There was a time when I was happy here, when simply walking into the crisp air brought a sense of pride from my chest to my ears and the sound of quiet breezes calmed my excitement and stress. I knew what I knew, and excelled beautifully at my work. Something shifted since those days. I have certainly changed drastically, thanks to my surrender to knowledge and experience which meant diving into the unknown and taking determined steps regardless of the circumstances; and oh! did the circumstances harbor detrimental outcomes at times. I won't deny my selfishness as long as we discuss the selflessness as well. I've done all this for myself: to build and strengthen my pride, to expand my sense of self-worth, to find respect, to inspire, and to learn about so much more in the world and beyond; but I've also done all this for my love, for my friends and coworkers and community, for the present and the future and everyone that needs inspiration to overcome their own adversities. My accomplisments speak to this duality.
Why do I feel like I don't know what I know, like this time is lost somewhere in the sands of a deep ocean where tides constrict and pull at my chest? I don't feel proud or calm or proactive. This is conflicting with more than the doings of my daily life: spirituality, motivation, and love all feel hampered or blocked; and though I stave off the overwhelming stress which still boils at the edge of periphery, I can't bring myself to honestly search for the source of my discontent. I attribute it to my load: 19 credit hours in school, 2 jobs, a relationship, and my desire to read and write as my career. Maybe it's all these things added to a debt I can't minimize given my salary; such a debt someone with two to three times my salary could handle happily. Perhaps I'm simply breaking, discovering what a crisis feels like. It could be worry and doubt accruing in the face of drastic changes just a few months away: change of schools, jobs, mental acrobats in studying, and in the structure of my relationship. Is this too complex for me to handle; me who can easily shift from writing a story built on a distant land with cultural and political intrigue, enriched with new spiritual concepts and infused with a new language, to suddenly comprehending diverse mathematical equations with precision and grace that baffles fellow students and brings a smile to my mother's face?
I don't know what's needed or what's coming down the road I wade; but I do know what I need and where I'm going. I need time, that elusive and distracting creation which leaves no room for self pity, contageous destruction, or sorrowful enlightenment. I need a physical guide who can tell me what I'm not doing, or doing improperly, or what's right; who can inspire me beyond the immediate beauty of life, unveil the worlds beyond our sneses, and fortify my will against what is worst for me. I need confidence in my actions again, otherwise I may drown with certainty, huddled in the corner of a desolate room. Ultimately, I need support and love and friendship, even when it feels like I'm not donating my support, love, or friendship in return. This is all necessary because my road is simply heading up-hill without regard to my pace; but I must find a way to keep my velocity from decreasing despite the incline.
With all this said, I know the end in sight is worth the struggles of the immediate gloom settling around my head. The sparkle of joy glints in the ground beneath my feet, intensifying as the trail continues on. Hope keeps my spirits higher; as well as the dream which remains a foggy image wavering in the distance. Each step, each stroke, each breath brings me closer to that aspiration; clearing away the soft edges.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
All Work, All Fun, Makes Hearts a Weary Day
I believe life has gotten the better of me.
You think this is negative. Truly, it can't possibly be a negative statement. Life has gotten the better of me because I have given the best I can. I'm only in these circumstances because of choices which led me to accepting my current status. I'm a full time student (as I've been for the past several semesters) taking 19 credit hours which consists of 5 classes (Physics, English Composition II, Public Speaking, Theatre Appreciation, Calculus I) while working 2 jobs, one of which is 40 minutes away while the other is 7. I'm currently seeing my boyfriend about 2 hours every three days and I haven't truly seen a friend outside my work or school environments in about three weeks now.
Am I stressed? Not really. I'm actually enjoying the thrill of pushing myself to the extreme, testing the boundaries between insanity and structure and sleep deprivation. Doing all this is fun. However, I'm already feeling the strain in several areas.
One is my writing. I haven't truly written anything inspired by creativity in quite a while. My mind has completely changed tracks and is now moving on a steady train called Academia. It goes through a circle of towns: Research, Compose, Edit, Submit. I'm enjoying this ride because it's teaching me how to force creativity into a focused, linear style of thinking. My academic papers are fun and entertaining because my prose are filled with beauty. I can't help it. This is my best.
However, essays and research papers and speeches aren't really an issue in regards to my writing. They're just other avenues toward writing nirvana (now that's a concept!). The evidence for strain is here on my blog. Notice I haven't put anything up this month. Well... school started. There's the answer. This goes beyond placing digital, poetic, fantastic words onto a website for you to read: I haven't written anything other than my essays and speeches for school. This is wrong to me, and it's something I won't let suffer.
Added to my writing, I feel another strain on my relationship. We don't see each other much, except for an hour at school (maybe) and then in the evenings if we both don't have too much homework. When we do see each other it's nothing but good times. Much remains beneath the surface neither one of us is talking about because we don't actually have enough time to deal with our issues. Every relationship, every couple, every friendship and partnership has issues lying beneath the surface of pleasantries automatically inserted when seeing each other for short moments. I need more time to work these issues out.
Writing is therapeutic for me. It puts my mind into a different realm where thoughts are actions and possibilities play themselves across a scene of juxtaposed understandings. I get answers through writing and letting my mind wander. I've realized love. I've realized pain. I've realized devotion and sensitivity and sublimity and ultimate truth. Many of these times, I've realized the next moves I've had to make in my relationships.
It suddenly feels like I've changed my way of processing from actual written works (pen to paper) to visualizations in daydreams. Meditation is certainly helping with this; and coming into a deep meditative state is coming faster and easier nowadays. It helped me realize my load is too much in life, even though I'm giving it my best and succeeding (for the most part). I've stopped trying to multitask and have been devoting my attention singularly to the tasks at hand. However, I've been doing this almost constantly during my waking hours. My only relief is in meditation and sleep.
Thus, I'm giving up one job in favor of the better/closer one. This will free of some of my evenings and I won't have to work 50 hours a week (yes... 50 on top of school. I know. I'm crazy.)! Though this won't truly come into effect for another 3 weeks, I'm still looking forward to some free-time (but it might turn into more homework time and I just won't have to stay up as late nor wake up as early). Perhaps this will allow me to fix the other issues in my life.
You think this is negative. Truly, it can't possibly be a negative statement. Life has gotten the better of me because I have given the best I can. I'm only in these circumstances because of choices which led me to accepting my current status. I'm a full time student (as I've been for the past several semesters) taking 19 credit hours which consists of 5 classes (Physics, English Composition II, Public Speaking, Theatre Appreciation, Calculus I) while working 2 jobs, one of which is 40 minutes away while the other is 7. I'm currently seeing my boyfriend about 2 hours every three days and I haven't truly seen a friend outside my work or school environments in about three weeks now.
Am I stressed? Not really. I'm actually enjoying the thrill of pushing myself to the extreme, testing the boundaries between insanity and structure and sleep deprivation. Doing all this is fun. However, I'm already feeling the strain in several areas.
One is my writing. I haven't truly written anything inspired by creativity in quite a while. My mind has completely changed tracks and is now moving on a steady train called Academia. It goes through a circle of towns: Research, Compose, Edit, Submit. I'm enjoying this ride because it's teaching me how to force creativity into a focused, linear style of thinking. My academic papers are fun and entertaining because my prose are filled with beauty. I can't help it. This is my best.
However, essays and research papers and speeches aren't really an issue in regards to my writing. They're just other avenues toward writing nirvana (now that's a concept!). The evidence for strain is here on my blog. Notice I haven't put anything up this month. Well... school started. There's the answer. This goes beyond placing digital, poetic, fantastic words onto a website for you to read: I haven't written anything other than my essays and speeches for school. This is wrong to me, and it's something I won't let suffer.
Added to my writing, I feel another strain on my relationship. We don't see each other much, except for an hour at school (maybe) and then in the evenings if we both don't have too much homework. When we do see each other it's nothing but good times. Much remains beneath the surface neither one of us is talking about because we don't actually have enough time to deal with our issues. Every relationship, every couple, every friendship and partnership has issues lying beneath the surface of pleasantries automatically inserted when seeing each other for short moments. I need more time to work these issues out.
Writing is therapeutic for me. It puts my mind into a different realm where thoughts are actions and possibilities play themselves across a scene of juxtaposed understandings. I get answers through writing and letting my mind wander. I've realized love. I've realized pain. I've realized devotion and sensitivity and sublimity and ultimate truth. Many of these times, I've realized the next moves I've had to make in my relationships.
It suddenly feels like I've changed my way of processing from actual written works (pen to paper) to visualizations in daydreams. Meditation is certainly helping with this; and coming into a deep meditative state is coming faster and easier nowadays. It helped me realize my load is too much in life, even though I'm giving it my best and succeeding (for the most part). I've stopped trying to multitask and have been devoting my attention singularly to the tasks at hand. However, I've been doing this almost constantly during my waking hours. My only relief is in meditation and sleep.
Thus, I'm giving up one job in favor of the better/closer one. This will free of some of my evenings and I won't have to work 50 hours a week (yes... 50 on top of school. I know. I'm crazy.)! Though this won't truly come into effect for another 3 weeks, I'm still looking forward to some free-time (but it might turn into more homework time and I just won't have to stay up as late nor wake up as early). Perhaps this will allow me to fix the other issues in my life.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
The New York Within
How easy it is to see
a city like New York;
to watch the sea of people
washing down the streets
among stoic buildings and
elegant skyscrapers;
to breathe the smog
hugging close like a veil.
Harder still to know
the hue of masses.
It's a city of its people,
for its people, with its people.
The city of walking sleepers,
dead faces and blank stares.
The city of meetings,
hardships and lfowers.
The city of music:
shouting, lyrical, and art.
The city of stereotypes,
non-conformists and tourists;
and still they are all
the same.
Hellishly difficult to know
the truth of the city
where eyes belie the strength
and hearts cry for more;
where souls secretly yearn
to escape and remain;
where a genuine smile
breaks tedium in the ocean;
where free hugs melt
the sorrow and fear of life;
where culture is regarded
and forgotten from step to step;
where lunch dates solidify
friendships needed to survive.
However, this isn't just within
a city that never sleeps.
It's easy to see this life
within us all.
It's harder to understand the
delicate movements of living.
It's magic to know
how we live in survival.
a city like New York;
to watch the sea of people
washing down the streets
among stoic buildings and
elegant skyscrapers;
to breathe the smog
hugging close like a veil.
Harder still to know
the hue of masses.
It's a city of its people,
for its people, with its people.
The city of walking sleepers,
dead faces and blank stares.
The city of meetings,
hardships and lfowers.
The city of music:
shouting, lyrical, and art.
The city of stereotypes,
non-conformists and tourists;
and still they are all
the same.
Hellishly difficult to know
the truth of the city
where eyes belie the strength
and hearts cry for more;
where souls secretly yearn
to escape and remain;
where a genuine smile
breaks tedium in the ocean;
where free hugs melt
the sorrow and fear of life;
where culture is regarded
and forgotten from step to step;
where lunch dates solidify
friendships needed to survive.
However, this isn't just within
a city that never sleeps.
It's easy to see this life
within us all.
It's harder to understand the
delicate movements of living.
It's magic to know
how we live in survival.
Changing Seasons
It starts in morning
Cold tinge in the air
The days are shortened
Moon pushing her care
New seasons of thought
Bring much to our fair
And loneliness lost
Wrapped up in Her care
Cold tinge in the air
The days are shortened
Moon pushing her care
New seasons of thought
Bring much to our fair
And loneliness lost
Wrapped up in Her care
The Sentence: A Haiku
one line of your words
sheds blood where we stood just then
where are we as one
sheds blood where we stood just then
where are we as one
Friday, August 27, 2010
The Invention (Part 1)
Against the windowless wall, where darkness loomed from the crevices all around, a woman watched with intent eyes wondering from where her will to deceive came. It came naturally, thoughtlessly, and maliciously even though she cared not for the delicate intrigues permeating every instance of her deception. These myriads of information swam in her ind, developing, creating, and deepening the world towards which she worked.
Her desires didn't include the dead body before her. Nor did they include the pool of blood expanding towards the opened door.
however hard she pressed against the light-less wall, she couldn't escape without stepping into the world again. Into her world, and though she didn't feel emotions about the deceased before her, she understood the blame that would fall upon her character. None wold understand, no-one would help her once this was revealed.
Determination crept up her spine like the tingle of nerves being reawakened during a massage.
If I stay and call this in... They won't pin me for his murder. I haven't touched him. I didn't do anything. There isn't any evidence connecting me to his death. They'll find me innocent of this event.
And with that, she reached into her right pocket of her cargo pants and extracted her cellular telephone. She flipped it open and called the police, allowing the light to illuminate her face for a second.
"Hello, what's the nature of your emergency?"
"I'm in a room with a dead body. I didn't see it happen, but I was in the room when he died; I don't know who did it. Please send someone quickly."
"Yes, miss. Where are you?"
"At the Invention Hotel on the corner of Styx and Dawn. Third floor. Room 5."
"What's your name, dear?"
"...I don't know."
"Are you safe?"
"Yes. I'm quite alone."
"Are you injured?"
"No."
"Can you leave the room and get to the ground floor?"
"If I exit the room I'll step in blood, compromising evidence. There aren't any windows in this room, only a door leading to the hallway."
The lady on the other end began to sound genuinely worried. It was obvious she had some training in psychology and thought the worst of the situation. "Are you sure you can't find a clear path to the door? Look down at the ground around your feet, dear."
"I'm not in shock. The pool of blood is clearly blocking the entire doorway and has spread very far. I don't know if it's all real or if it's even all his, but I cannot bypass it without compromising it. I'm standing against the west wall in the dark so I won't be near the body."
"Alright, miss. The police are on the way. Feel free to stay on the--"
"I'll be fine on my own. Thank you."
"I have your information here. I'll call you as soon as the police enter the building."
"Again. Thank you." She closed the phone and placed it back in the right pocket of her cargo pants. The waiting began. Enveloped in silence she was able to think about everything.
She honestly couldn't remember her name, which bothered her. She comprehensively knew the characteristics that made her personality, the psychology that motivated her thoughts, and the inherent strengths of body, but much of her past was unknown. Where was she from? Who were her parents? How did she get to the third floor of the Invention Hotel on the corner of Styx and Dawn? The more she thought, the more questions arose in her mind about the situation. Who killed the man and why wasn't she killed also? How likely were the police officers to believe she didn't kill him?
This thought triggered something deep in her body. She knew, without a doubt, she didn't kill the man. It was an odd knowledge, though; like knowing she had driven from point A to point B, but not remembering the processes used to get there. She also knew that the man was familiar to her, someone who had spent much of his time around her, but not in a sexual or friendly way. The feeling was more business oriented, calculated and determined. She regarded his body and wondered if he was her bodyguard.
That answer was too simple.
Somewhere three stories down, the main door opened and closed with a hushed thud. The woman felt the vibrations of the building and knew the policemen were walking cautiously toward the stairs. In her mind, an accurate picture of five officers blossomed. The same dark blue outfits fit slug over their bodies with the same tool belts. Their guns were poised shoot anything that might attack from around any corner. Their steps were gentle but rushed, eyes darting everywhere. Tension hunched their shoulders forward slightly and their breath was shallow and smooth. Two of the officers had longer hair, while the other three kept to a shorter style more akin to masculinity. Each of the officers was ill-prepared for homicide: the small town wasn't custom to much more than petty theft.
The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone a split second before the call came.
"Hello." She tried to make her voice sound a little less together this time.
The slight quiver seemed to have worked. "It's alright. The police officers are just downstairs. I'll stay on the phone with you until they reach the third floor hallway, okay?"
"Yes. That would be nice. I'm sorry..."
"There's no need to apologize, miss. You'll be fine."
"I just want to get out of here. I think I can smell his blood." The added drama only generated more compassion from the woman on the other end of the line.
"Dear, you're going to be alright. Don't look at the body, keep your eyes on the door. Soon one of the officers will call down the hallway and you'll reply and he'll appear in the door to get you."
She closed her eyes and saw the officers reaching the third floor door in the stairwell. "Are they almost here?"
"Yes. They're just downstairs. Don't worry. They'll be there in a moment."
The woman felt the door to the hallway open. Time to turn the excitement up. "Oh-my-god... I-just-heard-something... Someone's-in-the-hallway-What-should-I-do-Oh-my-god..." The words tumbled out of her mouth.
From the hallway, a shout resounded with perfect clarity. "Miss. This is the police. Are you alright?"
"Miss, it should be the police. It's okay to respond to them now. They're there to protect you."
The woman smiled in the darkness. Her chest was pounding, her breath quickening slightly, and her body tingling with excitement. This felt natural and fun, manipulating people to believe her to be in distress. "I'm down here... in here..." She closed her phone and put it back in the same pocket.
Loud footsteps, much louder than downstairs, came thudding down the hallway at a jogging rate. An instant later, the first police officer stood outside the door, shocked by the monstrosity displayed on the floor. The blood was everywhere, pooled entirely around the door and his body. His head was twisted with a bullet in his temple, eyes open wide and his mouth appeared angry. His cloths were in tatters, revealing skin which had been ripped open somehow, though not falling off his body.
The second officer pushed him out of the way and started taking pictures of the scene. As soon as a few were acquired, the third officer gingerly entered the room, shining a flashlight around the tiny, empty utilities closet until he found the woman. He froze.
She was almost a dream. Her hair fell down her shoulders: black with the shimmering hues of red, purple, and blue. Her face was thin with a cute nose and oval eyes. Purple irises looked back, tears wetting their lids and dropping down her pale cheeks. She wore a tight black shirt made of a material the officer couldn't name. The outfit revealed her strong, lean build in a perfectly proportioned frame. Once he had taken the vision in, she collapsed to the ground, fainting, as it were.
To Be Continued...
Her desires didn't include the dead body before her. Nor did they include the pool of blood expanding towards the opened door.
however hard she pressed against the light-less wall, she couldn't escape without stepping into the world again. Into her world, and though she didn't feel emotions about the deceased before her, she understood the blame that would fall upon her character. None wold understand, no-one would help her once this was revealed.
Determination crept up her spine like the tingle of nerves being reawakened during a massage.
If I stay and call this in... They won't pin me for his murder. I haven't touched him. I didn't do anything. There isn't any evidence connecting me to his death. They'll find me innocent of this event.
And with that, she reached into her right pocket of her cargo pants and extracted her cellular telephone. She flipped it open and called the police, allowing the light to illuminate her face for a second.
"Hello, what's the nature of your emergency?"
"I'm in a room with a dead body. I didn't see it happen, but I was in the room when he died; I don't know who did it. Please send someone quickly."
"Yes, miss. Where are you?"
"At the Invention Hotel on the corner of Styx and Dawn. Third floor. Room 5."
"What's your name, dear?"
"...I don't know."
"Are you safe?"
"Yes. I'm quite alone."
"Are you injured?"
"No."
"Can you leave the room and get to the ground floor?"
"If I exit the room I'll step in blood, compromising evidence. There aren't any windows in this room, only a door leading to the hallway."
The lady on the other end began to sound genuinely worried. It was obvious she had some training in psychology and thought the worst of the situation. "Are you sure you can't find a clear path to the door? Look down at the ground around your feet, dear."
"I'm not in shock. The pool of blood is clearly blocking the entire doorway and has spread very far. I don't know if it's all real or if it's even all his, but I cannot bypass it without compromising it. I'm standing against the west wall in the dark so I won't be near the body."
"Alright, miss. The police are on the way. Feel free to stay on the--"
"I'll be fine on my own. Thank you."
"I have your information here. I'll call you as soon as the police enter the building."
"Again. Thank you." She closed the phone and placed it back in the right pocket of her cargo pants. The waiting began. Enveloped in silence she was able to think about everything.
She honestly couldn't remember her name, which bothered her. She comprehensively knew the characteristics that made her personality, the psychology that motivated her thoughts, and the inherent strengths of body, but much of her past was unknown. Where was she from? Who were her parents? How did she get to the third floor of the Invention Hotel on the corner of Styx and Dawn? The more she thought, the more questions arose in her mind about the situation. Who killed the man and why wasn't she killed also? How likely were the police officers to believe she didn't kill him?
This thought triggered something deep in her body. She knew, without a doubt, she didn't kill the man. It was an odd knowledge, though; like knowing she had driven from point A to point B, but not remembering the processes used to get there. She also knew that the man was familiar to her, someone who had spent much of his time around her, but not in a sexual or friendly way. The feeling was more business oriented, calculated and determined. She regarded his body and wondered if he was her bodyguard.
That answer was too simple.
Somewhere three stories down, the main door opened and closed with a hushed thud. The woman felt the vibrations of the building and knew the policemen were walking cautiously toward the stairs. In her mind, an accurate picture of five officers blossomed. The same dark blue outfits fit slug over their bodies with the same tool belts. Their guns were poised shoot anything that might attack from around any corner. Their steps were gentle but rushed, eyes darting everywhere. Tension hunched their shoulders forward slightly and their breath was shallow and smooth. Two of the officers had longer hair, while the other three kept to a shorter style more akin to masculinity. Each of the officers was ill-prepared for homicide: the small town wasn't custom to much more than petty theft.
The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone a split second before the call came.
"Hello." She tried to make her voice sound a little less together this time.
The slight quiver seemed to have worked. "It's alright. The police officers are just downstairs. I'll stay on the phone with you until they reach the third floor hallway, okay?"
"Yes. That would be nice. I'm sorry..."
"There's no need to apologize, miss. You'll be fine."
"I just want to get out of here. I think I can smell his blood." The added drama only generated more compassion from the woman on the other end of the line.
"Dear, you're going to be alright. Don't look at the body, keep your eyes on the door. Soon one of the officers will call down the hallway and you'll reply and he'll appear in the door to get you."
She closed her eyes and saw the officers reaching the third floor door in the stairwell. "Are they almost here?"
"Yes. They're just downstairs. Don't worry. They'll be there in a moment."
The woman felt the door to the hallway open. Time to turn the excitement up. "Oh-my-god... I-just-heard-something... Someone's-in-the-hallway-What-should-I-do-Oh-my-god..." The words tumbled out of her mouth.
From the hallway, a shout resounded with perfect clarity. "Miss. This is the police. Are you alright?"
"Miss, it should be the police. It's okay to respond to them now. They're there to protect you."
The woman smiled in the darkness. Her chest was pounding, her breath quickening slightly, and her body tingling with excitement. This felt natural and fun, manipulating people to believe her to be in distress. "I'm down here... in here..." She closed her phone and put it back in the same pocket.
Loud footsteps, much louder than downstairs, came thudding down the hallway at a jogging rate. An instant later, the first police officer stood outside the door, shocked by the monstrosity displayed on the floor. The blood was everywhere, pooled entirely around the door and his body. His head was twisted with a bullet in his temple, eyes open wide and his mouth appeared angry. His cloths were in tatters, revealing skin which had been ripped open somehow, though not falling off his body.
The second officer pushed him out of the way and started taking pictures of the scene. As soon as a few were acquired, the third officer gingerly entered the room, shining a flashlight around the tiny, empty utilities closet until he found the woman. He froze.
She was almost a dream. Her hair fell down her shoulders: black with the shimmering hues of red, purple, and blue. Her face was thin with a cute nose and oval eyes. Purple irises looked back, tears wetting their lids and dropping down her pale cheeks. She wore a tight black shirt made of a material the officer couldn't name. The outfit revealed her strong, lean build in a perfectly proportioned frame. Once he had taken the vision in, she collapsed to the ground, fainting, as it were.
To Be Continued...
Thursday, August 26, 2010
The Changed Earth (Part 14)
"It's strange. This place doesn't feel normal yet everything about it speaks of home."
"As it should. She has helped us give this place our hearts."
"How long will we stay here?"
"As long as we need to. Hopefully long enough."
Nick hesitated.
"Don't be shy about your questions. I'm here to answer any and all that come across your mind."
Nick looked away, across the landscape they now called home. It was secluded in a vastly different way. Where once the view of oceans greeted the eyes, now a mountainous range covered in black and grey welcomed the small collective of humans. They were lucky to have found the natural protection which offered a long valley to start a civilization again. Home, they called it. Tall, full trees rose to magnificent heights, lush bushes and vibrant flowers grew abundantly in the verdant forests, and life renewed itself once more between the peaks. Nick understood the luck of finding such a place. He also knew the power it took in restoring this nature to the Earth, marveling in the speed to which Ethan had pushed their efforts.
After taking in the view again, feeling the almost magical sense of homecoming fill his heart and throat as always, he turned back to Ethan and slowly asked, "Why have you not spoken about what happened?"
Ethan took his turn to look away.
"Elder Adair I don't mean to pry or anything, but we're all confused. Well, that isn't necessarily true. Your council must know what happened and why we so hastily moved, but us commoners are ill informed. I've come to know many of them... perhaps if I knew I could tell them something..."
"Your training is coming along well and I certainly have no secrets from you." Ethan had been weighing the matter for a while. The council understood enough to move forward with ensuring their survival after the battle which nearly tore the planet apart, but only Alexis knew everything. She experienced most of it herself, but was slowly told of Ethan's internal struggles later. Now Nick wanted to know more, and he carried the ambition to lead the rest of their civilization, lead in a way a President couldn't. Ethan needed such a resource. After all, Gaia had plans for Nick, which meant Ethan had plans for him as well.
Ethan continued, "My brother has a different vision for humanity's survival, which everyone already knows. This vision has taken him on a potentially destructive path." Everyone already knew this as well. When Charles manifested the powers of the Sun in himself, fissures split the mantle of the Earth everywhere. The Cocos Islands were only saved because of the Council's quick responses to Alexis. "Now he embodies the Sun. He is infused with the power of Sol, as I am one with Gaia at all times.
"As we have always been, Charles and I are different and equal. We both want peace and survival. He is unwilling to risk history repeating itself. He sees democracy as a failed institution and wants the purity of his rule to guide consciousness back to supremacy. We are thus seen as a threat to his stability in the future..."
"He wants us out of the picture entirely?" Nick asked. The amazement wasn't hidden.
"Unfortunately he does. He's willing to make negotiations for the survival of a few as long as those who long for democracy are either converted to his thinking or gone. The Council and President aren't willing to negotiate."
"We're hiding then?"
Ethan chuckled. "In a way, yes. We're biding out time, and if that means hiding then that's what we'll do." He could almost feel Nick's mind churning over information, much the same way Ethan did. He saw so much of himself in Nick as their training progressed. However, Ethan also saw much of his brother there as well. Quick to learn, faster to advance, and the inkling of hunger behind it all. Once upon a time, Ethan felt a hunger for more. His father's death put an end to that hunger. Somehow Charles never recovered, which only fueled the ambition more. Oh Gaia, Mother, please help me keep Nick away from that abyss.
"So... Where were you last week?" Nick
"Building a system of distractions for Charles to deal with." Both Ethan and his pupil smiled. "He will certainly have discovered by now that we are no longer on the Cocos Islands. And perhaps he has moved some of his collective there to inhabit and maintain the nature that has been restored to balance. Given this assumption, I have set a series of... distractions... for him to come across in due time. There are about fifty fake habitats around the Earth that simulate our civilizations progressing. Some of these habitats are actually starting to thrive and survive without my nurturing. Others are simply mirages which will dissipate once the shields are destroyed. None of these are truly strong enough to sustain an onslaught from Charles' new abilities, but it will certainly give us enough time to figure things out."
Nick shook his head. "You are amazing!"
"I appreciate the sentiment, but I am merely doing what I can to protect us." Ethan looked away once more, uncomfortable by the sudden praise and admiration which poured from Nick's entire presence. "Hopefully my efforts will actually regenerate the natural cycles of ecosystems that have been lost. With enough time they should be able to survive without the protective bubbles currently shielding them from the worst of the weather, as it were. None of this would have been possible without Gaia. Her power is what allows me to be so effective." With that, Ethan brought the somber tone which always filled his voice when training was at hand. "Enough talk about what cannot be solved. We must complete your training soon." Soon, however, was still far off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The wind coursed across the pinkish purple dome overlooking the valley. Soot, ash, and fine debris floated in the currents rushing in violent eddies. Darkness still encrusted the air. It was a darkness which shadowed the heart and mind, distilling ambitions and forgoing change; however ironically permanence disappeared in seconds. No particle dancing in the veiled days rested for more than a moment, dragging its death around the burdened skeletons of woodlands and cracked skins of prairies. Dried beds warped the canyons where hollowed echos reverberated through the muffled clouds. Not even the waves of dreams escaped the desolation of extinction. A blackened mud blanketed the seas in calmer waters, caking the wounds and mingling with the gills of primordial habitats deep within the womb of evolution.
Suddenly, the wind found another bubble to which it was not permitted entrance. The same eerie radiance of berated hope, of difficult love, of tragic misunderstanding surfacing from the heart brushed the blackened clouds. Over time, the wind discovered several of these solitary fortresses of life. The blackness within its dismal fortitude born of microscopic destructive powers began to ebb in its endlessly chaotic journey.
A ray of brightness pierced the canopy.
The besmirched land rustled in its sudden heat: dust unsettled at its touch in a gentle billow where the light landed, the wind circled idly around the elegant filigree descending from the heavens, and a silent uproarious gaiety sparked within the essence of the Earth spirits.
Two individuals felt the shift, and a voice spoke to both. Its notes soothed with the gentle warmth of love. Its tonality spoke of anticipated hope and tenuous joy. Where once it spoke in horror, in wisdom, in pain, it now cherished a moment of reprieve and relaxation. It said:
The face of the Earth is changing.
"As it should. She has helped us give this place our hearts."
"How long will we stay here?"
"As long as we need to. Hopefully long enough."
Nick hesitated.
"Don't be shy about your questions. I'm here to answer any and all that come across your mind."
Nick looked away, across the landscape they now called home. It was secluded in a vastly different way. Where once the view of oceans greeted the eyes, now a mountainous range covered in black and grey welcomed the small collective of humans. They were lucky to have found the natural protection which offered a long valley to start a civilization again. Home, they called it. Tall, full trees rose to magnificent heights, lush bushes and vibrant flowers grew abundantly in the verdant forests, and life renewed itself once more between the peaks. Nick understood the luck of finding such a place. He also knew the power it took in restoring this nature to the Earth, marveling in the speed to which Ethan had pushed their efforts.
After taking in the view again, feeling the almost magical sense of homecoming fill his heart and throat as always, he turned back to Ethan and slowly asked, "Why have you not spoken about what happened?"
Ethan took his turn to look away.
"Elder Adair I don't mean to pry or anything, but we're all confused. Well, that isn't necessarily true. Your council must know what happened and why we so hastily moved, but us commoners are ill informed. I've come to know many of them... perhaps if I knew I could tell them something..."
"Your training is coming along well and I certainly have no secrets from you." Ethan had been weighing the matter for a while. The council understood enough to move forward with ensuring their survival after the battle which nearly tore the planet apart, but only Alexis knew everything. She experienced most of it herself, but was slowly told of Ethan's internal struggles later. Now Nick wanted to know more, and he carried the ambition to lead the rest of their civilization, lead in a way a President couldn't. Ethan needed such a resource. After all, Gaia had plans for Nick, which meant Ethan had plans for him as well.
Ethan continued, "My brother has a different vision for humanity's survival, which everyone already knows. This vision has taken him on a potentially destructive path." Everyone already knew this as well. When Charles manifested the powers of the Sun in himself, fissures split the mantle of the Earth everywhere. The Cocos Islands were only saved because of the Council's quick responses to Alexis. "Now he embodies the Sun. He is infused with the power of Sol, as I am one with Gaia at all times.
"As we have always been, Charles and I are different and equal. We both want peace and survival. He is unwilling to risk history repeating itself. He sees democracy as a failed institution and wants the purity of his rule to guide consciousness back to supremacy. We are thus seen as a threat to his stability in the future..."
"He wants us out of the picture entirely?" Nick asked. The amazement wasn't hidden.
"Unfortunately he does. He's willing to make negotiations for the survival of a few as long as those who long for democracy are either converted to his thinking or gone. The Council and President aren't willing to negotiate."
"We're hiding then?"
Ethan chuckled. "In a way, yes. We're biding out time, and if that means hiding then that's what we'll do." He could almost feel Nick's mind churning over information, much the same way Ethan did. He saw so much of himself in Nick as their training progressed. However, Ethan also saw much of his brother there as well. Quick to learn, faster to advance, and the inkling of hunger behind it all. Once upon a time, Ethan felt a hunger for more. His father's death put an end to that hunger. Somehow Charles never recovered, which only fueled the ambition more. Oh Gaia, Mother, please help me keep Nick away from that abyss.
"So... Where were you last week?" Nick
"Building a system of distractions for Charles to deal with." Both Ethan and his pupil smiled. "He will certainly have discovered by now that we are no longer on the Cocos Islands. And perhaps he has moved some of his collective there to inhabit and maintain the nature that has been restored to balance. Given this assumption, I have set a series of... distractions... for him to come across in due time. There are about fifty fake habitats around the Earth that simulate our civilizations progressing. Some of these habitats are actually starting to thrive and survive without my nurturing. Others are simply mirages which will dissipate once the shields are destroyed. None of these are truly strong enough to sustain an onslaught from Charles' new abilities, but it will certainly give us enough time to figure things out."
Nick shook his head. "You are amazing!"
"I appreciate the sentiment, but I am merely doing what I can to protect us." Ethan looked away once more, uncomfortable by the sudden praise and admiration which poured from Nick's entire presence. "Hopefully my efforts will actually regenerate the natural cycles of ecosystems that have been lost. With enough time they should be able to survive without the protective bubbles currently shielding them from the worst of the weather, as it were. None of this would have been possible without Gaia. Her power is what allows me to be so effective." With that, Ethan brought the somber tone which always filled his voice when training was at hand. "Enough talk about what cannot be solved. We must complete your training soon." Soon, however, was still far off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The wind coursed across the pinkish purple dome overlooking the valley. Soot, ash, and fine debris floated in the currents rushing in violent eddies. Darkness still encrusted the air. It was a darkness which shadowed the heart and mind, distilling ambitions and forgoing change; however ironically permanence disappeared in seconds. No particle dancing in the veiled days rested for more than a moment, dragging its death around the burdened skeletons of woodlands and cracked skins of prairies. Dried beds warped the canyons where hollowed echos reverberated through the muffled clouds. Not even the waves of dreams escaped the desolation of extinction. A blackened mud blanketed the seas in calmer waters, caking the wounds and mingling with the gills of primordial habitats deep within the womb of evolution.
Suddenly, the wind found another bubble to which it was not permitted entrance. The same eerie radiance of berated hope, of difficult love, of tragic misunderstanding surfacing from the heart brushed the blackened clouds. Over time, the wind discovered several of these solitary fortresses of life. The blackness within its dismal fortitude born of microscopic destructive powers began to ebb in its endlessly chaotic journey.
A ray of brightness pierced the canopy.
The besmirched land rustled in its sudden heat: dust unsettled at its touch in a gentle billow where the light landed, the wind circled idly around the elegant filigree descending from the heavens, and a silent uproarious gaiety sparked within the essence of the Earth spirits.
Two individuals felt the shift, and a voice spoke to both. Its notes soothed with the gentle warmth of love. Its tonality spoke of anticipated hope and tenuous joy. Where once it spoke in horror, in wisdom, in pain, it now cherished a moment of reprieve and relaxation. It said:
The face of the Earth is changing.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
One Mystery Passes All Everyday of Life
One mystery passes all everyday of life.
We see It small, we make It large,
we feel It whole,
and know Its emptiness;
on every level It exists;
for inanimates
to the blood,
given conditions
and hopeful for none,
in fleeting moments,
lasting forever,
and cherished in Its opponent.
Those who study the science of minds
play at Its causes,
pointing, prodding, and persecuting Its will,
regardlessly splaying with rules and logic,
while people struggle accepting
Its sublime
manner ebbing and flowing in westward winds,
swaying in lingo to strengthen or destroy,
fighting in lyrics of truth and
climbing down the tree of forebearers.
It is available to all who desire,
at any stage, any strength, any time,
yet many fight It
or hate It
or find jealousy in Its stead.
A memory full may explain these:
tears of both provoked
in joy or rage or hurt or purity...
I find It through beauty,
first in myself and then without,
in moments of laughter,
relinquished through tears,
gazing into celestial eyes,
between the pages of life,
surfacing through gestures,
painted across melodic words,
shelved in the histories,
broken by wars of mind,
and mended with a shy smile.
It depletes me until I'm full,
and still I want more.
Changing from day to seconds
and shifting Its defining characters with each glance.
Today it's the same, tomorrow It changes,
the next is back, and after death
It's reborn in flames of passion.
The trials It gives uniquely strive
for individual sights within a scheme
designed for hearts.
We see It small, we make It large,
we feel It whole,
and know Its emptiness;
on every level It exists;
for inanimates
to the blood,
given conditions
and hopeful for none,
in fleeting moments,
lasting forever,
and cherished in Its opponent.
Those who study the science of minds
play at Its causes,
pointing, prodding, and persecuting Its will,
regardlessly splaying with rules and logic,
while people struggle accepting
Its sublime
manner ebbing and flowing in westward winds,
swaying in lingo to strengthen or destroy,
fighting in lyrics of truth and
climbing down the tree of forebearers.
It is available to all who desire,
at any stage, any strength, any time,
yet many fight It
or hate It
or find jealousy in Its stead.
A memory full may explain these:
tears of both provoked
in joy or rage or hurt or purity...
I find It through beauty,
first in myself and then without,
in moments of laughter,
relinquished through tears,
gazing into celestial eyes,
between the pages of life,
surfacing through gestures,
painted across melodic words,
shelved in the histories,
broken by wars of mind,
and mended with a shy smile.
It depletes me until I'm full,
and still I want more.
Changing from day to seconds
and shifting Its defining characters with each glance.
Today it's the same, tomorrow It changes,
the next is back, and after death
It's reborn in flames of passion.
The trials It gives uniquely strive
for individual sights within a scheme
designed for hearts.
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