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Posts Tagged ‘God’

That Made of This

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on December 3, 2011| 2 Comments »

This story is actually derived from a dark chapter in my life. There was a very brief moment in the true story that was a gratitude unlike any I’d ever known. Unfortunately, my fears and self-hatreds were too severe to make the good last, and quickly I was made to see myself as someone I’d never want to be again. From this darkest of times for me, however, was given me the motivation to work to become someone I could like.

Sweet Dreams

He saw her lying there and knew not what to do. For all intents and purposes she was an angel, seeing her asleep didn’t add to his inclination to regard her as directly created from the divine. Likewise, he couldn’t help but feel as a dog who hadn’t been fed in a month and a half, staring at a 120 pound piece of fillet Mignon, wrapped in bacon, and just about ready to be broiled.

He wiped a drop of saliva away from his lower lip before kneeling down before her. “Cindy. Cindy.” He very gently, with as little force as he could muster, put pressure on her shoulder, almost as though shaking it while whispering her name as though hoping to watch her sleep several more hours before gaining her attention.

“Cindy.” He raised his voice to almost audible, grateful for the feel of divinity wrapped in blanket, sweatshirt, and T-shirt under his hand. After a ritual of raising his voice by quarter-decibels, and firming his grasp a few inches from where her wing must have been tucked behind her for the night, her eyes slowly met with his as a smile began to form across her mouth.

“Jim, good morning. What time is it?” Her whisper broke through her struggle to remain warm asleep.

“It’s about five, Cindy. I hate being awake so early, let alone waking you, but I needed to ask you, I just couldn’t wait.”

“What is it Jim?” He saw that she was resigning herself back to her mind unconscious in warmth from where he had pulled her forth, he tightened his hold on her shoulder ever-so slightly so as to keep her with him just a few moments longer.

“Cindy, my life has become worth living since the day I met you. Existence swirled inside my head and created the universe habitable by my person when first I shook your hand; so loudly did all creation seem to find purpose within me, that it took some time for me to believe myself anything but insane; the pathetic wretch I’d become accustom to existing as taking exception to having to vacate its terribly-too-familiar home. Years have I had to grow accustomed to my life having meaning in the face of infinite reality, years have I longed to express my gratitude that I can be happy to exist as a part integrated and useful in all that is. For years have I strove to make of myself someone you could be proud to know once I knew that I could not before, so fully had I taken my life for granted, my existence almost automatic without me. And whether my work has made of me a being that could reflect even a spark of the light that your beauty has brought to how I see myself and this world, I do not know. But what I do know is that so completely does the desire to express the joy in my heart you have brought to me wish to vacate my skin, that I thought it best to waken you and speak any of what I have become, for I do not believe that I can bear my own silence for much longer.”

Her eyes opened very slightly and she smiled at him. From under the covers one of her hands found his and squeezed it very gently for just a moment. “When I awaken,” her words spoken with the clarity of crystal dipped in honey from the back of her throat, “you will hear the echo of your voice envelop the whole of your reality such that you’ll never have the need to speak the joy in your heart again, for why would you attempt to describe the sound of silence when you find yourself enjoying its speech; why throw a piece of wood into a raging forest’s fire?” And with that, her eyes shut and his heart began to float forward, wondering how much longer he would watch her rest.

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Fun House (Sort of)

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on November 19, 2011| 5 Comments »

For those whom have read my book, this might seem a little familiar at first. You’ll find quickly that while I touched on similar themes in one direction, I developed other themes entirely. If you’ve read my book you’ll be relieved to find here not a drop of blood, and all bodily facets completely intact. Enjoy!

Mirror Mirror

When I awoke I found myself encircled by mirrors. And then spoke a voice with no mouth; an utterance without vibration to my ear; a certainty penetrating deeply into my brain, “Choose correctly that which you are or forever be lost.” Looking again at myself surrounded by myself times twelve, it was then I noticed the knobs low, mid-right, in each reflection.

Turning to myself I saw myself different. My face to the face in a fun-house mirror; bloated, contorted, my stock thin and frail. A door I’d choose clearly and easily not to open. And beside it the same in reverse; a face better for a tooth-pick, a body that could not be moved upon legs liable to snap under less wait than “my” torso seemed to contain. Tallness and shortness being options at the other end of light refracting versions of me lacking myself, I resolved I’d not find myself well if the truest me could be found too-easily as mere carnival amusement. Other reflections were not as easy to dismiss.

One mirror, one wall, was I as I was. It annoyed me to look at myself as I’d never again wish myself to be; certainly no one I’d wish upon myself at present, brief terror quickly retreating to consider that my truest self had not overcome an existence I’d worked hard not to know now. And facing this mirror opposite, myself newly born. Almost, almost a desire to return to relearn all of existence as though I’d never seen it before. Knowing that to begin again means to arrive where I am; I could not exist genuinely as I know myself to other parents at another point in time. And so being reborn, even if it would make me as I am would create me ultimately again to this room, a me that is not me if I wish to exist forward and not, again, merely as I was.

Two more mirrors telling stories similar as I have never been; a future me that I could not recognize for I had not existed as I saw myself, myself cradled by the arms of death as my tombstone was being ready to be carved. To not choose death was even easier than not choosing a life I have never lived. Even to see myself as I would want to be, I could not exist as now, I could not identify myself to the mirror, I could not tell myself how I became who I was, let alone another. To become myself future would be not to exist if all that made me was merely a choice, and not living that choice through to the point of time of my own existence. To choose myself future was to choose non-existence. To choose death was to choose the same.

Eight doors that I’d not be leaving through, four to choose that I might be. Of these four, two as glaringly obvious as the others. In one I saw many of myself in all forms taken in the other eleven mirrors, and several forms in addition. Like looking into a spectrum of myself as any and all possible existence. It made my stomach queasy, and was the most obvious of all that potential aside, I could only exist as I was as one at a time, or if I chose all my possibilities simultaneously, I’d fear an attempt to live as such for the charge of hubris the Gods must level against me that I presume existence as a being all at once simultaneously. And facing every possibility, I saw a mirror from which stared at me nothing at all. And so I moved on to the last two, a challenge posed to my mind.

In one I saw myself, and in the other too. In one was I clothed.

Having seen myself in ten, not myself, the contrast to seeing myself as I was was stark. As I looked to my own hand and followed my wrist to the sleeve hiding the rest of my arm, I saw that the mirror revealed me clearly and perfectly as far as any eye could tell. But then as I began to roll my sleeve back, I saw no change in the mirror that showed me beyond what the cloth covering me might show others. I contemplated removing my clothes, considered that then one mirror would reflect the other perfectly; one would begrudgingly concede what the other already held to be the truth. I considered whether any of the mirrors knew that it distorted light and being; I contemplated that any of the vessels of image knew itself in terms of light, knowledge, reflection of genuine existence versus the image it held for the sole pair of eyes reviewing them to distinguish to the best of their ability.

And contemplating thus my gaze passed once more on all versions of myself I couldn’t be, refused to be, or flatly rejected by my choice. Glancing around, I came again to the mirror that showed nothing, though it faced the reflection of all possibilities simultaneous. And reviewing it I saw what I’d not noticed before, assuming it be it’s opposite’s equal at a glance. Staring back at me, with lid but no brow, was a solid eye in suspension hovering before an otherwise infinite self-reflection of mirrordom. I stared into an eye, and as I did, it began to fade. As I blinked it returned as though never faded, but when I stared at it without ceasing contact for an instant, its image grew faint until all but gone. It was there to be seen, but as something whose sole existence was only to see; it faded away to let what could be seen be shown.

My clothing was not me, the mirror of nakedness showed something more pure than what I chose to show others, or used to keep myself separate from one force in life or another. But was my body who I was? A clearer version of myself than 10 others, but while my existence was defined by my physical needs, was I? And the other mirror, it did not show non-existence as I’d thought originally, but something else entirely. Would I fade away to choose myself as nothing? Is that the choice I’d be making? And what was the difference between that and death?

“So let me get this straight. You’re going to choose yourself as a vampire?”

“Pardon?”

“As a vampire. You know, they have no reflection.”

“I’d actually never thought of it that way before, Billy. I was just about done with my story though, if you don’t mind . . .”

“O.K. but Mom gets to tell the next story! S’mores just go better with scary stories about axe-wielding maniacs–”

“Eww, I hate stories like that Billy! They give me bad dreams. Dad’s story might be BOR-ing, but at least I don’t have to worry about nightmares.”

“But Sally, he didn’t tell you about the psycho clown that comes out from behind the fun-house mirrors with bloody pick-axes and is about to kill him when–”

“MOM!”

“KIDS! Kids, settle down. This was a true story that actually happened to me and–”

“Yeah? Then who put you in the room?”

“Well, Billy, maybe there is a bit of hyperbole thrown in there, but, anyway, if you’d just let me finish. Here, have another S’more”

“Phwank you.” Billy acquiesced through sticky graham-cracker encrusted lips.

Anyway, as I was saying . . . My body defined me to a point, but if it was all that I was I’d have frittered away my time pursuing only . . . S’mores . . . and never would I have attempted to be something more than an animal. What made me me was those moments attempting to put aside my body that I might be able to become something more than exclusively trying to fuel and enjoy myself. And the frame-work in which I strove to become more than myself was the rest of existence; the apparently infinite existence compared to my small ability to perceive the concrete reality surrounding me.

It was not my body for which exclusively I labored. It was not merely to interest my mind. The heart in my blood pumped at times for others perhaps more than myself. And no view of myself could encompass those whom I loved as I did myself, be “they” person or thing. It was life itself with which I could be identified if my body was not present. Watching my own life, it’s interactions with all of life of which I was a part, determined by my physicality in part, but superseded by my desire to watch life around me thrive by the actions of my hand that were not otherwise invested directly with feeding the needs of my body, that was what I truly was.

Actually an anti-vampire, if you will, so did I turn toward the mirror, the door, in which, apparently, my, one floating eye stared back at me. And as I stepped closer the eye slowly dissolved into the infinity seen in the face of mirrors reflecting their own infinite nature; the infinite nature of light itself.

The knob was turned, and so through did I pass, grateful, so very direly grateful, for my own existence.

“And the story for the night being told, it’s time for bed. Throw some water on your faces, brush your teeth, and head for your tent.”

“MOM!” They cried in unison, Billy taking the lead, “Can’t we have a real story before we go to bed?”

Of course Sally was more interested in the S’mores and the warmth of the fire. She cherished these times of sweetness and warmth, even if the price to be paid was the occasional ease of her slumber.

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Four Letter Words You Can Say in Public

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on November 12, 2011| Leave a Comment »

There’s, like, at least four different dimensions of different personal perceptions of love in this story. Maybe more. This shorty was a brain-cleaning if ever I had one.

Love Is A Four Letter Word

“Well it is!”

“Shall I lecture you again on the difference between connotation and denotation?”

“I think I speak for all of us when I say that you can keep your lecture to yourself.”

“There’s only the two of us here.”

“Yeah, I was speaking for you too.”

“Well, someone’s feeling their inner wise-ass today. And before you say it, I’m definitely talking about you. But seriously, did someone with a captivating smile just turn you down, or did you just feel the need to start counting how many letters there are in the first words coming into your mind?”

“Are you sure I’m the only one here named Alec? I could swear for a second there I just saw your pants get smarter. Anyway, I was just in the park reading a book, and a couple is walking toward me, holding hands, and then, just as they were right about in front of the bench I was sitting on, I hear their voices start to raise, they unclasp, and there they start a fight right in front of where I’m sittin’ tryin’ to read. I’d have politely excused myself, but if I had stood up, I literally would have had to stand into them; they were that close! So there I am listening to some nonsense about why she shouldn’t have spent so much on a skirt, and it just brought back all sorts of memories about our joyful childhood.”

“Yeah, I must admit, when mom and dad divorced, that may well have been one of the happiest days of my life. Second, that is, only to the day they stopped living in the same house. I love them individually, but put them in the same room, you might as well ask chlorine to marry ammonia.”

“This is what I’m sayin’. So, actually, I was almost thinking of asking this cute girl I work with out, but then I thought, of course of Bea–“

“Bea again? Dude! It’s been five years already. Cute girl at work sounds like a good idea!”

“Which is why I was thinking about it. But then I thought about how it was that before I met Bea they never thought I’d walk again. It’s kind of hard to escape the fact that I was able to wiggle my toes for the first time in my life right after admitting to myself I was falling in love with her. I mean, call me crazy . . . And that coupled with Fighty McGees’ this afternoon at the park. I’m motivated about now to walk over to you and exclaim from a plethora of unsettling emotion and recollection that love is a four-letter word, but I think that’s about as far as I can take love today, unless of course Bea decides suddenly to forgive me out of the blue for being crazy-stalker guy, and just today I can’t fathom holding my breath.”

“Pity she can’t see you as you are now, you’re almost tolerable.”

“Gee sis, thanks. So are you.”

“Really though, one way or another, you’re bound to find someone who can stand you.”

“I did find someone who could stand me; or rather, somehow enable me to stand . . . and walk. But given my history, it’s probably better for her to find me at this point. Anyway, I guess I’ll mull it over over a jog in the park; that way at least I won’t be trapped by any more couples calling their love in quotation marks the real thing.”

“Well, brother, I’ll tell you. You know what another four letter word is? Soul. And you’ve got plenty of it. One way or another, I promise you’ll do just fine for yourself.”

“Thank you, that’s very sweet. You know what another four letter word is? Four. And that. And yarn. I’ll be running along now. Love ya!”

“Sigh. Love you too.”

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Saving Daylight

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on November 6, 2011| Leave a Comment »

A real short one for ya this week, but this story just didn’t want to be any longer. It wasn’t for lack of time or desire; when something is complete unto itself, ya leave it alone and enjoy it for what it is. I wrote it a while ago, and coming back to it, thought it would be perfect for Daylight Savings time.

To Fall

She ran beside him through the field. Their long hair waved in the breeze, at times mingling with each other. Finally, when fatigue caught up with them, together they fell to the soft grass below, giggling upward towards the sun. She smiled to see him next to her; he was so happy holding her hand.

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No Zombies Here!

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on October 30, 2011| 2 Comments »

I heard someone utter this old cliche, and thought to myself, “What if?”

Getting Out Alive

They say you can’t do that, right? If you’re wondering what I’m talkin’ about, review the title again and come right back. It’s ok, I’ll wait. I have all eternity you see . . .

Well, sort of. I’m kinda what you’d call “skin and bones” at this point . . . minus the skin. I do still have some tendons intact, but mostly just the bones.  But, the good news is, I got out alive!

Don’t worry, I don’t eat brains. This isn’t a zombie tale. Of course maybe that’s why I’ve lost so much weight lately . . .

I got shot in the head, woke up in a morgue, walked out past a horrified coroner, and have been enjoying after-life on Earth the last several months. Right now I’m lucky it’s Halloween time; a decaying, bloated, maggot-invested body just isn’t as warmly received at labor-day time, I’ll tell you what!

At first I figured the bullet in my head was merely a flesh wound. That nothing serious had been harmed in the process, and that even the doctors had been fooled for a moment. About a couple days after walking around though, once the beetles started following me everywhere, I started to get the impression that there might be something medically wrong with me. I was happy, however, when I awoke on day three and couldn’t feel the maggots that were eating my eyeball out. I immediately sprayed the other eye thoroughly with bug poisons so that I wouldn’t lose my sense of sight.

Oh, and as for that bullet, this isn’t a revenge story. I was back-packing through a Nevada desert while someone a mile-and-a-half off was shooting for fun, and, let’s just say it’s a good idea to plan one’s route really well when traveling through an American desert by foot! So, I never even met the bloke, or blokette. Naw, this is just to state that I did make it out alive.

And I don’t have any kind of science to back me. As far as I know, I’m the only one, and apparently for no good reason. I wasn’t wandering through an Indian reservation. No Gypsies handed me a cursed amulet before I left Hoboken. I don’t feel the need to feast on brains. In fact, the one thing I tried to eat after I should have died was a steak. The maggots just came quicker when I tried to eat though.

So, the point? I’m just trying to document an odd occurrence before the beetles finish eating through my tendons in the middle of the night when I’m asleep, and I awaken with no way to move. I’ve made appointments with a few doctors in the coming days so that I can be examined by scientists and they can work out the particulars of what defies explanation. But first, I’m going to a Halloween party. There I’ll be accepted for a few hours. The truth is you just can’t make out with a cute girl if you have no lips to kiss, which is a shame. Once they see me drinking the punch, and it going right through my bones, I’m sure I’ll garner some curiosity from the fairer sex . . . I do feel bad for the host who gets to clean up after me of course, but, on the up side, at least I don’t have any more rotting skin that can fall off of me. A little liquid seems a small price to pay to play host to the life of the party, Moi!

Happy Halloween everybody! I look forward to what I am once I have not even bones to tie me down!

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Metaphor to the Nth

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on October 22, 2011| Leave a Comment »

I’m really enjoying this form of writing only in dialogue. It’s rather fun. Does anyone know of any other authors who wrote stories entirely in dialogue? I figure this can’t be a new thing . . .

A Toast!

“Love? Is that really all you think about?”

“Well, I tried thinking about controlling anything in my life once, but that never went very well. I seem to recall finding myself watching a lot more horror movies when I did. That, and I always wound up burning the toast. I’ve simply come to the conclusion that I’m the kind of guy who prefers toast under-done than over-done.”

“I was being serious.”

“So was I. I mean, I also hear that eating burnt things ups your chances of cancer, but really I prefer the taste of non-burnt toast, and that’s really most of the determining factor.”

“So you actually think about things other than love; at least, toast-wise.”

“Nah, I figure they go hand-in-hand. I mean, If I’m thinking about non-burnt toast, I’m thinking about Love. Actually, it’s more like if I’m eating non-burnt toast I figure I’m on a better track for having something closer to Love. Really what I think about is perfectly toasted toast, and I figure when my toast is finally just right, so too will be the ripening of the flower of my heart. And yes, I realize how that sounded . . . shut up.”

“So, that flower wouldn’t happen to be a pansy by chance?”

“I said shut up. But seriously, the problem is I don’t own a toaster. Trying to get one’s toast just right, in this old conventional oven, is a bee-atch. Now I once saw the perfect toaster, but it was way out of my price range. There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done for that toaster . . . aside from getting a job, which, I was too stoned at the time to do. Add in one more factor for why I kept burning the toast! I would stick it in the oven then forget it was in there. Hell, I didn’t even have the cash for an egg-timer to make sure my bread didn’t burn. My friend gave me the pot I was smoking for free, you see–”

“I’m sorry, we’ve stopped talking about your love life by now, right? I mean, if you don’t start talking about jelly or something, I think I’m going to have to blugeon myself to death with a rolling pin.”

“Yes, I’m still talking about Love. What I mean to say is that the toast is a basis for measuring my capacity to accept, and for that matter create, love in my life. Believe you me, I’m looking forward to getting some jelly on my toast like nobodies business! And some butter too! My thoughts on toast are only so that it’ll be perfect for spreading that butter; then gettin’ my jelly on. Marmalade! Or in my case I’ll probably start with cherry. It’s gonna be sweet though . . .”

“Okay, I’m leaving now. This talk of spreading butter is starting to get to my stomach.”

“I think you’re just gettin’ hungry. I’ll bet you just want me to spread you some butter!”

“Goodbye Dave!”

“Bye Charlene. Meet for tea same time tomorrow?”

“As long as you keep your marmalade in your pants. . . you got a date.”

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Thanksgiving in October . . .

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on October 15, 2011| 7 Comments »

A customer suggested I try a flash-fiction writing contest. I’d have written another besides, but it’s no lie that five hundred words, some weeks, is harder than others. Anyway, this was what came to mind. Wish me luck!

Eating Crow

“Drumstick please.”

“Sure, sure, let me just saw the elbow in half so’s you don’t get the thigh too.”

“I doubt if ‘elbow’ is the right way to speak of the joint where leg meets thigh on a bird. However, I think I’ve always just assumed the thigh comes with the drumstick, at least, that’s the way it always used to be at my house.”

“Wow, that’s a lotta bird for one person. Assuming you’re talkin’ about Turkey of course, Professor . . .”

“I told you, call me Steve. Anyway, yes, we were a traditional household when it came to Thanksgiving. I’m not complaining mind you.”

“Your wife leaves ya because you lose your job, she takes the kids half way across the country, and everything else you own. She doesn’t think twice about leaving you to starve in a gutter. What have ya not to complain about? Hell, the only reason you’re spendin’ Thanksgiving with some bum like me is that your car’s broke down and you got tired half-way through a twenty-mile walk to the gas station. I mean, seriously, what goes right in your life?”

“Before losing my job, philosophy was my subject. First off, I’m lucky to know what so many great minds would think about a situation like mine. But secondly, if after life falls apart because, quite frankly, I’ve made some rather stupid blunders in choosing a wife who couldn’t be in it for the long haul, and not filling my tank when I had the chance, it’s rather spectacularly beautiful, if not downright gracious of life, to offer up some good company and a hot meal to take the edge off the pain that, quite frankly, I’ve been causing myself lately.

“I mean, where I am , this really is luck. Not only is being here the first boon I’ve had in a while, but it’s also allowing me the opportunity to see what kind of bliss-filled blindness I’ve kept myself in for far longer than I should have if I’d cared properly for myself to begin with. Mr. Schmidt, this moment marks a new beginning for me!”

“You’ll pardon my skepticism professor, but this certainly seems like a far cry from lucky to me. Of course, I kinda live this way professionally.”

“Well, Mr. Schmidt, you certainly demonstrate a penchant for survival. And you are certainly gracious and hospitable to say the least. Again, my gratitude to you. When this night is through I’ll be on my way to starting over. I’ll be happy to extend a new beginning to you as well, if you’re open to changing profession.”

“Well, that’s mighty kind of you Professor, but we’d better see what it looks like once you’ve got yourself back on track first . . .”

“You’re right at that Mr. Schmidt. In the meantime, gratitude is all I can know this night of thanks giving. If you would pass that crow’s leg over now, I’ll be ever grateful just for sharing this meal with you tonight.

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Under the Sea . . .

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on October 9, 2011| Leave a Comment »

Light Penetrates
Alone in a small sail boat bobbing upon the waves. They rolled under the boat causing it to sway as the wind blew in the sail. All alone he sat and wondered if his legs would ever find rest upon the land, but there was no land in sight. Suddenly the waves began to part all around him, in every direction. This was no whirl pool as in tales of old; he was not spinning, the boat was lowering as a solid wall of water surrounded him; a cylinder made apparently by its own will, no physical structure holding the water in place as the walls rose, and the boat lowered further.
Finally, the boat had no further it could go, the ocean’s floor apparently exposed and dry as a bone. Straight up, light came through this tunnel as though from a great distance. He decided that between his two choices he’d allow the notion of terror that several tons of sea could fall upon him at any moment, crushing him if not drowning him, to be pushed aside by the wonder that the water was not falling, he had the most amazing view he could not fathom having, and what he did next with a situation hitherto incomprehensible was in the palm of his hand. He felt peace to be at the bottom of the enormity of unexpected splendor. The fish on the other side of the wall of water seemed almost to blink at him; he considered this might be what it felt like to be on the other side of the aquarium’s wall.
Since up was not at present an option, and he did not know how long time would hold the entirety of the ocean at bay before the notion he dare not consider, but from the periphery of his mind, come to fruition and he find himself crushed or drowned, he decided before fate choose the ending of his story, he might as well have a look around. And so he stepped off the boat, and onto the very dry ocean bed. His legs found themselves more stable upon the land, at rest from the bobbing and rolling. Unused to not having the feeling, the ghost of the feeling lingering, but at rest and getting used to something firmer, no matter how temporary. He took a step toward the wall of water surrounding him.
As he took a step forward, it seemed that the water maintained the exact same distance before him. And so he stepped again and again, and no change. Looking back, the water behind him also maintained its distance from him, but now seemed closer to the boat than it had been before. As he took two steps toward the boat, so too did the water move from it the same length as his stride. For a moment he considered what fate may befall his craft once he walk a radius away from where it sat, useless upon dry ground. He began again walking forward, from the boat, without looking back; until the water reached his craft. And his gaze touched the ship just in time to see the life-vest rise quickly from where it sat on the boat as the water overcame the vessel. Whether it would be worthy of continuing a voyage once he walked back and it found itself again dry, he did not know; he doubted it, and doubted that his craft might find any safe way again to the water’s surface that a journey might be made. He continued to walk forward, the ship was now no concern of his.
He felt to keep walking forward. There was no thought in his head as to where he was going, in what direction he was heading; he just walked. The fish swam around the cylinder as he made his way forward on dry ground. He felt it was right, he didn’t think about it. He enjoyed the beauty surrounding him. And he walked until he came to a space in which coral formed a path. The coral was only two feet above the ground, and he hadn’t noticed the shape that was formed between the coral expanse until it was at his feet; between the coral a path three-and-a-half feet or so wide. He followed between the coral field as though he was arriving somewhere, and the path he found was to bring him where he ought to be. His thought turned to anticipation of the uncertainty of further miracle. He walked further.
As he walked he saw a shimmer in the water ahead, a golden shimmer. And now he perceived more light through the water ahead and upward, as though the color of the water lightened directly ahead unlike the darkness traveling beside him. As the water met with the place where the shimmer was coming, as the water receded from where the shimmer met his radius, a door of solid gold was revealed; the knob as though filled with all colors dancing amongst themselves within the knob. Above him he saw that beyond the door, apparently his cylinder connected now with another cylinder standing stationary beyond this door. Something in him hesitated to take the living colors into his hand that he might enter, for all existence now was new to him and he knew not what anything meant, but he could not consider any direction but that which was directly in front of him.
As his hand reached toward the knob he found himself dissolving into it as the door filled with light. Bright light opened and departed to reveal no barrier between his circle of water from ocean floor to sky, and another circle just as his, joined at the radius. As he walked forward, so did the circles combine.
She smiled warmly upon him, and assured him first and foremost that she hadn’t been waiting long. He stopped midway to her and stared, feeling awkward to gaze without flinching upon her beauty, though not wanting to look away, and so allowing himself to as the peculiarity of the entirety of his situation seemed to permit him allowance in the moment of the time. And she spoke more as she began to stand from the object upon which she sat.
“I did not wish to return quickly with my fish to my village, and daydreaming, I think my boat went further than I had thought. But I had longed for time to myself that my mind might rest. And then my boat descended, and as the water was not crashing down upon me, I was grateful. I took some basic gear with me that I might fish. Seeing the fish swimming around me, I knew I’d never be hungry, fishing here would be easier than shooting them in a barrel. And I realized it was not that I wished to be alone, merely that I could be quiet in the company of another, something I never experienced, but felt with all my being would bring me peace of existence. And so I enjoyed fishing here for several hours until I felt light, peace, and harmony wash over me. I felt warmth throughout me as though I was not alone.”
She stepped toward him with her pole in hand. “Until I arrived here, I did not know I had been waiting for you. Once you arrived here, I knew there was no other reason for my existence but to find myself where I am. I’d apologize, but there is no fault to be had.” She walked close to him and took his hand into hers. Into his eyes she melted her own gaze. “Merely thank you for existing, I am so glad to meet you now.”
These last words spoken, there, where they found themself, so was the circle surrounding them perfect.

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God In The City . . .

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on September 11, 2011| Leave a Comment »

I was walking past a laundromat in San Francisco tonight and, glancing through its window, I noticed the paintings on the upper parts of its wall. Different cities were depicted there, as well as certain religious icons like the Buddha. And the pictures, in this laundromat, were vivid, bright, and colorful. And it seemed somehow that there was a blog posting to be derived from that colorosity in an otherwise drab, typical laundromat.

As I was thinking about the entire world, sort of, pictured on the walls in this city laundromat, I thought about the city itself. I considered that something from all over the world, culturally speaking, was assimilated into the city in one form or another. It seemed to me as though the city itself was a city because it strove to adapt itself as a microcosm of the entirety of the world in which is resided. And then I wondered whether the same might be thought of other cities in the world.

Each city has a uniqueness of it’s own due not only to the over-all culture creating it, but the individual circumstances of its creation. While you can find “head shops” in just about any city, at least in the U.S., there’s something a little more rooted in the experience of walking down Haight Street. And other cities have similar peculiarities unique to them. You can find Jazz music in any city more or less, but, you walk through the French Quarter of New Orleans, and you can feel a spirit of Jazz in the streets in a way you simply can’t in any other city on the planet. Each city has it’s own identity, but, each city also stretches beyond its own identity.

Since the monetary prosperity of a city usually revolves heavily on people coming for a short time, leaving their money with the city, and then leaving, it becomes beneficial simply from a maintenance standpoint for a city to be inviting to those from different cultural backgrounds if it is to thrive. That, and, people from different cultural backgrounds, no matter what their background, gravitate to where opportunity is. And thus, the more cultural options are available in any given city, the easier it is to facilitate visitors to the uniqueness of the city. Likewise, if there is a cultural center of being for those not used to a city’s native culture, it is easier to reside in the place of one’s work, which in turn makes it easier to visit for those of that particular culture. The more available a city is made to those of different backgrounds, the easier it is to facilitate workers, the easier it is to increase revenue from travelers.

And so I see a city as centered in its own uniqueness due to the causes of its creation, which, to thrive, naturally incorporates elements of the uniqueness of other such cities. To thrive it naturally incorporates elements from elsewhere in the world, just as to thrive it contributes the good derived from its own uniqueness. Cities thus are naturally reciprocal centers of transmission of thought if they are to flourish.

And as a successful city naturally makes of itself a unique microcosm of the world, so too is it micro-cosmic of some of the more macrocosm aspects of the divine. Which is to say, as above, so below.

The interaction between cities as a representation of the interaction between celestial bodies. The interaction between cities as representative of the interactions within the city. The interaction between cities as representative of the interactions within a person; as representative as the interactions between a person and its environment; as representative as the interactions between the celestial bodies; as representative of the body of the divine. Hence “As above so below” and thus we are created “In the image of the Divine.”

Can anyone say Triamazikamno? Aside from this guy?

And, as always, a pleasure to share food with you!

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Koan . . .

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on September 4, 2011| Leave a Comment »

What does God think of God?

Follow up question: Does God think of God?

Or at least, if the first question could be classified under the heading of Koan, perhaps then the follow-up question is a good place to begin the train of thought that might lead to a state of mind that is more helpful for one’s subsequent usage . . .

It seems to me that the only way to be able to conceive in terms of divinity is, firstly, to turn off the thoughts one typically associates with one’s “self.” Or at least turn away from those thoughts. And I’m not necessarily just talking about one’s typical identity of person-hood.

For example, a person might identify with “their” country. A person might identify with their “God.” A person might identify with their planet, etc . . .

Now, don’t get me wrong, as long as I can remember my cells have formed strands of DNA classifying me as a human being native to the planet Earth. What I’m saying is merely that in order to get into a “mind-set” a little more in alignment with a state of being capable of perceiving the divine of which all existence has sprung, it seems helpful to me to stop calling the cells commonly attributed to my consciousness “mine; it seems helpful to conceive I might be something transcendent of species; it seems that it might be helpful to consider that as life itself, I need not concern myself with the planet I happen to be tethered to aside from my day to day life.

In point of fact, when attempting to consider the divine, it seems as though trying not to conceive of myself at all might be most beneficial in attempting to conceive the divine.

Let me put it another way . . .

Dear reader, if you ceased to be entirely, what would there be?

And all the rest of existence working, apparently incapable of existing without being so intertwined and interconnected, what would that look like if there was no concern whatsoever with one’s own discomforts of existence? I mean, even if you happen to find a moment of perfect comfort, aren’t you only perceiving the comfort you find yourself embodying, perhaps at most only your immediate comfortable surroundings the only conception of “outside” beyond your person? What happens when comfort is transcended and there’s no you nor your immediate surroundings to consider? When you cease to be, what remains?

Personally, I think it a little funny that one would think that in death finally “God” would reward them with personal physical comfort. I think it a bit odd that so many people perceive that a divinity that created them is so flawed that it must have gotten existence so wrong that only in apparent non-existence, from the perspective of all other existence, is perfection finally realized. I contend that if even for a moment one could transcend their own minds, one could catch a glimpse of why one need not die to realize Heaven.

Of course, consciousness at our level is rather divided, isn’t it? I wonder if we truly have the potential to transcend our separateness in interacting with each other to fulfill what may be a potential unique only to conscious individuals, of sharing realized unity for the sake of enjoying our common existence . . .

Peace

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