The Centaurs
something like fiction
Deep in the forest beyond the reach of the sun where the trees grow tall and thick, sits a village. A mysterious wind blows in from the east, whipping down mountain passages and bringing with it soft smells of foreign spices. The people there have built their lives into the side of that mountain, stone and ancient rock bolstering walls that stand much taller than we’re accustomed to—much taller.
That’s what the people need—height to stand tall and space to run free and the sweet smells of another land to hold fast to memory.
There are no roads to that village, no paths you or I would recognize. But if you look closely as you trek through those woods, if you pay attention to the footprints all around—massive wolf paws and tiny rabbit feet and what masquerades as deer hooves—you’ll see the truth.
The people of this village are not people at all. At least, not like we know.
Tall and noble, ushering foreign winds with every pass, their galloping hooves echoing throughout the mountain passage and—
—You’re saying they’re centaurs, then? Is that it? You think you met a thing that was half-human, half-horse?
They keep to themselves in the deep forest, skilled warriors reluctant to meet on the field of battle. And why, you ask? Because they know they’ll win. They know the power of thundering hooves charging down a dusty slope, spears held high and ready, galloping to meet and vanquish whatever foe stands in their way.
But for these people, for this village, privacy, seclusion, even isolation is better than becoming a pawn on some global game of chess. They make no deals, entertain no promises of power and privilege. They want only to return to their homeland, some island off our shores, beyond our maps and—
—It was probably just a guy on a horse, right? Like, you saw a guy carrying a spear, riding a horse and you thought he was a centaur? Classic. You gotta look more carefully, not get carried away with all this myth and fantasy. What, was there a jackalope, too? You read too many books.
And in the end, the centaurs trust that if they stay hidden, if they keep their sanctuary well away from our roads and our maps and our ways of life, we may never realize they’re among us at all. We would doubt our own eyes a hundred times before we’d believe in the impossible. Before we’d admit to overlooking something right there and obvious in our own world. Before we’d admit that our world is in reality shared. We’ve seen it all, we say. We know it all. We don’t care to be surprised let alone delighted. There’s nothing new under the sun. And we live to run down the clock.
It’s easier that way.
—It’s easier that way!
And another thing:
I’m on an “essays of re-enchantment” kick. Check out this week’s “Now Discern This” for more real-life fairy tales. Click here.
Last week I signed copies of “My Life with the Jedi: The Spirituality of Star Wars” at the Annapolis Barnes & Noble. It was a blast!
