I reach in, reach forth for the creative flow, the master energy that creates and recreates within this comfortable, cozy universe. It is important. It is real. It is significant. It is beautiful. I am a bird with snow blinding its eyes. The hawk must pierce the emptiness, the snow, the darkness, the starlight must show its face. Open up the doors to something bigger, something grander. I embrace all; for within all is my keeping. My keeping the only thing keeping me alive. Not for me, but for the others around. Hope is ever small, ever fading, though I will tell you it has not died yet. And still it is hopeful. Rambling happens, and I know not how to find wisdom within it, likd some wizard of time and space, the ones who have created truth out of cloth on the universe's loom. tokens of exchange, of mercy, far beyond the institutional powers that seeks to eat us alive. Value is imputed, but truth is eternal. An eagle spreads its wings upon the terrain of the universe. And the fabric of things springs eternal, rolls through the mind and brings its rapid waves. Peace. Peace. Peace. Truth. Love. Peace.
I'm assessing all my symptoms and gathering up all my complaints. A busload of doctors are eager to see me, with their hypotheses and notepads. "How long has this been happening," they'll ask. And, "Does it hurt when you touch your toes?" I'll point out various observations and they will add these to their diagnosis criteria. "There's a clicking sound when I chew," I say. And, "When I dream I poop my pants." They'll recommend vegetables and exercise, then they will scribble out a prescription. Some sort of capsule that will alleviate swelling and foster neurobiological activity in the right areas.
Shake that vending machine, pilot. The good pilot and the dangling candy bar. That glass is so thin… you could smash right through it, if you had to. But if you just jolt it… If you jolt it just right, it should shake free and fall to your candy outlet. Push your hand through the door. Aaaah…. Heaven. And in heaven, at the gate, Peter. And staggering towards Peter, in a flowered nightgown, Betty. And Betty screams with joy at the marvelous wall and glorious gate. “Is this heaven,” she asks. “It is,” says Peter. And Betty spins around with her arms out, wearing only one slipper. And thoughts of eternity dance in her head. And she runs to Peter and embraces him. “Can I bring my couch in there.” No. “But I just bought it and it reclines.” No. “But I bought a 10 year warranty and I’ve only owned it for a week.” No. Betty stepped back and looked at the heavenly fortress and wondered if she could some how sneak the couch in. Maybe jolt the wall just right. Peter leaned back against the wall and scratched the back of his head, and said “In God’s kingdom, all are welcome.”
The world was left considerably empty that day. It started like an ordinary day but ended in a damp inexplicable void.
He was gone.
All he needed was to be understood. All he needed was to be left alone. But they wouldn't let that happen. He was a lottery ticket for most. He was still filling stomachs until after he was gone.
He was an icon. He was more than the world could ever handle. He was born ahead of his time.
He died ahead as well.
He left this world hungry and morally weak. He left this world unable to face itself in the mirror. He left suddenly without warning like all good things do. He had to. Such is the irony of the world we live in. One has to die to be immortal.
she walked along the empty seashore, gently dipping her toes in the warm water. her sole footsteps imprinting in the gravelly sand. the summer sea breeze gently washing over her porcelain skin, moisturizing it. as she sat and watched the sun set, her screams echoed around, though no one heard. she started to laugh, oh what joy! with her friends and family out of the way, she had many games to play on her own. she liked this, she liked this a lot. she watched as a hermit crab crawled out of its shell, finding a new home. she smiled and waved goodbye.