An Excerpt of The Recusant Who Never Recanted by DW Storer

An Excerpt of The Recusant Who Never Recanted by DW Storer

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An Excerpt of The Recusant Who Never Recanted by DW Storer

Image courtesy of Whyte Tracks

Image courtesy of Whyte Tracks

Is mind so then

Divorced from soul?

Mere thought in ink

Upon life’s scroll?

The Big Chair

Memories are, in many ways, similar to the surgeon’s knife; handled skilfully they can cure many ills. In the wrong hands, however, they can prove fatal.

I fear moments of sanity greatly, for they disturb my lucidity. And in those moments I dream of sleep, but always my mind dances out of reach. What I grasp for slips through my fingers and I am left sitting alone with only an echo to console me.

I have found a sanctuary

Where my Darkness

Can walk free

And in time

Cast its eye

So avidly on me

As I became older the urge to roam further afield in search for solitude grew increasingly important. Mayhaps twas a sign of how my life was changing, for even if betimes I craved company t’were also the thing I feared the most. Strange that I should feel the distance of those years more, now that I write of them rather than just think of them.

A short train ride away there was a hill. Popular with tourists and day trippers, though back then I followed not the paths they took to its peak but left that too well-trodden trail and, drawn by some cautionary whis- per, wandered through the tangle of trees and bushes.

There I found a hollow, with no sign of intrusion or the detritus that usually accompanies the presence of humanity, which seemed to my eyes to be unspoilt and, more importantly, silent, I took up temporary residence there. Rays of sunlight filtering through the trees reminded me of places oft frequented in my younger days. This was a curious place, but appealing in those unfathomable ways that seem to cry out when something is just meant to be.

Sun through trees

I found a tree stump, almost unnoticeable, despite its size: if t’were not for a breeze that caused the light to rest upon it for a moment it would have remained hidden. Over run and grown with plants and mosses that occur when nature is left to its own devices, what type of tree it may once have been I cannot say. Part of this stump rose upward, making it look rather like a chair and so, of course, it became my perch during the years, whenever I returned.

And so my early teenage years slipped by, not in a blur but in a series of attempts to try to discover who I was meant to be. There was never, as some might expect, a life changing moment of some stupendous epipha- ny. In truth very little happened.

The hollow was, however, peaceful and allowed to me to sit and think with a clear mind and even if no visions came it was pleasant enough just to be there and watch the breeze move through the trees and listen to the sounds of myriads of unseen creatures moving about. Reward enough, in itself, for finding the place yet I could have found places equally as calm without travelling so why did I return? Because of a single, and as usual, brief incident that occurred only when I decided to wander off in search of pastures new.

Despite the fact I was thirteen, possibly even only fourteen years old, I

know it was not some abherrant spark of imagination, because future visits have confirmed my suspicions.

A voice, and certainly not one issuing from someone passing by, came forth as I rose from my tree stump chair. Possibly it came from the stump, perchance from elsewhere, or from all around. I had no way to tell. All I can say is that it was not from any tourist or passer-by.

I can’t forget”.

Was the voice referring to me, or to its owner? I didn’t bother to turn to see, there was no point. Such things happened to me already too of- ten and, travelling back down the hill on the way to the train station a thought came. As is the way of things, of course, it came too late and that is why I returned to the spot a few weeks later. It was one of those occasions when you think ‘If only I had thought of it then’. Why did I not have the sense to ask:

“What can’t you forget?”

It may be said by some

That I never quite knew me

But who could ever know

What this day might be?

And regrets roll in

Like waves upon a shore

Bringing Truths that make me

Cry out “Nevermore!”

As I wandered along the path that meandered down the hill I could have sworn I heard laughter. Curiously, I often do. Stranger still, it sounds like my own.

Beneath Ash, soul now bare

Crowned with hawthorn

Stand I there


Without care

My body though

Remains elsewhere

Into the Mirror . . .

Let go of what you know, of all they have taught you. Let your Soul wan- der at Will. Open yourself to All and Nothing!




Who exactly do you pray to?” the Celt once asked. “To myself,” I replied.
“Why? Why not to the Gods?” he questioned further. “Because I am the the only One who answers.”

“Do you believe you have all the answers then?”came a slightly amused reprimand.

“No, but I hear the questions.”

Oft do I espy thee

Most peculiar of stars

Pray thee tell me

Of how thou fell so far

Image courtesy of ©DW Storer

Image courtesy of DW Storer

You can obtain a copy of The Recusant Who Never Recanted on and contact Darren Storer on

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