Free Assoc Group - 12.15.2018 PLAY

It turns grey sometimes,
life around me
the walls close in
the sky, menacing
the urge to pull the covers up
over my head is overwhelming

People i talk with
I don't understand their language
they smile and nod
but the words are foreign
I lock the doors
and pull the shades

And then when i least expect it

The sun begins emerging
little rays through dark clouds
making a pathway from my door
out into the world

I follow pools of light
that pull me along
I don't question where
or why or how
I just deeply inhale and
go right then left then right then left

I find myself in the woods
going deeper in and away
from exhaust fumes and
unpleasant conversations

Away from the noise
I feel the crisp air on my cheeks
hear my footsteps crunch on gravel
hear my footsteps snap on twigs
hear my footsteps pad on fallen needles

as i move farther in
I feel my shoulders fall, my brow relaxes
I feel like a new version of myself
and it coaxes a smile

Squirrels and birds are curious
about me, the intruder
They chatter and sing
and I respond back in kind

Funny how it takes stepping away
from all that is my world
to understand that it is not all that bad
and remember that I have the ability
to untangle myself from
the tentacles and adhesions
of the mundane and every day

to simply be
to simply play


__________________________________
The word today is "PLAY"
and it is a hard one
I can't seem to wrap my head around
an angle to write from
a concept to expand upon
Shit!
Have I forgotten how to play?
There is no way this is possible
I am just not feeling it
I spen all my time in the last couple days
making notes for
Anterra
the Writer's Video Game idea
the Candy & Susan Saga
laid in bed until late last night
thinking twisted storylines
and dark endings
and unexpected occurances
And then I come today
and the word is "PLAY".
What are the chances?
This is just dumb (bad) luck.
I wrote a little something.
Not really happy with it.
I think it's weak
But it's all i could come up with
I'm glad i came today
but I'm not happy with my
results
I'm not happy with my
words
ideas
I'm not happy with the
quiet in my mind
I got nothing.

Free Assoc Group 12/8/18 - Rise

Prompt - RISE

On certain days, I sit in the dark
whether actual darkness
or darkness of soul

I sometimes relish those days
Gives me more to think about
than what I'm having for dinner
or if I'm going out for a walk
Or if I'm going to talk to anyone that day

I can cry about something sad
something from the past that hurt
and cut me, left me bleeding

Or I can think about the kind of darkness
that brings out that macabre side
I write little stories that ineveitably
end up with some sort of death
and I chuckle because I find dark humor
connects with me, with one of my hearts

I have two, you know
One that beats fiercely bright red
and strong
And emits light and love

Then there is the other
The black and twisted,
cracked and broken in places
That finds humor in the most
surprising of places.

Usually inappropriate, and quite often
making others squirm because they
don't want to be made aware that
pain and sadness can be funny and clever.

So I write from my darkness when I can
And since I know myself well enough
I at least make notes, fill pages with ideas
a one- or two-line rhyme
a quick little story that ends with a twist
the kind that makes my friends, my readers
go "ewwww".

I like that reaction
Using clever or unusual wordplay
It makes me feel like i've touched something
inside the reader....maybe just a nerve
and that's all right by me

In all this time though, i have found that i suffer
from the inability to be sincere and open
with my pain, I always have to mask it
in one way or another

I've gone to therapy for years
and find that I'm able to speak about
my shame and anger and fears
from my past from the comfort of a
psychological couch

And yet, I have not been able to bring down the wall
that i've built to keep even my closest people
away with my writing

It's a rarity to break through
When it happens, my surprise takes me over
until i can compose myself once again.

I can share these compositions but I cannot explain them
That would bring me out from behind the wall again BUT
I do feel myself getting better and stronger
more confident of my abilities

more willing to tear off a little piece
of my heart, either one

The strong, reactive, courageous one
that feeds off the truths of life or
The bleak, romantic, reflective one
that holds so much pain and hope
even though my history has shrivelled it

to tear off a little piece and offer it to
a passing stranger, an anonymous reader,
a friend or family member

And I'm no longer so concerned that they like it
I'm no longer so concerned that the understand it
I find myself in a stage of my life where I feel the strength
to give parts of myself away for free
Do with me what you wish
I'm no longer so concerned.

Spiral - Tree - Knight - Fairy - Fine Lady - Little Girl

The knight awoke as the sun cleared the high, rolling hills that made up the horizon. It took several minutes before he was able to shake off the odd feeling of having been somewhere else just as his eyelids began to flutter and the daylight brought him here to this resting place.

Fendrel had chanced upon this tree late last afternoon as he meandered along. It looked to be very, very old; branches reaching out in every direction and the canopy was higher than the knight thought even he could climb. It was a comfortable and well-situated place to rest for the night as it was near fresh water for himself and his steed, Alduin. And it provided some concealment as the boughs arched; heavy at their ends with plentiful foliage. The grass grew long and green. The knight's mount softly nickered and tossed his head before lowering it to eat his fill.

Fendrel removed the outermost of his traveling gear, so much lighter than his fighting armor, and took an oiled canvas bucket to the spot at the lake where the stream splashed lightly over worn and rounded rocks to mingle with the still lake waters, only slightly ruffled from time to time by a light breeze. He filled it once and, offering his horse the full pail, laughed and shook his head as the animal shoved his muzzle in so deeply that it had to blow water out its nostrils before drinking down to the bottom. Water dripping from his whiskered chin like a toothless old man, the horse shook off a fly or two and turned contentedly back to his grass. Fendrel chuckled again at his companion.

Now the knight stripped off the remainder of his mail and padding; protection from a light scuffle but no match for a sharp broadsword or mace. He had packed lightly for this journey though he knew not where he was going nor how long he might be gone. Or even if he might never choose to return. He had a small satchel full of silver, saved over time, that could be used to purchase anything he may need as he journeyed the countryside. These lands did not feel dangerous to the knight even though he was traveling through for the first time. No stories of marauding bandits or robbers out this way had reached castle or keep by the time he headed away from the protection of the garrison gates.

Down to naught more than a cloth at his loin, he waded in slowly from the shoreline. Ice-cold and bracing, Fendrel took his time as the water crept ever higher on his thighs and then, as his breath drew in sharply, he dove in headlong. As he surfaced far out in the lake, he let out a sharp whoop that caused Alduin to sidestep and look up abruptly. Satisfied that his rider was not in any peril, the horse returned to his grass and clover.

After quite some time, Fendrel came ashore and went about taking care of the necessities. His padded doublet and undergarments needed a good washing. As the days were quite warm, his linen chemise had been tended to yesterday evening as were woolen riding breeches. They had been drying in the night breeze and were now clean and crisp. He was looking forward to riding through the day with the breeze on his skin. Fendrel made sure his mail was dry, so as not to rust, as he rolled it into a cloth to stow behind the saddle's cantel. From there, he could don it quickly should danger present itself.

Dark and New

There is something about those hours
The first few hours of the day
Still nestled deep in the dark folds
of the velvet night sky

No matter the circumstance
whether just tumbling into
the painted canvas of a dream
Or having been awake far too long
Tingling electric from my skin inward
and unable to breathe out
and keep out the stress
keep my shoulders from my ears

Those first few hours
The air becomes so quieted
Billowed cotton batting
the blood rush in the ears
is the beating of my heart
I can hear only that
That and no more
and yet my breath
slowly and calmly
reaching deep into my
collection of words and
with thought and rhythm
scattering them across a page
sometimes slowly, methodically
sometimes so quickly I struggle
to stay caught up as I write

FRANTIC - 12/1/18 Free Assoc Group

O come all ye faithful
Ye shoppers of goods and services
Ye impatient and frantic folk

Is this really how you want to behave between your
feast of Thanks and your celebration of your Christ?

This is the season of everyone trying to think
of the perfect thing for Dad, who is impossible to buy for,
or for your sister, who buys what she wants for herself
when she wants it.

And Mom, Mom always says "I don't want you spending
your money on me. Don't get me anything, I mean it."
But you know she will send you a bundle of Mom love.

And so you feel compelled to spend
your time, your energy and anxiety, and your money
on things and stuff, trinkets and bric-a-brac,
technological do-dads and funny gag gifts
So you'll feel like you gave as much as you got
Competition, competition. There always needs to be a balance.

It is always a Catch 22. You smile and purchase that thing
then you go home and shove it in the closet.
Time to wrap, box up and send across the country, across the world
These little representations of what this person or that person means to you

So you sit on the floor and you start to wrap
what you got for your Dad
and it suddenly seems like an empty gesture.
You can see him unwrap it with that
pasted on smile and he says
"Oh, that's different!" and nods his thanks to you
and there is nothing behind his eyes
because there was really nothing behind the gift.
It is hard to buy for someone you have trouble loving.

But you shake it off, realizing that was last year....and the year before...
but you hope this year will be different.
You have that sinking feeling in your gut.

Your sister, you love each other dearly, but it's so hard
to get her something that she does not already have
If she needs it, she's already purchased it
That's where she is in her life. I don't blame her
I'm like that when I am able.

There's always a certain charm, a home-spun simplicity,
to making the gifts that you give.
But here's the catch.
You have to be decent at what you are attempting to create
or it looks like....well, we all know what it would look like.

So you work yourself up and start to feel panic
It's December already. Time is ticking away. As the days
pass, the ticking will become faster. You know it's true.

Are you really going to fall back into the ease of the Giftcard?
You tell yourself no. But it's getting closer and closer.
It's a week before. Your cards aren't out yet. All 5 or 6 of them.
Sitting on the table. It's the box from the past 2 years.
You hope they don't notice. You think they will though.

Just stick them in the box with the crap you bought and send it off.
The line at the PO is Disneyland long. You just want to get this over with.
Go back home or take a walk. Something solitary.

The crowds at the holidays. They are the worst.
That frantic energy is contagious.
Finally, it's Christmas morning.
You are alone in your house with your cat.
You don't set an alarm. You don't have any plans.
You sigh with relief that
this season of crazy is over....until next year.

Anterra is introduced to the idea of perception being one's truth.

"Grai-El," Anterra began quietly, pensively. "How is that that the birds sing such beautiful melodies?" The two women walked casually through the trees, at times their robes brushing aside the lush green ferns that naturally lined the path. The faintest smile played on the older woman's face. She was the elder, the sage. She knew the spells of her people and how to work with nature to get its full benefit. Her face was lined and her long hair was like spun silver but her eyes were bright with the fire of life.

Grai-El had sent for the girl early this morn. They ate a simple but refreshing meal of nuts for stamina, berries and other local fruits for vitality. Clear, cold spring water was splashed onto the face and back of the neck to wipe aside the comfortable fog of darkness and dreams and also to prepare their tea, made of herbs and roots. It was a bracing tonic that brought quick thinking and vivaciousness to those who drank of it.

As instructed, Anterra took two large bladders to the stream to fill for day's travel. She did not know what lay ahead in her day; she did not think to ask. Grai-El's methods were mysterious and often subtle, but the young girl was realizing more and more about her life, her people, her station and her responsibilities.

While holding one bag in the current to fill, Anterra scooped up the crystalline water with her free hand and brought it to her lips. She never failed to marvel at the taste of this water. It was crisp and slightly metallic, and yet sweet. Without realizing it, she sighed after sipping her cupped hand dry. She smiled, closed her eyes and turned her face up into the sun, dappling through the tall, swaying trees. She loved these days. Within minutes, the two set out for the day. Side by side, they slipped quietly into the camouflage of the forest.

The elder thought before giving her answer by asking Anterra a question. "Is it that the birdsong is a beautiful melody or do we find their tunes pleasing and, therefore, it is we who make a melody of the notes?" She nearly chuckled at the sharp intake of breath she heard. There was a long moment before the girl spoke.

"Are you saying it is our perception that makes the beauty around us?" Anterra stopped in her tracks. Her face flashed with emotion as she grasped the concept. "Is this why I like some things and others do not? Is it why some food is delicious to me but someone else cares not for it?" She started forward again but her mind was still whirling with questions. Questions and answers.

Grai-El had waited patiently, pleased to see what the introduction of this concept was eliciting from Anterra. 'I knew the girl would understand the deeper meaning', the older woman thought to herself. What she had not anticipated was the simplicity and ease with which her student had comprehended the abstract notion.

"Yes, my dear. It seems you may have just broken through into a higher plane of thought. This is one of the many ways, but one of the most deep-rooted ways, that make us individuals. We are all one, this is true, but the unique perception that each being has is what sets them apart from every other being in all of existence. Does this continue to make sense to you?" The elder retained her calm exterior. On the inside, however, she felt nearly giddy with the joy of being able to share this with Anterra so early in her young apprentice's studies. It had taken years for some. For others, it had never come.

Anterra chose her words carefully so as not to offend or worry the woman that meant so much to her. "Grai-El, may I sit by the water's edge, alone, and reflect on these impressions? Not for long, for I want to continue our day together. But I feel I must be still with these thoughts for a bit to set them in order."

"Child, of course you may. I am pleased to hear you voice this desire. I will veer off the path just up ahead, to the east, to gather some roots and leaves that I am running low on. If you become ready to start up again before I return, just look for the broken ferns around that bend up ahead, or give a shout. I will be close-by." She smiled softly at the girl and stepped forward on the path. This day promised to be even better than she had hoped for.

FORGET - Free Assoc Group 11/17/18

FORGET

When I talk to you now, you free of drugs and drink,
almost everything i say is not a reminder to you
of something from our past
It is something that you have completely forgotten

For me, it is sad that you have lost those memories
but, in a way, it is refreshing because you can
commit them fresh in a spot in your mind
That is clean of the cobwebs and poison

You laugh about silly times that we've laughed about before
You are laughing for the first time
I feel melancholic for me because I know that we've been there before
But my reaction to your reaction is one of quiet delight
at someone who is experiencing that humor, that irony, for the first time

We talk about meeting in San Francisco, 35 years ago
Two kids on the street, working for room and board
scrounging change where we could
You remember most of that, but from a slightly skewed point of view
and a lot of your facts are inaccurate
and they tend to romanticize the memory

It's poetic but it is not real
But you are adamant that your recollection is the only truth
Even clean and sober, you are stubborn as a mule

You have, over the past 5 years of your sobriety
become my very good friend again
It's easy because you are a thousand miles away
But it's hard because you are a thousand miles away

Our relationship, off and on, as it has been for our history
has had wonderful highs
experiences that i would not trade for the world
But the pendulum swings as far one way as it does the other
And our bad times, well
our bad times are some of the worst of my life.

I know why, of course. It is because deep love can
inspire deep hate and very rarely a neutral state.
I remember what I said, I remember what you said
It's almost comical if it werent so sad to hear
what you remember of our exchanges and conversations
and arguments and plans

So it is a million years later, or so it seems,
and you confided to me just a week or so ago
that you have started to drink again
and this decision couldn't make you happier
because you feel like yourself again

Out from under the prison of the daily meetings
and the instruction from your sponsor and others
that are interested in your well-being

My heart sank when you told me
You made me swear not to tell your family
I find that odd since I don't talk to them
I don't know why you think I do

I tell you I am disappointed and I go on to say
that I feel like I'm going to lose the friend
that I have rediscovered
You dismiss that and remind me that this is
the best decision you've made in a long time.

You bring up a subject from our past that is
even to this day a very delicate one,
I think you know we cannot talk about it amicably
I can tell you are on the tipsy side
because you have a tendency to needle me,
to be antagonistic, dismissive and often
mean-spirited when you drink. At least you used to.
I think it is something that is resurfacing.

Now I'm in a frame of mind. I'm kind of wishing
you can control yourself and not give over
to your addictive tendencies
but I am pretty sure this is a futile thought
a wish on a birthday cake

This time, when we fall apart, when I cut you off
because I know I will when we get to that point,
it's going to hurt even more
because we both got to see you return to
your true self and then decide it wasn't good enough
without turning again to drink

I will love you and hate you and pity you
and be disappointed in your lack of strength and
sense of self. I will be sad for us both because
our friendship will once again come to a halt.
And you will forget everything good, once again.

Long ago dream

It's a world, a dark one
Night I assume
but one never knows

I know I am being pursued
From dark but navigable
I run out into the inky black
My night sight is no good
it has never been

Down an unpaved road of sorts
gravel crushed into dirt
then packed down by wheels
It curves slightly to the right as I run
I can feel the incline under my feet
It is gradual but I can feel it

I am running
Not at full speed
Not yet anyway
Certainly not gaining flight
as I do sometimes, oftentimes
I rarely can fully control that
even when my feet leave terra firma
But those dreams are for another time
My gift of flight, so real

But back to the now
I am feeling fear and the urge
to run and keep running

Then I hear them, dogs in pursuit
Unsure of how many, I'd guess
three to five
and they sound sizable and of ill temper
as if they have some personal score
to settle with me
But I wouldn't know why
I am civil if not very kind
to dogs that I happen along

I am running and sweating
sweating because I am frightened
actually frightened
Did I do something that is causing me to flee a situation?
Not sure, like having amnesia until
this dream reel began

I can make out, with my terrible night vision,
a building site on my left
Framework and half completed buildings
Or is it a demo site - This I don't know
I think Perhaps I could escape or hide
These hounds of hell on my heels

As the dirt road gains elevation
and curves to the right
I veer to the left, not realizing
the ditch that lies between
my feet and my destination
down I go, into a ditch
It's even darker, if you can believe
but I'm able to scramble up
and falling forward I keep my footing
miraculously

My eyes are adjusting to the light
so very slowly as I scramble along
looking for shelter of any kind
that might give me safe harbor
from the snarls and rabid barking
that is seemingly right at my heels

I see a framework of a building
barely lit from inside
I make a split second decision
and head for it
As I get closer I realize this building
is barely erect, held together by
rusting corrugated metal and wire
large pieces of cardboard from
building supplies or appliances

I head for the loose flapping sound
of a plastic sheet, thick like a painters
dropcloth being used to keep the
wind and rain out
And hopefully dogs
I push it aside and barrel in

I hear a woman utter a sound
between a surprised yelp and
a stifled scream
I see her holding something in her arms
looking something like a bundle of rags
I instinctually know it is a child
she is desperate to keep safe at all cost
but she feels defenseless and confused

The dogs are just outside
I am not stupid enough to know
that a sheet of plastic will keep them out
or even slow them longer than their
snarling between them in the struggle
for who enters the doorway first

The woman backs closer to her dirty mattress
on a rusty frame
the kind used in hospitals long ago
the kind that chip their lead paint
get rusty and weakened, squeaky and groaning
under the weight of the poor folk
forced to use it in lieu of sleeping on the floor
amongst the various vermin and insects
and other creatures that come out
mostly at night
when the nightmares come too

There are dented and rusted shelves
that hold bits and pieces of this woman's
former station in life
or maybe just bits she collects currently
to make this sickly feeling square
feel more like a home to her

Then the dogs are scrambling and snarling
fighting amongst themselves
to be the first to enter, teeth bared
saliva and wild eyes

I realize the woman, cowering in fear
is holding an infant wrapped in rags
I know it is her baby, not quite newborn
but far from being able to ward off
menace and violence
I can hear the baby fussing and know
that it's arms are struggling to be free
of the swaddling and tight hold it's
mother has on it. She is desperately
trying to shield it from danger

I motion for her to stay behind me
so I am between her and the
plastic covered doorway
I see a rifle of sorts
seems like an old semi-auto
looking unused for decades
I snatch at it, praying it is in working order
I seem to know how to cock it
Confident of how to correctly operate
again hoping it will function correctly

The dogs pile in
Clawing through and pushing past plastic
Snarling at each other and setting eyes
on their prey. They stop momentarily
as if to assess the situation and decide
on their next move.

I inhale, time stands still
a brief moment, no more than 2 seconds
And then they surge forward, snapping
and psychotic in their pursuit
I quickly raise the firearm to my shoulder
and site my target
They are one but they are many
I squeeze the trigger, thank god the
safety is off, and the rifle kicks into my shoulder
one, two, three
but I barely notice
I hear yelps, see red spatter and then bodies
fall to the floor from their midair leaps
I have killed the dogs

My first instinct is horror that I have
taken a life, that I have killed a being
Instantly though, I feel relief for the
woman and her child
And then relief again that I am no longer
being pursued. My adrenaline falls away
I can feel it, like a shedding skin.

It is dark. It is quiet, save for the slow flapping
of the loose plastic over the doorway. We are
safe in this moment. But for how long. How long.

Powerful - Free Assoc 11/3/18

Free Association – 11/3/18

Prompt: POWERFUL

She went to the well in the morning, every morning, for water to wash and cook with. It took her several trips. Though it was quite early, the sky was already streaked with pinks and corals and the high translucent clouds gave promise of another hot day. Ravens perched on the edge of the porch, squawking and fussing, ruffling feathers and crowding each other. She sighed and picked up the last of the heavy buckets.

Inside, she built a fire and put water on for morning coffee and to complete the oats she'd started the night before. She heard stirring from the area she and her husband shared off the main room. He would be up soon and would want his coffee to push aside the veil of sleep. She felt the same but would never say so aloud because she was the provider inside these four walls. His responsibility was everything outside the door. That was the general arrangement in these times.

As she turned the handle of the grinder, the aroma of freshly crushed coffee beans met her nose. This perked her up, the anticipation more than anything else. Water was added to the oats in the pot, suspended over the low fire and the water for coffee came to a boil.

She dipped a clean rag into the pail of water set aside for cleaning, both body and surroundings. The coolness of the water against the tender area on the back of her neck felt refreshing. The usual sensation on her skin was that of either aging linen, stiff from the lye soap she scrubbed it with, or the scratchy wool that she was forced to wear buttoned up to her neck and tight down at her wrists.

Her husband shuffled, grumbling, out of the room they shared in sleep and, usually, in silence. She was right there, coffee in hand. She had learned to pour the coffee from the pot through a piece of loosely woven linen that had been part of some garment long gone and then into her husband's cup, thereby catching all the grounds before the brew ever touched his lips.

She had learned to be smart, to anticipate his needs. She had figured out how to keep the peace inside these walls. He was not an easy man to satisfy, to keep content. She'd learned this over the years and had come to terms with her station in life. This was not a marriage of love, or even convenience. This was a marriage of necessity. He needed someone to take care of his daily needs. The cooking and cleaning and other womanly duties. She needed someone to own the property on which she lived, to provide meat for the stew. Not much else. She knew as much.

She lived her days, doing her duties and keeping the peace. Even when he stumbled home some evenings after being in town at the tavern for too long a stretch. She would patiently take off his boots and put him to bed. Sometimes she slept in the rocking chair by the fire. She really didn't mind because she knew this would not last forever.

Every evening she would measure out just enough oats for him. He never asked why she did not share the morning meal. He didn't really care, never gave it a thought. As long as she had his meals ready for him.

When the time came, the town doctor assumed that her husband had died of natural causes. Everyone in this time, in this place, either died of a bullet, too much alcohol, or natural causes. No question ever arose because the general store sold a fair amount of strychnine pellets to the nearby homesteaders to eradicate the rodents they all had to deal with. She had learned to do for herself more than she realized.

Fog

This mist, this fog. It was more than either word could convey. It flowed as if pulled by gravity. It was nearly as dense as solid matter. This mist, as we shall call it for lack of a more truly descriptive word, would obscure. It caused man to lose his way. It caused elf to be unable to track his prey. It smelled of earth and something else. Something not necessarily good, not necessarily evil. Something that made the hairs on the back of your neck tingle and stand erect. Something that ran an electric shiver up your spine. It appeared out of thin air, seemingly, but you never saw from which direction it came. It was suddenly there. The mist caused your hair to hang in dripping ringlets. It caused your clothing to hang heavy, slick and saturated with murk. It created a blanket of gloom close around your being, as if you were suddenly not alone. You felt it breathing around you. It caused you to lose your balance. Your footsteps became as unsure as a baby's just learning to walk.

Quiet

O, the quiet
the far too quiet

A pinprick of ink
falls in slow motion
as if fighting gravity
into a warm tub of milk

The instant it hits surface
all is chaos
but it is all still just liquid

I would expect a rumble
from underfoot
but there remains nothing

No ripples radiating
And the black of the ink
has been swallowed up
or fractured into infinite bits

I know it was there
I saw it, I felt it
but then it was gone
and it feels like it was
never there at all

Untitled Office story

She walked out one day. Just stood up, grabbed her coat and bag, and made for the door. She didn't say anything, gave no explanation. It had been an overly normal day. No drama, no clashing of ideas or personalities. All ran smoothly, no bumps, no hiccups. She met no eyes, said no goodbyes. It was as if she had never been there at all. She disentangled herself quite deftly and, with no strings trailing, walked away from something that the others did not understand.

No one had an inkling. Every morning, she awoke from a dream. A dark dream that, more often than not, was set in the exact environment at which she spent 9 hours a day. In her dreams, she often didn't speak, she often had bloody hands, she often felt an odd satisfaction. At what, she was unsure. It was a mystery to her that followed her through her day. She was always here. In her waking hours and in her sleeping hours, always here. It was very disconcerting.

The dreams began to change slightly as time progressed. They became calmer of emotion but not of impact, not at all. Soon others in the office appeared in bloody clothes. They walked with heads down, slowly and with no expressions on their faces. Their were slick pools of liquid on the floors. There were trash bags in the employee lounge. Insects everywhere, buzzing and causing her irritation. She often awoke in a state of dread and wonder.

She felt that her days began to mimic her nights. The buzz and slightly strobe effect of the fluorescent lighting recessed in the ceiling, the low electronic pulsing of the phones, the smell of disinfectant first thing in the morning (and again in the evening if she found herself working late). All these things combined to give her the disoriented feeling that she could be either at home, in bed, or actually there, at work. She never wore red. When someone in her office did, it distracted her throughout the day. Blood. She thought about the blood.

Road to Nowhere - unfinished

I broke down. The car finally giving up the ghost along a lone, dusty, rutted, sad excuse for a road. I knew where I was headed. And I knew I was nowhere near there yet. I had water but the lack of GPS had me worrying about running out before getting somewhere, anywhere. I could kick myself for not at least checking from time to time to see where I was on my solitary journey. I didn't even consider waiting with the vehicle until someone happened along. I knew no one would. Not even some beat up pickup truck with braced 2x4s for a raised bed. Man, I was screwed. The land was not what you'd call flat and not exactly what you would call hilly. It undulated lightly toward the horizon. Undulated. Sexy word for an unsexy landscape. Nothing but low mesa burry cactus, lying in wait for a passer by to accidentally get too close. It was hell trying to get those damned hooked spines out of your ankle. Mesquite bushes and the occasional non-descript tumbleweed from who-knows-where dotted the terrain. It didn't make it any more interesting than it would have without.

At The Beginning - (Free Assoc Group 2018.03.17 - BEGINNING)

At the very start
I drew in a breath
then I let it out
and repeated the process

Later on I began to mimic
I said little words
that meant big things
to other people

Then I read
I read those words
and so many more
My world began to form

I began to fear
a little later on
things around me
that hurt me inside

I then decided to
be my own person
I didn't care anymore
What the others thought

I threw caution to the wind
I became an adult
I was irresponsible
And I enjoyed every moment

Then I started to care
where I was going
what I was doing
who I was becoming

I began to make a plan
projected forward in time
thought about my future
became like the others

And now just recently
I began to remember
all of the dreams
that I had set aside

I started to realize
it is all up to me
I am taking my future
into my own hands

PATTERNS - Free Assoc Group 2018.03.03

They are everywhere, you know
You may think it's all random
But within that randomness
the free-form
the here and there
the herky-jerky
You can spot them if you
look with intent

They are passive
They are active
Do you count your steps?
Do you cluster items in threes?
Do you face all your coffee mug
handles in one direction?

That's a part of it
We are all a part of it.
Cracks in sidewalks
Doors and windows
Breathing and counting

Those daily walks
I always start by taking a right
Routes we take
to work
the store
the park

Call them habits
That's easy enough
Call them habits
that you hold yourself to
Call them habits
you must take
before you make another move

It's all there
Laid out for us to see
To notice if you care to
To ignore if you can
To deny if you have that inclination
Even that
That is part of your pattern

Which makes you more comfortable?
Is it symmetry you seek?
does that calm your mind
Is it a fractal pattern you need?
do you desire the journey
growing and changing
yet always ending the same
although never really ending
it never really ends

You have a childlike urge to find
a fiddle-head fern
a fossil of an ancient seashell
round and round
geometry and numbers
angles and equations
but nature
always nature
providing the most beautiful
patterns of all

The Secret at the Bottom - not entirely sure of the title yet

That endless abyss
it calls my name
it screams and shouts
it purrs and whispers in my ear
"Come closer, this is the answer"
And so I think
this may be true
"You may be my answer"
and I step to the edge
sure-footed
because I am not afraid
and down I look
deep
deeper
And I think I spy
with my curious eye
Something
Is that the bottom?
It may or may not be
but there is
something
down deep
in that abyss
It glimmers and winks
Like a shimmering breeze
The aurora borealis perhaps
A flake of diamond airborne
Snow during sunset
Set alight - fire against ice
I peer closer
intent on
discovery of the truth
I am being pulled in
Alice down the rabbit-hole
I am being pulled down
Deep desperate breaths
What is it?
I know I see it
I know it is there
Torn between leaning
past that point of balance
where there is no turning back
accepting the force
the force of gravity
giving in and letting go
or walking on
continuing along the path
through
light and dark
unknowing
but trusting my instinct
and watching it all unfold
before me
behind me
around me
I strain my curious eye again
a lens coming into focus
I then comprehend
"This surely is my answer"
and I straighten my spine
and bend my neck back
and see that it was merely
the reflection
of the sky
all along

His Journey Between.

Priest – Storm – Desert

Writing Assignment Meetup

Monday, Jan 22, 2018

The sun was finally beginning to descend in the sky. The eastern horizon darkened to a deep saturated blue that promised a cloudless night. Though the moon was waning, still there was sufficient light throughout the evening to see for some distance. If one was knowledgable in navigation by the stars in the sky, straying off course would be of little concern.

This was a blessing to the man travelling steadily through the expansive landscape. He had set his sight on a point in the distance and had been successfully staying true for three days now. He was weary and hungry. His body was suffering but his mind remained fresh. He felt the pull of his faith, urging him ever onward. He did not hasten nor did he tarry. Though the journey was arduous, his eyes were bright beneath the hood of his cloak.

At the start of his migration, he had filled as many waterskins as he could comfortably carry, not knowing how many springs or wells he would encounter along the way. He was conservative with water consumption but knew he must stay hydrated in order to keep his pace up and his wits about him. He had no animal to provide for, only himself. His load was as light as possible while still carrying the bare essentials. He would be provided for on the other side of this desert, after crossing what most considered to be a perilous wasteland of scraggy brush, sand and harsh, bleaching sun.

His pilgrimage was one of solitude, service and certitude. He had a mission, a promise he made to his god and his peers, and he was one to keep his word. Though he was out here alone in the flat landscape that stretched unbroken to the horizon, that disappeared at the curve of the earth in the distance, he knew where he came from and he had heard tell of where he was going. Therefore, in his mind, he was simply travelling from one place to the next. His mind did not dwell on the isolation or the possibility of becoming lost and meandering until his legs could carry him no further, of crumbling into the sand and becoming a part of the stillness and eternity of the desert itself.

Although he had never seen the village he was headed toward, he was prepared to dissolve into the work. There were people there that were in need. And serving others was what made his heart beat and his blood flow. The village he had left behind boasted new irrigation ditches, a large hut for teaching children about the past and preparing them for the future, and a handful of curious and helpful residents that were newly trained in the ways of medical care, to help and care for the ill and the injured.

And of course he had helped teach them the way to salvation. His way was kind, gentle and accepting of all others. He did not consider himself a priest in the conventional tradition. His way was to lead by example, to encourage others to want to make the best of their lives by being the best people they could be. And that meant a measure of self-sacrifice that most people shied away from. He knew the quiet sense of contentment that giving of one's self and helping those in need provided to a person. He knew that a person at peace will become more interested in and accepting of that way of life, once having had a taste of it.

And so, here he was. Alone and crossing a desert to get to a new village where he hoped he could help to better the conditions and the lives of its inhabitants. His eyes were narrowed against the powerful glare of the sun but the faintest smile remained on his face as he moved steadily along.

After some time, through twilight and dusk and into the night, feeling refreshed and relieved to be moving through air that had become cooler than his body temperature, he decided it was time to stop and rest. He never slept longer than a few hours at a given time. Any hint of light along the eastern skyline and he awoke naturally. There were few things in this life that he enjoyed more than seeing the canopy lighten through myriad shades of blues, pinks, and purples before the sun broke the surface of the horizon to dawn a new day. It made his heart sing and his soul soar. He felt his faith strengthen and expand. He rarely missed a sunrise.

Down he lay, simply where his feet stopped moving, for there was no inviting feature of the terrain that might lend comfort to a traveller. He used the bladder he'd been drinking from to lay his head upon, pulled his gauzy cloak close, then exhaled long and evenly and closed his eyes.

The night passed quietly and he slept dreamlessly. He awoke rested and resolved to spend another day moving through the absolute silence of the desert. He had quickly gotten used to hearing only his breathing and the sound of his blood, beating through his heart and rushing through his ears. He checked the position of the constellations still visible at this early hour and determined that he was indeed still on course. He knew he would be. He was being guided by his higher power and he knew it would never lead him astray.

As the morning wore on, he became aware of a changing quality to the air and an almost imperceptible sound that was equally there and not there. Within a short time, before the sun had risen fully into the sky, he noticed the colors changing and the air beginning to stir. This was of no concern. His journey thus far had been uneventful, save for the heat that came both above from the beating sun and below from the blistering desert floor. Eventually, he looked back behind him. In the distance, he saw a darkness begin to rise up into the atmosphere. Where once it was a pale shade of blue, now he saw the earth-tones of a sandstorm in the making. Not knowing its direction or severity, he silently prayed for safety and continued on his way.

Before long, he saw that all around him had become a pale shade that was more ground than sky. Again he turned around to look behind him. What he observed struck fear into him. The horizon had disappeared into a darkened, threatening wall that rose up high into the atmosphere. The storm was gaining strength and heading his way. He looked around hopefully as he walked on, wishing for a contour in the landscape,  anything that might afford him some protection, but there was none to be seen. Just the continued flat expance that surrounded him in all directions. Even brush was scarce in this area. He realized he would have to hunker down, wrap himself tightly, head to toe, in his cloak and hold tightly onto his supplies until the haboob passed. Again, he prayed for safety.

And then it was upon him. Down he sat and pulled the flimsy material over his face, securing it as best he could. The wind whipped the raw edges of his cloak and scoured him with airborne particles that had made up the still landscape he had been travelling through. Within minutes, he was surrounded by a deafening roar. As the relentless winds beat upon his back, he lost track of time. He kept his head down and his eyes closed. His breath remained calm and measured and he spoke silently, words of comfort to himself and praise to the mercy of his divine ruler. His faith did not waver. His fate was not in his own hands. He prayed for the continued opportunity to spread hope and help to others throughout his life. He was at peace, no matter the outcome. The storm raged on.

QUIET

The morning hush, devoid of even birdsong, alarmed the girl as she awoke. She stirred and rose, moving to the mouth of the cave where she'd set herself up for the night. Looking toward the horizon, toward the city, where it used to be anyway, plumes of smoke still rose and swirled, telling of the end to the way it was.

Emotion started to stir within, but her rational mind kicked in and she pushed aside the worry, the sorrow, the sadness. Instead, she thought ahead. She made her mental list of what to accomplish next, what would be needed and what would keep her moving forward. Satisfied that she was safely hidden away along an area of craggy rock and brush, she turned her attention to the necessities.

She would need better shelter. She needed food and water. Unsure of what might be left back there, instead of planning a return to those burned out remains in order to forage for what was needed, she decided to move on to the next town. She knew it wasn't far but she needed to stay off the roads. There might be vehicles scouting the area, looking for survivors. They might be friend, most likely the were foe. Stay away from those that had their violent nature near the surface. Who knows what they might do. It was too much to think about.

So she decided to stick to the woods, to move as the crow flies, toward the next town over. It was only about 10 miles. She could make that easily, no need to sacrifice diligence for speed. The weather was fair, cloudy and still, but pleasant enough for light clothing. She could carry it all with her, everything she had, and still make the distance. She was sure of it. She only hoped that she would not encounter anyone along the way. They may be friendlies but she couldn't know until she was too close to escape if they turned out to be otherwise.

Five minutes and she was on her way. She was a natural adventurer, never getting lost. Still, she wished she had a compass with her. A map would be better. The roads would be marked and she could steer clear of them rather than coming upon them and having to change direction abruptly.

First dream of 2018

It is a Saturday morning. I have 2 weddings to go to today. Two friends, Kathy Wilson and Sarah Barkley, are both getting married at or near sunset. My plan is to attend both. I have to decide on what to wear, shave my legs, decide how to travel to both churches, etc. All the while, I am probably not as worried as I should be about how to actually attend both weddings

Kathy's parents, who seem to be of Eastern European descent, are in the living room where I am also. They are not very friendly, a little standoffish, and regard those who are not family but will be guests at their daughter's wedding. I think it may be their house that I we are in.

I am also in a conversation with Sarah Barkley. (I don't know if I am in the same location as I just was)  She is very giddy and excited. She tells me that one of her bridesmaids is not coming and would I PLEASE be her fill-in bridesmaid. She starts excitedly talking about the kind of dress I can wear that will make me look beautiful and will coordinate with the dresses of the other members of her wedding party. They are not wearing matching dresses. I tell her I have a 3 to choose from. I try all three of them on, one after the other,  One has red and black on it. We decide against that one right away. It doesn't go with her colors. The next one has aqua and cream and maybe lavender in a dreamy abstract watercolor pattern. I try it on and it fits fine. I decide against it for some reason. I can't remember why. The third one, a dress that used to be a little too tight and a little too short for me to be comfortable in, fits me perfectly. The colors are watercolor-y and wash-y also and are cream, apricot, green. It's the perfect dress. I can't believe it fits me so well and my legs look really good in it. Now I am searching for shoes. I have a pair that go really well with the dress but the heels are a little too high for me to walk comfortably in so I search for another pair. I wish I had some flats, or close to flats, that go with the dress even though it would look better paired with heels.

So now we are getting to around noon-time. During a discussion of who will ride with who, I inadvertently accept a ride from Kyle to one of the weddings. He tells me he will be back in about an hour to get me. I suddenly remember I have to shave my legs. Also, I realize if I accept a ride with someone to one of the weddings, I am stuck without transportation to the other when I need to go.

I realize it is getting later and I will have to leave soon. I am not sure whether I am going to Kathy's or Sarah's wedding first. I have accepted the invitation from Sarah to be a bridesmaid, chosen a dress and think I have some shoes that will work. Kathy's parents and family are expecting me at Kathy's wedding also. They are both set to take place at or ear sunset. I believe I am staying at Kathy's parents' house. I know she is expecting me to be there and would be very disappointed if I were to not show up. I was going to be just a guest at Sarah's wedding but, in a moment of feeding off Sarah's excitement, have agreed to be a bridesmaid. At that time, I did not remember that I was planning on running back and forth between both weddings.

I go into the shower to start bathing and shaving my legs. It's taking a long time to shave my legs. I feel like I am going to cut myself unless I am very careful. I don't think I've shaved for awhile. This is another one of those bathrooms where the shower is super wonky and the bathroom, in general, is a little derelict. (I don't think I'm still in Kathy's parents' house although I may be) I am talking with someone while I am trying to shave, I think they are in the bathroom with me and maybe there is a partition so I have privacy. I am in the shower for quite some time, not sure why.

At some point, I have a towel on my head and one wrapped around me. I am talking to people...male, I think. I am not reacting to the fact that I am nearly naked. It is of no consequence. I am in a living room. Perhaps back in Kathy's parents' house.

*I feel like there is more in the dream but it is starting to fade. I experienced excitement, happiness, love, anxiety, guilt, confusion, frustration, surprise, more (?) during the dream. It seemed like a VERY long dream.