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While the Angels are still being written, I thought a contents page would be helpful:

1) Essays on a Version of God that isn’t religion-dependent . . .

2) A year of short stories . . .

3) The Beginning of the Chronicles of the Angels of Eden . . .

 

May you enjoy!

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Forgive me for not posting the last couple of weeks. Walks and concerts and slicing a finger, etc . . . I’ll post again toward the end of the month, but I’ve made an agreement to rest my normal posting schedule until then. So, until the end of the month when the angels WILL return, take this humble offering and enjoy! (And an extra link toward the end of a favorite, short, SNL clip of mine.

The Name

When the name was spoken, it no longer was what it had been; it had become something more; the same, plus. And so the names continued to make it more still, for what was discovered after many names had been uttered was that so had been created awareness by virtue of the fact that a being could point back at those things of which it was a part, and thereby itself.

Before the name was spoken, It had no reason to think in terms of itself. Once the name was spoken, it could. After that was only the simple realization that it could never be named; for if no tongue could exist from the beginning of time to the end of eternity, then its fullness could not be uttered in fullness.

And so has it ever, it speaks its own name alone for any who wish to stop speaking, and listen.

(As promised, click here. Peace!)

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Much as around this time last year, I’ll be shortly shifting the focus of my blog. I’ll still be posting fiction, but I’ll write an entry exclusive to the nature of the shift next week.

In the meantime, I wanted to end a year of posting short fiction with one last tale of my recurring character. Here was her first appearance, and here her second. This time the idea came to me while in transit, the idea will unfold in front of me at the computer now. May whatever comes out of me bring something very good to whoever takes it in. Thank you to everyone who has checked out any of my short work, and I hope y’all take the journey with me as I post here starting next Sunday my new work. Peace, and, may you enjoy!

Leslie

Leslie took a step toward getting for herself a cup of water. One step later she felt everything shaking as the floor split open below her, and down she fell.

Past floorboards, and earth, and rock, and dirt, down, down, down. And further, and further, and further. She considered for a moment the end to Don Giovanni, and then decided that her virtue would declare her fate otherwise. She felt no heat as she descended.

After many minutes the light from above began to fade until she was left in darkness, descending. No rumble below her as after the first break of ground, there was nothing below her to open wide. She dared not test the aerodynamics of trying to go in a direction since at this speed she didn’t relish the idea of crashing into the wall of ground, and to what end? Could she climb if she found wall? Why would she want to stop the journey she didn’t ask for, but found herself upon?

Last known location of walls to touch, feet away in any given direction, no bottom in sight, and darkness and quiet surrounding her, she found relief in her fall as she closed her eyes and tried to experience fully the unique situation in which she found herself rather than thinking about what she wouldn’t dare change. So in silence, much to her relief, she let herself continue to fall without thinking of interrupting.

What felt like hours later, she saw the color of the inside of her eyelids lighten, and so opened her eyes. The dirt wall surrounded her with roots poking out out of reach every now and then. The vertical tunnel filled with light slowly as she fell for the next minute. She half-expected to see a white rabbit checking the time shortly before the tunnel flew past and she found herself falling through what seemed to be blue sky, lit from a source apparently far below her and indistinguishable from the blue the light reflected into existence from further than she hoped to fall.

Occasionally a dolphin swam by her, and it occurred to her over time that now that there were no walls to crash into, perhaps if she shifted her body she could choose in someway, if not direction alone, where she fell, and so in some sense fly.

She spread her arms and found that she did not feel as though she fell any longer, but even seemed to be able to will herself upward as she chose. She thought it curious that she’d never felt freedom before, now that she had an eternity in any given direction with nowhere to go.

As she felt her lungs fill, she felt neither hunger nor thirst; flying was all the sustenance needed to satisfy.

As a dolphin came swimming in into view, she flew to it, felt the side of its body. It seemed to like her. They kept each other company as she followed with her new, flippered friend. She had nowhere she wanted to go, so, it led.

The time they spent flying and swimming together was deeply satisfying  to her sense of experience when out ahead they were heading toward a convergence. Dolphins everywhere heading toward, swimming around a brightness hanging in the blue.

And as they approached, it grew and felt happy. The light washed over her in waves of warmth as she patted her companion a final time to say goodbye and dove straight toward the center of the light. She flew toward it faster and faster until coming upon it, she penetrated deep and sure. In she went, and moments later, at its center, there she stopped.

There was no further she could go. Still she found herself resonating outward from what filled her completely, the heart. Warmth flowing from her in every direction as she was the same as it. Perfectly still, without care of body that was satisfied in every way where motionless it arrived. There she was for as long as she’d have liked.

And when she was again outside of it, she saw a tunnel above her leading what her current orientation could call “up” unless she decided to rotate somewhat, which she did not.

Up she flew.

Through tunnel, past dirt, and rocks, and the rest, until she shot up two-and-one-half feet above the floor with just enough time for it to heal itself before landing with ease and grace in front of her water cooler. She took a glass from the counter and filled it. She was satisfied as she drank.

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I actually don’t spend much time at bars. Symbolically I think I think of bars as a place of reflection.

Cheers!

A beautiful women is looking at me from the other side of the bar. While holding her eyes to mine she’s moving her tongue up and down the outside of her straw before taking small, dainty sips while never for a moment breaking eye contact with me. I sit with my elbow on the bar and my hand on my cheek watching her as I rest, a half a smile as though to say, “How nice to share this moment with you from across the room, your company is pleasant.” She is beautiful, but I have another on my mind.

I haven’t seen her for so long that it would be stupid for me not to consider the loveliness whose eye I’ve caught as the possibility of a nest that would not be shaken by hurricanes; a place to rest my heart after wandering a desert in hopes that my memory of water is not merely one more accursed mirage. I’ve met her before enough to know she is in every way likeable, but not enough to know what the feel of her hand tells my heart and hers after communicating for five minutes apart from the speech of the rest of me. Beauty looks me in the eye and says we both have a basic common denominator; identity says there is nothing glaring to alarm. And yet my mind reminds me as I connect with a friend from a distance that at a further distance yet is the reason regret may exist where otherwise my mind would have no reason to exist.

But because I have a mind, and it remembers another beauty in another time that made my heart pump blood where before it only knew how to process bile, I can’t help but be reminded of another face by whose light I began to live as appropriate to one who should see beauty in friendship across a bar and respect that every face contains a universe that bears exploring respectfully before creating eternities more calling themselves by individual names always striving to declare “I Am.” And in light of the importance of mind to reason the desire to see another universe created to flourish, I say hello and shake hands when she brings her drink to where I sit, and we begin to discuss what we really enjoy for the rest of existence when we are too sated to eat and quenched to drink.

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Don’t quite remember where my mind was at when I wrote this one a few months back, but, it is interesting . . .

I’m trapped!

This mind is a prison. The only thing worse than knowing that I cannot escape myself is knowing that who I can not escape fits perfectly as a puzzle piece into the mind that is the unity of all other individual minds upon this planet. Myopically oriented, or aware of my placement within the perfect workings of all surroundings, I cannot escape who I become past who I was, that who I am.

No straight-jacket needed if I be deemed insane, I cannot escape myself. As a bus passes fruit stand after fruit stand; an oasis of exotic strawberry pie by the side of the road to quench one’s hunger on a long summer day. And yet I am not in control of this bus and there are too many passengers to request pulling over. Hurling myself through a pane of glass toward the quenching of desire for a taste a sign creates in my head promising simply doesn’t seem practical in the light of having a genuine impulse to be somewhere, especially in light of not being able to be anyone but this person with the desire to be there. And so hunger becomes only stronger on the way to the next stop of this bus where I have no choice but to pray food resides.

I choose my prison only because choosing liberation in a ditch chomping on poison seems so much worse.

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As I was transcribing the part of this story I wrote by hand, and considering how I wanted to end it, I couldn’t help but be reminded of Plato . . .

What Dispels the Dark Side

And whence engulfed by darkness I cast forth from my fingers a single spark of light, and could hear in the shadows surrounding me innumerable figures running in every direction from what scared them most. This spark landed upon the wick of what I held in my other hand. Upon landing, I breathed into it ever so softly to start the flame of the candle I now wielded like a knife to the world I kept from knowing by casting upon it its greatest dread; itself.

As I walked forward, staring me eye-to-eye was a nose with a ring, two eyes, and horns; the silhouette of a bull stopping me to my latest footfall. And eye-to-eye we continued to stare. Unmoving did it remain save for its nostrils, its obvious breathing, and movement of the air warning accordingly. I brought the flame of the candle between its face and mine as it continued not to stir. As the light shined closer to its face, it revealed it imprisoned by a mirror, the flame now reflecting its own light most dominantly between its face and mine. Lowering that candle again, I placed my hand before its nose and felt myself warmed by its breath. I reached my hand to its forehead and the glass shattered at my finger’s touch. Holding the light I held before me, I walked forward into the apparent dark.

I walk for hours not knowing where to go, accompanied by the sound of scurrying as my feet wander aimlessly upon the stone. If a spark is waiting at my finger tips, I have a source to illuminate; if I can set my hand ablaze to ward off what monsters lurk in this unknowing, and if I have nowhere to know to go, surely I can extinguish this small flame, a weapon against the unknown, with my breath.

So I continue blind. Let them crawl upon me! I have chosen to see another way. . .

In the darkness I close my eyes. Light appears a way to stars overhead. Desolation is not my fate.

 

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Hi all! I’ll be walking Relay for Life this weekend, and, as is such my new story won’t go up until next Sunday. Hope y’all have a good week, and, if you haven’t checked it out yet I hope you take a look at the two-parter I posted most recently Wizardry part 1, and Wizardry part 2. Or for that matter please peruse older entries. In the meantime enjoy the walking-related music below.

TTFN!

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This one has overtones of day-time professionalism and was the brain-child of a particularly pernicious daydream.

Checking Others Out

Always the same gray permeating the air. I look out the window at work, and there’s the fog. I wake up in the morning, and there is the fog. All day every day, the fog . . .

Actually, it’s not so much a fog that effects the mind. It’s not bland or boring or depressing, at least, not when I look at it. Usually it’s just there at the periphery of my sight; it accompanies me as I go about my day. I focus on customer after customer and, staring at me from the outside, it meets the corner of my eye and keeps me company as my mind wanders and as I go about my business. But when I look out toward it, what I really see is the light behind the mists. I see the light from the journey I haven’t taken yet. I see my customers’ heads in the light’s direction all day every day.

In point of fact, this day has been rather long as it is, and I really can’t recall another . . .

I remember waking up, the fog outside my window. Getting ready; slippers to bathroom, nakedness to the feel of the water warm and refreshing. There was no hurry, I had plenty of time to get to work; I washed and relaxed. Brushing teeth and eating eggs and bacon, toast and fruit. I walked to work; the light was bright through the fog and accompanied me to the door of the store; I almost turned from the sidewalk to see if there was pure light behind the curtain of mist, but I entered the store instead; I knew I needed to work, I needed to earn my way to what I was waiting for, there would be something terribly missing if I explored the place toward the light just now. I need to earn my way . . .

And so my day began. It has been a long day. Aside from beginning my day, the rest is all I can remember. It feels like I have been processing customers for forever. Every one I ask the same question of, “Have you found everything you wanted?” They almost always say, “Yes.” I tell them to have a good day, and after I hand them their receipt, they walk toward the door, toward the light beyond the fog. When they disappear behind the veil of vapor I almost always seem to see the light brighten but for a second before returning to the glow accompanying me through my day.

When they say “no” it is almost always with a frown. And then I ask the next question it is my job to ask, “Is there something we can help you find?” If they say, “I don’t know,” I then offer them a job and they begin performing some task in the store if they accept. If they decline a job I send them to the manager’s office. I have sent a dozen or so to the manager’s office, some after they refused work; I never see anyone come out of the manager’s office.

Sometimes they tell me that they are looking for their daughter or son or other person they cannot find. I call for a woman’s daughter over the intercom, and after several minutes have passed her daughter appears from one of the aisles. She embraces her with tears in her eyes and I ask, “Is there anything else we can help you find.” She shakes her head with tears of gratitude, “No.” And I hand her her receipt and tell her to have a nice day. After they head outside the light becomes brighter for a few seconds and I return to give full attention to my next customer. It always makes me smile when I see two people reunited. I do hope my shift ends soon.

Sometimes, when someone can’t find a person, I have to call in a constable to assist one of our customers. They usually come in twos, and they usually walk with the customer toward the front entrance. Rarely there is a flash of light when this happens. Every now and then I see one of them return and take a place at a check-stand, but I never speak to them again at that point and I don’t think to speak to any of them thereafter; I have customers to focus on.

Sometimes people speak of misplacing vast sums of money, or misplacing their car keys. The constabulary is contacted in these instances, and the people are often walked outside, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen the light grow brighter any of the times I’ve seen that happen; it is rare I see that happen though. I’m grateful that when I’m done with my shift everything I could need is waiting for me at home; people seem so upset when they misplace something.

Some people complain of hunger and then wander off back into the store. There is always plenty of food here, no one ever asks me to help them find a particular food, they seem content to wander back into the rows of shelves in search of what they want themselves. After watching a customer or two wander back into the store I think about if there is anything I should buy for home, but I recall my shelves well stalked. I feel like there is something I am here for myself, but it is my duty to focus on my work so I return to giving full focus to the next customer; if there is something I am missing, I am certain it will come to me before I leave and I will get what I need before leaving.

Some tell me they are thirsty, and I point them toward the water fountain. They walk there, take a drink, then smile and wave at me before they walk to where the light brightens when my customers leave.

Some ask to use the restroom, and them pass once more through my check-stand once returning. It is my job to make sure I address everyone’s issues and concerns. Every customer’s need is responded to. If they require something that I do not know, I simply ask my manager or call upon the constabulary.

Once I saw a man caught for trying to steal from our store. As the constable brought him into the office, the assistant manager just kept asking him what reason he could have for doing such a thing. The man was repeatedly shaking his head while looking down through closed eyes and a clenched mouth. No one here has ever been denied, I do not know why he would have tried to steal when we always seem eager to give to the customers what they want; it is the customer service our company is built on, we never say no.

I know I have a break coming soon, yet I don’t feel like taking it. I wish to keep working, it pleases me to make my customers happy, and I feel that I am working for something; that the more I work, the closer I get to what I am working for. I just can’t remember what it is I am here earning for myself, but the job is pleasant enough, and I am grateful enough that I am closer to earning my way to what I am here for.

.    .    .

How much time I have spent here, I do not know, though I don’t think it can have been longer than a day; I don’t recall going home to return. I look up to my next customer and it is hard for me to ask what it is my job to ask. Recognition seeps into my brain from the distance of a lifetime called from across eternity although I know I know her at once. As the last word leaves my lips I feel the tears well to the corners of my eyes. She responds, “I didn’t at first, but I have now.” I shake from my tears as I reach her receipt out to her. As she touches my hand and our eyes do not part I know I have come to the end of a very long day; I no longer can not remember what I have come here to work for.

She does not let go my hand as she walks me passed my register and into her arms. She pulls me close and tight, whispers into my ear that it is ok now; it was ok when first my eyes recognized without recognition. I rest my head upon her shoulder as we walk out the door hand-in-hand; our receipt is shared for whatever it is worth. The world is brighter as we enter into and past the mists. I don’t remember who we were before we arrived here, only that I waited for her for I could not imagine going on without her. It is so very bright, so very, very bright. It is so very bright, and so very warm . . .

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As I am wont to do, I present a tale of sorts in free-thought format. As I was considering this time of people graduating, this was the flow of thought that came through as I turned my attention toward the tapping of short fiction . . .

Just . . .

Throwing his hat up in the air as he rose from his chair . . . Then stared blankly into the desert as he saw a hawk fly low above his head and off into the distance. From the rock on which he had given himself a moment’s rest, he began to walk away from the sun, hoping that there would be water soon to quench the dryness in his throat. Oh how he wanted to scream at the heat, his only companion, but kept his mouth shut firmly lest he let out of himself an atom of moisture more than necessary for breathing as he continued his journey through the surrounding desolation step, by, step.

It was her face in his mind that he drank as he discerned no pleasing mirage 10 miles in any direction. He walked in the direction from which he could remember coming, where he supposed the closest semblance to him not dying might be. As his name was called he heard clapping all around as he nervously walked up to receive what his years of work had earned him. He took the document in one hand while looking into the eyes of the woman whom was connected to the hand he was shaking with his other. This final test was of his coordination while feeling the gaze of thousands of eyes upon him, congratulating him. He had arrived!

It was only a large rock he had arrived at, but it was a milestone. He now could go on to create his life by his own desire and determination; he could mold himself into what he wanted to be. Drinking a cold glass of water dripping with the condensation of the warm air vapors coalescing upon the glass held to his forehead; in this glass her eyes watch him and he takes another step forward hoping for the coolness of the drink in his mind. Holding the document in his hand, he steps away from the woman who has handed it to him. A lizard scurries underfoot as a drop of sweat falls from his back and dissolves before hitting the ground.

He walks on in the direction he most believes will await him those foods he wishes most to consume. And as he takes his next step, he falls; his head hits a pillow soft as feathers, he feels a soft hand caress his cheek before he loses consciousness. When he awakens he sees her smiling his existences light upon him. What came before this moment of awakening his doesn’t care to remember; he has found himself sated upon all that matters, he won’t vex himself further by asking more.

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A friend of mine has expressed interest in my “dark side” from time to time. I started writing a piece as a meditation on such a thing which I intend on finishing in the not-too-distant future. In the meantime, this story idea came to me and I think it may satisfy his curiosity for the moment. It actually started as a hopeful, rather “bright side” consideration as to the idea that perhaps those things one is predisposed to viewing at a glance as evil really is the meaning of our existence. At any rate may y’all enjoy!

In The Beginning . . .

That’s the thing about humanity . . . it’s very hard for them to notice their size in relation to the rest of the cosmos. They discern that it is much larger surely enough, but they tend to lack a full appreciation for their own diminutiveness. Though they’ve existed on their “rock” for over 40,000 years, they have trouble conceiving much passed 10,000, and while they have evolved naturally over the trifling millions of years they can conceive, it’s laughable that they’ve never stopped to consider that the sole reason for their fleeting existence upon their “world” is to serve the incubation of what they live upon for the short, universally speaking, time that they do. But, though they can’t even conceive the service they perform to their “home,” the egg they cultivate is nonetheless grateful for the small and short-lived role its inhabitant bacteria play in seeing that it develops into something more than the single-celled being of the beginning stages of life that it exists as before becoming more, like so many human zygotes.

They are aware of their impending doom subconsciously, of course. They are linked psychically together so that they can communally perform the task for which they solely exist; they are all linked psychically to the egg itself, and thus directed to their task’s completion. It is their link to the egg that makes their unified subconsciousness aware of their impending demise; it is what ultimately will facilitate the final fertilization and subsequent multiplying of the cell for which they serve.

Some are aware of their subconscious mind, others not, and this is the catalyst . . . For those aware, watching those facilitating their own destruction serves as a consistent and ever-growing frustration. Of course, some are super-aware and able to meditate on reintegrating with the universe that created them; they have found inner peace. But those who see the others as destroying them unnecessarily, their frustration rises until boiling into anger; slowly and by degrees they begin the fight with those who serve completely blindly to destroy themselves in service of the egg. The more animosity created, the greater the psychic friction, and therefore heat produced to facilitate the next stage in the development of the zygote.

They only feel strongly, know implicitly, that the mining of oil and exciting of radiation to power their famous luminary inventions is somehow harmful to them as a whole; but as they notice so very slowly the cancers forming in them from the mining of these “resources” they never perceive in fullness that not only is oil and plutoniums and uraniums inevitably going to accelerate the rate of death to them by ways of cancers , but in fact they will quickly bring about the destruction of them all as the egg itself is fertilized by means of their self-inflicted poisoning. While they raise anger about “greed” they never notice that it is their anger itself that facilitates finally the full realization of the inevitable that they’d try to stop if they were more than the mucus temporarily incubating what is about to grow into a form of being so much greater than they could ever know; they could almost appreciate that they lived upon a fertilized egg, but the being it is to become they could never fathom.

And so, finally, as with all such organisms, the “accident” will finally come about. They will drill only more as the spills kill their food supply and fill their cells with the slow, painful death. And when the rage over the destruction rises enough the saboteurs will come to “save the planet.” And as bombs create ever-greater spills at refineries where containment is accordingly compromised, one country will fire their nuclear missile at another to distract the people from the toxins being mined and the retaliations resulting. And it is then their short lives finally come to fruition.

The bomb will hit near one of the many rigs and the oil will be ignited by the radiation as it should be. The “Earth” will be so filled with crude that easily a chain reaction will be set into motion in which the radiation will sweep over the oil as a flame over lighter fluid. And where other radioactive material exists, the extra heats and frictions will ignite it into union with the open wells, oil-filled oceans, and every oil-driven contraption upon the world.

As they perish over no more than a two week period of chain reactions between the materials they’d always know were purely toxic to them, the bacterium will never know that the sole purpose of their existence was to bring forth the fluids of the zygote, and mix them into the form of heat necessary to protect it and attract to it the other nourishments it needs from what they perceive of the “cosmos” so that it can multiply itself and form into the full being it will inevitably become. A short trillion years later, a being of genuine consciousness will emerge fully from the inescapable nature of the beings of fertilization that cultivated it when it was but an egg.

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