I was half drunk under a full moon basking naked in the cool summer winds and swaying to the rhythms of the treetops dancing in the breeze.

When I drink just the right amount, not too little and not too much, I find myself gratefully slipping the bonds of the modern world and painful memories, back inexorably toward my ancient pagan roots. And if I find myself standing in a fragrant wood, caressed gently by the summer-moist air beneath a full and robust moon being softly tickled by the feathery touch of wispy clouds, I will raise my head upward and speak to ancient gods.

I began to spin, as I always do, staring at the evening sky, until the stars become a brilliant set of circular trails dancing in my vision. I shouted out the chants my father taught me. The dizziness began and I slumped to the ground, the world still twirling around me. I collapsed in exhaustion. A voice called to me from within the wood.

"I have not heard the ancient tongue in many years. Stand, so I might see you clearer."

I was startled and quickly slipped on my pants. I looked around, but no one was to be seen. A crackling sound, like dry leaves and twigs being crushed underfoot, became louder. And then he emerged from the shadowy darkness of the forest into the edge of my clearing, bathed in the light of the full moon.

He stood nearly my height, a muscular chest and arms, tattooed in unknown script. Below the waist he was fully covered in fur with the legs of a goat, cloven hooves and all. His face seemed mischievous, a wry smile within his goatee, and sparkling ice-blue eyes. Curly locks crowned his head, with two curved horns, curled one and a half full rotations, framing his face in the moonlight.

"You are a faun, a satyr!" I exclaimed, both excited and frightened at the same time.

"I have been called many things. I ask again, how is it that you chant the ancient tongue?" he asked, still smiling.

"They are words my father taught me, and his father before him. I do not know what they mean." I answered honestly.

"It is a chant of lamentation, a plea into the night. It speaks of despair and loss. But it can only summon the forest spirits if it is genuine and true. You reek of misery."

I was stunned into silence. He was not incorrect, my life was haunted and dark. I wore a mask of simple happiness to all those people that I knew. I did not seek to burden them with my despair. It has been that way since the war.

I was overwhelmed and asked the faun, "You say it is a plea. Is that plea ever answered?"

"That is why I am here, to see if your prayer will be answered. It is the old way, an incantation under the satyr's moon. If you speak your true desires three times from your heart, your boon may well be granted."

"Let me speak them then," I volunteered.

"No," the faun protested, "You must answer my questions and I will decide."

"How will you help me if I succeed?"

"You will be happy."

"Ask your questions then, I am ready."

He stepped fully into the clearing and walked to a fallen moss-covered log. He stretched his arms and twisted his head several times before seating himself. The faun kept his eyes firmly planted on me as he reached into a bag suspended from a belt that was wrapped around his waist and pulled out a wooden flute.

He began to play. The notes were bright, yet alien, sounding like the tinkling of broken glass or of a wind chime fluttering in the breeze. It was mesmerizing and beautiful. All the while, he stared at me with a cheerful, yet intense gaze. When he was done he placed the flute onto his lap and spoke.

"Let us begin. What is your sadness?"

Where would I begin? I have basked in sorrow for so long, anguish upon anguish. It would need to be the seed that sprouted this misery in me.

"The war. It was the war that devoured what joy I had. More death than any should see. Friends lost, innocents killed, yet here I stand unscathed. I was made a killer and I did not object."

The satyr shifted his gaze towards the moon and responded almost wistfully, "I was like you once. I still hear the choruses of dying warriors and remember the stink of death. There they lay and only I still standing."

"I think of it each night," I continued, "it is all I ever dream of. I am thrown back into that war each time a car backfires or I hear the distant roar of rolling thunder."

"So then, what is it you desire?" The satyr asked, retrieving his flute from his lap and bringing it to his lips.

A tear came to my eye as I answered, "Peace, I desire peace. To sleep through the night dreaming of butterflies instead of maggots. To revel in the glory of a summer storm instead of jumping in fear. To remember my friends as they were when they lived, rather than how they died. I desire peace."

"That's one!" The faun exclaimed, playing a short flourish on his flute, "Now again, What is your sadness?"

The answer revealed itself as I reflected on the years since my return from distant lands. It revealed itself in the trajectory of my life. It revealed itself in my own self worth.

"My life is no longer my own. I no longer have the means or the desire to see a future for myself. I am ruled by others. I would seek work to survive and each of my days was dictated by petty tyrants commanding me as though I were their servant. If I stood up for myself, I would be dismissed and drift from dead end job to dead end job. My landlords hounded me and hope retreated."

The faun's eyes twinkled and he replied softly, "You are chained by despair. You have surrendered to what you believe is fate."

"I see no future beyond today," I replied, basking in my melancholy, "it is as though I am trapped at the bottom of a well with glass walls, staring up at that distant light that I can never reach."

The satyr stood up and began to dance beneath the moon, playing a light jig on his instrument. He circled me again and again, bobbing his head. When he finished playing he approached me and chuckled, asking, "So, you in the glass well, what do you desire?"

"Freedom. I desire freedom from the whims of others. Freedom to have a future. I want to rule my own life."

"That's two!" The satyr gleefully exclaimed. He reseated himself upon the log and ate a few patches of moss. He looked up at me mischievously, "Before we continue I will tell you a short tale."

"Why?"

He looked at me curiously as though I had asked a ridiculous question, "Because I wish to make a point."

"Go on then," I replied.

The satyr took another mouthful of moss and when he had swallowed it, he began, "Long ago and far away there lived a farmer's wife. She had lost her husband to bandits and as a result, she lived in great fear of the outside world. She was pregnant and the village determined to take care of her, bringing food to her modest home each day.

"Her son was born, but she still did not leave her house. She raised him on her own, never stepping outside and never allowing him to, either. The years past and her fear increased. She blocked and sealed all the windows. He grew into a strong young man despite having never left the cottage which had become his entire world.

"One day the young man's mother did not wake up and he found himself all alone. He determined he would step out into the world and begin his life anew. The day he chose for his emancipation was a beautiful summer day, with a bright sun, birds singing, and the sweet smell of wildflowers drifting on the cooling breeze.

"He gathered his courage and stepped outside. He found himself assaulted by the brilliant, blinding sun, ill from the unfamiliar sweet odor of flowers, and frightened by the sounds that infested the land. He quickly re-entered the cottage and never left it again to his dying day."

"That's it?" I asked, "It's not a terribly pleasant tale. What does it mean, what are you trying to say?"

The satyr put his finger to his lips and then pointed at me, "If one is too long in the darkness, the light seems dangerous to him. One may want something, but it may not be what he hopes for," he paused and his face became serious, "Do you still wish to continue?"

I was resolute, "I do."

"Very well, I ask one last time, what is your sadness?"

I thought deeply, dredging through the daily despairs that crush me. I relived the week, a week made special by the fact that it was not special at all. It was a puzzle-piece in a puzzle that was entirely white, each fragment identical, without form or distinction.

"There is no joy in my life," I finally responded, "no glimmer of hope, no reward for my suffering. I walk the streets and everything seems grey and bleak. There is no color, no radiance. Everyday seems like a rainy day locked in a darkened room. My melancholy is like a vengeful living force, pursuing me with a relentless focus."

The satyr approached me until he was directly in front of me. He stared deeply into my eyes, as though inspecting my soul. A grin began to spread over his face. He stepped back.

"So then, I ask again. What is it you desire?"

"Joy in my life. I can't remember what it feels like. It's almost like it's myth. I think I remember once long ago when I was joyful, not always, but from time to time. Was it real or am I imagining it? I hope it is a real thing. I desire joy in my life."

"That is three!" The satyr exclaimed happily, "it is done."

He put the flute to his mouth and began to play frantically. It was a song that seemed familiar, but otherworldly. It seemed as though a dozen musicians were playing as the air became dense with notes.

The faun began to dance in a hopping motion towards me, all the while blowing into his instrument. He began to circle me, slowly at first, then quicker and quicker. The music engulfed me, then filled every part of me. I tried keeping myself focused on the satyr, spinning as he circled. Dizziness overcame me and I crumbled to my knees. Still, he played on, louder and louder till he reached a crescendo that snapped me momentarily to full awareness.

He paused and then began to play again, softly this time, in a slow seductive melody. My head began to sway in rhythm to the tune. My eyelids became heavy and consciousness slowly slipped away. I fell, fully flat, to the ground.

My mind was invaded by dreams and visions. Scenes from life that I had been striving to forget, appeared, only to dissolve into mist. Memories I never had played like an opera in my head. I felt a great, yet unfamiliar presence looking over me. A feeling of calm cloaked me and then there was only blackness.

It was light when I awakened. The sun was high in the sky and I felt its welcome warmth on my skin. My mind still felt muddled, but somehow lighter. Was all that happened the night before a dream brought on by alcohol and imagination?

My vision was still blurry, but I could make out a deer near where I lay. To my surprise, it approached unafraid. It stood above me, looking down, then nuzzled me gently on the forehead before wandering off.

My head began to clear. I didn't feel any urgency to return to my small apartment. I yawned and stretched my arms. I felt an itch on my scalp and went to scratch it. My motion was  impeded by something that should not have been there. Two horns spiraled from the side of my head. In panic, I stood and immediately stumbled. Looking down I could see my pants, oddly angled and constraining. Where my feet should have been, two cloven hooves protruded from my pant's legs.

As the reality of my situation dawned on me, I remembered the satyr's words, "I was like you once."

I should have felt horror, but I felt peace. I should have felt trapped by this strange body, but I felt freedom. I was overcome by emotion and began to cry, but not tears of sorrow, they were tears of joy.

I removed my pants and admired my fur-covered legs. The woods looked inviting and I entered them blissfully. I allowed myself one last glance over my shoulder to the life I was leaving behind. There was no regret. A new purpose seemed to germinate in my being. I would help those whose misery was destroying them.

I felt free of all despair and concern. Well, there was one concern. I wondered where I would find a flute.

**Note**
PTSD is  serious condition that can be successfully treated. Don't let it steal your life. Recovery is possible and even likely with proper treatment. I know this from personal experience. To get the help you need check out:
www.ptsd.va.gov