, the final nirvana! To make such a journey was a question of faith, and the utmost belief in the Atman, and the Great Spirit. Countless scores of hopefulls were turned around in a heavy cloud of dissillusionment, but that is the way of the world. This was the way of my youth. I had so few cares in the world, and lived life from moment to moment. Enjoying a quiet moment by the riverside was as mind blowing as the beginning of the universe. It was about seeing everything for what it was, and enjoying the impermanence of it all. I had realised this truth, but had never quite applied it to my dear wife. Oh, how she would be the one thing that never was permanent. The River still flows. The Birds still sing sweet melodies. But, my wife, she is in the realm of Shiva and Muhammad and the Great Spirit.

I wept silently by the stream in deep lament for things that have come and gone. The past has no form, no energy, no matter. So how can it exist? Has it ever existed? Could our present be considered the only reality?

A Fisherman happened to cross my path whilst i was this horrific state of despair. I turned my head away in shame.
"Traveller! What Ails you?" He asked. I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes and turned around to face the old man.. "I am on a pilgrimage to the Village of the Sea, my old home, and have lost my way" I lied. Instantly, i realised how my ego had snuck out that out, attempting to hide my weakness. I sighed deeply. There was no need to lie. I told him my story. "...And i am looking for meaning in this life, this state of existance" I told him, "The war has left my family and friends in the upper realm, and i am looking for purpose, other than to maim, kill, and destroy all the good in this world, as so many these days are beginning to do."
The Fisherman took a long sombre look at me, Pulled out a cigarette, and lit up a match. "There is so much evil in this world, it pleases me to meet a man who wishes to be part of the soluton, and not the problem." He told me with a smile. I smiled back. Nothing was said for a several seconds, though the energy in the air was electric. The fisherman told me he was to go fishing that night, and gave me an invitation to join him. Exhausted from the mountain trek, i declined, and fell asleep on a frigid, windswept rock; Covered by the wind only by a few warped junipers.

A few hours later, a noise startled me, and i awoke to see the Fisherman! He sat in front of a fire he had built to cook his fish, just up the hill. In the darkness, i stumbled up the hill towards the light, and saw the Fisherman deep in meditation. Brilliant flames of all colours flickered and swirled in the flames. The smell of sage filled my nose. Sparks popped out of the fire and turned into fireflies, whom made their own journey to the sky, to join their brothers, the stars. A cosmic union of life and energy. The Fisherman and I did not speak, but enjoyed eachothers company. We ate trout and salmonberries on this night, and drank from his cermonial jug, containing a pleasant herbal tea, which left one calm and tranquil. The Scent of roses and tropical fruits emanated from the tea, and filled the air with the aroma of Eden. The Calming effects of the tea were so pronounced on me, that i drifed into a deep sleep. Vivid dreams of lions and tropical entities filled my mind, ravens flew overhead, and dolphins swam through the green apple sea. Millions of fish jumped out of the sea, and a rainbow of glittering scales filled the sky, and they took the shapes of butterflies, scattering across the landscape. I fell backwards, looking up at this marvel. A Butterfly landed on my finger, and i held it up. The face of my dear wife was embedded in her wings.
This vision forced me back awake. The Fisherman was gone. In Fact, there was no sign whatsoever that he had ever been there in the first place.

 

No comments? Can someone at least tell me if its horrible or not?

 

It wasn't horrible! In fact you have a great imagination and the talent needed to help others to see your vision. I see that you're only 18 so keep writing. Look for methods that will help you refine your talent.
Do you write from a flow of consciousness - or do you work from an outline? Stories that grab someone's attention have conflict and resolution of conflict - action - they might also have a hero or a villain. Get in the habit of opening a thesaurus tab when you write ... words are power.
If you enjoy writing keep doing it!

 

I found the solemn mock-native voice a bit much (though that's just personal taste) and you indulge in the occasional cliché in your descriptions (shattering hearts for example).

Orwell has a good essay in his Why I Write collection about clichés and why you should avoid them. They often do the opposite of what you want, they're so familiar and accepted that people read over them rather than really registering them. It leaves your writing a patchwork of cultural aphorisms rather than something that can really stand by itself.

I really liked "time has warmed beyond comprehensible logic", nice phrasing, and even though the register didn't work for me you've got a good sense for it, you establish the tone you want and maintain it well, which is good, means you're in control of your prose and not vice-versa.

 

I didnt plan anything out with this. I'm not much of a writer (I write songs for my band, but thats it). I just wrote it as it went.

 

You should write more, it's a good first story.