The Infernova
S.A. Alenthony
Canto I
When my life's journey reached that crucial stage
where the haphazard lessons of childhood
become one's convictions in middle age,
I sensed, but only partly understood,
a deep awe for Nature's sheer majesty,
and the heady conception that we could
unearth great secrets of reality
through the science crafted by hungry minds,
and the spirit of honest inquiry.
But, unaware how readily other kinds
of ideas are bequeathed to us from the past-
those that mislead, deceive, or act as blinds-
I could not see why most wander at last
in that dark wood called Human Illusion,
where, without consent, most of us are cast,
when young, for a lifetime of confusion;
unwitting heirs to error who, in turn,
hand down to our offspring more delusion.
Of all this, I would an allegory learn,
one night, in the form of a lucid dream
in which my whereabouts I could not discern:
I dreamt I stood beside some forest stream,
amid blackened trees, misshapen and bare,
with deathly still ruling where life should teem.
So upstream I went, as no paths were there,
and in a short while I happily found
fewer blasted trunks and less stifling air,
for into high foothills the river wound,
and I saw what had been obscured below:
a towering mountain with glaciers crowned.
Lit by starlight, the peak did fairly glow,
above a gray mantle of healthy pines
climbing the inclines and dusted with snow.
More fascinating yet, the sundry signs
that some meaning permeated this place;
for the trees formed subtle patterns of lines
and curves, spiraling up the mountain face,
mirrored above in the myriad lights
of stars in arcs of geometric grace.
The structure and order framed in those heights
woke in me a sense that the Numinous
was Nature, grasped through study and insights;
that hidden within the Mysterious
was shocking Comprehensibility.
Feeling liberated, delirious,
I had the Scientist's Epiphany:
that one might perceive even a sliver
of the World's underlying Unity.
But presently I saw, there at the river,
a vision that ended this cheerful state,
and set my body and mind to shiver:
a three-headed monster that crouched in wait.
One head was lowered, where it eased its thirst,
while the other two focused me with hate.
I reeled in surprise at this sight accursed,
the third head lifting to join its allies,
full revealing what was not plain at first.
One head was of a Spider, with baleful eyes
and venomed fangs bared in hideous grin,
all poison spit and cat-like mewling cries.
The next was like that of a Doberman,
that most intimidating breed of dog,
its short hair like rippling, ebony skin.
On the final neck, the likeness of Smaug,
Tolkien's dragon, all scale and horn,
and the soulless eyes of a fish or frog.
Of what freak mother was this monster born?
Perhaps this hellish abomination
symbolized Progress' enemies sworn:
I fancied the dog stood for Tradition;
the black widow, my greatest childhood Fear;
while the mythic dragon was Superstition.
Retreating the way I came, it grew clear:
this mongrel of hideous avatars
would challenge all who sought the mountain here.
Back in the canted trees, all thorn and scars,
escaped from the Beast, but bereft of light,
for malevolent clouds shrouded the stars,
I waited for an end to this dream-night,
and tried in vain to formulate some plan,
when my attention met another sight:
the faintly glowing figure of a man
who strode toward me while he coalesced,
becoming corporeal as he crossed the span
of space twixt us, and I reckoned it best
that he speak first-besides, I was struck mute
by this mysterious stranger thus dressed
so oddly in nineteenth-century suit-
his sharp jacket white, and silk bow tie black,
by all accounting a dapper old coot.
Of bushy gray hair he had no lack,
and his moustache too was brushy and wild.
He looked familiar. I tried to think back:
where had I seen him? At this he smiled,
for my confusion was likely quite plain.
He spoke up then, his southern drawl mild:
"I can see I'll have a bit to explain.
The whys and wherefores, I'll reach presently.
But introductions first: I'm Mark Twain."
He lit a cigar and smiled pleasantly
as I struggled to make a reply in turn,
stammering my name incoherently.
"I reckon," he said, "that your chief concern
is to get up yonder fabulous hill.
I'll be your guide if its heights you would earn,
but as that dumb beast does guard the path still,
we'll be forced to take an arduous route
through a right, veritable Hell, if you will."
Some time did I stand there in awe and doubt,
until my reservations were erased,
for who else would I choose as escort and scout?
What better traveler of time and space,
this shade of the Virgil of my Homeland,
satirical scourge of the damned human race?
I shook his hand with no further delay,
and said, "I will follow-do lead the way."
