Articles & Essays by Marai Ratajzack

Socrates Meets Cantus Fraggle The melodious sounds of a far off pipe resounded through the Cave, even as Socrates awoke, unchained from his place facing the wall and entered further in to find the origin of the intriguing sound. “Music grows in the rose, rock and rain and the blowing snowstorm, everything seems to sing everywhere I go. Play me down on the ground, song comes singing from the midnight places, raise me high in the sky song comes drifting through. I say one, two play me do, let me sound as sweet as you, play me wide, play me long let me be your song” "Every fraggle has a song" the mysterious creature said, playing more notes on his magic pipe. Flowers began to bloom around him; light flowed through cracks in the stone, as the music conjoined with the sounds of a drip drop of a subterranean stream and a band of minstrel creatures coming behind with drum and guitars. The creature’s robes sparkled despite the patches, and he carried a regal, demure posture to his knee high frame. "What are you, strange one?" "I am a Fraggle, which is what I am, but not who I am. Who I am is Cantus, I am a Minstrel, and I am here to play, and to listen. Now who are you, and why does it matter who I am, Silly Creature?" "I am Socrates. What purpose do you, Fraggle have in calling me a silly creature?" "That is what your kind has been called, for that is what our explorer has seen of your world, your customs and yourselves." "What is it that makes us silly?" "You look for purpose outside the caves, and neglect those things which make life all the while, and for what? May I ask? For a bit of metal, or scraps of parchment? What is a painting without a canvas, what is food without taste? What is life without the song?" "Which of the methods of fraggle existence give you this impression of superiority, you who play so well? This fraggle has a strong point, but not all life is music" "We belong to the song; it is about our lives, and the melodies we build together, a thousand pieces in one grand puzzle drifting through the cave like pebbles on the beach of the world. We dance our cares away, leave our worries for another day and watch the world begin again, everyday, and follow that destiny that follows us. Can the same be said of you, Silly Creature? Do you sit and listen to the songs, or do you busy yourself with troubles you were never meant to pursue?" “Does your music have a meaning more than its action?” “Does it have to?” “What is the intended purpose of music, if it has no meaning?” “The purpose is the same as the meaning, with music comes life, with life comes living, and with living comes everything else. All things have songs as they have stories, it is our place to sit and listen to them all.” “What of the true forms, cannot brilliance be found outside the cave, in the light of the true sun? All we see are shadows and shades. Why place music as the chief import, when there are other more involving pursuits? How peculiar of a creature, he must be lost without sight of anything beyond this cave. Yet, his actions would connote another logic, he seems to have the role of a philosopher, yet is content in his lack of the knowledge of all things. I must enlighten him if I can.” “Untrue, life is what it is where we find it, if we do not listen, we do not hear, and then we miss that which wanted to be heard. If we do not see, we miss the beauties of life. If we do not dance, where is our joy? There is nothing a fraggle enjoys more than dancing and singing, swimming and playing, yet it does not mean that we do no work. Every fraggle has a job, and one that they do gladly.” “Could it not be said that life is more than what we can see? If life is all there is before us, then what of the finer things? Is the pursuit of happiness the key to life’s success?” “What finer things? I have my pipe, and I have my ears, I listen to the songs of the rock, and they guide me through it bit by bit. Happiness needs no pursuit, if one works, and does their job, then the rest falls into place. We fraggles live lives with cares, yet we do not let ourselves be burdened down more than what is necessary to continue the song. ” “Where did you get your pipe, if it is so precious? Have you artisans that crafted such an enchanting instrument? I’m beginning to like this creature. He cares not for wealth, and he professes that all his fellow creatures do the job they have been given talent towards, he may not be as lost as I thought.” “My pipe is magic, it was given to me many, many days ago, by a strange and mysterious . . . strange and mysterious. . . ” “Strange and mysterious what?” “I don’t know, it was so strange and mysterious.” “Why do you not attempt to find out what it was that gave you such a thing? Has this creature no sense of curiosity?” “Why should I venture to know things there are no answers for? Does the knowledge affect my song? When one is given a gift by a greater power, why question its existence and spoil the gratitude you may find?” “What if this strange and mysterious giver is of a malicious intent, and wishes you harm, or distraction from your true path?” “My true path is to listen. I am a minstrel; I travel this boundless rock to unite the fraggles and sing its songs, what is more important than that? What could harm me more than the absence of my art? This is surely a silly creature, if he believes we should strive to unlock mysteries so necessarily hidden. If it would interfere with my task as a minstrel, then I would not be following the path I have chosen, and that could never be beneficial.” “Has this creature no understanding of the makings of a proper societal government? His eyes are open, yet he misunderstands the simplest perceptions. He is content in the cave. What of government? Surely your fraggles have a modus to organise and judge yourselves” “Why have a few rule over the many, when the many follow the ways things have always been done? Rules are made to be obeyed, and the rules are few. Conflicts are taken to the Hall of Justice, where everyone who wishes to participate does, and those who don’t are left to their devices within the whole” “What if the many are not wise enough to rule themselves? Is it not necessary for the wise to ensure the safety, security and goodness of the many? Have you no philosophers? No kings?” “Why? What lessons that are to be learned will be learned in the due process of time, whatever more there is to it can be brought along through self-discovery and friendship. Sometimes fraggles are not ready to grow, sometimes they grow in leaps and bounds, it is up to the fraggle. Our rulers are decided on a game, and have but three commands with which to better fraggledom” “Only three commands to better all of your kind? An effective ruler must have the time and government to affect more than three commands to his people, there is much to uphold in government.” “What more must a ruler say than three things? How many commands does it take to ensure the betterment of all? What needs to be said? If you are truly wise, then you will not need commands to better the masses, you will be heard no matter to your station. If you had but three things to say, would you not ponder them and attempt to make the most of those few words? What would you say? What is there to be said?” “That begs the question on what are the three most important tasks with which to order all of existence. If only the masses would listen to the wise, and if only the wise could say what needed to be said.” “Yes, it does. Have you listened to the question’s answer?” “The question one must ask is what are the essential necessities of life? What makes the list truly essential? Is it justice? Honour? The pursuit of truth?” “Justice is important, yet something already in place. Following the oaths we have sworn is part of that justice, as is playing fairly and respecting each other. What good is the pursuit of truth, when it consumes your entire life’s purpose? Would not the more logical thing to do be to live the life that has been given you, and let truth reveal itself?” “How, then, are we to live? Who decides? What purpose is there?” “We live for the same purpose fraggles have always lived for: to become a part of the song. Unity is key and the celebration of life just because we have it, letting no leaf unturned in our trek towards honouring the nature around us, and saving ourselves from the troubles of Outer Space, where you, oh Silly Creature, reside. Why wrack our minds with conundrums that serve only to confuse? If we are to find the answer, we will discover it in due time. That is enough for me, as it is enough for most.” “You said the ruler is chosen by a game? What manner of game? Why leave such things to chance, and not select the best of you as you see fit?” “A few fraggles choose to venture forth on a perilous journey to a Cave of light, and whomever is found worthy is chosen by a ray of light that falls upon them, that fraggle is ruler for a day, no more, no less.” “The cave itself chooses? What in the cave makes that choice? Do you not have a wish to know by whom your lives are lead?” “Why? Goodness happens, do we need a reason? Why search for what we cannot know?” “Why stay in the dark when there is more to discover?” “I know all I need to know.” Cantus sat back on his rock and thought for a moment with a heavy sigh. Standing once again and putting his pipe to his lips, Cantus went and took Socrates out along the network of caves to a place where little green creatures no larger than to a fraggle’s knee were building crystalline structures with rigid clear sticks and metal machinery. Upon nearing the area of the doozers, Cantus’ song changed to a higher melody with staccato notes and quick successions. The creatures stopped their work to listen, then the song ended, and they returned to their tasks with dedicated fervour and a glee in their movements. “These are the doozers, they live to build, like fraggles live to sing, their work is mysterious to us, but meaningful to them. We fraggles eat their buildings and thus they can build more. If I played my song to the doozers, they would move away for it was not theirs, but when I played their song, they too listened and enjoyed.” “Why do the doozers build when nothing from their travails will last the day? They must mind that you fraggles cause havoc on their progress.” “Doozers build because they have always built, it is their talent. If we fraggles stopped eating their buildings, they could no longer build, and would have to find a new home. When the fraggles eat, there is always more to build, and thus the doozers go on as they always have done. Must a fraggle learn all the ways and customs of the doozers, when a fraggle would never become a doozer and build? Must a doozer learn about the ways of the fraggles when they have not the need? We each have our place, and to neglect that place threatens the stability of the rock, when we follow into our place, life runs like the waters to the fraggle pond.” “Aha! Now I see, these fraggles and doozers follow their places, a singer is given to the art of song, a painter to the art of the canvas, a builder to creation of the constructed. How easily they fit into their respective rolls. If only we, too allowed ourselves to find our roles and let them be filled in such a manner. I see you consider yourself wise, Cantus Fraggle, and you talk as one who has thought of many things, but answer me this, if there is no common language between you different creatures, how can you hope to live a beneficial existence at all times? What of conflict, and those times of war?” “How can we, who are walking across the rock, make one another walk in each other’s feet? Can I take mine off and give them to you? No, my toes are mine, and none others. We fraggles know nothing of war, but that there is something called a weapon, and that a weapon is an awful, decrepit device to cause pain. Why would we wish to hurt another intentionally? How does wounding a fellow creature benefit either party? No, silly creature, there is no need for war, when both sides realise their interdependence, and allow for differences of being.” “Sometimes others encroach on what is ours, is it not right to defend the helpless?” “There is no war, we are not helpless. There may be conflict, but it is easily resolved by not involving ourselves in the affairs of others wrongly, or by finding a mutual plateau.” “What decides right from wrong?” “Our hearts do. All fraggles share a common vision, although each of us are different in varying ways, there are traditions that have been passed down from ages ago. What works is kept, what does not falls into the annals of legends and stories to provide us with a remembrance of our morals.” “I see.” “Come, Silly Creature, there is more to see, and little time in which to see it.” Again placing the pipe to his lips, Cantus played a song, echoing through the rock, until coming to a hole that lead to the brilliant outside sun. A gigantic castle of stone laid in partial ruin to their side, a garden planted in its shadow, and a creature the size of a mountain standing guard with a song of his own. “Fraggle! What is this? Could I have been mislead? Does this creature yet venture into the open only to go back into the cave? Is this the land of perfection? If so, how is it so easily forsaken for the dark?” “Junior Gorg has his own song, he tends to the vegetables that feed us, he will thump a fraggle if given the chance. You asked of conflict, why fight each other when you can live in harmony, however disquieting it may sometimes be. A brave few collect radishes as we have need, others go for guidance at our Oracle, Marjory the Trash Heap” “Wisdom from the cast offs and dregs? How can a pile of waste grant wisdom?” “Madame Heap is made of all, and knows all. Those who question her wisdom find the answers in themselves, or they find nothing, but that is rare. She is a most unlimited being. Quickly, you have seen all you have needed to see. The only real question is, have you listened?” “I hear and I respond.” “Yes, but do you listen? Hearing and listening are two very different things, Silly Creature. Through listening you are granted understanding, through hearing you are only granted the experience of the sounds. Night approaches, and the moon will come swiftly to the sky. You should be getting on, before we catch cold. Remember, listen and understand, there is no need for fear, listen to your world, and learn your song. Become an instrument of peace, wander this boundless rock of ours and grow, yet do not fret. Life isn’t about where you are, Silly Creature, it is about what you do, whether in the caves, or in Outer Space, place does not hinder discovery, there is much to be heard everywhere you go. Music is universal, and a comfort to all, do not lose sight of that which is meant to be lived.” “Farewell, sweet Cantus, may you enjoy the song you play. He has seen all there is to be seen, and yet returns to the cave not in the darkness, but to spread his enlightenment to the others around him. So must I also live.” A final time, Cantus Fraggle put his pipe to his lips and played a masterpiece echoing through the very substance of the rock. Socrates returned again to his place facing the wall in the cave, the chains still laying at his feet. Another moment to ponder, and Socrates the Fraggle began to hum his song, and danced off into the cave. Last update: August 13, 2007