You have entered the realm of a writer.

Welcome to A Writer's Landscape!

You have entered the realm of my mind where words play with the fabric of our existence. This is the map of my imagination: the very foundations of inspiration, musing, and thought splayed for your wandering eyes. Dive deep into the tides of these forces and experience my reality, my fantasy, my world; and if you should be so inclined, share your words with this land.

Peace and Love!

J Hart F

Thursday, December 30, 2010

How Sure of the Verse

The soft existence of silent nights sweeps calmly down the effervescent cloudless sky, reaching idly for a waiting soul. It cares not for the temperament of drifting snow or bitter winds; however chilled the heart may feel without the warmth of sunlight's guiding love, this livelihood charges ahead with a sweet remorse dampened with inner fire. To act on the imperceptible symbols prevailing throughout the Verse, visible peripherally, striking like butterfly wings, shouting like loving whispers over the shoulder, is to realize deja vu's premonitions as truth and fate.

Then only time remains as the moving factor of destiny's admittance to the foreground of reality. No happenstance of imagination changes the undulating form love takes in a lifespan. If ever the waves cease, the floor becomes an unbearable hardening foothold to the wanton play within the relationship of darkened moods, hidden feelings, and mistrusted insecurities. Such amounts of harsh winds shake the crust bearing the weight of undeserved, loveless, distant touches through eyes pierced with truisms.

Love is what the heart knows.

Love is selflessness.

Love is undeniable.

What of it then? What of love is challenged when the night's sky gleams without stars, hidden away from the moon's eye, broken apart from the sun's brilliant glow? The black fidelity permeating sight beyond misunderstanding is a slate untouched by Light. A starting point, no longer considered death, destruction, doom, despair... A stepping stone imprinted with unaccustomed awareness to the finality of changing emotions. Black is not the bearer of moods known only to the mourning. Let the darkened arena grow again with lush attitude and brilliant vivacity; wherever truth reigns in golden halls and delicate ornament.

Change is but the better part of seasons where chapters are written as a cyclical permanence. The next question is of the topic within the next chapter. Does it continue as before? Or does it rise again with creative endeavors only the Verse knows?

Will my hand turn that page and read ever on and on?

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Coming to an End

As this Road goes ever on, the shades of light pale to darkness as the wandering vision claims the surfaces of my life. The cards turn, the moon rises, the stars shine in the canvas of imagination; yet I am stuck among the currents of invisible strings pulled by the Crone. I may fly, I may swim, I may build, I may burn... But I do not revert to the state of preexistence within the limitations of the Earth. Here under the skies of luminous powers insignificance steals away my heart. With little hands circling the face, and sands falling to their final resting place, I fear the undying dreams will escape my grasp if I deny the rush of life. Admitting the touch of Her arms as an undeniable end to the Road is but an inescapable truth to the circumstances of this world, and the shadows are but her foreshadowing of the eternal night. So why waste the moments counting the grain as it passes through the eye to the impossible heap? Action, reaction, determination: bounds leapt in single strides with the courage of the Sun and the peace of the Moon.

Why aren't my feet taking these trodden steps of inevitability when my heart sees the indisputable verity of written words?

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Days and Nights Alone

I feel alone...

Yet, I know this very statement is inaccurate. I am an integral part of a large network of friends and family whose whims shift in minuscule moments in order to accommodate the ones they love and ensure secured levels of happiness. By saying "I feel alone" doesn't mean I am unhappy in anyway... necessarily. There are moments when being alone, feeling alone, and acting alone is part of a joyous instance where my ambitions are the only concern in my life. Reality usually disturbs these blissful junctures. Furthermore, the feeling of loneliness surpasses the earthly experience and penetrates deep into my spiritual and ethereal existence. I know this is absurd because the Powers that Be are ever with us. I have felt a guiding hand, and I feel its presence is constantly providing examples of the path I am currently traveling. As of right  now... Three specific instances surfaced within the past two days with such clarity and poignant relevance that I truly understand the conditions the Powers that Be work within.

This has undoubtedly led me to examine where my loneliness comes from. It is not the house I've been in for the past week, with its dark corners and quiet whispers tantalizing my senses and shifting my schedule on many different levels. It's not due to the holidays because I have plenty of friends and family to surround me. It certainly isn't the lack of relationship, though the slight amount of time is unfortunately making it harder to solidify emotions.

My loneliness comes from revelations about my identity. Very few people even know about these ideas I'm struggling with. They are concepts encircling personality, heritage, ambitions, and desires. Basically, these ideas are about who I am, where I come from, who and what I want to be, and what I truly desire. I feel like every portion discussed herein has shifted on some level; therefore making me a different person than I was a few months ago. I can even pinpoint the defining moment which started the transference. It happened during an emotional discussion about ethnicity where I realized I am a highly specialized demographic which is neglected because it doesn't fit into the stereotypical ideology of the Hispanic culture, which has a multifaceted array of subcultures. Identity shifts seem to have the staggering effect of making someone feel alone.

I know I'm not alone, but this doesn't address my internal struggle. I'm fighting to be me. I'm fighting to be who I was. I'm admitting that I'm not who I thought I was, and seeing that I'm not on the path to where I thought I would be. I feel selfish. I feel insecure (which is an oddity). I lack motivation to change and fear remaining in the comfort of an outdated identity. Thus I write.

Perhaps the time has truly come for me to find the Road that goes ever on and on, and leave this door behind. Seek mountains. Find the beauty of life again from within myself. What's the worse that could happen? I'd end up back where I started? I'm already there...

Monday, December 27, 2010

The Christmas Spirit

Sing to me in tunes abound
of love where hearts are lost, not found,
And merry ways besmirch a frown
tries so hard to life from down --

Hark, no angel comes tonight!
The sodden dripping of tears' flight
to ground below a treacherous sigh
speaks only of illusioned high.

Truth beguiles the loneli-less heart.
It softly begs for winds to part
those whose dreams are well and far
below the circumstantial par.

At eves of joyous giving:
Expectations dash hopeful living,
the bulges concur over thin.
Despised likeness grow within.

All I want is truth alone
which cannot be dispensed on phone
before or after jealous days
when gaiety presents a haze.

This heart has shattered far within
and feels about to commit a sin:
the words of truth that must be told
will break another from this mold.

The Great Question.

The Goddess Cher, as there are many goddesses, asked me today: "Do you believe in life after love?"

I said yes...

Now what?

Thursday, December 23, 2010

The Changed Earth (Part 15)

Ethan stood shivering in the fog, unwilling to warm himself despite his obvious ability. This night wasn't the night for comfort. Winter was due to settle in; and even with the persistent clouds the temperature was getting noticeably cooler. The change was invigorating! Gaia and Her seasons signified life, rebirth; and though the nuclear winter grew ominously chill in everyone's hearts, the cold of true winter made Ethan hope the signs he saw everywhere were true. With the presence of Gaia permanently imbued in his body, Ethan understood the vast history of improbability experienced on Earth.

However, Ethan's discomfort wasn't worry over the survival of his home. this night, soaked in silent reverie, was a rare celestial alignment, the same one present at Ethan's birth. He may not be able to see it, but he felt it coming. A different power radiated from the stars beyond the gray barrier outside the protective sphere, and the combination of the planets in this cadence harmonized with Ethan and his bloodline. This caused the unease and rather than enjoy the secure warmth of the village between the mountains, looking out over hills of green grass and jubilant trees, he needed a quiet, cold place to keep him on his guard. Familial ties ran deeper than the inherent differences between the Sun and Earth. With these ties Ethan understood what Charles felt in the cosmos since his power so undifferentiated itself with that of the Sun. Every major fluctuation in gravitation due to spatial anomalies and coincidences, such as the celestial alignment which was already imprinted in his blood, would flare as signals of power and possibility.

Ethan feared Charles would use this night to his own benefit.

The fog danced and swirled mystically just beyond Ethan's reach. Its subtle sting wisped across his cheek and neck. Every exhalation blended into the gray mists and disappeared into a unity only the air provided with itself. Ethan stood at the boundary between protected atmosphere and toxic fumes. It was hard for him to believe, on a scientific level, how such a malleable structure could transform impurity into amicable substances. Yet, his very existence and survival depended on that magical shield, a magical shield he felt and understood on a more explicit manner than any scientific reasoning could derive. There, at the boundary between the two worlds, Ethan stood in the midst of beautiful fog transform into deadly fog and back again.

Charles' face appeared in the fog for a split second. His blond hair shimmered red and his eyes were black as coal with lines of red magma radiating from the iris. His skin shown beautifully, as radiant as the pure brightness of the sun. The image sparked for a second, revealing the self-assured smile before it vanished behind another billowing of fog.

It took but a mere second to protect himself. Ethan's charms were whispered in his mindscape faster than his body could ever hope to manifest the same conjurations. And in that second, Charles appeared within the protective shield, mere meters away from Ethan.

Neither spoke. There eyes said enough.

Ethan waited for a long while, his body on the verge of battle while his mind reached out silently into the air. His breathing had nearly stopped, slowing to a smooth, trancelike rhythm.

Charles broke the silence. His voice had transformed since their battle. It sounded more pure, powerful, and warm. Ethan knew better. "I've found you, my brother."

"I'm sure it has taken much of your time."

"Indeed. Happy Birthday, Diodoros."

Ethan's spine shivered. "It is not my Birthday."

His smile made the air feel like morning. "Ah, but on such grand cosmic terms, a year is but a second; while the transition and movements of the universe take much longer to replicate the same patterns on wide scales. Why should today not be your Birthday?"

"What is it you came here for, Charles."

"Is it too much to simply desire wishing you a pleasant celebration of such a rare event as your third Birthday?" His laugh felt dry and cracked. Charles looked down at the ground where his feet were starting to char the earth. "Hmm... A hazard of my essence, unfortunately. You'll have to fix this once I've gone."

"Why are you here?"

All of Charles' agreeability disappeared in an instant. "To let you know this isn't over. It may have taken me this long to find you, but next time... I may not be alone. You see... I've learned a lot in the past months. There has always been so much more than what dad taught us. There's so much more that you still need to learn." His foot moved, shoulders relaxed, hands clasped themselves behind his back.

Ethan remained watchful, patient, silent.

"Since it's your Birthday and all... I'd like to give you one more chance to come join me. You don't even have to bring me a sacrifice to prove your... loyalty..." Charles paused as he paced the silence. "I think... Yes, I think I will be sad once I've killed you. I don't want to have to deal with that..."

"What an imposition."

Charles smiled wryly. "Yes. It would seem to be so. Well... I shall leave you, peaceably this time. The offer stands until I find you guys again, at which time..."

He didn't even turn to offer his face. No smile, nor eye contact, gave warning of his departure. A flash of light so brilliant shot through the air, ripping apart the shield near Ethan. Noxious fumes began to fall, no longer held back by the near-invisible barrier. With quick reflexes, even without the use of his eyes, Ethan felt out with his energy and reconstructed the forcefield before too much of the invasive toxins could pass into the delicate atmosphere. What did find its way through went straight for Ethan.

He couldn't see the burning air, but he felt it enter his lungs. He coughed for a short while, unaware of the running footsteps rushing across the hills.

"Elder Adair!" Nick yelled out. "Are you alright? Elder Adair?"

Between coughs, "I'm fine. Thank you."

"What happened?" Alexis asked a little too impatiently.

As Ethan recovered, he managed to sit down and relax slightly while probing his chest to make sure the fumes hadn't permanently damaged his old body. "Charles Sadhin has found us. We need to be ready to leave by nightfall. He may not even give us that long so we must be ready to defend ourselves."

"Well... that took him long enough. He must have had a stroke of luck finding us after all this time." Alexis stood up and made to go back.

Ethan shook his head. "It was no stroke of luck. I knew he would take advantage of tonight."

"What's tonight?" Nick asked.

Alexis losed her eyes and turned around. "It's the alignment of all the planets. You told me about this the last time it happened. You were able to locate Charles back then and discovered he was living in South America at the time... I should have remembered."

Nick looked between them. "Is that how he found you?"

Ethan nodded. "And I fear the alignment's power isn't even at its fullest yet. I will have to remain here until it is completely over." He looked directly at Alexis even though she wasn't looking anywhere on the corporeal realm. "You will need to protect everyone, lead them in my stead. Antoni should go, but I'll understand if he wishes to stay and fight. I have a feeling he'll do no less than work to protect me."

"I'm staying too."

"I can't make you leave, after all. You are trained now. There is little else I can teach you that isn't best learned through experience."

Alexis opened her eyes. "Antoni and the others are waking the village. We'll be ready before sunset and well on our way to the next location. I trust you'll be able to find us."

"Of course. Gaia will guide me."

((To Chad. Thank you.))

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Forest of Mending Via Dolorosa

Revelations pouring through tears unveil the clouded center of my heart. These thoughts travel, ticking like Time's persistent hands which guide inevitability to its indeterminate resolutions, and beckon rain amongst the myriad of trees wrapping through sodden visions. Leaves whip past my cheek, stinging as they opened my skin to administer the tears upon the wounds bound in my blood. Step by step I'm drawn, through the branches clinging to my clothes, toward a glade with perfect views to the skies above where truth must reign in some fashion to our kind. I can feel Time: careless, relentless, brutal, honest. It suffocates me through this journey. It tells me of myself, where truth stings love even as I fight to rectify the balance of the woods. It tells me the darkness is closing the past, forcing me to acknowledge the undeniable light of the sun --

-- And I step into the glade, immediately looking to the heavens, ignoring the seams of blood stinging in the cool breeze. She looks down upon me, bright among the stars guiding my intuition. The whispers She says are gentle and warm, despite the biting air, and I hear them clearly as if spoken by my ear from over my shoulder. The path of Change goes ever On and On. Stagnation and the Comfort therein are folly. My heart pounds painfully, catching my breath as more tears crest my eyelids. The words are tonic to the confusion shading the paths leading away from the glade and they open to reveal similar ends:

The Wall.

It stands there with proud vigor: treacherous, dismaying, deathly. There's no way to climb over it without injury to the soul. Thorns upon thorns mar every handhold and the voice of challenge blasts downward from the extreme heights. This is where the path has led me, and I fear what remains on the other side even with Her blessings and encouragement. Challenge has stopped me dead in my tracks, just on the outskirts of my forest facing a barrier of ultimate decisions. Move onward and I change forever. Stay in the wood and comfort consumes me with the intensity of boredom. It's so plain what must be done. And yet I cannot bring myself to take the appropriate measures.

Alas, my continuation is stagnant for the moments. Herein is my heart. crackling with the truth which desires the sky.

Monday, December 13, 2010

The Dancing Lights of Christmas

The dancing lights wave in the dark breeze of a winters eve. They wink in jubilant defiance of the thrashing branches as they cling desperately to their charge’s desire. Though the light shines in happiness, symbolizing the hope and love that saviors’ exude for their people, all I can see is the irony of harsh winds bending branches in chaotic rhythms on a seemingly beautiful tree. It’s Christmas, after all, and I can’t help equating my own juxtaposed religious views with the light’s torment. Yet, it’s beautiful to watch them dance in the dark.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Dear Josh

Dear Josh;

Is it not clear what’s going on? It’s almost like an identity within moments conceived of simple desires and jealous regulations bewildering the want to break away from the molds cast inside unbelievably delicate emotions. You there as I am here. We are but together and distant. Simple words are sheltering what we truly believe in a hope for simple minded queries toward each other. When will one or the other of us ask that simple question or offer that initial gesture? Fortunately I believe it will be myself to myself, an odd perception of what happens in a moment before action. As much as I desire I fear what I may offer and what it could determine between myself and you. Yet I wonder if we are but one and the same, our glances and smiles and words are so similar and that’s the reason behind such delay in acquaintance with the Moment. For a timid introduction must begin with myself and move outward in a cyclical manner in hopes you’ll question the most important possibility. Then, perhaps, pure honesty can avail. Only “perhaps” because I fear telling all truths behind my own facade, as I fear the truths you’ll divulge in return. That’s part of the fun, the mystery in your eyes, my eyes, our breaths and motions; how we play it cool like nothing really descends beyond greetings. How shallow we have been with each other, and yet I want so much more! I want the truth, the reality behind the imagination played out in my head of a future indeterminately, infinitesimally, chaotically bright. And thus I welcome you into life, into this realm of outright acceptance and beleaguered love, however they have form and function between us. A new chapter in this book has undeniably opened and I love adventures written upon the white. Are we a stain upon that page? Let’s hope the words take us where we desire.

In hopeful discourse,


Saturday, December 4, 2010

Determining The Heart's Muse

Stepping lightly by cloudy airs
the whiteness falls to certain doom
like glancing eyes with shadowed sights
on beauty desired beyond the right;
With kingly rule of determined heirs
no spade of hearts controls the room
where sunny laughs brighten eyes
beyond the shelter of known lies.

But the blanket seems gentle enough
where snow's falling grace's cease
to cover what is believed in love
where clarity did fail to shove
a delicate heart firmly in the rough
to a peaceful land with understanding ease
that answered the benign quest
of heartaches' undifferentiable jest.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Takes Two to Talk

“Hello Julia.”

“Good morning Mo! How was your night last night?”

“All and well. Yours?”

“Oh, you know. Boring, nothing to do…I love your hair. You should wear it down more often.”

“Thank you. It’s getting long though. That’s why I wear it up all the time.”

“Oh! Don’t. It’s so nice… Ok then… How’s your husband? Still not understanding?”

“Yes! He sees this as a curse, not a blessing of trust and honor. I truly don’t think he’ll ever understand. To him, I’m just putting all of my love thought time… energy… everything to our task here. I think he’s thinking about leaving me.”

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry… Is there anything I can do?”

“No, but thank you.”

“So you guy shad another fight last night, huh?”

“Uh-huh. I’m just glad the kids were out… How’s your fiancée?”

“Heh… You know. Still the same. Moody, upset, angry. Pretty similar to your husband actually.”

“Still doesn’t appreciate what he has, does he?”

“I wouldn’t say th-“

“Come now, Julia.”

“…Ok, I guess you could say that. I wouldn’t… I don’t know. I love him, he loves me…yet I feel like he doesn’t understand me, my commitments, my desires. He’s trying to make me into who he feels I should be.”

“He’s always been doing that, Julia. You need to realize that fully and truly. Make a change and do it for you. Stop putting him before you.”

“…Look at the sunrise. Gah- it’s beautiful today. I love that color of red, so deep and bright, and with the sky behind it; blue as sapphire and bright with the streaks from the sun. Don’t you think its gorgeous?”

“It’s ok. It seems so similar to all the others. Sunrises never seem special to me. Besides, we’ve seen several thousand at this point.”

“But they can be magnificent and elegant just like this one! It has just the right amount of clouds, capturing the light of the sun and reflecting it back to the earth. People are inspired by dawns like this one, they just aren’t awake for them.”

“That’s one thing I miss, sleeping in. I forgot what that was like. Well, no time to waste, shall we get started?”

“I suppose we should. You never know what’s going to happen to the Dam.”

“Just hope we don’t have an incident like a few years ago when the Tartarusians attacked us shortly after sunrise.”

“They almost brok the Dam. That was the closest anyone ever came to releasing the waters of Thanatos.”


“He-heh. At least we know to expect attacks early in the morning now. They use to only come at night.”

“Things were easier back then … The ground here is really soft.”

“Look, the grass is dying too. Don’t want the waters getting out. Come on!”

“Hey… I’ve been wondering, for a while, why were we picked to do this?”

“Look, there’s a break.”

“I mean… out of everyone who has ever lived, why were we chosen? So many people might be better at this than us.”

“Some of the ground must have slipped into the water. Put your hand there.”

“What if we wanted to do something else? Right here?”


“Mo, are you listening?”

“Yeah. Just a sec… There. All better. The sun should dry what little water got out. The grass will grow again. What was the question again?”

“Why us?”

“Because they knew we would hold to our promise. We know commitment because we know how important our word is.”

“I never really gave my word. I accepted that this was where I was needed to help out, and went with it. I didn’t feel like I had much choice.”

“You had a choice, just like I had one.”

“Are you sure?”

“… Of course. I wouldn’t still be here if I hadn’t had the choice to do this. Besides, it’s an honor to guard the waters of Thanatos and its Dam… You’ve been listening to your fiancée too much!”

“No. I haven’t.”

“Well, you sound like my husband.”

“What was that?”

“…I don’t know. Which way was it?”

“Don’t know. I’ll go this way and check it out.”

“I’ll go this way.”


“There you are! I was starting to get worried. Did you find anything? You look alright at least.”

“Yeah. It was a lost child. Couldn’t find his way… Hohh- had to show him the way off the Dam… He got pretty close to the water.”

“Wonder how it got in?”

“Lets hope he doesn’t do that again. His eyes were glued to the water. It was weird, as if he knew what the water did and couldn’t stop himself from going into ti. Glad I got there when I did.”

“I found another dead spot of grass, and a tree that appears to have sucked up a lot of the waters that seeped into the grass.”

“Oh… How far down?”

“About half way, not too far. Lets go.”

“…I wonder if there were any before us.”

“There must have been. But we only have to worry about us… Why are you being so speculative today? It’s not like you.”

“Just been thinking a lot. I’ve been wondering if I’ll ever get to do what I want to do.”

“But you wanted to help here.”

“You know what I mean. My dreams, aspirations. I don’t want to be on the Dam of Life forever. I want to make a difference.”

“This is making a difference! Since we’ve been here, there hasn’t been a break-out of plague or mass deaths. We’re making a huge difference!”

“It’s not the sort of difference I want to make. Don’t get me wrong, saving lives is great and all…but look at what that has done. More people creating more problems, all the while polluting and pretending there’s no practical way to prevent the damage they wreak. Soon, there’ll be too many leaks to stop and the whole dam will lose its life. This green will turn to grey, and eventually white, and the world will be cold as death.”

“Here’s the Tree.”

“Look at it. The bark is already turning grey. The change is happening so fast sometimes!”

“Stop it! Stop being so gloomy. It’s still a beautiful day, and we have a task here to do. Put your hand here real quick and I’ll fix the leak.”



“There, that should hold for now.”

“Oh, come now… Look at you… Do you think you, of all the people left in the world, can make a difference on that scale?”

“You’ve seen the affect of the leak here. One stream of the water and the whole of that tree withered. And but two people fixed the issue, and now there’s hope… Yes, hope…that this spot of land will survive.”

“How do you intend to do this?”

“I’ve had dreams. We’ve talked about them before. Don’t you remember?”

“Those clouds are very beautiful now. So full and light. Look how they float above everything else… A little high for my taste.”

“You have always been a dear friend to me.”

“And so much more we might’ve been.”

“Shall we go this way now? Both ends have been explored.”

“Jules… What? I know you prefer it to Julia. Don’t look at me like that… Besides you still need to make sure the Gods aren’t worried about what you want.”

“Thank you, Mo.”

“Where will you go first? I mean…what will you do first?”

“Go back to school. I have to catch up with the times. Look-“

“-another spot.”

“…I’m sure you’ll do fine. You’ve always had so much ingenuity about you. And you do keep up with the world. Perhaps you will make the difference you want… you need… we need.”

“Hopefully it’ll make a difference here too, and you’ll have it so easy.”


“Then again…it may not make any difference at all. Heh- how funny that would be.”

“It could be time for the Dam of Life to survive on its own.”

“Then your honor and commitment would be fulfilled.”

“Someone’s coming.”

“I think They’re coming.”

“…Heh- good luck, Jules.”

“…Thank you, Margot… Find your dream and happiness for me.”

“I’ll try. Go, talk to Them. It’s almost evening. I can handle the Dam myself the rest of this day. Go… go already!”


“Hello Julia!”

“Good morning Mo! How have you been? It’s been so long.”

“Good. I’ve been very good… You’ve aged.”

“Yes. Away from the Grace of the Gods, time catches up with you. What are you doing out here?”


“…For what?”

“…My sunrise…”

Sinusoidal Love

Oscillation deepens and arises without expectations, in resonance with the unbelievable and indeterminate existence of love. A continuous smiling, frowning, slanting, curving, transient deliverance of emotional instability within the ever-periodical complications of the equilibrium between the constant resonance frequencies of two components. The worry is of damping, of constantly diminishing ‘til the static-existent equipoise allows new sources of oscillation to appear away, apart, and against the original functioning love. This is desired, wanted, needed in order for fulfillment in life; love’s exponential fantasy falls in ruinous turns further down the line, like star crossed lovers doomed to perish within days of meeting. Thus the sinusoidal experience of hills and valleys, ever repeating until the moment of Euler's appearance changing the consistency of repetition to the slow diminished capacity of the curve's oscillations. A void such as this, where ground is covered under the frequency throughout the inherit time of love's movements, must be filled with something. A new graph of love, a new existence of oscillation, a new sinusoidal pattern of rise and fall in equal measure. We have all felt it. We all know of its curses and blessings. The only remaining factor is what to place in the depended variable to create a viable solution to the desires and aspirations of one's heart?

Monday, November 15, 2010

The Giddiness of Love's First Glances

Was it not a gentle eye to be sought
where canvas of love's truth is wrought
and in a counted sequence makes
the footsteps' course that hearts do take?
There he comes in swaggerous form
belying confidence through quiet horns;
trumpetting praise in crystalled eye
perceived the harshest in the night
and most at peace by brightest moon
whose rays we mirror in fragile swoons.
For shame do we allow our hearts to feel
the darkest part of night before appeal
in words that quest beyond the sigh,
but not, we pray, receive a nigh.
Alas, walk on 'til gentle speaks
of deeper thoughts that make us weak
without the last begotten phrases
to loves' ever forgotten hazes.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Winter is Come

Summer's breath goes West
As air pushes Eastward still.
Land turns snowy white.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Love as Dark Matter

The ever present enigma of swirling masses twists unforgivingly through the emptiness of the verse, sucking away meaning within the limits of its event horizon. Once inside the borderland, what happens to the self disciplined existence of the present if laws are shattered beyond repair? Spiraling into a chaos of disbelief along with every physical fiber condensing into a singularity of immense proportions and imagination causes enchanting equations of improbability of which dreams are barely conceived. A pulse quickens as the mind numbs when thinking of such unrealistic circumstances, even when the very enigma traverses the expanses of the next frontier.

Isn’t it here now? Aren’t we caught in the hole sucking away all laws already? Love has its entangling web stretching into and out of each soul in indeterminate forms. If caught, the subject of love’s illusion shades every aspect surrounding the victim’s life. All fairness diminishes into the chasm and existence sits back to the emotions swirling around the imaginary boundary between the two spirits caught by the inexplicable magnitude drawing them together; and may the powers that be forbid such numbers to grow beyond a duality. Matter and gravity condensing into a single point presupposing attraction of adoration breaks conditions imposed by the regulations of life, creating an event horizon of peril.

Once created, the brink of love lays seeds forevermore even if disillusionment wipes the slate clear of all colors. The pulse still strengthens when the object is mentioned. The mind still feels when a name is realized. The stomach fills with giddiness when their fragrance appears out of no-where. No amount of hatred overturns what once controlled the essence of a heart’s content. The pull of the hole can never be broken and delicate balances exist ever after --

Leaving even the strongest of will torn asunder by the violent intricacies of love. Herein does my world lie. The shades of day transcending to night, or the colorful dawn of the early morn, bewilder the progression of day to day affairs when others interpose personalities along the way. Several have I encountered, and their vortexes have begun the undeniable draw upon the strings already spoken for. I cannot deny the beauty of that peril, nor the adventurous intrigue they offer even when I cannot answer their unveiled aspirations; of which they suppose are hidden well enough. To what do I give reason for the attraction felt from me to their inner essence? Perhaps that is the question that should be answered, for the black hole I feel must reciprocate in some manner toward their draw, as black matter inevitably balances itself in a verse of indeterminate size.

And thus, I’m left unanswered. The feeling of falling even when claimed persists despite my recollection of the undeniable, if I were attempting to deny. I swirl in a delicate dance of shadows in a universe of light, skirting the event horizons of love’s cunning intent.

Monday, November 8, 2010


"I will not deny... I will not deny... I will not deny..."

He sat with his eyes closed, legs crossed, and palms together. The room sat barren around him, its cold walls lifting higher than the light of the candle could penetrate. Something about the darkness of the corners gave the sense of infinity within the enclosed space. The chanting continued.

"I know the truth... I know the truth... I know the truth..."

The nameless, robed in a fraying grey suit, remained motionless in the center of the room: arms before him in a closed oval, knees hovering next to the candle whose body never changed or dripped, face as serene as the limitless ceiling. His demeanor, aside from the persistence of his sayings, emitted power of sorts. Yet, the power was hampered by his will, clung near his body only and wound tightly to a specific purpose.

"There is only now... There is only now... There is only now..."

Powerful words sheered through the emptiness and the flame danced a little more wildly. The man pulled apart his hands and instantly the flame ceased its attempted flickering. The subdued light pierced cleanly to his face, brightening the pale features immune to time. He opened his eyes: pale grey rimmed with whitest white. The air grew colder.

"No one can stop life... No one can stop life... No one can stop life..."

The flame before him grew in intensity, illuminating every inch of the room from floor to ceiling. The depth of the darkness vanished in but a moment and the grey walls became yellow. A smile creased his gentle face.

"Love is the Ether... Love is the Ether... Love is the Ether..."

The light changed to red and the warmth of his truth spilled forth from his body. All the remaining chill from before vanished and the walls became transparent, revealing the endless expanses of the universe in twinkling eyes eons away from his fortitude of solitude. With his essence, he pushed the warmth into the vastness, the emptiness, the loneliness until all he mustered dissipated into the cold, dark, solid room again.

His smile waned with tiredness. The pressure of darkness closed in around him again. He closed his eyes. The flame came back to life with struggling breaths of its own.

"I will not deny... I will not deny... I will not deny..."

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Elements of Choices

Sunless setting in the west
Darkened skies awakening eastward
Reddened southern ways shout
To dirty northern stubbornness,
Of which chanting strengthens
Tears dropping from ocean's heart
Allowing wind's calloused sigh to
Warp the fiery passion searing
Landscapes of the Earth.

My Earth is mountainous struggles,
trembling beneath the watery hearts
of discontinuous aspirations
hoping for a reviving breath.
Circles of circles, three by three...
Till next moment of tremulous steps
the awakening enlivens my lips
to kiss hello, goodbye, to myself.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Finding an End

I wish the end was as clear as a novel where turning a page proves the finality of a period. Unfortunately, life doesn't grant such simplicity. A candle's flame, dancing in fickle illumination and warmth, can disappear at any moment and suddenly never work again. Even popular television shows aren't guaranteed a solidified ending.

What about things that really matter then?

Life itself is too deep to really try to find an ending. Who truly knows when life ends? Sure, the beating of a heart and intake of breath are classic symbols of sustained living. Neurons firing in the brain, still causing the eyes to take in the very last images of the world, is possibly a better scientific marker of life. Even so, no-one can logically determine what happens to our experience after our bodies die (if there even is an experience of 'living' after death...). This isn't what concerns me, though. This topic is far to philosophical for me to tackle.

The end I'm finding is a chapter of my life. I feel it coming. I understand the significance. I notice the symbols swirling around in mystical illusions so near yet buried from my perception. This chapter has no pages. There are no words describing the moving of time and shifting of my world. Only the arbitrary emotions, whimsical and fleeting, carry the weight of this end.

What's ending?

Honestly I don't know. Then what is changing?

Life. I'm understanding my desires on a deeper level day by day. I'm discovering motivation, ambition, and pride. I feel and comprehend a jealousy for freedom I didn't know I had. I know how to be happy, even when I'm not. (The difference for this was a matter of acting and suppressing. Now I truly am happy when I want to be.) I'm harboring a better sense of kinship with my loved ones and finally seeing who truly is friend. But I also feel shifts in relationships because of this. I'm wondering if these tumultuous emotions are playing too deeply when their existence should persist only topically.

I have fear for this type of change. I'm afraid of this ending, of this beginning. The steps that come are heavy... and good... Which pace will I take to get to the next chapter? And with whom do I discuss? My head? Heart? Soul? Or someone entirely different, unbiased, and detached?

I talk to words, and search inside their meaning. I see their intricate worship and fend off my decay. Perhaps I will see something soon in the lyrics of my life. Look forward to it, and help me research.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Beautiful Reverie

Awaking to a world of illusion:

The sky shimmers to the cadence of hearts: beating in, beating out. The rhythmic procession shatters the gentle clouds hanging below the fading lightness. The sun hangs ominously bright at zenith, the moon lithely winks in the eastern darkness. A shimmerfly dances in between the two celestial bodies.

Its wings flitter with the light, spiraling in and out of existence with the waves of light. Purple glimmers and green sparkles appear for the merest of seconds before leaving sight, but the shimmerfly's body hovers peacefully in the sky, gazing down at the empty grasses waving in the zephyr.

The stalks have faded to brown in the dryness of the fall, matching the mood of the air as it mystically swishes through the reeds and sings in a hushed whisper. The words feel familiar, but they don't say anything coherent to languages still spoken. It's a wise tongue, a harsh dialect, and a hidden language, however lost to time and the races. As I listen to the swaying I hear the familiarity and try piecing it together, attempt feeling out the lost words, but my ear keeps me away from the truth.

A hawk squawks nearby, hidden in the shade of the forest trees that rose without notice.

A dog barks down the hallway.

Awaken to the world of truth?

3 Article Synthesis Paper for English Comp Class

On The Outskirts of Society

When does the choice of another have detrimental outcomes to the innocent? When do uncontrollable circumstances take away every personal right? When can one go through the public educational system, receive a degree, and then be prevented from contributing to their society? The answer is simple and disheartening: when the individual is a child brought to America illegally. Immigration is a controversial political subject which neglects mentioning children of illegal immigrants despite the severity of the problem. The inability to pass any sort of comprehensive immigration reform is taking a toll on a large population in America which is just reaching adult-hood. Perhaps comprehensive immigration reform is not the answer needed immediately, but there exists a bill which has been forestalled that can help these innocent children earn citizenship legally. It is called the DREAM Act, and until it passes illegal children will suffer a life of fear, hardship, and inferiority. The social inequalities suffered by undocumented children must be addressed and solved through the passing of effective reformation bills in Congress.

To be illegal has always been referenced as a choice for the persons who hold the title. Child immigrants hold a special place in society due to this negative adjective associated with their status. This creates subjective intolerance which demeans the self-worth and aspirations the child may accrue while living in America. Unfortunately, the outcome of such denigration affects the society as a whole on many levels. Take, for instance, the complaint many Americans denote when arguing about illegal immigration which claims the illegal immigrants steal jobs away from natural born citizens. This very statement is causing a two-fold effect on children coming to America. The first is clearly engendering an attitude towards all illegal individuals that they should not be seeking out jobs that American’s desire. This then forces their search to mediocre work (in comparison to what ‘citizens’ should desire) and opens up opportunities in the janitorial, fast-food, and manual labor fields. As an assumption, Americans, who are instilled with the desire to always work upwards toward a better position in life, would never desire these types of work. The second effect directly influences many immigrant children to believe they cannot aspire to anything more than what their parents achieved: manual labor, fast-food work, and/or janitorial employment (as examples). As Thomas Faist points out, “Ethnicity is one of the markers that are often used to slot migrants into certain occupational niches . . . [which then creates] a basis of self-ethnicization [or self-engendering as a way of] typifying themselves as belonging to a particular group” (308). This very concept of self-engendering positions is not solely America’s downfall in social graces, but is a common practice in many Western civilizations.

Germany’s school system is possibly one of the most affective at determining a person’s place in society. This has also caused the German school system to be known as one of the worst systems in regard to immigrant children, and not specifically illegal immigrant children either (Entorf 642). At the age of ten, students are subjected to a test which determines which school a child will go to. The test is administered in German and spans a wide range of fields: science, mathematics, language comprehension, literature, etc. Now imagine immigrating (moving) to another country with your parents and shortly after arriving, having very little time to learn the language properly and assimilate to the educational standards of the school system, a test is given which will determine your place in society. Based on the test scores, the only option available is attending the school which prepares children for manual labor. Is this fair? Is it just to treat citizens who have legally immigrated to the host country in such a manner? Upon further reflection, is it right to even administer such a test to a child of manual labor parents, who were not given a highly advanced level of education because of a test they did poorly on when they were ten years old, who does not have the ability to learn advanced material from their caretakers? Understandably, Germany has a different view towards a life’s position than America does; for they take pride in the work they do as appose to feeling like there is something better to achieve. American standards would never allow this sort of system to affect its children, would it?

The answer is yes, America would and does allow such a test to exist, though few believe it is in existence. 1982 saw a distinct change in the attitude toward undocumented children in the Plyler v. Doe case which the Supreme Court ruled that “undocumented children are ‘persons’ under the Constitution and thus entitled to equal protection under the law according to the 14th amendment” (Gonzales 421). Furthermore, Justice Brennan declared that “while education is not a fundamental right, denying K-12 education to undocumented children amounted to creating a ‘lifetime of hardship’ and a permanent ‘underclass’ of individuals” (Gonzales 421). It was very clear that the Supreme Court saw the inequalities upheld by the denotation of a child as illegal in America, but the statute of the 14th Amendment, in essence, gives children of illegal immigrants the coveted rights of naturalized or native citizens. However, the provision only adheres to underage individuals, and when they turn eighteen the rights are demolished because of decisions made many years prior by their caretakers (Gonzales 421). The test then becomes about how well the child can hide his status from the institutions he wishes to attend. This is where the contradiction comes into play: a child who has been given rights and a free education through secondary schools is then thrust into society with a status that makes his very existence a federal crime.

The Development, Relief and Education for Alien Minors (DREAM) Act can solve this issue and amend the huge oxymoron the United States of America bestows upon an innocent group of people. As it stands, illegal immigrant children are said to have the highest drop out rate of any minority attending high schools in America. Much of the reason behind this is the lack of opportunity once they have graduated. It is better for them to find a job and work hard to secure a minimum standard of living to help support their family. Most of these children do not attempt to get their citizenship status to be legal. The DREAM Act will undoubtedly inspire these individuals by allowing children two options to obtain citizenship legally. One option means further schooling, allotting five years to earn a Bachelors and then enter the workforce. The other option is to go into the military for two years and then apply for citizenship once returning from active duty (“Welcome”). Both of these options allow an individual to prove their merit (Gonzales 421) and therefore strengthen many aspects of America. Such a bill needs to pass through Congress and be enforced immediately. Perhaps comprehensive immigration reform is not a solution feasible in the immediate climate, but the political leaders of a society which appreciates social advancement, equality and the American dream need to protect people whose choices were never considered when subjected to a life of hardship and social inequalities.

It is not enough to simply look at the social issues surrounding undocumented children. Action must be taken to stave off further social inequalities born from misconceptions surrounding this group of innocent individuals. Treating children of illegal immigrants as fugitives of the law or criminals is unfair to their circumstances. Furthermore, if these children decide to live in the United States of America after receiving a free education, it is imperative that they not impede any facet of American society. They should be allowed to contribute financially and socially with their taxes and votes. Government officials need to pass some sort of immigration reform and it is up to their constituents to push them to vote for reform; and if they cannot compromise on any sort of Comprehensive Immigration Reform then their focus must shift to the undocumented children of illegal immigrants. The DREAM Act is a short term solution to the complicated immigration issue.

Works Cited

Entorf, Horst, and Martina Lauk. "Peer Effects, Social Multipliers and Migrants at School: An International Comparison." Journal of Ethnic & Migration Studies 34.4 (2008): 633-654. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 4 Oct. 2010.

Faist, Thomas. "Cultural Diversity and Social Inequalities." Social Research 77.1 (2010): 297-324. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 4 Oct. 2010.

Gonzales, Roberto. "On the Rights of Undocumented Children." Society 46.5 (2009): 419-422. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 4 Oct. 2010.

“Welcome to the DREAM Act Portal.” DREAM Act Portal. Web. 18 Oct. 2010.

Thursday, October 28, 2010


Footfalls continue along the corridor, their destinations sought in another time, another place. Minds reel in discontinuous thoughts, concerned with time, worried about the distance, doubting their own intelligence in the subject to which they run. Still they move onward, barely recognizing my presence as I watch and assess the flow of students.

Time keeps ticking on. I remain where I was moments before; but none of the people who've traversed this hallway make the same appearance as I with my computer in lab. They travel as I write.

A Crayon walks by, her green suit falling around her body as the green cone dons her head. Her smile is meek. Her attitude is gentle. She's neither proud nor discouraged to celebrate in the upcoming event. No one judges her, either. Their eyes acknowledge her presence and them continue down the hallway. Some smile and wave, mouthing "how cute."

The purple hatted wizard pulls out of the President's Office, a smile on her face as she leans, mockingly, on her walking stick before quickly zooming past me on her way to class. Her starry cape billows on the heavy air around her: a startling presence to her unsuspecting students.

Death walks by, as oft it does on normal days, with scythe in hand and head turned downward. The shadows around his hood seem ominous and playful. His abnormally dark hand contrasts with the expected white skeletal bones. Silence follows his footsteps as eerily as breath stopping.

Until Tinker-Bell finds her way. She's laughing with her friends, joking about the less fortunate student who was scolded by the teacher. Who knows what class they were in. Who knows what actually happened, or if we would know who the downtrodden student was. Tink's laughter is infectious though. Her wings glitter as she passes under the fluorescent lights. The friends don't look at her, as if saying they envied her willingness to participate in such a celebration.

None stop to chat. None reverse their direction. Time continues ticking even as I write what I see, what I hear. The hallway is abnormally ordinary, even as costumed students get ready for their Holloween Contest.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

The Time Traveler

Alone. Thoughts are gone, sight is somewhere else, and the breath of the world has frozen over for but the merest of seconds. The deepest of emotions are alone, lost in neverwhere as if a gentle breeze swept away the foundation of the present. Everything is thus transparent. Nothing is simply true, given the circumstantial evidence surmounting against reality. All that remains are the past interwoven with fiction.

Daydreams surpass the vision in realm space-time, both past and future weaving in gentle patterns. Images of another place, another time, another being emerge superimposed upon what should be. And thoughts are lost, sight is inward, and the breath is submerged and shallow. It's real, and for a moment the dream has surpassed reality and smells, sights, sounds and feelings are overabundant in the mind.

The question, then, is what is truly remembered if the mind could be replayed for a larger audience? Is it the mindless gaze into the air somewhere beyond the envisioner's face? Or is it the beautiful mindscape? Is the dream real for memory? In which case is it reality of its own accord?
Thoughts to ponder as more comes.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Finding Yourself in New York City

New York City. It's magic, truly, though the distinct lack of magic provides gentle reassurances it must exist everywhere. You can become lost in New York. Not merely lost among the tangled ways and hidden tunnels and flashing noises surrounding every fiber of this City, but you can truly lose yourself, your existence, your meaning. All of you swallowed up by the permanent fog drowning the spires soaring to heights attained in another time. Hope turns to desperation pacing the tunnels in waves of sardine-packed aluminum vessels, swimming through the blackness of the future. Dreams feel beyond reach with the myriads of cultures swarming around like hornets on their own missions.

This is not the magic of the City.

On the exterior, from the boat wading the waters of converging rivers, the City looks still, calm, peaceful, and beautiful: a facade of aspirations, the image of triumph, one profile of freedom to build whatever the heart desires. Magic! for those who see it for the first time. Statuesque imagery miles away from the truth of the teeming streets. She is alive despite the dead steel and captured glass. The onlooker doesn't know the majestic truth hidden from that elegant distance. Frames can't capture the lively views on the water, where clean scents spray across the bow and bring a smile despite the polluted air. Pictures can't overwhelm the senses surrounding the viewer, even from a distance, of the skyline mounting the shores. No amount of words can truly describe the humbling awe of the City's existence.

And yet, this is every man. It's the magic of an outward landscape of you, and me... of everyone in existence. I wait on the boat, looking idly at these masses stoically surviving in a place that's surprisingly hostile and even more surprisingly friendly. It's magnificent, the mirror New Yorkers refuse to regard.

Once landed, disembarking the protecting distances which fostered such beauty, the mind reels in awakening. It's a shock first-timers know about yet cannot fathom. Life bursts from the darkness in quickened steps, hastily seeking a journey's end somewhere else. Their eyes are distant, unfocused. Their faces terse, annoyed, disappointed or asleep. Rarely do underlying personalities reveal themselves on the streets, but they exist, screaming for companionship in a city built for loners traversing the rows on the way to work. Every so often, an eye might catch in the chaos of 'go-go-going' and a smile might spark that flutter so common to the unexpected. Yet, they move on until a haven is entered, when you can relax the tense body and free the mind of tis growing barriers against the onslaught of noise, pollution, images, and people. Only then are you free to meet. Only then can the truth of the City be revealed. Tourists lose this ability to attach to the city and can experience solely the bustling tragedies of the masses.

Quirky clubs, fine dining, random bakeries, quiet shopping, and the gentler populace are easily attained outside the touristy 'bubbles' within her streets. Sometimes, even New Yorkers can't escape them, those bubbles of easy to get to places. Sometimes, reality can't escape these scenes. Sometimes, the soul gets trapped by Times Square, in that fortitude of mass media blaring down upon the mind. You become lost, entrance by the movement constantly ebbing and flowing... but then you discover the quiet of the upper east side at night and wonder how the hell you got there. You break, spiraling down a tunnel of despair  mirrored by the subway that must be mounted to find the way home. Lost, mysteriously, in a city so easily navigated. The distant bodies feel cold, the shiny railings look infested, the stifling humidity covers your skin.

This is every man. At least once in life, down some street you've taken, I've taken, we all have taken, a turn arrives with detrimental determination. The choices sitting beside you are unfriendly and you forgo asking for their support. Aspirations for your won success feel abandoned in your own chaos of trying to decide which way to go, and perhaps you'll settle into the dingy, overpriced, one bedroom apartment in China Town. Getting to such a low allows one thing.

A reprieve.

Nestled permanently in New York City is a gem, one disturbed only by history, paths, and feet. Woven greenery, quiet minds, and manifesting art populate this sanctuary from the dead minds and loud life. The sun shines brightly across the lawns overlooked by the Castle. The corridor of trees opens to a circle protected by a fountain. The maze rambling through the center ensnares the will of haste. Central Park puts the soul back. it is the soul giving life to what seems so lifeless, where peace is touchable, even when people walk by and the skyline looms overhead. The gentle breezes and hushed voices replace perspective, allowing you to see yourself once more. Quiet surrounded by noise surrounded by the perception of quiet.

Magic exists here, in every footfall, in every turn, in every tree surviving despite the smog. It remains the best place to be lost because you'll always find your way again. No matter which way you turn, you'll find yourself among the trees. The mind quiets and resets, relinquishing stress to strength, turning the tarnished face into a beautifully intricate bark, subtle vines, and a smile from yellow flowers. This serenity of nature's truth touches your own truth, rediscovering in what place you belong: in or out of bubbles manifested on the dirty streets.

This is every man. Interplays of dichotomy present on three levels: exterior, interior, and subconscious. We present the mood of calm, collected motions through life where we drown in the plethora of ways tormenting our steps without the realization of our inner peace where truth will vitalize actions. Society has us focus on two levels, forgetting the third. We are tourists to our own lives, neglecting our park's potential. The City is all three ideals, and more, and can teach us how to balance life with ambition and loneliness, to mold emotions with freedom and necessity, to harmonize industrialized ethics with imperfection and love, to relieve perceived honesty of impressions and denote nature in magical revelations exercised within. It seems like far too much to express in a City already providing a magnitude of museums stocked full of priceless education; but to learn these lessons while vacationing stimulated a hunger to build my own expertise in the balance of New York City.

I've struggled with my truth, and I thought it was thrown in with the interior of my being, my subconscious mixed with the chaos of the streets of my existence. I was lost in New York City until we sat in the park, peaceful in thought and quietly reminiscing about the experiences that brought us somewhere in the middle of Central Park. Now I understand something I care not put into words, something the City helped me find. I want that loneliness associated with  peace in the park: knowing a delicate balance of association to others while remaining myself, having time to be me while walking the streets with others, being free to do as I please and regard my others as bystanders along for the ride. Selfish? Perhaps, but it's been forever without that sense, and it's a desire lodged deep in my psyche, on that I've repressed for so long.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

To Notice an End.

The wind blows from western hills, lifting death from the plains overlain by leaves and twisting them gently in the air. Autumn in cyclones invigorate the eyes, coloring the brown earth in hues of golden end. It is all cherished, by every man and woman who steps past their door and waits for the sight to flow around. Change has come, and for the patient and appreciative all the hidden secrets of life are seen in the cascading colors fluttering on the breeze. No limbs can hold tight to that which must be released; and bare are the trees who flourish as they come to rest. Though the leaves have perished, it is known death only takes away the visage of life, beneath which remains the heart and truth of the world that all remains for the next cycle to begin. As the pronounced elegance comes to its season, we see a world of splendor and wait for the whitest to cover this plane. How short it all seems.

The Whisperer

It was almost a tragedy without even realizing the delicate nature of the circumstance. Simply sitting and listening wasn't enough to encompass the support needed for such honesty which poured out in quiet, hushed, and secretive divulgences. All I could do was reiterate what I would normally advise when regarding the magnitude of the presented variables.

His blue eyes, slightly hidden behind his magical darkening glasses, continuously looked around as we spoke, his red rimmed fear piercing the air in discomforted and embarrassed glances. When he feared his words would offend in some manner, his cheeks reddened and his eyes wandered past the window into the parking lot as if he wished the world were as peaceful and simple as parked cars in precisely measured lines. And still I felt at a loss except for a near subtle infusion of experience from drastically different events.

He said with an infusion of betrayal toward himself and acknowledgement of the truth, "I've been having some issues with my sexual orientation. And I guess I've always known that I've been hiding it from the world."

"Well... What's made you want to be honest now?" I asked cautiously.

He smiled sadly. "I had some health issues a few years ago and the doctors gave me another five to seven years of good health. Ever since then... I can't seem to... I've noticed my eye isn't caught by girls anymore. Even if she's got really tight cloths on and a nice body, I'd probably be looking at her boyfriend..." He's not looking into my eyes anymore. "I'm drawn to notice strapping young men like yourself before I'd ever notice a woman..."

Trying to disguise my rolling eyes with the shaking of my head, I looked into the parking lot. The first thought to rush through my head rang out clearly, Shameless! How marvelous age is..., before I could figure out something appropriate to say.

He obliged by continuing. "And since I have so little time, I need to know if it's even worth it to tell everyone that I'm attracted to men." The word gay never came to the table. "My wife wouldn't be supportive, I don't think... And I have four kids who all have families of their own. Nine grandchildren... And I feel like I'd be throwing that all away if I was honest with everyone."

"Discovering how little time we have really does put things into perspective, doesn't it?" He nods, a smile of a different sort gracing his strong features. "I mean... speaking from my own spiritual beliefs, when we discover that we have so little time, we become ourselves and suddenly feel it's that much harder to lie to anyone, especially ourself, you know?"


"I don't know if it's Buddhist or just something I believe, but it's obviously playing a role in your mind right now." We became silent for a few minutes while my thoughts organized themselves better. He seemed unsettled by the depth of my sudden notion. "And on another note, not that I'm saying you need to do this right now, after all it's completely your decision; but being honest with people really allows a relationship to grow and be more than it was.

"In your circumstance, however... it could be an issue." I could tell he hadn't said everything yet, and I knew probing a little would reveal the whole story.

His entire family was raised to be conservative Christians with an ideal in mind for the future family units they would inevitably create. He, himself, came from the same stock of characters; a slightly abusive father who disciplined freely, driving his son into the military where being of a 'gay' mindset got you in extreme trouble. Something in the way he spoke, though, told me he never hit his children. Ever since his bout in the military, he forced himself to conform to the 'norm' of society. He married thirty-some years ago and immediately started building the ideal family and raised equally conservative Christian children to match his and his wife's beliefs.

"... and I know they'll distance themselves from me if I'm honest with them... I just need to know if it's worth it," he says once more.

"That's something you need to decide. You need to know that deep down your wife will always love you, no matter what happens. If you come out to her and she decides this is abominable, or whatever, no matter how much she tells herself and the world she doesn't love you, it'll always be a lie. You have children together, and that creates a bond on the deepest of levels that not even she can relinquish. And your children... They're living their lives and will, and must, accept you for who you are. What you have to decide is whether or not you want to risk the life you have now to further acknowledge the truth you've discovered." This is as far as I can help, and I know I've reached my limit without pushing this man to destroy his life in order to reveal to the world the truth about diversity.

He's flummoxed, torn between two worlds that have so completely engrained themselves in his psyche. "God has always taught us to love ourselves and each other. I know this and believe it to the end. I also know that my church won't accept me..." Tears fill his eyes, but his strength holds them back.

A thought comes to me. "You know, I have a few friends who are out and very Christian. I don't know if 'very' means anything, but they're Christian. I think I should have them get in touch with you... perhaps they can help out a bit more. I, unfortunately, can't really relate or understand a Christian standpoint with being out cause I'm pagan... But if you want, I'll talk to them?"

"That would be great."

The rest of our chat seems superficial in comparison to the ground that was covered. I offered to talk with him anytime he wants and the casual personality seems to don upon his face finally. Worry and doubt are still hidden in his eyes, in the way he shifts his shoulders and holds his hands on the table between us; but the carefree nature of two guys talking visits his tone. I can't help but feel that half of his relaxed state was due to revealing a secret. A secret that's whispered even in public. A secret that's held from all who would know, until the time is right.

A secret that even I can't truly help, despite the similarities in myself.

Shadows and Veils.

I am here
There is there.
Forever I long for
ever my being be

apart by truth and
An everlasting hope
for truth to

And yet, I
long along a
dream like many
hidden behind the guise
of norm.

My norm? Atypical
with shadows, and veils,
in words and sights
by eyes that I
to only mine.

Shall it see the layered
of stepping mounts westward
bound as time for certain
will continue
round and round?

As men open eyes
and see
the starry skies of
all that ever thumped within
their hearts disguise;
I see my heart's
revealed, in caution,
to all of the
time still waiting for
my eyes.

And I am here.
Will there be here?
a cherished careful dream
for truth and heart and mind
as one be seen?

Thursday, October 21, 2010

A Play of Words

A plain plane resolved into plains overflown by planes rushing toward a city. The plainswalker below transcended this plane as he walked to a different plain, thinking about which plane would be the final resting place for his mind. The aforementioned plane flying above the plains descended to the plane upon which the plainswalker walked and landed on a plane designed for its arrival. The plainswalker watched the plane many miles away from the plain he called home and wondered if his mind was ready to exist off his plain or outside his plane. He, plainly, decided to go home.

Plain vs. Plane

It seems that most people have issues with "its" or "it's" or "there", "their", and "they're"; but my problem, as I'm sure many have noticed, is in the difference between "plain" and "plane." Thus, I shall discuss in detail in order to change my understanding and finally grasp the proper uses of those words. I want to make it clear, as well, that my issue isn't with the definitions plain = ordinary and plane = airplane, because I totally understand those. My issue is more more complex.

Plain: flat land, typically a field; also: the Great Plains

Plane: flat surface, typically a level board or table; also: "the cliff stood next to a plane of land."

Can you see my initial confusion? In essence, Plain is specific to land formations while Plane is general to all. So are they truly interchangeable or not? Further confusion. Obviously, when speaking it doesn't matter which one you're using because the meaning is implicit with the subject matter. My issue is substantial because I write science-fiction and fantasy. Let me further illuminate my dilemma:

Plain: Specific to land
Plane: a level of existence, a certain realm, a two dimensional coordinate system.


Plainswalker: derived to mean a Native American/Indian who walks across the Great Plains on a spiritual quest/journey of enlightenment and/or to commune with other planes.
Planeswalker: An inter-dimensional being who transcends other levels of existence or realms of existence. 


A Planeswalker can walk from one plane to another; or from one plain to another. Visa-verca: A Plainswalker walks across the plains to connect with other planes; or transcends (mentally or spiritually) from this plane to communicate with other plains (speaking in terms of land).

Seeing this difference spelled out so definitively before me makes it seem entirely too simple, but my mind spins too quickly when writing or creating to care about the seemingly subtle difference. If I see (in my mind) a character sitting on a level surface (land or board) and he meditates to dissolve his energy/mind into an energy signal to translocate himself to a different place in order to communicate with someone standing, sitting, or working on a separate level surface (again, land or board), I don't decipher between plain and plane; though I'm sure there is a "more correct" use of the terms. This is something I am paying more attention to because I don't want you, my reader and critic, to be distracted by my diction. I just want you to see and feel what I'm writing about!

So here I stand, on a plane of concrete looking out over the small plain bordered by homes, wondering if i understand on which plane my mind plays as I wander to the final plane of existence. Will it be plains before my third eye, or mountains to traverse to freedom?

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Incoherent Ramblings of the Night

One car passes as the stars shift slowly across the heavenly plain. Its wheels scream a protest against any sort of movement, the wailing charges through the stillness like tides pulling on the moon. It's backwards and unkind; yet the chill and darkened air carries the cries even through the muffling walls.

My quiet is louder for it.

Sounds abound my ears though silence engenders some semblance of sleep. If only shutting my sight would shelter my ears from the sirens of all that survives in the night. A cat hisses just beyond my head, though the wall holding out the weather crisply penetrating to the bone. Angry growls reverberate in the emptiness: an upset response to the annoyed tires, four of which proceed on Northward.

Are they speaking to each other? To me?

Soft ticking echoes in the kitchen, accompanied by the jingling of dog-tags as he tries to find leftovers from a cold dinner laying on the floor. Certainly his coat blends well with the lack of illumination: beyond my door, through the hallway, and somewhere in the kitchen he is invisible against the backdrop. Nothing is found. no morsel of dreams comes to a tasteful reality. The Screaming returns on cue. The cat challenges the disturbance. He rests upon the woven blanket in the room.

If only my thoughts were so easily transcribed... Sleep would be so nice.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Lessons after 200 Blogs.

What Have I Learned Since Starting this Blog?

It has certainly been an adventure since I started turning ink into digital code, and the adventure hasn't simply been in the transition but in my mind as well. Surprisingly, I've had to shift my thought patterns to address motivation on a different level than school or work has ever done for me. This style of motivation is for myself, which I've always deterred as something I can do later when I have time or when it's convenient. When the imperative circumstance affects an outcome to my immediate goals, such as school grades or getting paid, my motivation kicks in and I force myself to do the work. My attitude has always been different toward the things I do for enjoyment, like writing and playing video games. The most important thing I've learned over the past 200 blog postings is how to motivate myself. If I don't have that motivation, I fail to accomplish my commitments that I've established for myself (above all).

In regards to commitments I've learned quite a bit as well. Holding true to the promises I deem important has been a struggle with my blog. In the beginning I was able to promise one blog per day. I kept to this goal as much as I could; but circumstances over the past two months has slowed down my ability to write, much less post a blog. Part of me thinks I have failed you (my readers/fans) and failed myself. Another part of me knows there is disappointment floating around somewhere. I care not to grab it so I associate it with your intentions, and I know this is a selfish thing to do because I can be the only one truly disappointed in my own work (although... I guess you could be disappointed as well... but how would I know?). Ultimately, I don't entirely feel bad about not sticking to this goal of "one blog a day" because I have simply shifted my focus to other areas in my life: 19 credit hours in school and (for a time, two jobs) a full time managerial job. Thus, I've learned to not punish myself for not holding to a commitment like this. Yes it's a promise to myself first, and a promise to you second, but the intention is to motivate me to write more, write better, and find a strength and uniqueness in my voice.

Another huge thing I've learned is how much of a poet I am. Poetry is fun, beautiful, and intriguing to me. I realized how intense I see my own poetry, even knowing a lot of it is first drafts they hold an intrinsic depth akin to my mood, heart, beliefs, and personality. Looking back through all of them makes me wonder if others understand what I'm saying and the meaning behind my words. (And if you don't, I URGE you to please please PLEASE leave a comment and I'll explain, dig, and illuminate what I've done!)

What do I See Coming Down the Road?

My heart tells me this blog will be around for a long time. I hope that many of the postings that I've built will inspire me to write books of poetry or collections of short stories; and possibly even expand into novels, trilogies, or series revolving the circumstances or events constructed here. I see a lot more critiques forthcoming as well. I'm reading new books that I've desired to read for a long time and my new academic, analytical, and critical eye is pushing my comprehension to even deeper levels. Literature is one facet of my life I will forever be swimming in. It's much like my room, actually... I have hundreds of books stashed away anywhere I can fit them. Most of them are creative works: fantasy, science fiction, and fiction; but I'm slowly massing a nice collection of physics, astronomical, and mathematical books that I'm fully enjoying! I know... I'm odd.

What do I Wish For?

I hope that more of my readers/fans/critics will participate more. I know my absences stretch on for a while as stressful events unfold and time slips away into the abyss of school and work; but I hope that loyalties continue to read what I've disseminated and will chime in with questions or suggestions or advise. Ultimately, I want more requests! If you want to see me write something in particular (new/different/ a continuation), let me know! It'll move those thoughts, those inspirations, to the forefront of my thoughts (even in class while I struggle through Physics) and I'll pop something out much faster.

Lasting Words:

As I believe I've written several times before:
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
~Bilbo Baggins
JRR Tolkien
The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

Monday, October 18, 2010

Autumn Has Come

First snow on Mountains
Bitter rain falls to landscapes
The seasons are changed.

Thank you Physics...

Harsher, respite-less
Thoughts outside comprehension
Give so much stress.

The Awakening Self

The silence isn't unbearable.
The loneliness is almost peaceful.
The numbness calmes the soul...
Like fire clearing away the ugly
or impure
or the sick, weak at center.

But this solitude is darkness
broken only by the slow vibrations of thoughts
carelessly ceasing from moment to the next.
And I am the only constant;
or are my feelings,
or the silent continuity of afterward?

If only the separation of there and here
were dismal and unseen, perhaps
a gentle word could plummet life anew.
Cautious inaccuracy in vowels
bringing closed eyes open.

Nothing appears un-ordinarily stark like blackness,
and light sheers at the tired pupils
adjusting to the necessary once more.
Moments work onward.
Breath is challenged by will alone.
The next stage is dawned.


Having a smile is itself joyous, even in the most stressful of moments. Crinkled eyes glittering with happiness, nose taught with the stretching of lips, and gleaming teeth are all infectious to say the least. Given authenticity shoots down every hope of the condemning animosity which might conjure a darkened mind. So smile! Don't allow the bitter clouds of another, of a circumstance, of yourself to take away the simplest of gifts!

Autumn In My Mind

Driving along a familiar road finally feels different. It's not the drive itself, or the road or car or perception of the distances traveled or sights seen. Well, not entirely of the sights seen because nothing has drastically changed. Autumn has finally reached its delicate brush to the path of my life. Colors are exploding and falling to the tiring earth, enriching the experience though it's expected. My eyes were shocked and it took moments to realize why they were fluttering about in excited fervor. Orange, red, and yellow leaves donned the limbs where green was but a week prior.

How quickly the change came. How startling was the difference, unlike my own tree standing valiantly defiant before my house. His leaves hold to the green of summer, wave conditionally in the crisp morning air, and laugh in the afternoon heat of an extraordinary October. He is telling us how strange the weather is, while the rest of life prepares for the blanketing chill that will certainly fall faster than this autumn.

These thoughts made me wonder, created a new dialectical thought process which stemmed far beyond the natural cycles of nature and the possibilities of art. I don't exactly know why my mind traversed these heights or why the answers still eluded the simple questions: If the change of trees, those powerful entities that survive so many adversities, can happen so suddenly and completely, will my mind take such a short redesign as well? Perhaps it already has and I never noticed, like I failed to notice nature transitioning in its natural timeline. In a sense, I know the answer is yes. Experience has already showed me as much, and the evidence sits clearly on my blog!

Since school started, my ability to create fantastic worlds defying the laws of Earth has drawn to a standstill. I wouldn't necessarily say the inspiration has vanished, because I'm still able to draw the concrete images which create the worlds I seek to explain; but my words are lost to different utilities. The structure of my thoughts has shifted so drastically that I almost feel wasteful to use my creative words in imagination instead of finding the proper words to explain the academic thoughts needed in school. Such a sudden shift has created conflict in me, mirrored in the leaves of trees yet to fall, yet to change; like the sentinel outside my house.

But which am I now? Am I the colored change of seasons dancing in a procession of beauty, or am I the one clinging to what has to be left behind in hopes of rebirth? Is my ability to stick solely to school work hampering my destiny as a writer? Or am I strengthening my resolve by honing my skills in this academic way? Here my answers are lost, betrayed by my quiet mind struggling to survive classes and work and conceive new ideas. My change truly came too quickly for me to understand; descended upon my mind faster than the wind could sweep away the decaying leaves.

I want to believe my mind has shifted to a better season of understanding, strength, and concision that will adapt to my writing before long. This is my autumn, my lasting experience of overwhelming existence before a relief and change toward my new life. My next fear, deciding this path, is what will happen to the world in which I'm currently living? Is everything going to shift? Change? Dissolve into the a frayed painting of beautiful autumnal hues? Only time will tell now, and hope that my choices guide this change...

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Tag. I'm it!

So, I've been tagged. This is a new experience for me on this digital platform. One of my best friends, who also happens to be a big inspirer of mine (meaning he inspires me to push myself farther and faster in order to write [which, ahem... where has this been recently? No excuses! {haha}]), has tagged me from his blog and is forcing me to respond to the following questions.

Bear with me, this isn't quite the same format my blog adheres to, but it'll be a nice insight into my life!

The wonderful questions are as follows:

1. If they were to make a biopic of your life what would it be called and who would they cast to play you?

Intriguing question, which happens to be one that I hate answering. Honestly, I have no idea what I would want my movie to be called. The title would have to do something with balancing, somewhere along the lines of "Dynamic Equilibrium" or "A Writer's Serenity." Maybe even something as predictable as "A Writer's Landscape" if it suited everyone involved. And unfortunately, looking at trends and things, they would probably cast Shia LaBeouf as me; I would rather have Zac Efron play me cause he's more attractive.

2. What is your favorite dessert? Be specific.

Now this is hard. I love food, and I love dessert especially. My best friend in the whole world turned me on to dessert; and it didn't help that my boyfriend makes amazing desserts just to be better than most restaurants. So there are many favorites, simply because I cannot choose one. Is that sad? Near the top of my list was my most recent birthday cake: a lemon, raspberry, with a raspberry cream cheese icing/filling with a raspberry jam/sauce/syrup to accompany. It was simply delectable. A close tie, if not a complete tie, is my grandmother's cheesecake which is moist and dense, has a graham cracker crust, and is simply irresistible. If I were to have a favorite dessert out, it would definitely be the Carraba's Sogno Di Ciocollata. Enough said there! It's dense, rich, dark chocolate cake dusted with cocoa powder and served with ice cream. Delicious; and now I'm upset that I don't have ANY of these desserts. (Thanks Chad...)

3. What is your favorite cocktail, shot, and wine? In that order.

My favorite cocktail is easy. A good Long Island Ice Tea can't be beat! It tastes wonderful and has enough of a punch to get you somewhere. I wish it was enough to actually take me back to New York City, but it'll suffice. Now, I don't do shots. But if I were to take a shot, it would be straight Pravda Vodka because it's nearly tasteless and extremely smooth. My favorite wine is simply Banfi Bell'agio Chianti Wicker. It's cheap and tastes wonderful. I do have a second favorite, and it happens to be Jam Jar. It really does taste like Jam, and is cheap as well. Cheap, good wine? Who can beat that?

4. What is your favorite holiday? How would you celebrate it?

I can't say I have a favorite holiday. I like any holiday that incorporates friends and family, or allows me to get together with these groups of loved ones to have fun! Holloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years are up there with my most enjoyable; but I can't say any one is better than the other. All of my celebrations: birthdays, holidays, celebrations, whatever; I make sure there's something fun going on. Sometimes alcohol helps with that.

5. If you could travel anywhere in the world where would you go? Why?

Tuscany, Italy. From what I've seen and heard of people's travels through Tuscany, it's the place I want to go. And on of my favorite movies is based in Tuscany, Italy. It also happens to be the place I want to retire!

6. How would you describe your personal style?

Relaxed and well fitted. Comfortable yet with a hint of fashionable intent. I never want to be considered a fashionista, but I still want to look good. I try to dress to accentuate the aspects of my body that I think look good. I don't have a large variety so many of my shirts get repeated regularly. The only real big change comes with it starts to get below 50 degrees outside. Then I pull out my long sleeve shirts.

7. What do you keep in your box of "It's not going to work out"? (Basically, what secrets do you keep from your significant other that may make you look a bit bat shit crazy?)

Hahaha. Umm... All my secrets have been revealed and we have moved on from that 'crazy' state. Unfortunately, there isn't anything truly interesting to reveal. Sorry to disappoint everyone.

8. Tonight you can do anything without worry of cost... What would you do?

First, I would go out to dinner someplace nice. I wouldn't know where I was going until I got there. Then I would go to the book store and shop until they closed the store. It would be quite a big order... I might need to clear out some space in the basement. I have an addiction, I know. Then I would get together with friends and see what they would want to do: go dancing, go drinking, get on a plain to Vegas and have an experience (I dunno). I would basically have a long night with friends out. If costs isn't a worry, we could do anything as long as the laughs were flowing.

Well... That was fun. But I really don't have anyone to tag back or forward. Perhaps when I have more time, I'll come up with new questions to send back to people. However, if you want to take these questions and put them on your own blog, let me know and I'll check out your answers!


Where Desire Resides

Read my mood,
jumbled by a fireside alone.
The warmth recedes
like light beyond the mountains
extending twilight for
onlookers unseen, unknown, un-felt
like the truth within
I hold at ransom against time.

East to west: the cycle forges
resolve despairingly fickle;
my decisions ebb from desires,
breaking patterns within
constancy of night.
The cold flows over the flames
where once burned Aphrodite's eyes.

I'm as impassible as the stars.

Flirtatious Numbers

It happened again:
Gentle smile gave their number.
I wish I could call.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Is it hard to write?

I've been struggling recently, trying to come up with a reason why my mind isn't letting me pour my inspiration onto the pages before me. I usually don't have such a hard time once an idea is in my head. Something new came into focus just the other night, and it was wonderfully creative and beautifully invigorating, but the words won't match the images inside my head; thus I cannot write what I wish to disseminate from my visions. This made me think.

Is it hard to write? Writing has always come easy it me, much the same way other subjects have always come easy to me: math, science, psychology, music, literature, etc. You name it and my hand can probably grasp the subject within a matter of sessions without too much thought. Then again, once we get into deeper areas of a new subject, I may struggle; but that does not mean I won't understand it given proper processing. Right now, however, there is a distinct lacking in my ability to form the words for the pictures inside my head. My internal dictionary hasn't diminished, my imagination hasn't retarded, my inspiration hasn't vanished. What else then?

I'm focusing so much on my ability to comprehend mathematics right now. Perhaps this is changing my ideal structures in my brain patterns which isn't allowing me access to the most important areas to my life. I only say that these are the most important because writing truly makes me happier than almost anything else. Being able to write down words that inspire people to see what I envision makes me so happy.

Not only am I struggling in my ability to write, but I'm also having a hard time in Physics (another subject I thought I could easily apply my brain and nearly instantly understand the concepts and apply them to any scenario I desired). I'm beginning to believe this is how people feel when a teacher asks them to write a paper on a given subject; or rather, on any subject of their choosing. I feel lost in Physics most of the time. I understand the words my professor says and I see the math he uses, but I don't get why he chooses the equations he's utilizing or how their application is relevant to the scheme he's weaving. It's mind numbing; and he knows most of us are lost in the muck of his over-intelligent promulgations of Physics.

I believe I'll understand it here soon, when I have enough time once again to focus my life away from work (and yes I attribute my lack of time to me having two jobs. I'm crazy, I know...). I believe this the same way I believe everyone has the intrinsic ability to write, and to write well, creatively, and beautifully. We all need time to understand ourselves first, and then we need time to apply what we've discovered to the subject at hand (without stressing ourselves out). Once we know ourselves and have our time, then we can truly excel at what we want or need.

So yes, writing is hard, as any subject is truly difficult to master. And yes, I may be in a dry spell at the moment while I try to rearrange my life. It makes me sad... And I don't want to be sad about my inability to write freely like I did a few months ago. Perhaps 'discussing' this issue will help pull the stopper out of my mind and the dam will flow freely through the hole. Here's to hoping!

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Without Enough

Jerry L. Wells equates the lessons of morality represented in the Harry Potter novels, written by J. K. Rowling, concisely with real world regulations in morality in the essay “Heaven, Hell, and Harry Potter.” Wells uses a quote from Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster at Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and one of Harry Potter’s mentors in the series, to indicate the nontraditional sense of morality in the wizarding world. The approach Wells takes is clearly from a Christian standpoint where the lines of good and evil are (for the most part) clearly defined. Wells also brings up the viewpoint of naturalism, what he claims is the polar opposite of Christianity in the sense of beliefs and thus a different basis for morals in society. Even though Wells brings up this dynamic polarity, he imposes his assumptions that Rowling disregarded other worldviews when creating the characters in the world of Harry Potter. The binary viewpoint Wells uses misses the multifaceted views presented in the Harry Potter series.

Dumbledore is quoted as saying that “humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them” (Rowling, p. 297). This statement brings many thoughts to mind. One of which is why are these desires only “worst” for you instead of saying they’re bad? Worst implies a sense of ambiguity somewhere between good and bad, right and wrong, or virtuous and evil. Wells addresses this in an oblique manner: never directly addressing the nontraditional moral presented in this statement. What Wells addresses is the relation between morals in Christianity (traditional good/bad, virtuous/evil, etc.) to naturalism (harboring a conflict of why morals matter) and to the Wizarding world of Harry Potter (nontraditional). The main points Wells illuminates revolve around wealth and immortality, centered on the image of the Sorcerer’s Stone in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (1997). The Stone provides the elixir of life which gives the drinker immortality and also turns any metal into gold. Thus the Stone is sought by many: Voldemort, Harry’s ultimate nemesis, in particular. What Wells misses out on is the underlying message of Dumbledore’s statement. The desire for eternal life and endless wealth are indeed natural, but it’s how we manage these desires that determine whether they are good or evil.

This juxtaposed view is present in the obvious characterization of the protagonist and antagonist in the Harry Potter series. Voldemort, the obvious antagonist, allows the desire for immortality to drive his every move. Wells points out that Dumbledore claims the fear of death is one of the “greatest [weaknesses]” (paragraph 5). Meanwhile, Harry Potter, our protagonist, desires many things after having been tortured by his Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin. Wealth and popularity, and possibly even a different life, are things that would better his experiences. However, Harry doesn’t allow his desire to get in the way of what is truly morally sound: friendship, trust, and love. These three aspects are things Voldemort doesn’t comprehend and sees as weaknesses in return. Of these three, love is the aspect Rowling places the most emphasis; and thus Wells focuses his essay on this pivotal notion of love being powerful.

In “Heaven, Hell, and Harry Potter” Wells draws upon Christianity and Naturalism as juxtaposed belief structures with two vastly different moral compasses. Christianity points people towards serving the ideals of a higher authority, namely God. Naturalism, Wells explains, decrees that humans are made of the simple, scientific elements and have no deity to guide the virtues of right and wrong. Regarding the contrasts between Christianity and Naturalism neglects the foundation Rowling certainly had when writing her novels. Wells claims “we do not have the space to even name all the [other religions] that might be mentioned…” (paragraph 16). This is negligent when referring to Dumbledore especially.

Many of Dumbledore’s characteristics are easily described as being Buddhist. His obvious enlightenment mirrors many of the Buddhist beliefs, especially when referring to how people choose “precisely those things that are worst for them” (Rowling, p. 297). This statement refers to the Buddhist idea of materialism which extents beyond objects to life. In a way, Dumbledore is telling people to not allow the desires for what the Stone can provide to overwhelm them, but to detach one’s self from these wants in order to stave off anger, pain, and suffering. This notion is the same as Nirvana, which absolves one from this realm to the next level of spiritual completion by detaching oneself from the things that bring suffering. To Dumbledore, and to those with a “well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure”, which could be described as Nirvana (Rowling, p. 297).

Though Wells misses the dynamics of differing religions, he does hit upon one point that definitely surfaces across the world: love. This love is innate in nature. Humans instinctually love their parents as a biological response for survival. It is also love for humanity and goodness that prevents people from harming each other. Thus, love is seen in many religions: represented in enlightenment and Nirvana, God, and the daily rituals of sacrifice in many other religious facets. Wells writes:

[It] is impossible to advance our ultimate well being by doing evil. While our short-term interests may be promoted by doing what is wrong, we are acting against the ultimate grain of reality and we will eventually have to account for our choices. To act immorally is to act against love and to cut ourselves off from God, whose very nature is love. This is hell. This is the cursed life of one like Voldemort who is willing to embrace evil to promote his own purposes. (Paragraph 47)

I agree with Wells that love is what ultimately defines right from wrong. However, I believe Wells neglected looking beyond his own experiences to see how love is similarly played out in many religions; and how these faiths are represented in Harry Potter. If he had noticed the subtle intricacies that Rowling incorporated, his view of the wizarding world would be much deeper.

Overall, I think Wells did an amazing job working within the parameters of Christianity, Naturalism and Harry Potter to distinguish the foundation of morals in society. However, there is much more Wells neglected that should have been addressed in order to create a more concrete assertion that love truly is the ultimate foundation humanity must strive for in order to reach “heaven.” His heavily Christian influenced view blocked his interpretation into a stereotypical response to Harry Potter when regarding the morals embodied in each character. His final conclusion is “the right metaphysical view of ultimate reality has huge implications for how we ought to live, … [and that] love is the deepest reality and, if we understand that, we can avoid the trap of choosing the very things that are worst for us” (paragraph 48). Perhaps Wells will notice the multifaceted worldview that Rowling noticed when creating such an enlightened character as Dumbledore, and by doing so learn more about the world he lives in through the eyes of an enlightened Buddhist.