The Bavrogar
By Kristina Carroll
Somewhere in the gray creases and
folds behind your eyes is a cold and twisting swamp. You won’t find the
entrance to this labyrinth in the daytime; you won’t even find it in the easy
chaos of dreams. But in that uneasy midnight of the soul, when you've woken
staring into corner shadows and glancing at hours that swiftly devour sleep in
a digital glow; this is when the way opens. This is the path to the Bavrogar.
It starts with a shiver and a clammy uneasiness.
Fog creeps from between roots under the bed sheets and into your lungs. A path yawns
under your feet and wet, rotting leaves cling between your toes as you take one
step then another, hoping movement will shake the chill. Green, wet hair weeps
from leaning branches to caress your neck. A light that always floats just beyond
the next tree whispers answers, and you follow because going back means only
questions.
When the flicker of light disappears
and stagnant mud gives way to sticky, black pools, that’s when you see it. A skeletal
finger of smoke leads you between trees to a pond with no reflection of the
silent spirit floating above and the snuffed bone-yellow candle in its hand.
The Bavrogar is the place and it is the figure. It is the smoking candle and it
is the cold chill that surrounds everything here. The delicate face of the
spirit is beautiful but any detail of features forgotten behind the melancholy of
one who has no dreams. For there are no dreams in the Bavrogar. Never any of
its own anyways and never for long. But that is why you have come here, after all,
to the cold swamp with your fever of bright dreams that burn away sleep. Hope
is often an uneasy burden and there are few fears like those of dreams that may
fail. Fear has led you with bare, dirty feet to the Bavrogar and its sweet face
is a painting of compassion.
Come. The
Bavrogar says. Come, let me take this
fever that burns you so. This little
dream of yours, it is too hot, so terrifying.
Think about how peaceful and cool you will feel without it. And I am cold; can
you not see how this dream will keep me warm? You do not want it, let me take
it from you and you can sleep again. Sleep like a babe without fears or hopes. Such
a beautiful sleep.
You hear the words like cold water
behind your eyes. It soothes you and comforts you. Yes, you think. This dream is
too big for me, how much easier it would be to leave it here. Yes, take it and
let me sleep in peace. The Bavrogar softly smiles and holds out the candle. A
chill winds up from your toes and out your head as the candle lights with a
burst of white-hot flame, burning fast and blinding. You throw up your hands to
protect your eyes and wake with a start. Cold sweat makes the twisted sheets
stick to your legs and back, but you don’t remember why you've woken and turn
over to fall into a black, hard sleep.
When you wake, it will be as if from
the dreamless sleep of one who has been walking all day. You will feel light
and rested, suddenly unburdened and certain that life is going to be easier.
And it is, for a while. After all, life without a dream is very easy.
Yet somehow, you will always feel
just a little colder than you used to.
The sun is never as warm and the colors never as bright. For when you
leave something with the Bavrogar, the Bavrogar leaves something with you. A
shadow on your vision and a string of smoke behind your eyes leading you back
to that mirrorless pond. For the bone-yellow candle never stays burning for
long in that place, and with each dream you surrender to the Bavrogar, it
becomes easier and easier for it to call you back. Until all you will have left
is the white-hot dream of life itself to light the Bavrogar’s candle.
© 2012 Kristina Carroll
