The Lost Dream of Janet
AAkiryon Baba Yats the elephant makes not her nest in the gelid tundra, nor births her sprightly calves in the endless arctic night, so also the weaverbird dares not brood her young within sight of the minaret, her piety a plumed cloak of beauty and disdain. This is the way of all things. The dolphin also knows this truth and keeps within her watery bounds, sorrow only coming to those that try the sandy shore, and footless, find themselves beached, immobile and helpless unto Fate's pitiless and cruel touch.
   That Nature should accept this law is no great surprise, but that Man has yet to grasp this fatuous truth has been a consternation to both solemn sages and prancing minstrels throughout long History's fetid parade. Even more tragic when the one that rails against Nature's graven order is of the fair sex. This lesson I learned through much suffering.
   It was many years ago that I was wintering on the sunny shores of Southern California, teaching the arcane ways of Solubility by day and reading my impenetrable poetry for wine and muliebral favors by night in the smoky cafes that dotted the collegiate avenues engirding UCLA.
   As was customary, most of those who attended my esoteric teachings were young students, feckless tyros full of yearning and an ingenuous desire for knowledge beyond their books and professorial notes. The most ardent of these, a young hoyden, fair of face and form, named Janet. But as lovely as this maiden was, she was weighed down by an oppressive sadness, that try as I would with small drolleries, japes and quips, I could not bring a smile to her downcast countenance. Finally, I led her aside and inquired as to what had brought about this grim dysphoria.
   "Master Akiryon," she replied in a voice choking with strong emotion, once I explained the meaning of the word dysphoria, "All my life I have had but one dream, one goal: to be a world champion pole vaulter. Nothing else matters. I think of it all day and dream of it all night. Vaulting is my only ambition, my only desire."
   "Then you must seize this desire by the throat and not let go until it is subject to your will. That, is solubility," I answered.
   The next day Janet was not in attendance for my lecture, but looking out the window I espied her on the ball field, running with a long pole in hand. Approaching the goal post, she planted the pole and flew through the air, hitting the crossbeam with her head and falling in a crumpled heap to the turf. Dusting herself off, shThe growing sport of self-impalemente repeated this effort time after time, with more or less the same results. It was then I realized she had mistaken my warning to resist this vaulting ambition for encouragement to pursue it. Alas, I could but wait.
   The next day the same ritual was repeated, and for many weeks after. Yet now the young lady was soaring over the goal post and landing on a large mattress without bodily injury. One day, after class, she entered my room.
   "Master Akiryon, I have done it!" she cried in triumph. "I have given up everything to be the best vaulter there is and I'm on my way to see the track coach and get on the team! See you at the Olympics!"
   But it was not to be. Little did the young girl realize that women were not allowed on the pole vaulting squad in those days and all her valiant effort had been for naught. It mattered not that she could outperform all the males on the team. There was still one thing she lacked, talent notwithstanding. Finding her life in shambles, she calmly walked into the great Pacific Ocean and was seen no more. I shook my head sadly as I read the note she had left on the sunny beach: I have no prick to spur the sides of my intent, but only vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself, and falls on the other. Janet MacBeth.

 

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