L'arbre d'or en le val sans retour

I went to France, and hey, look what I found.



Legends.

This is the golden tree, at the edge of le val sans retour, the valley of no return. The legend is that Morgan Le Fey, witch half-sister of King Arthur, imprisoned unfaithful lovers in the valley. You could enter, but would be prevented from leaving by a wall of mist. Eventually Lancelot broke the spell.

The tree itself is a chestnut tree covered in gold, created by artist François Davin in 1991 to commemorate the many forest fires that have gone through the valley. Elsewhere in the valley are Merlin's grave and the Fountain of Youth. All of this is in Brocéliande, near Rennes, in Northwest France.

I love legends. I love archetypes. I imagine they'll always be around, trying to convince us that our stories aren't original, or trying to convince us that we're writing about the greater human condition. It's like Star Trek...

(Bear with me for a minute. This isn't just about the new Star Trek movie, though that has me very excited.)

Star Trek, like Arthurian legend, was all about archetypes and aspects of humanity. The entire human race in contrast to the other races: a passionate, driven people who leapt before they looked, moved with the tides of their emotions, made enormous mistakes, and bravely stood up to face whatever shit they disturbed - at least the heroes did. Each race was also an aspect of humankind. The Vulcans, divorced from their emotions yet always simmering beneath the surface. The Klingons, sexual and violent and impatient for the next battle. The Borg, our desire to be individuals, our terror of the alternative. Even Data, the android, a Pinocchio trying to simulate humanity, examining everything his crewmates did and explaining it to us in case we missed the clues: this is logical, that is not, and this should make you angry no matter who are you and what you believe. It was all about what human beings are and what they want to be. It was about the viewer, examining his or her own reactions, who they'd side with in any conflict, whether they'd be the straight-thinking Captain, a leader, or the villain, sneaking around the periphery, demonstrating that even in the perfect future not every human being can agree on what is right.

Star Trek depicted a future we hope is inevitable, where we're better than we are now, but still essentially who we've always been. The Arthurian legends depict a past where these tides of humanity aren't just essential but magically driven and peppered with powerful, royal creatures that are still somehow mostly human. Ancient Greek myths, the Roman gods, Tolkien epics, Shakespearean comedies and modern television. They're all the same stories because the characters never change. It's us, at our best and our worst. At our weakest and our most amazing. The most gorgeous and cleverest Fairy Queen, and the ugliest, simplest Pakled grunt.



So I went to France and saw evidence of this magic on the outside of my imagination, standing tall and golden among hundreds of vicious stone spikes. A beautiful, dangerous object in a place far from where I was born. The mist didn't prevent me from leaving the valley but the valley stayed with me all the same, with the sensation of standing at the edge of legends, just beside where amazing things could happen. Things that might prove that I'm a hero or a coward. Trickery that could display the workings of my heart, good or evil, and show my true nature as clearly as a forehead ridge or pointy ears.

Sometimes I think we're lucky that all this can happen in our imaginations and we never have to face up to it in the real world. And sometimes I think I'd appreciate the clarity.