Stranger In A Strange Land

Stranger In A Strange Land
© Surazeus
2018 07 10

When I backed out of the library lot
another car backed out at the same time,
which caused the two back bumpers to collide.
After we both got out and called police,
he told me that he piloted helicopters
during the brutal war in Vietnam.

Then he told me I look like Ho Chi Minh
with my Asian eyes and my scraggly beard,
even though my ancestors came from Europe,
migrating from all the lands of the North
who sprouted from fertile womb of Queen Jorth.
I knew this old soldier meant to insult me,
comparing me to the Communist leader
who freed his country from our money empire,
but I took the name as a compliment.

Perhaps some warrior with the Golden Horde,
following Genghis Khan on his swift horse
from Lake Baikal to the lush plains of Scythia,
saw a tall plump woman with long blonde hair,
and eyes blue as the sky over wild steppes,
walking on the shore of the Dnieper River,
so he stayed with her on her river farm,
and sprouted the line from which I was born.

Perhaps his true name was Yeke Nidun,
and perhaps her true name was Kostroma,
so Big Eyes fell in love with Fertile Fire.
Yeke Nidun agreed to stay with Krodo
who gave his beautiful daughter Kostroma
to the stranger Yeke Nidun in marriage.
Kostroma gave birth to a healthy son,
and Yeke Nidun named him Khulan, saying,
"I rode across the world on my Wild Horse,
so now I am a stranger in a strange land."

The spirit of Khulan still lives in me,
the wild free spirit of the wind-swept steppes
who lived ten thousand years in Kazakhstan
since Gunta first tamed the swift-leaping horse.
I become Gunta, mother of horse-riders,
in my dreams, walking among apple trees
beside her horse along the sparkling river
where she first sees among the rustling leaves
Alma-Ata, the tall father of apples.

We are the children of Gunta and Alma,
springing from Horse-Rider and Apple-Picker,
who spread to every corner of the world
and flourished on every lush river shore.
Holding hands, we stand in Garden of Eden
with circle of faces in ring of stones,
and sing the legend of the Horse and Apple,
then drink hot cider and dance in moonlight.

Wherever I roam my heart is my home,
from Mongolia to Scythia to Scotia
to Massachusetts to Ohio to Oregon,
always the wild stranger in a strange land
who settles for a while with wife and kids,
and then his children journey on westward.
How many times have we circled the globe
in our endless search through exotic lands
to find the cavern where the sun is born?

We crawled from the ocean up river streams,
sea monsters with eyes that follow the stars,
fish with arms and legs who bask in the sun,
lizards reaching out hands to eat ripe berries,
mice clambering in tunnel caves of Gui Lin,
monkeys swinging through trees to Africa,
apes walking upright in surging sea waves,
primates following milk cows up the Nile,
humans building ziggurats to sit safe
and sing with Amen while the river floods,
then Angels on horses with carts of apples
who build stone castles on every high hill.

We humans are the upright walking fish
who crawled from the hunger of the dark sea,
the monstrous creature from the black lagoon,
the deep ones in the shadow over Innsmouth
from the Esoteric Order of Dagon,
for we are the shape of water in flesh.

I am Zeus Xenios in temple of stone,
and I invite the stranger to my home
to spend the night safe from the wind and rain,
feasting on roast beef and sparkling red wine,
so sing praises to your generous Host
while Muses on stage recite tales of heroes.
I drive back home with new movie to watch,
and feel the spirit of the Wandering Stranger
which glows forever in temple of my heart.