As the knowledge seeps in
That I may never find an answer
My dreams are filled with children
And acts of procreation
But children will not be me
And I will not fool myself
Into thinking so as I'm not
My parents and yet, in many ways I am

"Impasse"

...Gableplunk reached a deadlock. His quest extended beyond the mountaintops, yet he couldn't make the leap. Was this to be his plateau? He felt directionless, perceived no outlet for his energies. The world stretched before him, a limitless prairie inhabited by little creatures without purpose. Was life merely the wait for death? Would resolution come quietly, slipping over him like some silent dream? Or was life its own purpose? Was Gableplunk born to beget children who would bring forth Gableplunk anew? Was the answer in the question or would he one day leave even the questions behind? Was the Void to be found in fire? Or in ice? Emptiness and peace? Or in the fire of striving for release?
......Which way to the sun?
...The days passed slowly. Gableplunk became the pale shadows of the morning. Before mid-day, he sought the shade and waited for the afternoon breeze. The valley simmered and the distant ridge shimmered in Gableplunk's gaze.
...He sat quietly beneath the old walnut tree and looked around. Behind him, the path to the south ridge disappeared into the undergrowth. To his right, the forest sang its endless song. In the distance lay the north ridge, the division between the valley and civilization, to his left, the house obscured by the barn.
...The tiniest of creatures crawled over his feet and vanished into the grass. At the edge of the forest, small plants grew, nurtured by the morning dew and summer sun. Gableplunk often picked a leaf or two and dropped them into a cup to brew tea. Each leaf lent something of itself and each cup was different. In Gableplunk's own yard grew endless sources of delight. It was the first time he noticed.
......Ah! Do I not find delight in the most complex of things? Then why can't I find delight in the simplest, too? These tiny plants that grow at my feet are the source of life and the source of light. I'll compose an ode, an ode to herbs! Ah! Yes!
...Gableplunk laughed and in his head which was the most cerebral of places, he composed

Herbs sweet herbs
Dangling twigs
In the teacup
Of fine memories
Applied to the head
Becloud the mind
In a forgetful balm.
Little green shoots
Of reminiscent life
Slip gently beneath the bedcovers.

Herbs and verbs
And goats and words
Have something in common.
They make you tingle
They make you dance
'til you enter a delirium
And drive away spirits
Of a self-induced fever.

Herbs sweet herbs
Are great for wrapping.
Mummies use them
To preserve their beauty.
You can use them
To wrap your presents
And make the aroma
Fragrantly spicy.

Ah, herbs sweet herbs
Follow the same path
As mankind through the ages
Giving relief here
And desire there
A bit of humor
And salad dressings
Some quietude
And rash behavior
'tis truly mankind's blessing.

...The sun reached its zenith and the afternoon breezes swirled gently into the valley. Standing and folding his chair, he leaned it against the walnut tree. Autumn would arrive in the next few weeks and with it the flurry of activity before winter, the harvest and first pressings, lights and parties over the countryside.
...Gableplunk walked to the house and prepared lunch. He sliced some meats and cheeses, poured a glass of wine and carried them to the veranda. Sparkling at the river, the valley lay before him. The forest was a mat of deep green. So clear was the day that he could see the top of the railway bridge at the east end and the light brown line, the road around the valley. Gableplunk ate while deep in thought.
......The Void's at my mindtip but it's not me. It's alien and impenetrable unless I'm willing to die. Eternally drifting fluid walls exclude me - for I can't go beyond as a tourist. The Void's at my mindtip but it's not me. Exerting subtle pressures behind my forehead, it's ever present; isn't it strange to feel its presence at that spot? Years of study have brought me here where the Void's at my mindtip and I summon it when I wish to meditate. Ego, superego I've defined for myself; subconscious I've thoroughly explored; the great unconscious comes to me in dreams; without rhyme or pattern I watch and meticulously keep track of its goings on, yet the Void's at my mindtip and it's not me. Is it ego's fascination and pride and vanity? Or is it self's desire to come home? Do I not merge out of repulsion from thought of (ego's) death? Or is it simply fear of the unknown?
...He remained sitting on the veranda, watching the play of the sun's rays on the valley before him.
......The Eastern ideal of the Void has much in common with the Western idea of Heaven. In both states we're fulfilled and there's nothing lacking. The Western ideal finds its realization in another world. The Eastern may find its realization in this world when we enter a state in which nothing's desired: meditation.
......To be at peace, without goals yet filled with life, the sun, the valley, the countryside and the people; this is the way. The way of striving, ceaseless reaching for the future isn't. The way is the way of love, not the crystalline brilliance of unrequited mind.
...Cooling breezes vanished as quickly as they'd come. The temperature would rise again before dropping in the evening. He walked to the barn and stopped near the front stall. Reaching over the gate, he stroked his horse's head. "Perhaps one day I'll name you; for now I call you Horse." Then he climbed to the loft, sat in the hay and crossed his legs to meditate. His body relaxed. He stilled his mind. Sitting erect Gableplunk entered the silence of silences.

...In the afternoon he visited Max and Elsa. He arrived before Max completed his exercises and had a chance to talk and play with Elsa. They sat together on the bank of the stream, throwing rocks and making boats from leaves. Elsa asked questions. Gableplunk searched his mind and heart for the most direct answers. Sometimes Elsa laughed. Her laughter made Gableplunk very happy.
...The stream bubbled and the late afternoon sun warmed Gableplunk's back. Elsa screamed. Gableplunk leaped to his feet and turned in the direction. Max had lifted her high in the air; she laughed and put her arms around his neck as he carried her to the bank where Gableplunk was standing.
..."Hello!" Max said
..."Hello!"
..."It's a fine day. Have you ridden the river yet?"
..."No, I haven't," Gableplunk answered. "Do you have a boat?"
..."Yes. In back of the house. One morning we'll take the trip together. We'll ride west by jeep past the caves and into the hills and ride down-river through the valley. Pick up the jeep later, by wagon."
...They walked to the front of the house. When they reached the veranda Max lifted Elsa high over the trellis to the wooden platform.
...They climbed the steps to the door and entered the dark chambers. Gableplunk never failed to be amazed by the huge barbells scattered on the mats. One set was too heavy for him to raise more than a few centimeters.
..."How much can you lift?" Gableplunk asked.
..."I don't know exactly. The plates are hand forged and I've never measured them. It's much more than I weigh."
...They entered the main room. Gableplunk liked the thick rugs. The room was flooded with natural light streaming in from the skylight.
...It was in this room that they played duets in the evenings. Max played piano and Gableplunk played Martine's guitar. Elsa sang until she tired and fell asleep on the couch. Max sat next to her and asked Gableplunk to play, and Gableplunk strummed and sang soft songs or picked long and delicate improvisations.
..."You would've liked Martine," Max said. "She played with very much the same feeling as you do, though she had a softer voice. Thank you for playing for me; I've many fine memories."
..."How long have you lived in the valley?" Gableplunk asked.
..."Only a few years. We lived in town until Martine died, then I bought this house, repaired it and moved in late in the summer."
..."Does Elsa live here all year, too?"
..."When the snows come and the ridge road is impassable, Elsa lives in town with my Sister. She has the best of both worlds- she goes to school in town, and when she likes, she comes to live with me. We hike through the hills and sometimes she brings some of her friends with her. I visit her as often as I can in the winter unless I'm away playing. What of you? You don't live entirely in the valley or in town. You come by rail unexpectedly and leave the same way. Where do you live away from the valley?"
..."I have a second world, too. I live in the city. I'll give you keys to my apartment. Come and stay anytime you like. Perhaps you can find it useful if you enter a tournament."
..."I don't enter tournaments. I play entirely for stakes and power, but let's not talk about that. What is it you do to make life meaningful for you?"
..."I write songs," Gableplunk answered. "I've brought some with me today. If you like, I'll play them for you."
..."Ah! Yes! I'd like to hear them. At night when the winds bring your songs to us, they're muted. However, after dinner...right now, let me show you some unusual poisoned-pawn variations while Elsa cooks. Sometimes she feels the urge. Although she hasn't a sustained interest, this seems to be one of those evenings."
..."Good!" Gableplunk said. "Chess is fascinating, perhaps too fascinating. Sometimes when I'm lonely I replay the games of the Masters. I've visited chess clubs, though I find I enjoy playing more with a friend than a stranger."
..."I've two books I'll loan you. You've innate talent, intuitive if you will, but chess is much more than a feeling; it's structure, even art. You'd benefit by reading them. They're most informative in a practical sense. I've others that touch on the metaphysical and one written in 1891 by a Prussian madman!"
...Gableplunk laughed. They pulled leather armchairs up to the chess table and Max arranged the pieces.
...After dinner Gableplunk sat in the kitchen while Elsa and Max washed the dinnerware.
..."Will you play your songs for us?" Elsa asked.
..."Of course," Gableplunk answered. "Will you improvise some lines, Max? I've lead sheets. We could play solos together."
..."Yes!" Max answered. "Counterpoint is always good for the soul."
...Max dried his hands and they moved back to the main room.
..."Will you teach me to play the harmonica?" Elsa asked. She jumped on the couch and sat watching Gableplunk. He took his music from a saddlebag and handed them to Max. "Sure I will, Elsa."
...Max propped them up on the piano and warmed up. His fingers moved lightly and quickly over the keyboard, playing scales or bits of familiar pieces. He turned to the first lead sheet and waited for Gableplunk to begin.
...Gableplunk sang through a verse or two, outlining the rhythms he used, skipping sections to show Max changes in meter. They played together for hours, lengthening the solos they liked and laughing when they became longer than the original song.
...Elsa played a recorder. She laughed when she played the wrong notes.
...Their melodies soared in places when Max's classical training came through. His embellishments had the polished smoothness Gableplunk lacked, yet they sounded fine together; Gableplunk's strong rhythms and simple melodies complimented Max's playing as they wove the musical net, playing in and through each other.
...Elsa clapped between numbers and they played on. Soon they began to tire and the music took on softer tones. They played a slower song, then a familiar ballad. A long improvised structure, changing key. Gableplunk changed harmonicas rapidly as Max called first one change and Gableplunk another.
...Softer the music flowed and more quietly. The room transformed into a dream. Gableplunk sat on a wooden stool. He followed Max's hands and Max watched Gableplunk's forms on the rosewood neck; they played on and on until they became... each other. Max's eyes were distant and Gableplunk's closed. Slower they played and the music became round. Round and round went the sound, round and round until the sound came no more and Max and Gableplunk sat quietly, sensing all, feeling all and the sound continued to revolve and only the sound remained, a silence, a silence, a silence of revolving sound.
...Elsa slept on the couch. Max picked her up and disappeared from the room.
...When he returned Gableplunk handed him a glass of chilled wine. Max toasted and Gableplunk nodded. Together they drank.
..."They say it's better than chess," Gableplunk said.
..."Ah! You fool me with your magical illusions. You snare me in your musical web! Come, let's play on the plane of Black and White where men may find a similar experience yet still perceive an objective division between players."
..."Another glass of wine?" Gableplunk asked.
...Max closed the piano and looked up. "Yes."
...Gableplunk stacked his lead sheets. He dropped the harmonicas into their cases and packed them into his saddlebags.
..."Perhaps we'll play another time," Max said. "I mustn't fight. Softness and beauty are transcendent things; they're not to be denied. Another time. Would you care to stay the night? We've other rooms where you'd be comfortable."
..."Yes! A good idea. Is there a place I can stall Horse for the night?"
..."There's a shed behind the house big enough for four. Come, we'll go out and spread some hay on the ground. Horse will also be comfortable."
...They walked out into the night. The air was cool and damp, a hint: autumn was near.
...The stream rushed in the distance. The ground was illumined by moon light. Max helped Gableplunk bed down Horse. He carried a bucket of water from the stream and hung it in the stall. Gableplunk pulled the saddle down and hung it on the wall.
..."It's a fine night," Max said.
..."It's a fine night," Gableplunk said.

...Gableplunk awoke. He dressed and walked through the house to the main room. Max was awake and sitting by the windows. He turned as Gableplunk entered.
..."Good morning!" Max said. "There's coffee and bread and jam in the kitchen; cheese if you like."
...Gableplunk thanked him and shuffled into the kitchen.
...He fixed buttered jam sandwiches and two mugs of coffee then carried them to the table.
..."Where's Elsa?" Gableplunk asked.
..."By the shed, feeding Horse."
...Max rose from the chair and walked to the chess table. He sat down and set up the pieces.
...Gableplunk watched and wondered.
...Soon Max's concentration intrigued him and he sat in the opposite chair. "So soon, Max?"
...Max looked up. "I've been challenged."
..."By whom?"
..."A man in the next county. He's seen me play and believes he can beat me. I'll demolish him."
...Gableplunk laughed.
..."I thought you played only for money, Max."
..."He owns a winery. I won't demolish him for free; only you have that privilege."
..."Oh! I'm terrified!"
...Max looked up again and stared into Gableplunk's eyes.
..."Your severity overwhelms me," Gableplunk said.
..."Max laughed. "It's part of the game. Play it and you'll see."
..."Make me dance and terrify me! You can't, for I've nothing to lose."
..."Play the game and you'll see. Move. Pawn to Queen four. You've White. Laugh, for now you're free. Play the game and surrender your freedom."
..."Very well," Gableplunk said, "I accept your challenge."
...They played. An hour passed and Gableplunk was drawn into the struggle. Max played fiercely as though he were at war, converting the slightest advantage to an overwhelming favor.
...Soon Gableplunk was forced to resign. "You don't play, Max. You crush a man's mind."
..."You're fortunate," Max grinned; "I ended it quickly. Sometimes when I'm feeling sadistic I toy with an opponent for seventy moves and crush him with tempo; one move sooner than he I Queen, but my Queen is mate! Of course I do this only with the arrogant."
..."Who's more arrogant than you, Max?" Gableplunk asked.
..."Ah! Don't take it so seriously," Max laughed. "Someday you'll beat me. Tolerate me today; I need to hone my edge; my opponent isn't a bad player."
...Gableplunk shook his head from side to side, grimaced and laughed.
..."You're too charming, Max. You beat me and I don't mind."
..."You play well, but your imagination sometimes falters. It's lack of experience to a great degree, but I also detect a certain unwillingness to be original. You must respond to me. You can't play in your own little world. In chess there are no automatic moves."
..."You're an accurate judge of character, Max; I'm working on it."
...Max chuckled. "Set up the pieces again. I'll give you instruction."
...They moved rapidly, shuffling the pieces around the board, half-playing, breaking continuity to set up positions that came to mind.
..."Try to build momentum," Max said. "Build pressure."
...He swept pieces from the board and waited for the new image to enter Gableplunk's mind. He moved a Knight to an apparently forlorn outpost and explained its necessity: after forcing a series of moves it would be needed there nine moves later.
..."Added development's always beneficial. It compresses your opponent and offers you greater freedom to seize positional advantage; however, remember that development must be harmonious." Max replaced a Bishop and two Pawns. "See how the situation has changed?"...He waited for Gableplunk to grasp the field and said, "This calls for an immediate sacrifice to win, otherwise the game'll plod on, becoming dull, as you dimwittedly skirt each other's defenses. Don't hesitate to make sacrifices to build an attack but don't make sacrifices on principle or without complete analysis of the advantage to be gained."
..."You play so astutely," Gableplunk said, "so precisely, leaving no space for error or even rest. How can you be so machine-like?"
..."Don't confuse the machine with art," Max answered. "It's exactly these fine tolerances, this delicate precision that creates strength and beauty of line. At its best in a moment of perfect clarity it becomes mystical, perhaps for a few moments, divine."
..."How can beauty exist on half the board? It isn't beautiful to see another crumble."
..."This is the ever-present bloom and decay of life," Max said. "We must accept it. In the wake of beauty lies degeneration and death. When Black is strengthened, White's weakened. If this weakness isn't repaired, the forces of despair enter under the name of your opponent's beauty and creation. Our sight often depends on which side we're on, yet if we can see and accept both we find the ultimate beauty there."
..."Death?" Gableplunk asked.
..."Life!" Max roared. "To live is everything! To accept mediocrity is ..... mediocre!"
..."Max! Come back to the world! We're playing chess, not at being gods!"
..."Yes! It's true! but don't let the woodenness of the pieces fool you! They're the gods and they watch us as we mistakenly manipulate them. They laugh at our inept fumbling!"
...Gableplunk laughed and so did Max.
..."Remember," Max said, "I'm getting up for a match."
..."Yes! I'd almost forgotten. I'll oppose you!" Gableplunk continued, "Chess is a balancing of forces."
..."You won't win or determine the course of events by meekly balancing forces."
..."Winning and losing come by themselves," Gableplunk said.
..."So I've heard, but if winning is illusion, so, too, is losing, and since we've choice- or would you disagree?- we must choose winning!"
..."Winning and losing are momentary; the middle way, the way of meditation, of choiceless awareness, is a way of life!"
..."Ah! It's true; however, you fail to see we all have our values!"
... Gableplunk and Max stared into each other's eyes. Each kept a straight face. A moment passed and their eyes narrowed. The smallest of smiles, burst! and widened into grins! Gableplunk laughed and laughed and Max joined him.
..."I musn't laugh too hard," Max said, "or I'll lose my power. To take laughter to a match is disaster."
..."Power may be exhibited or manifested," Gableplunk said, trying to hold in his laughter, "but it may never be possessed," and he burst out laughing.
...Some moments passed and Max and Gableplunk calmed.
..."You're right," Gableplunk said. "I can't deny it. Losing is humiliating. I haven't won a game and it's humiliating."
..."I wouldn't let you win."
..."Thank you."
..."I don't like to hurt people. Often I'm too strong."
..."It's momentary. It's an impersonal humiliation."
... Max smiled. He leaned back and stretched his great arms over his head. "We have to be leaving soon," Max said.
..."Oh? Where?"
..."Elsa begins school tomorrow and I have to bring her to town. I'll stay there for the evening and catch the morning train to Winston. My match begins two days from now and I'd like to take a day to familiarize myself with the surroundings."
..."When'll you be back?"
..."In a week or so. George the patzer may not be convinced with the first game. He may have a great capacity for humiliation!"
..."Well, good luck, Max. I wish you well. I hope he beats you."
...Max laughed. "Help me carry some things to my car. I saw Elsa walking with Horse. Stay here after we leave if you wish. The books are on the table. If I don't see you when I return we'll meet at one of the harvest celebrations."