Dream

Originally written around April 2008. Excuse the lack of punctuation, extra long sentences and mistakes.  I try not to change what has already been set in stone.

She looked down at the desk, at the small scrap of paper curled into a ball, at the old pen beside the paper and most of all, at the desk itself. Her eyes felt heavy, tired, weary, struggling to bridge the words inside onto the paper that now rested on the table. Lyrics, at times, seemed to flow with beauty, with ease, but understanding on this day, a day of days, had not arose as easily as they should have. Muddled, slightly here, a little there, but obviously not quite whole, she closed her eyes.

In that second, she imagined herself in another place, somewhere completely different from the desk, from the room that her spirit frequented each day, somewhere serene.  In a second, with her mind seeing the moment, she stood in the middle of a sea of green, a world filled with long, waist high flowing grass. Her eyes opened to see the flowing sun around her, with a bright blue sky above and slow birds flying as high as any kite. The world slowed, almost halted in time, peace, a place to envision.. everything, anything, nothing, any moment, any time and most of all, to explore.

The long free grass moved softly, side to side, back and forth, with the gentle soft wind pressing the grass as if it were a kiss. She lifted her hands to rest on top of the grass and moved forward, towards the tree in the distance, not that far away, just enough, just that distance away to appreciate the gentle walk. Her hair moved with the romantic wind, the air that gently caressed her soft face, as if it simply wished to hold her, comfort her, touching with such care and attention, that every breeze seemed like there was love all around. 

She span around with a twirl, head looking into the warm sky, freedom, not a worry in this peaceful garden of her imagination, a place that exhumed the way things could be, had been, will be, again and again, as long as she remembered. A smile grew, her hair relaxed from the spin and her body exhaled such strength at the freedom, bliss and tranquillity. She reached the tree and sat down, with her back to the ageless bark.

Time once again stood still as she looked across the endless scene of blue sky and green slender thought, each strand moving with said tender romantic kisses. Here, this place, this moment, held such power, freedom, a place and chance to dream, to clear the clouds from her sky. Leaning forward, She picked a buttercup from the ground and gently moved it across her cheek, feeling the soft petals as she again looked out across the vista. Amazing.

Just at that second, she closed her eyes again, opened her ears and just... listened. There was the wind, again, making itself known, ensuring that it’s warm touches were not forgotten amongst the sound of grass moving, birds chirping and shadows that didn’t exist with closed eyes. This place, this imaginative moment, calmed every, single, small, thought and feeling. She opened her eyes and looked at the desk, pen and paper. Life always posed such possibilities, such situations that exposed her resolve, chipping at her confidence, wrestling with her doubt, then, often providing unimaginable sparks.  She picked up the paper, using both hands to unravel, to place the same paper, unfolded, onto the desk. With pen in hand, she carried on writing:

This morning I awoke to a sea of green, to a sky of blue, with strands of thought as real as you

The air held me in its arms and moved the sky above........

Perfect

It is cold, possibly quite a bold statement, but the words had to be sold to you this way. The truth, the very aspect of informing someone of their indulgence, their transparency to the world, is seemingly something of a sin. Dare you voice your concerns, hatefully imagining a world of truth, opening your voice to the ideals of how things vicariously are viewed.

At what point do we take a step back from where we stand? Lies are one thing. Cruel, vicious, slandering lies, that eat into our lives but they’re somewhat accepted by most. The truth, from the other side, is something that one simply must never speak. Am I this, am I that, should I be there or should I dare? Heaven help the soul that’s freed by truth.

As a youngster I was often taunted for being thin. I was then scolded by words with regards to acne. It took years, months, days of reflection to finally deduce that it didn’t matter what the outside stated to the world. My outside skin, the suit that I wear, doesn’t speak to me. It doesn’t calm me. It simply… is. I wear my skin each day, I stride and I might often bounce around, being silly as sin, capable of smiles amongst the trials. I’m me. The above is nothing new, maybe even considered normal, as each generation lives through the same cruelty.

Now, after all these years, I’m still confined, herded, into the crowd of men and women of the world. Heaven help me, save my soul, brand my skin, never let me be alive and let me go. I’ve never actually liked my looks, which is an honest answer, but I’ve come to terms with x, the y of the universe. I appreciate myself, I actually like myself, which is a rare event within this space.

We strive to be individuals, we want to set ourselves into a place filled with the space of our own importance. It’s natural, it’s safe, in a way, nothing out of the ordinary but the moment you smile, the lies start to form. In this place, set around you, there are people that are not happy. These people won’t admit it, even if they speak the words, as it’s often ignored in favour of self-preservation or the fear of actually doing something about it all.

The lies, from their lips, are disguised in a way. Each and every single time someone puts you down, stops you being happy, changes your willingness to be an individual, it’s a lie. Why do you do this? Why do you do that? That’s not normal? Normal is as normal can be which, to me, is absolutely boring. If a person is happy, with themselves, people need not bother to view you as anything other than whom you are.

If you’re thin, or have weight, with large or small ears, it matters not. Anyone that affords you the negative words spilled from their lips is a liar. If you’re not the same as that person, then there must be something wrong? Hardly. People being unhappy with themselves has bred hatred, wars, ignorance and pain. The colour of your skin, the eyelashes you wear, the shape of your lips, the size of a person’s hips, matters not. We’re all different.

There’s no room for lies in this world. Acceptance, tolerance, respect and smiles is all that we really need. We see a map, the next town over, we learn to dislike based on a name, a place, the lies spew forward and the bigots grasp their venom. We see this each and every single day by the media we watch, our friends and even our own parents. It’s instilled, passed forward and a learned response.

Stop the lies. Start with the truth. We all know what, where, who and probably why. We can hardly call someone this, or that, while actually being the other. To stop someone being happy, while being unhappy yourself, not quite satisfied with the way you are, is basically all a great big lie. Once you accept yourself, like yourself, even love yourself, you suddenly no longer care to put others down. Accept your own truth, embrace your own thoughts, realise that you, as well as the others that we sometimes slander, are nowhere close to being perfect.

Difference?

Reaching out, that little bit further with each passing moment, he finally touched her fingertips and sighed a gasp of relief. With added certainty and added endurance he pulled her forward, just enough, in order to reach in with his other arm. Now, with both hands grasping hers, he pulled with all the energy he had. Feet wedged on either side of the building, arms through the hole basically filled with earth, he smiled as her fingers, hands, then arms appeared from under the rubble.

As the rest of her body appeared into view he scooped her into his arms, lifting her as he stood upright, turning to walk down towards the rubble strewn road.  He glanced at her face, a pretty young girl, probably 28 to 34 or somewhere in between. Her face was covered in dirt and dust. He could hear he breathing, shallow, broken, not quite as it should be. He wouldn't blame or say anything to anyone that had been subjected to such an ordeal but, as was his life, he did try to look towards the positive side even if this did not look that way. This was anything but positive. He’d feared such a thing happening but not this close, not this close, to where his beating heart resided.

He knew that no-one had expected such a thing to happen but, like any form of cancer, any type of disease, it didn't really mean that much until it happened to you. His friends, his family, lived a life of virtual ignorance. He’d often thought about talking each of them out for the day, for them to really see what the world looked like beyond the glass covered television and safe daily routines. That, of course, wouldn't help with his thoughts.

Looking into the young girl’s eyes, his smile trying to re-assure her, she started to choke. Placing her quickly onto the ground he called for assistance but, in front of his very eyes, her rapid movements ceased and he instantly knew the outcome. She was gone. Kneeling, a hand on his face, it hit him in an instant and tears formed. The ambulance staff member, as she arrived in front of him, quickly understood the situation and, placing a hand onto his shoulder, nodded. He reminded himself to breath, to take control of the situation, to assess the mindset of his profession. He wasn't made to feel this way but on this day, today, it just simply didn't seem to stop.

Standing and brushing the tears to the side he took a step back as the staff processed the person no longer on this earth. Hands on his hips, looking up into the sky, he simply didn't want to continue. He could walk off, he could simply sit down, but that wouldn't do. That wouldn't be what he was. To the side of him, down the street, he heard shouts for help and, with barely a moment’s thought, he turned to walk. Stopping, he took one last look at the young person taken from the world before her time. He felt a small slice of anger rise within his chest, which tapped a thread of energy into his heart. When this day was over, when the dust settled, he’d make sure that his every second be spent trying to ensure that this situation never, ever happened again.

Walking away, he quickly changed his pace to a mild jog, conserving energy as he went. He knew that this would be a long day, a longer night, but he’d rest when he could no longer stand. He was alive, breathing, able to make a difference and that was exactly what he’d do.

In a perfect world… We’d all make a difference.

The Book - 2008 Version

Originally written around November 2008. Excuse the lack of punctuation, extra long sentences and mistakes. I'll be writing a new version tomorrow!  

With the gentle sparks making their crackling noise over in the background, she snuggled further into the soft armchair and sipped another sample of red rose wine, relaxed, slow music and all was well with the world. The day has been long, the week longer, but that was now a distant thunder in her sky. The weekend had started as soon as the keys had hit the table and, the door had been closed to the working life outside. It felt ever so good, right now, to just unwind and close her weary eyes a little bit. This, as they say, is what it was all for. At that thought, another popped into her mind, ‘is this what it was all for, truly, really? Or was there something more!’  There she went again, answering the world’s problems, or should she say, trying to answer the world’s problems.

The world, such a faraway place when in such a calm setting and the heat, yes, the heat, it was ever so dreamy right now. She once again looked into the flickering flames and a small smile appeared as if by magic and from behind, she heard a small thud. She moved up from the seat and looked over the top of her comfy chair to see a small parcel on the floor and someone must have just posted whatever it is. She looked at the mantelpiece clock and it really was an odd time to be posting mail through her door or any door.  She lifted herself from the chair and walked over to the parcel and then returned to her chair, slightly intrigued and interested in whatever was sure to be inside the package. With ease, she removed the string, gently unravelled the brown paper and her eyes focused onto a book. The first thing to strike her, other than it being a book, was the fact that the cover contained such detail, more detail than she had ever seen and yet, whatever was inscribed on the cover, she simply had no idea what it was. No picture, words or any art she had ever seen resembled this cover... whoever created this cover was truly an artist, or so she thought, as many may have disliked the cover.

She turned over the book to look at the back cover and the same artwork covered the rear and as she turned it back to the front, she opened the front cover to see a small amount of writing, which she read, “This book, the book of time and mystery, has been sent to you, as you have questions that need answers, dreams that are being dreamt and a heart that truly feels”.  As book openings went, She thought that the small passage she had just read was nice, cryptic, but nice. Most people did require answers, some did dream and in all honesty, she didn’t know any heart that didn’t feel but, who was she to argue with such text and of course, the person who had seen fit to post this book through her door. At that thought, she would like to know who ‘had’ posted the book.

She turned over the first page to see a blank page. She turned another page, blank, another, blank. She flicked to the middle of the book and that, also, was blank. At this she closed the book, “What is this about?” she said as she opened the book again, onto the first blank page. Right then, her eyes nearly fell from her face as words appeared on the page in front of her and she slowly read as they appeared, “This book is about answers, a place to truly find what you have been missing or even searching for, this book, this place, is where you truly connect to the magic out there!”  She closed the book and as her mouth dropped open, she asked another question before opening the book again, “Did you just answer me?”

“Yes, I answered you!”  She once again closed the book and in a moment’s reaction, placed the book on the fire. As the book crumpled and disappeared into flame, she felt an overwhelming urge to rescue the book and wondered why she had just place the book into the fire. As the last small piece vanished, she looked at the parcel paper to her side, on the floor and there... was the book. She looked back to the fire and then back to the book! “Oh my...”

With delicate pause, slowly, ever so slowly, She reached out and picked up the book from the floor and returned it to its resting place on her lap. Eyes, wide open, smile not quite knowing how to unravel the moments in front of her, she once again opened the book and read the words that, if by magic, appeared in front of her eyes, “Ahhhhhhooooowwww.. That hurt, nearly as much as the time when the old lady’s dog in Minnesota chewed me for FOUR hours!”  If she wasn’t in a small amount of shock, she might have laughed at that mild joke but instead, she simply asked, ‘What are you?’

“What am I? I am... an index to the answers you seek, I am the knowledge that remains when the magic has left your heart and time no longer recalls your kisses. I, am also, here, now, ready to answer some of your questions!” She could not believe that this was happening, a book, writing it’s own verse, right there, on the pages. She turned over the page as the words kept on appearing, “Of course, I am here for a special reason and, hopefully, we will reach that reason before the end of this book!” Her heart started to relax and a positive smile started to appear at the books friendly tone and if someone was playing a prank, then she might as well play along as, after all, it could be fun.

She bit her lip slightly as she asked another question, “Where did you come from?” The book, as if paused, maybe even thinking, placed a few dots onto the page and a few seconds flew past before the words started to appear again. “I arrived through your letterbox!” ‘Yep’, she thought, a slight joker of a book and she smirked a little as the words carried on appearing. “Oh sorry, you mean how did I arrive at an existence? That would be telling and as I’m in a telling moment, I’ll share. I arrived the moment paper first appeared many, many years ago. My spirit, soul, heart, feelings and thoughts found a place on that first page and since then, I have become the book that you now see. So, to answer the question, I came from the universe and am thus part of every single small thing that you see each and every single small day.”

If there were ever an answer to answer a question, she definitely knew that the answer on the page in front of her most certainly did just that, answered and then in a flash, she asked a very cheeky question, “What’s tomorrow’s lottery numbers?” The book again paused and if by a seconds imagination a small set of soft lips appeared on the page and smiled. “Come now, I am here to provide answers and what you need, not, unfortunately, what you want! The lottery numbers may make you smile and fill your life full of imaginable gifts, but it will not fill your soul!”  Defeated, she smiled and decided on a better choice of question, “Who will be the next person to ring my phone?” This was supposedly an easy one for the book, which answered more or less straight away by writing, ‘Your Mother, who will ring in 5,4,3,2...1’ and the next second after the book wrote ‘1’, the phone rang and She looked over to the phone and when she looked back, she watched as the book wrote another line, ‘But you won’t answer as she’ll complain that you only speak to her every other week and then ask about your weight, your love life and knitting!’. She was... amazed and at that moment, she realised, this was no prank.

She again watched as the book filled the page with a drawing of flowers within a field of green grass, with, a picture of her standing in the field, looking up at the sunshine filled sky. A beautiful picture, a wondrous picture with so much detail that she could more or less be there, right there, now, this time’s second.  A smile grew, a small tear appeared at the emotion of the moment and she again spoke, “Please, would you tell me a beautiful story?” The book drew a dog with a nodding head and as she turned the page, a story began before her eyes.

“The great unknown, was once, many, many thousands of years ago, known to nothing but angels. The unknown decided to grow, to create, to become more than what it once was and with that thought, the unknown became everything, planets, stars, the sun, moon, the oceans and of course, you and I.

Now, the unknown, which you may call God, Allah, energy, the source, the light or whatever, created life, abundant life, on a million, million worlds and one world was... this world. The unknown created a balance between all things, a unity, a way of keeping all things in its order and as time moved forward, man and woman became. The unknown realised that they would be slightly more than what he intended, savage, brutal, destructive and somewhat lost in the land that the unknown had created and thus the unknown decided to make a small change, but, like all changes, there would be balance, one side, the other side and of course, the ever present middle.

But, the unknown, following the way of the universe, decided to bestow the change to two angels.  Now, angels being light, they wished and wanted a pure way to implicate a change, a change that would enlighten, uplift, but the unknown still insisted on balance, for a change to be tainted if the moment was lost. As shameful as it seemed, all things, no matter how pure, how brave, had to have all sides present. The good, the middle and finally the bad.

The angels both looked to the earth and they flew down, amongst the clouds, taking in the land and its detail, watched the animals below and of course, took in the details of the brisk man and the fine woman. At once, suddenly, as if by magic and relief, the angels looked at each other... then kissed. The kiss lasted years as they simply expressed the purity of their intentions, the majestic colours of emotions and when they parted lips, they, had simply, created, what we call... love.

The gift was spread between man and animal and like a gentle breeze, the thought simply made its way into every single beating heart and has stayed there ever since. That, as difficult as it sounds, changed the motivation of every single living item across the universe and still, of course, kept the delicate balance between all things. In fact, it strengthened all.

This very happening, is why your heart beats faster, your heart beats slower and at times, seems to stop in the presence of the person that you love. It can last forever, it can last ten seconds, but overall, it will always be within your heart. ”

She felt her heart move ever so slightly and even though the story seemed like a wild fantasy, she knew that the message was completely, undeniably, true. She turned over another page and the book drew a few more beautiful flowers and this time, a couple of angels in a kiss that seemed to glow straight off of the page. “Is.. that a true story?” she asked.. The books words appeared,

“As I feel, you know that love must have arrived from a very enlightened place, so Angels seems to be the most magical of places. After all, when you kiss the person you love; do you not feel as if you have wings?  Now, if you will, would you turn the page and place your hand in the middle of the page...”

With an ever small hesitation, she lifted her right hand as her left held open the page, she gently placed her hand onto the page and for a moment nothing happened and then, the page traced a line around her hand.  Flowers appeared in each of the corners and stars in-between, the book really seemed to be placing her in a state of calm.

Seconds passed and then she felt something, just that little bit, at first, but the sensation seemed to be growing. Like soft fingers flowing up her hand, along her arm and into her body, it was as if energy were being moved. As the feeling grew within her, she could feel her heart beat slowing, even though her body raced a thousand times faster than it had ever done before, but the calm, it soothed her. Words appeared above her fingertips, “You can take away your hand now” and even though she could have left her hand there for eternity, she did as the book asked. With a smile that was deeper than an ocean, she turned over the page and spoke, “What.. just happened?”

The book answered a little bit quicker this time, “You, all of you, are now a small part of me and as a thank you, I gave back a small amount of energy that I felt you needed. We often run on low batteries and ever so often, we could benefit from a small kick” She laughed a little and agreed by nodding her head slightly. Ever so true, needed energy, something that she could often do with, especially in the mornings.  “My time is nearly over here but before I venture out to new places and people, we must talk about why I arrived here in the first place and now that I know every single moment that forms you, we can get to the place that we often need to be” She turned another page and her interest reached new levels. As far as she could tell, she was fine, but still, didn’t everyone need a little bit more or less of something?

“Within you, rests a soul, a vessel that contains the essence of who you are and this vessel, wishes to fly high between the clouds, to be as free as it can be, but life, the life that many lead, at times, pushes the soul further away from the heart. Or, in another way, the heart can be hurt and over the time that we walk, it hides away its true face, removing the freedom that we crave. In order to be free, to find a better place, we must all truly try to be more. Like a chair with three legs, you can stand perfectly well, you’ve found the extra third leg needed to be whole, but, four legs are what the angels planned when they bestowed their gift. To write with your heart, to sing with your passion, to be and explore everything you can be, you, everyone, requires four legs to balance. Four legs, become two people.”  She read the words and understood exactly what the book stated, but, these things were never as easy or as simple as finding the extra leg to her chair. “I understand what you are saying, I do, but in order to open my heart or my soul, there will always be that small amount of fear that constantly protects!” she added.

“Yes, you do have to protect, but would you hesitate one moment to see your dreams come true? But, dreams are created by magic and as the Unknown has shown, to create magic, you require energy and that energy, that life, best be created by two. You try, you fail, you try, you fail.. but you still have the energy and passion to try again. Why?  You try again because somewhere within you, you believe that, just for a second, things can be right, things can work. Love, as the angels knew, conquers all things, all doubts. “, the book replied. At this she knew that this applied to everything in her life. She had been ever slightly protective of her heart and that had led to some interesting dreams, some interesting creations and of course, some of the thoughts she had been having over the last few months.

She looked thoughtful as the information on the page settled into her mind and heart and yes, two people did make things happen, as could one, but something always drove people to find that partner, a partner that addressed the balance, a fourth leg that adds that clarity and of course, much needed kisses.  The book spoke of the angels love and that alone, truly, was such an amazing thought.

“Does love truly conquer all?” She asked as she turned another page.

“Yes, it does, but only a pure love that bypasses most or all of the day to day petty arguments, negative thoughts and moments that need not exist.  Two hearts beating in rhythm can sooth and comfort at a level that no mere playing can achieve. Just because you touch with your finger tips does not mean your heart should stay disconnected. Once a person engages their heart, the passion, fire, thought and pure force within that feeling can enable a person to accomplish tasks that should normally be out of reach. You see this within a Mothers eyes at times, the connection, the pure bond that nothing, absolutely nothing, can break. Love, truly, conquers all, but, can ever so easily be tainted.” As She read she could literally feel the warmth from the book on her lap. This book, with its magical pages, truly felt and obviously understood all that touched her heart. Amazing.

She held back for a second and then asked another question, “So how do we stop a pure love from being tainted?” Again she turned a page and waited.

“You will never reach a pure love if it has a chance to be tainted. People either work or fail over time. Ideals, dreams, rhythms all differ and although the excitement intoxicates when first experienced, the true reality of a person’s heart eventually shows its face. You have to first look ‘beyond’ a person’s mask, their many faces, to look under the skin, at the person’s core and then, only then, can you see and realise if you ever have a chance to survive. If two people do reach a pure love, they will be like two entwined trees with branches that interlock, which strengthen and embrace each other. If you try to dig them from the earth you may require a miracle, to separate the branches would need an act of angels.   Any relationship must hold onto the magic, two people must embrace each other’s hearts before they embrace each other’s body.   Sadly, the above is not the way of the world. Angels may have provided the gift of kisses that create love, but they also left in the balance... the chance... to fail.”  The last word rang in her eyes and she knew how that felt, to fail, to let go, to find something and have nothing.  This pure love, it seemed so difficult to imagine in the way things worked, as if luck and chance played a part but surely, there must be more?

As she turned another page, she noticed that it was the last page of the book and as she watched, the books final words play their letters, she knew this time was at an end“...and now, Miss She Turner, it is time for me to leave you to your fate, which would shortly show its hand. Now, if you would do me the honour of walking out of your door, up the stairs, out onto level 15, four doors to the left and then, push me through the letterbox.”  She smiled and yes, she had enjoyed this mad moment and although she still assumed that it was a game being played, she couldn’t help but know that the words spoken were very, very true. The message, as clear as it was, still contained such beauty and thought that she would smile for an age.

She stood, closed the book and gently kissed the cover. Ten minutes later, she returned to her chair to once again view the fire in front of her, to feel its warmth and as she drifted off to sleep, she recalled some of the beautiful moments from the book.  ‘Angels gifts’, ‘pure love’, the ‘fourth’ important ‘leg’ from her chair and or course, the beautiful drawings that the book presented. Her head slowly moved to the side and she closed her eyes, just a little bit, then completely.

As she started to dream, she awoke to a knock on the door and she looked at the clock above the fire. She had been asleep for an hour. She moved from the seat and in a moment was across the room to open the door and as it opened, she looked up to see a man standing there and while he spoke, he started to smile, “Hello, you might not believe me when I tell you this and many would think that I’m quite mad, but someone pushed a book through my door an hour ago and, well, I’ve just sent it to Mexico but before I did that, the book said that I should knock on this door as you need a chair fixing and, apparently, I can help with the fourth leg?  Not sure what that means but either way, I’ll help if I can”

As She looked down, she smiled and mumbled to herself, ‘Magic, angel’s gifts... they do exist’.

Life

I listen to the sound of the escaping wind, hurtling, enthralling, captivating my imagination and comprehension. The very last leaf, within my view starts to fall from the tree just across from me, escaping, leaving, transcending the moment into something new and fresh. It falls, whispering thoughts of sunshine, growth and the meaning of life.

The music blares from the headphones as I return them to my ears, breaking the aura of the surrounding landscape, the view before my eyes. I hum the tune, breaking the silence from my person, startling the small bunny frolicking over in the nearby field. Despite the loud music, the words, the calm moment cannot be taken away from my soul.

I smile, a little, eyes softening, realising that I’m safe, alive, healthy and happy. This, of course, for many of us is often not the case or hasn’t been this way for a long time. Closing my eyes, returning to a previous moment of pain, the teaching of the past, I recall the second, the words, the angst bestowed towards my life, then close the thought within my mind. It’s gone, it’s over, it has been done and I am now who I am. There is no recalling the moment, transcribing a different outcome or replacing certain words. Such is life. What has been will always be.

Despite my own teachings, the way I’ve always viewed life, there are moments, as well as people, that can trouble you, hurt you, make you into something that you’re not but, saying that, I know that we have overall control of our own actions so no blame, ever, can be placed upon another’s shoulders. I am. I will always be. I am master of my own decisions. The words from my lips are mine and mine alone. I… am to blame for whatever I say or do. No-one holds your hand, embraces your decisions with guidance, without your permission.

Each tree, within this world, is born innocent. It watches, learns how to grow, what to be, survives in the universe and passes away just the same. Each tree needs to be nurtured, guided just that little bit, but it really does know what to do. There comes a day where our hand leaves our guardians, we become alone in the world, yet unlike the tree we’ve no real plan or scale on how to grow tall into the sky. We might dream of touching clouds or branching to the moon, but we often fall when life becomes too complex. Weighted, drowned by rain fall, axed and fallen from our own decisions and other’s words. If we were but a tree, we would be fine, but we’re not and will never have a life so simple.

The leaf finally reaches the ground and, with instinct, I press pause. The audio stops, my hand lifts the camera and I take a picture. Frozen, a moment in time, the leaf fallen from the tree and the cycle has repeated for another year. We’re somewhat like the tree, stuck within cycles, repeating, reprocessing the same cycle, the never ending circular process. When do we escape our own mind? When do we grow, when do we heal, what should we do and where do we go?

Within each person, deep within, I truly believe that there’s a plan for each of us. You can speculate, procrastinate, but the plan is one of simplicity. Smile. Be. Accomplish. Do what you want to do and do it now. We were never meant to be that tree, the mighty stable life providing vessel, we’re supposed to re-define our needs and requirements above simple water and sunshine. We can be so much more.

I listen to the sound of the bellowing wind as I remove my headphones. I’m trying to become aware, aware of myself, to escape, to leave, to transcend into something new and fresh. I can fall, I can whisper thoughts of summer, of growth, the meaning of my life, but right now, right this very second, I’m free of thought and ready to be something new.

Fire

There is a fire within me. I can feel it, simmering, suffering, expecting to be set free but, instead, it is contained and controlled. We live our lives, placid, serene, trying to make it through the day let alone the entire week. We’re no longer feral, not really free, as we’re contained and socially castrated by the media, people and friends around us.

There are moments where, when I'm supposedly caught off guard, the fire appears and burns bright. I've passion, a wealth of feeling, an emotion so strong that the heat can easily be felt but, as above, it’s castrated at the source. We, as people, make choices. We can feel, we can truly reach out a hand to embrace the people around us but, instead, we often hold onto our wishes. At other times we let the fire breath forward into the world with agony, tears, grasping for something else. We’re often not quite sure as to what we want, how to feel, let alone the way to express such moments.

I can feel the fire, bubbling within, taunting, thrashing around like a petulant child, asking for the same thing over and over again. But, instead of answering, I simply remain static and calm. A lifetime spent controlling emotion is one thing, denying your feelings is another, while ignoring your own soul is beyond idiocy.

I often feel the fire when engaging in conversation, embracing my feelings in order to convey a situation, a place, a person or feeling. Within a second I can feel happiness, great sadness, joy or even loss. It’s wondrous to be able to do such a thing but, again, that is mere folly compared to what’s really inside each of us. We can burn with such thoughts within our mind. We can light the room with our energy, the very aura of our lives, basking in the gracious moment of fire.

When your chest glows, when you truly feel the connection within your chest, be it to your heart, soul, or from a practical viewpoint, the very organs within you, you know that there’s a world of amazement out there. I choose to embrace my fire by writing. Seldom do people ask for my thoughts on matters unlike the years previous thus, as stated, my only voice is the voice of the written word. This allows a conduit, a passage, towards the fire within.

We, as people, must embrace our fire or die slowly. We work, we slave, we devour the hours towards our passing, from this world, with barely a flicker from our spark. Whom is to say that we should not engulf ourselves in our passions? Embrace, grasp, quench and let the fire flow through our veins like we’re the very source of power on this planet. Achieve, conquer, comprise our very path through this world. There may only be one person stopping the fire from within and you see that person each time you close your eyes. You’re there, within the darkness, fighting to endure your life, no matter if you’re happy, sad, lost or alone, life is still a fight. Grasp the fire, feel the emotion and strength push you forward.

We all have wishes, various plans, places to be, races to run, desires to be acknowledged and accomplished. Clench your fist, close your eyes, open the gates and feel… . You and you alone must succeed. Create the plan, see the endpoint, seize the objective and run. It might take years, a day, a moment of your time but once you know that you have that fire, you can become what you need to become. Even if, for the smallest of moments, you fail, the attempt is more than worth the thought of never having done what you really wanted to do. Failure is doing nothing. Failure is never an option as the attempt is a success no matter the outcome.

Light that fire within you, become more, feel the energy and increase the warmth around you.

Feed

Walking amongst the crowds, watching, viewing, taking in everything around me including the sounds and smells from the people. Almost mimicking slow motion, the way people move, to my senses. Some outspoken, most minding their own business, but all gasping for breath as their emotions leak into the world like a lethal cocktail of pestilence.

I can taste it, taste their fears, their longing, for something else or to even be someone else. The negativity, the jealously, the very fear from their pours creates a stench of unmitigated wealth. I don’t mean to feed, to feast upon such energy, but I was truly created this way. Coughing, spluttering, gouging upon each other, viewing other people with disdain and hatred that seemingly feeds one such as myself. I'm not of this earth, an unknown in the scheme of plans, an unseen entity, wishing for more of this uneven stance.

I hear the media, the television, the marketing people of this world, rile people, force them into segregated brackets, ensuring a divide exists within and without. I take another look as one of them walks past, unknowingly tainting the air as I inhale the feelings. It feels hatred, angst, as the images flood through his electrical energy. His friend, possibly a Brother, has what he desires and that alone, something so simple, creates a pointless release of energy. Another one of them walks through me as I envelop what’s within. An uncle abusing him, from a youngster, until this very day, the fear and shame washing over me, feeding me in its purest form.

Satisfied, needs sedated, thirst quenched, I float above them, watching all of the different colours of energy flow through the street. They’re all lost, alone, mostly ignorant to the control over them, how lost they all are, with a few aware of their shape and form. I catch a glance from the shadows, eyes directed towards mine and a feeling escapes from within my own form. None of this world has ever seen me, noticed me, yet there are a few that can see through different eyes. I'm not worried as none can touch my form unless I desire.

Across from me, another of my form feeds, relishes the bathing emotions, the disquiet of this world and suffering of the many. Hurdled like cattle, pretending to be free from oppression, all the while willingly sacrificing themselves to the daily monotony of money. All of them could be happy, all of them could be satisfied, if it were not for the many needs instilled within from an early age. But, of course, that would not do as my form has no need for those positive traits. We desire pain. Suffering. Anger. Raw negative feelings, a hunger, distilled into a pure form of energy.  The heat expelled from these creatures fuels our fire. Drives us, compels us, yet we lift not a finger to aid in this flow.

In past lives we've aided with the neat destruction of society, kindled the very fire of destruction to feed our coffers, stroked the human ego to drive itself towards oblivion. Now, in this time, we lead a passive life, no longer required to steer anyone anywhere. A paradise of greed, corruption, fear, famine and fate. The glorious symphony of anguish bestowed to the many.

This truly is a glorious planet and we will never leave. After all, why would we, we’re perfectly satisfied with the misery fed to us each and every single day.

The Leviathans: Aura (Book 2 - A possible look from the other side). Might even get to write that story one day.