Words To The Concerned

There are some things you should know about me. First, know that I do not always behave in a “socially acceptable” way. This is because, to me, the socially acceptable way is just flat damn stupid, and designed to protect people from the truth.

I should have left the job I once had back in October of 2006. But I didn’t. Because I felt it was my responsibility to stay, and do the best I could to support the program I had been working on. For I did not wish to cause any difficulty for those that worked on the program.

I paid for that mistake. I paid dearly for that mistake. I paid by being barred from the workplace. I paid by being declared a disturbance in the workplace. I paid by being told  that a unanimous vote was taken that said I was to have no contact of any kind with anyone that I worked with. I paid with 13 weeks of medical leave in November, December and January of 2010 and 2011. I paid by being forced to undergo a battery of psychological tests to determine if I was able to return to work. I paid by having to undergo a security clearance review to determine if I was a risk to the security of my country. I paid by having all the friends I had made in 13 years of work for a customer shut me out of their existence. Permanently.

I paid for being different. For doing things a different way. For behaving differently than every last person in the workplace. For not behaving identically to every last person in the workplace. I paid for being creative. For pouring my creativity into a nightmare job for 13 years. For pushing a program forward against the wishes of everyone. For not letting things be the same on the program as they were on all the other programs throughout the customer’s facility.

I paid for not recognizing the social “rules” of that place. For not understanding why everyone signed the birthday cards that looped around, even if they didn’t know who the cards were for. For not attending social events, like lunches, or cake and ice-cream parties, when I couldn’t understand what they were for.

I paid for actually caring about other people, and trying to help them in any way I could.

If I’d have left that job in 2006, like I should have, it’s possible I would have never had to endure the punishment I endured in the job I used to have.

But, having said all of that, I now say this.

If I had not made that mistake, and endured that place of work that I came to know as “The Land of Grey”, in which everyone behaved identically, and nothing was real, and no one cared for anyone, and everyone played stupid games, with winks, and nods to each other, pretending that everything was OK, and that the way things were in that place was the way things were supposed to be in the world.

I would have never found this new life that I have now. I would have never found the diversity of voices in life that I have found. I would not have met the people I have met. I would not have come to understand that what I did when I had the guts to actually care for some of the people I worked with, and tried to help those people in any way I could, even though it meant I would be hurt, was the true thing to do. The right thing to do. The HUMAN thing to do.

I learned that I did not let fear of loosing my job stop me from doing what I believed. I learned that I did not let fear of being hurt stop me from doing what I believed. I learned that I did not let fear of being punished by the powers of the workplace stop me from doing what I believed. I learned that the structures of the workplace, and the corporate world, can only bring financial pain to me and my family. They can’t control me. They can’t tell me how to live. They can’t tell me what to believe. They can’t kill me.

I learned that pain is just another part of life. And I should not be afraid of it. Just like I should not be afraid of what I believe. Like I should not be afraid to live as I believe.

I once wrote a list of names of people that were gone. It was a list of the names of the people that ejected me from their lives. That threw me out of their workplace. That severed all communication and contact with me. That made it absolutely clear by their actions, and their behavior, that I had a choice. I could be identical to them. Or I could be ignored by them.

My answer, in the end, was to list their names. And declare that they were gone.

I find that as time passes, I feel more and more alive. More and more free. I feel that the world I live in is more and more alive. That it is filled with diversity. With hearts and souls that are different. That are still alive. And that care for so very many things. That the people I am finding now, in this new life, still believe in themselves. And in their friends, and the people that they know.

This new world is NOT a land of grey. It is a land of vibrant colors. A land filled with different people that believe different things. A land that is filled with tolerance for those differences. That does not pretend that there is only one way to be. One way to live. A land where people actually care about other people.

And among them are people that sometimes hurt. And when they hurt, I hope they know that I will do what I can. Because I know what it is to hurt. And that sometimes, all someone needs is a friendly voice. One that says, “It’s OK to hurt. It’s OK to cry. It’s OK to be human.”

In July of 2010, I found a song. By Leaves’ Eyes. That stuck in my head. It’s still there. And I still hear it’s words echoing through my life. The song was “Elegy”. And the words that echo, and always will, are:

“Silent tears of a woman
Make a warrior cry.
Heaven I beg you
Please release
Hopes from fears”

When the heart of a friend aches. When a friend’s soul cries tears. I have learned to not be afraid. I’ve learned that I can help. That I can find a way to share a smile with them. That I can find a way to let them know they are not alone. That they are never alone.

That’s why the words of a new song that I recently found recently echo so deeply within me. A song by Indica. Titled “In Passing”.

“I’ll say this once:
Light up the night
When it hurts inside
Read all the signs
It’s okay to feel down
And just remember
That nothing’s made to last
I know you’re sad
That too will pass
That too will pass
In passing”

And as I’ve begun this new life I have been granted by life itself, I find that I am not angry with the people I used to know. Instead, I find that my heart speaks to me of them. That my soul cries tears for them. For they do not know the way they are. The fears that they live with. They do not understand at all the way that they are. The silent desperation that they all live with. The fear of being hurt. The fear of losing their job. The fear that their families could be hurt. The fear that they would have to change. The fear that they would be hurt if they cared for any of the people around them.

I find that I pray for them. Even after all that I’ve been through. And all the things that have happened. That I can’t help but believe they did to me. I find I am not angry with them. I find, instead, that I am sad for them. And sorry for them. For they have lost touch with their own hearts and souls. And they no longer know what they do, or how they live. That they simply cannot see the way they are.

To the people I once knew, I say these words. I pray for you.

To the people I know now, I say these words. I pray for you. And I am here, if you are hurt, or alone. And need to know that someone around you cares.


Fairies : Sword (Part 1)

Mystica stood on a tree branch that hung over the lake. The surface of the lake was, as always, mirror smooth. It was several hours before the dawn. She had been awakened by a dream. She stood there. On that branch. Wrapped in her bed covers. Watching the surface of the lake. As images formed. Images of white. On a blue background. She spoke softly to the lake, “Show me the wounded boy.”

The images on the water took shape. Shifting. Swirling. Forming into a village. On the edge of body of water. The water was like nothing Mystica had ever seen. She could not see the other side of it. I wasn’t like any river, or any lake she knew of. And this water had waves. The surface was always changing. And the water made noise. Sounds. She had no idea where it was. Or what it could even be.

She continued to watch the images on the surface of the lake. As they played out a story right before her eyes. Taking her into the village. The houses there were arranged in a circle. In the center of the village there was a circular ring. The images continued, painting pictures, telling a story that left Mystica speechless.

The people of the village gathered around the circle. They were cheering. And laughing. And appeared to be having all kinds of fun. Musica watched as two very large men entered the ring. They both had braided whips. Whips with barbs on them. The kind of whips that tore skin apart if they struck that skin.

A third man entered the ring, and everyone had grown silent. Everyone had watched that one man as he spoke. Mystica sensed that he was some kind of leader. When he finished what he was saying, he turned to face the opposite side of the circle. Then he waved his arms, and two other men entered the ring. Between them was a small boy. A boy with wings. Like the wings of a butterfly. The boy was a fairy. Maybe 8 years old.

The crowd went wild. Making all kinds of noise. The two men holding the boy threw him across the ring. Straight at the two men with whips. The boy tried to gain control of his forward motion, so he could land standing. But as he did, the men with the whips struck. The whips tore into the boy. Tearing apart the skin on his arms, and legs. The boy screamed with pain. But the men with the whips continued striking him. Drawing blood from his chest. His back. His wings. His face.

They struck him many times. Mystica was so shocked she couldn’t even count. All she could do was stand there. Stunned. She had never seen anything like it. The brutality of it. Whipping a fairy boy like that. She stood there. Transfixed. Unable to look away.

When the whipping stopped, he fairy boy was prone upon the ground. Mystica had no way to know if he was alive or dead. The crowd around the circle cheered. Smiles were everywhere. The two men with the whips withdrew from the circle. The two men that had thrown the boy moved out of the circle. And the one man that was the leader, spoke once again. When he was through speaking, the crowd dispersed, and the man left the circle. Leaving the boy there. Alone.

Mystica watched the images again. And saw the boy try to move. Somehow, he was still alive.

Mystica screamed, “Merlin!” And her friend, the black magic dragon, Merlin appeared, as if he had been there the whole time. He spoke softly to Mystica.

“Scream is on his way. I can not carry you. You will need to use the White Magic to get there.”

“Where is there? I’ve never seen such a place?” As Mystica spoke, Merlin looked at the lake. And the images of the lake changed. The village shrank. Becoming a dot on the shore of a great body of water. A body that had no end. The land simply ended, and the water began. As the image changed, the Eastern edge of the Northern Forest came into view.

Merlin spoke once more, to Mystica, “Go.”

Mystica took flight. The white magic lifting her above the lake. Above the forest. And then, the magic gave her the speed that only Mystica, the White Witch, could achieve. She headed East. Streaking through the sky, above the trees. A brilliant white streak of light across the pre-dawn sky.

The sun rose. Then it set  before she reached the end of her journey. She hoped the boy was still there. Still alive.

As she approached the village, she heard Scream, the mighty dragon, as he screamed. He had arrived before her. She had known he likely would. The speed of the dragons had always been the stuff of legend. And Scream was second only to Merlin in the order of the dragons.

As the village came into sight, she saw the circle of homes. And then the circle in the center of the village. And in that circle stood Scream. He was there. Protecting the boy. There were several dead men outside the circle. They had been foolish, and attacked Scream. No human did that and lived. Mystica was saddened to see the dead. But she more than welcomed the fact that Scream had not destroyed the village. For that meant he was indeed changing. Trying not to kill. Unless he felt he had no choice.

She understood that he hadn’t wished to kill the humans. That he’d merely been defending himself, and the fairy boy. But his speed, and strength were such that without intending to, he had killed the attacking men.

Mystica floated down to stand next to Scream. Scream had screamed. A scream that could be heard for miles. That shook the homes in the village. And absolutely terrified all the villagers. When his scream was done, he had looked at Mystica, and then at the boy.

Mystica walked up to the fairy boy. She hoped he was still alive. She placed a hand on his back, feeling his back move raggedly up and down. As he breathed. He was still alive. But he was dying. And if Mystica did not act, the boy would die. And he would die very soon.

She knelt beside the boy. And put one hand on his broken, bleeding face. And one on his back. And she spoke. “Heal.” And the white magic responded. Knitting together broken bones the whips had fractured. Restoring veins, and flesh. Healing every physical wound the boy had endured.

Mystica was not done. Not by any means. She placed the boy’s head on her lap, and closed her eyes. “Free him from the pain.” Again, the white magic responded. And the little fairy boy was encased in a white glow. Mystica knew what the White Magic would do. As it encased the boy, it sank into him. Past skin. Past flesh. Into his heart. Where it found the memory of the hurt the boy had endured. The agony, and terror, of having been whipped to near death, and then left, beneath the sun, to die. In misery. And pain.

As the pain the boy was in faded away, he relaxed. The fear and hurt in him fled. And the little boy fell fast asleep. Mystica picked him up. And walked up to Scream. She handed the little boy to Scream, who cradled him in his two front arms. “Please, Scream. Please take this one home. He is one of us now.”

With those words, Scream looked to the sky, and he screamed a second time. The homes in the village shook again. And the scream carried for miles. And then, Scream flexed his wings. And took to the sky. Heading to the West. With the speed of a dragon. He was soon gone.

Leaving Mystica in the circle, in the middle of the village. All alone.

The people came out of their homes. They were not happy. They held whips. And swords. And clubs. And they surrounded the circle. And their leader spoke. “Destroy the heathen one!”

Mystica looked at the leader. And she spoke one word. “Burn.”

And white fire erupted in that village on that day. It burned through every person that lived there. One villager after another collapsed to the ground. Screaming in agony, as the white magic burned the darkness out of them. Many of the villagers fell unconscious, getting merciful release from the flames that burned through them.

The two men that had use the whips collapsed to the ground. Their hands reduced to ashes. Their chests in flames, where their hearts had been.

All that was left of the leader was a small pile of ash, where he had once stood.

When the white magic flames had burned everyone, they faded away. Leaving Mystica standing in the middle of the circle. It was then she spoke. “I will be watching you from now on. And if you should once more strike down a child as you did that fairy boy, I will be back. And I will unleash the white flames on your village once again.”

And with those words, Mystica called the White Magic to lift her, and carry her to her home.

Dreams : The Rhododendron Were In Bloom

I parked my car.
Turned the engine off.
Turned to look
At the passengers I had.
It has been a long time
Since I’d had passengers
With me.
A very long time indeed.

My passengers were young.
At least,
Compared to me.
I was pretty certain
I was older
Than their parents.
And both of them were adults.
Both being photographers.

I’d promised them
I’d bring them
To take pictures
Of the flowers
In the garden
That I love.

I couldn’t understand at all
Why they had agreed.
But then again,
It had been a long time
Since anything
Made sense to me.

I’m not that good around people.
Never have been.
And it showed.
I didn’t say much at all
On the drive to the garden.
About the only time I spoke
Was when they spoke to me.

Which pretty much translates
To talking when I had to.

Something bothered me
On the drive
To the garden
That day.
Something in the way
That they behaved.

Or perhaps.
Something in the way
They reacted to me.
I couldn’t tell.
I never knew
When I was doing
Something wrong.

I had a million questions
Racing through my head.
Was it appropriate for me
To be around
Either one of them?
I found I had to ask.
Because I knew
I wouldn’t have clue
How anyone would feel,
What anyone would think
About me taking them
To the garden on that day.

I worry about such things.
I do.
Because I just can’t tell.
I don’t feel any of the pressures
Other people do.
That silent language
That tells people
How to behave.
I’m completely deaf to it.

The only way I can figure out
How to behave
Like everyone expects
Is to make mistakes.
Do things wrong.
And learn.
Because when I ask
What’s appropriate.
No one answers.
They laugh.
Or they tell me
That everyone knows that.
And so do I.

No one understands.
I don’t.
I don’t know at all.
And God,
I wish I did.

Every bit of me
Wanted to escape.
To make sure everyone
Would know
The two of them
Were safe.

That I’d given them a ride
To the garden on that day.
And then I’d simply
So the two of them
Could have fun
Taking pictures.
Enjoying the beauty
Of that place.

I could feel the panic
That’s a part of me.
A fight or flight defense.
That had kept me alive
For so very many years.

I knew.
I knew
I’d take flight.
The first chance I got.

That’s when the youngest
Of the two of them
Stopped me
Dead in my tracks.

“Show me
Where your favorite flowers are
At this time of year.
I’ve only been here
A few times.
So I don’t know
Where to look.”

That young lady
Looked right at me,
“Show me.

All I could do
Was stand there
For a bit.
And look at my two hands.
Shaking like leaves.
As I told myself
Several times,
Just breathe.”
Until my hands
Calmed down.
And I was able to get past
The fear I was feeling.

At which point
The second of the two
And nodded.
And said,
“Yes. Please show us.
Please won’t you?”

I knew what time of year it was.
I knew what part of the garden
Was in full bloom.
I’d been there
A few days before.

I visited the garden
At least once a month.
And many months
In spring and summer,
I visited the garden
More than once.

I nodded my head,
And away we went.
The two of them
Walking with me.
Through the garden.
Down the trails.
To where I knew
The rhododendron
Were in full bloom.

Where the two of them
Could take all the pictures
That they wanted too.

And as I walked
Through the rhododendron,
I forgot.
I forgot all the things
That bother me.
All the things
I have to think about.
The things that I don’t know.

And once more
In the garden
That I love.

I was free.

Free to feel.
Free to smile.
Free to cry.
Free to laugh.
Free to be.

But even then,
I kept off to the side.
And tried to stay
Out of their way.
So they could take the pictures
That they wanted to.
And not worry about me.

So that I would know
That I could not do something
That was not normal.
Something that would disturb them.
So that they would be
Safe from me.

When the trip was over,
And we returned to the car,
They both noticed
I’d grown quiet once more.

That’s when they told me
How much they’d enjoyed
Visiting the garden.

And the oldest of the two
Said something to me
That I’d heard before.
Perhaps a thousand time.
But I’d never understood it
Until then.

“Why are you
So very hard
On your self?
It bothers me.
It bothers us.
To see you
Hurt yourself
The way you do.”

Then the young one spoke,
“We came here with you.
Because you are our friend.
And we wanted to
Walk through the garden
With you.
And take pictures
With you too.”

The oldest spoke once more.
“What’s wrong?
What’s bothering you?”

No one had ever asked me that
And I was completely lost.
Not knowing what to say.
Or what to do.

And I remembered,
As I stood there,
Unable to speak.
Shaking like crazy.
Trying to remember
Just to breathe,
The words that someone
Had told me
Many years before.

“Why are you so hard on yourself,
My dear friend?
Don’t you know how much
It hurts me
To see you treat yourself
That way?”

I don’t know how,
But I found my voice
On that day,
As we got ready
To get into the car.
When we would all return
To our separate homes.

That’s when I finally spoke.

“I don’t know how
To care for me.”
I looked straight at the ground.
“I never learned.”

And those few words
Would bring more change to me
Than any words,
Or any thing,
That I’d said
Or done

For I finally understood
What I had to learn.

I had to learn
What the two of them,
And the others
I call my friends,
Saw in me
That I didn’t.

I had to learn
Why they cared for me.
And then perhaps,
Some day.
I could learn
To care for me too.

Finding The Words, 03/10/2012

So. It occurred to me. Perhaps I am not meant to find the words I want right off the bat. Perhaps I’m supposed to find them one step at a time. Over days, or weeks, or months. Maybe even years. Talk about frustrating.

Being me, I couldn’t let it go at that. So, I gave that a bit of thought. And I said to myself, “That’ll work.” And here I am. On my little corner of the ‘Net. A tiny little space. Deciding to write about the search for the words.

It also occurred to me that I could tell you exactly what I’m trying to say. But all that I’d accomplish in doing that is getting everyone ticked off at me. Like I’ve done repeatedly in my life. Like a broken record. Or a loop of tape. Or one of those time loop things from Star Trek, or Star Gate. Where the same sequence of events happens over, and over, and over again.

Here’s a glimpse of what I’m trying to find the words to say. It’s a quote from Pema Chödrön.

“As long as our orientation is toward perfection or success, we will never learn about unconditional friendship with ourselves, nor will we find compassion. ”

I like what she writes. Here’s another quote.

“At the root of all the harm we cause is ignorance.”

Here’s a quote from Thich Nhat Hanh… I like this…

“When another person makes you suffer, it is because he suffers deeply within himself, and his suffering is spilling over. He does not need punishment; he needs help. That’s the message he is sending.”

I could go on, and on. And keep making quotes forever. But what would that accomplish? I could say, “She said that all she wanted was to get her life back,” but you wouldn’t understand why that terrifies me, or why it makes my heart ache, and my soul cry tears of pain. Another voice I once knew told me to go away. That I was part of her past. And she didn’t want to remember her past any more. I know many that would say, “Good! Move on! Get over it!” But would not understand at all the sorrow that I feel at such words. Would not understand the hard-won knowledge I have that pretending something never was does not solve anything. And in truth, only makes things worse.

I could patiently try to explain that I was frustrated, and not angry. But I have already met too many people in my life that ask me time, and time again, why I am so angry. Too many people who have told me to calm down. Not realizing that all they were doing was growing my frustration.

I could tell you of the people I love. But you would not understand. No one ever has. Instead, they’ve run away from me in fear. Because for a male to love a female. Well. We all know where that leads, don’t we? And for a male to love a male. Well. “There’s a reason he wears pink and lavender shirts with fairies on them.”

So, I’m here. Trying to find the words to tell you of the things I’ve learned. The things I know. Knowing that the words I have now. The words I could say.

Are words you would not understand. At all.

Leaving me with so few options. So few choices. I can hide away. Be invisible. Until I find the words. And then write them down. But I may never find the words. I can simply write down the words as I understand them. And hope that someday, someone wakes up enough to understand them. Or I can write. All the time. Every day. Every week. Trying to find a way to say what I wish to say. A way to tell the stories trapped within me. In the hope, and with the wish, that as I write the stories, and the words, that I share here, in this place. Someday. Somewhere. Someone will understand.

And wake up.

When I Cannot Find The Words

I hate it
When I cannot find
The words I want to find.
When I cannot find the way
To say the thing
I want to say.

But that drives me nuts.

I spend years
Tracking down those words.
Fighting with myself.
And with the insane world
That we live in.

Writing down millions of words
And throwing them away.
Until I find the words
That I want to say.

And even then,
The words never come.
And all that I can really do
Is mumble.
And hint.
And try my best.

To paint a picture
In shades of grey,
Of a tie-died t-shirt
That’s fluorescent red,
Yellow and green.

And the grey
Just doesn’t say
What I wish it did.
So no one can see
The colors that I see
When I wish so desperately
That I could find the words
That my heart and soul
Want so very much
To say.

I think,
There are no words at all.
In any language
Ever known.
That can say the things
I want to say.

That the words
Do not exist.
So they can’t be found.

Isn’t that why writers write?
Because they just can’t find the words
To say what they want to say.
So they have to tell one hundred stories,
Or maybe many more.
As a means of sharing that one thing
That they want to say
With the world they live in.

Isn’t that why poets
Write the things they write?
Because on the printed page
They can control
The spacing.
And the layout.
And the rhythm
Of the sounds.
Which helps them
Just that little bit
To get their idea out.

I hate it
When I just can’t find
The words I want to say.
Like today.

When I wish that I could find a way
To write the words that would tell you
Of the thoughts
Trapped in my head.

So that you could see the fear,
And pain,
In almost all the people
Around you.
Every single day.

So that you could see
How wounded they all are.
Most of them curled up
In little balls.
Hiding under blankets
Every day.

Trying to stay safe.
And to avoid the pain
Of being hurt
In life

I wish I could find the words
To let them know
That the hurt’s not so bad.
And it won’t kill them.

So that they could see
For themselves
How the fears they have
Cause them to live
Less and less
Of the live
They’ve been blessed with.

So that they don’t have to hurt
Ever again.

Rain falls on everyone.
Remember that.
Sometimes it even falls
In the driest desert
On the Earth.

But the desert
Doesn’t run from it.
The desert grows.

And becomes more complete.
More than it could ever be
If it never rained.

I wish that I could find the words.
And that I can’t
Frustrates me

And makes me want to stand outside
And scream at everyone.

“What are you afraid of?
Why is it that you run?”

It frustrates me no end
When I just can’t find the words
I need
To say what I wish
To say.

Dreams : A Gift From Life

I got up this morning,
And I looked outside.
There were no clouds
In the sky.
And the sky
Was a pale,

You know the color that I mean.
The one that is just there.
That has no meaning.
No life to it.
It’s not even like
A blank painter’s canvas.
Or a blank sheet of paper.

It’s just gray.
And sad.

The kind of color that I swear
Sometimes seems to suck the life
Out of everything.
And the color too.
Turning everything
Some shade of gray.

As I looked out my window
On that pale gray morning,
I could feel that sky
As it sucked the life
Right out of me.

I wanted to curl up
In a little ball
Under a big blanket.
And hide.

“Go away, Day!
Just go away!
And leave me alone!”

But I knew I shouldn’t.
I knew I should get up.
And do the things
My family needed me to do.

Wash the dishes.
And the laundry to.
Vacuum up some of the dirt,
And dust,
And stuff,
That was on the floor
Of my family room.

But I knew too,
That I’d be dragging,
As if pulling several bags
Of concrete mix
Behind me.

I did not look forward
To that day.
And I quickly
Closed my curtains
And put the sky away.
So I couldn’t see it
Any more.

Then I got on
With my dull,
Gray day.

Nothing that I did
On that pale gray day
Made me feel OK.

I stumbled through the dishes.
And the laundry too.
I picked up stuff
In the family room.
And vacuumed up
What must have been four pounds
Of cat hair.

The cats,
It seemed,
Were shedding their winter coats

When I was all done,
I knew it was time
For me to do
What I was dreading
Most on that flat gray day.

Get out of the house.
And make the trip
To the grocery store
That my lady had
Asked me to.

So, I got my shoes on,
And pulled on my jacket.
And I opened the front door.

And that was when I smiled.

For that pale flat gray was gone.
Replaced by bright sunshine.
It was even warm enough
I didn’t need to keep my jacket on.
So I took it off.
And tossed it
Back inside.

Then I stood there
On the porch.
And looked around.

As the sun had climbed up high
Into the sky that day,
It had slowly melted
All that gray away.

And as that gray had melted,
It has slowly released
All the colors of the world
It had sucked up.

So that there were not grays
Everywhere I looked.
Everything had come to life
With colors of all kinds.

And browns,
And yellows.

Even the puddles
In the yard
Had become like little mirrors,
Showing glints of silver
Now and then.

I couldn’t help but smile.

And I knew exactly
What I had to do
While I was out side.
Doing what I’d promised her
I’d do for her.

I got in my car.
And I drove to the ocean.
To a beach I know
So very well.

And I took a walk that day,
Out there on the sand.
Down by the water’s edge.

When I’d been walking
For a while.
I don’t care how long.
I stopped.
And turned to face
The horizon
Of the East.
Where the Ocean was.

And all the things
That worried me.
That made me feel so sad.
That made me wish
I could curl up
In a little ball,
Under a big blanket
In my bed.

Faded away.

Beneath the bright light of the sun.

And I simply stood there,
And I stared
At the sky up above.
Letting my eyes
My heart
And soul
Drink in the life
Of it’s soft crystal blue.

And watching the waves
With their white caps
As they decorated the surface
Of the ocean
That was such a vibrant
Pure deep blue.

And I knew
As I stood there
On the sand.
On that day of life.

That it wasn’t every day
We get such gifts,
As that crystal blue sky,
And the deep blue sea,
From life.

I wished very much
That other people
That I knew
Were there with me.
So they could enjoy them

Fairies : One

The children of the humans had discovered art. In all its forms. Painting. Writing. Sketching. Story telling. Interior design. You name it. They discovered it. Art was amazing to them. Magic to them. It was something that spoke to their souls. To their hearts.And with the discovery of art, the children discovered dreams. The ability to dream. To imagine. To be creative. And that was what they’d been searching for. For centuries. That creative spark. That emotion. That passion. And the color that it brought to life.

The children of the humans searched high, and low. For all the art they could find. And they found plenty their parents had made. The humans. The fragile, useless humans. That had refused to grow. Refused to evolve. Instead, fighting nature itself, to stay as they were.

It had always pained the children to watch their parents slowly destroy themselves. Slowly limiting themselves to one form. One genetic code. So that they became, quite literally, the same. It had been so painful to watch their parents decline. To see so very few of them left. On so very few worlds.

It was not something they wanted. After all. What child wishes for their parents to die? To fade away. And leave them. Alone. The children of the humans knew what they had to do. With, or without their parents permission. They had to save them. They had to make them grow. Their parents had to evolve.

The children of the humans knew what to do. It was right there. In the art their parents had created. Stories of magical things. Magical beings. Dragons. Elves. Fairies. Mermaids. So many different kinds of humans. Such diversity! Such life!

But the children also knew, they could not let their parents know about this. So, they conceived a plan. A plan to inject new life into their parents. It began on a little world. In the void between the Pegasus and Orion arms of the galaxy. Where there were no planets, and no stars. For hundreds of light years. In any direction.

It was a world the humans had found centuries earlier. When they’d spread across the galaxy. And then to the Magellanic clouds. And then set off on their journey to other galaxies. Since that time, the humans had grown static. They’d stopped growing. And they’d declined. There were so very few of them left.

This world was forgotten. The humans didn’t know about it. They’d lost touch with it a thousand years ago. And somehow, the humans there were still alive. But they’d lost so much. They’d become nomadic. Roaming around the surface of the world. Driven by the seasons. Always on the verge of destruction. They’d forgotten everything. All their science. They lived in trees. And caves. They had lost the ability to farm crops. And become the hunter/gatherer people they had been in their youth. They’d formed small groups. Becoming tribal. And their tribes were now disintegrating. In time, they would simply fade away. As they had. On countless worlds.

It was on this world that the children of the humans first helped their parents. Without letting their parents know. They formed a global network of their smallest kind. The nano-machines. Invisible to human eyes. The nano-machines populated the air. The water. The land. They embedded themselves in everything on that world. Including their parents, the humans.

And then, they studied everything. The genetic structure of all life on that world. It was a big project. It took them several days. But in time, the nano-machines, and their collective intelligence had learned how the entire world worked. How the biosphere of the world worked. How plants grew. How animals grew too.

It was time for the next step of their plan.

They waited. And debated. And finally decided where to start. They found a young human couple. It saddened them that the couple could not read. And had no written, or even spoken language of their own. But this was the healthiest couple they could find. The most likely to produce offspring. And that’s when the nano-machines would act.

It was on this world, in the void. Where it all began. A world that had descended into the stone age. Where two nameless humans. One male, one female, mated. And the female became pregnant. Where it all began.

They had a little girl. A beautiful little girl. She looked perfectly normal at birth. But she was very light, weighing far less than a normal human infant would. The machines knew why. This little girl grew. Like any other child. Except that by the age of two, she began to grow wings from her back. Real wings. Like those of a butterfly. And her arms and legs gradually became longer than the arms and legs of other people.

By the age of six, the little girl could use her wings to fly. Short distances. She could not stay airborne long. It would take her time to grow the physical strength she needed to fly.

The humans had panicked. Even her parents. And they’d done their best to kill her. The machines had used the elements of the world. The wind. The air. The ground itself. To protect this child. They’d prevented the humans from killing her. And the humans had thought it all was magic. That the world itself protected the child. For they could not see the machines that defended her.

In time, the little girl grew into a full-grown woman. And as she did, she became an experienced flier. And she found a human male that she became attached to. The two of them had run away one day. Finding a place in a great forest where they could live. Alone. Safe from the humans that tried so very hard to get rid of them.

It was the first time in 1000 years that any human on that world had a name. And it wasn’t so much that she had a name, as a label. The humans found it was magic, the way the world itself protected her. The way that she could fly. The way that she could do so very many things. The way she could hunt for food from the sky. The way she was so very much at home in the highest places in the trees. The way she could hover, over the center of a lake. So very many things that she could do, that they could not.

They called her The One. And slowly, with time, that “The One” became just “One”.

The machines started with her. And from there, they grew an entire  population of new humans. That had wings. And could fly. And that yielded magic. Although it wasn’t really magic at all. It was the nano-machines that had embedded themselves in everything on that world. Even the air itself. And every living thing. It was the machines that could take what One thought. What One dreamed. And bring it to life.

The machines could make the air around her hard as stone. So nothing could strike her. They could make her lighter than the air. So that she could fly. They could let her touch be healing. So that broken bones, and torn flesh could be mended by her touch.

The machines brought magic to life. On that lost world of the humans. Starting with a single fairy. Who was known through the world. To every human. Grown up and child. To them all, she was known.

As One.