And Yet…

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Alone we watch last leaves of autumn fall upon this world
Fearing stark winter follows icy breath in hand.
Alone we watch the fleeting sun rise and set its measure of time
Believing one day the frost shall melt at the coming.
Alone we ponder and learn of wonders withheld,
And yet, at small space, from our present eyes
Alone we partake as one that peeps through a slit at a waiting world of wonder
One that is warmed with thoughts and emotions as yet unformulated.
For light streams through in colored glory from worlds beyond if we still ourselves to listen
Soft words of comfort echo through chasms formed by love long ago
Yet still they calm our senses , refresh our vision, as a fresh wind from the mountain.
Stop, look up, and we will see fresh vision here with God with we…

(While troubled and pained by recent attacks in London and in Syria I came across this old poem and found comfort.)

Pain. (Flash fiction.)

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Looking down at the wooden handle of the kitchen knife grasped in her fingers she took a deep breath. Ridged scars adorned her arm, raised reminders of past pain, agony that wouldn’t go away, that had become so unbearable that only more pain could drive it forth. This time would be different, this time would end all…

She felt the sting, numb yet sharp. Blood welled up, overflowed, spotting the bathroom linoleum, surging, spreading in an expanding pool. Detached she watched it grow as her mind weakened. Faces invaded her vision, the ones that hurt her, that didn’t return the love she craved. Someone was pounding on the door. It didn’t matter, they’d be too late. A whirl of darkness took her, comforting soft oblivion…

Oblivion didn’t last, light appeared. No! Not this! She wanted an end. She wanted it to stop. A form appeared in the glow, a face awash with tears. A homely face, like hers, yet filled with something overflowing. She could not look away. Then she knew – He loved her, loved her without conditions, loved her just as she was, and the love washed away the pain, washed away the scars. She gazed deep into the eyes. The tears were for her. Like a tidal wave, an awe inspiring rush of wind, his love washed through her, cleansing, healing, understanding. She was swept away in its current, waking to a hospital bed.

The banging on the door… one of the other boarders must have saved her. She recalled the blood welling across the lino. It must have reached the door… She’d failed in her attempt, but it didn’t matter, the scars didn’t matter, the pain had gone. She was loved!

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remember

I awoke this morning I feeling strangely enthusiastic about this new year (a feeling much at odds with my thoughts and world outlook for sure!) Not the typical new year resolution euphoria (after 64 of them I don’t really get that lol!) more a deep and comforting premonition that something good is coming this year. What it might be I couldn’t say. I’m very content and it’s hard to see how my life could be further enriched. I pray it might be in the lives of my loved ones, or the precious folks here in “blog land”, better still, for all those weary souls at large in the world, a blessing for mankind, that would best enhance my life. I pray it is so.

 

One last Christmas message – the good news.

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sun

Late on a sleepy, star-spangled night, those angels peeled back the sky just like you would tear open a sparkling Christmas present. Then, with light and joy pouring out of heaven like water through a broken dam, they began to shout and sing the message that baby Jesus had been born. The world had a Savior! The prophecies from hundreds of years before had been fulfilled. The angels called it “Good News,” and it was.—Larry Libby

A Little Magic to Start My day.

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Thoughts from November 2014

Song Bird Songs

I had a surprise in store as I set off with my grandson, thick, white mist had shrouded the lakes, ducks and swans swam in suspended silver grey silhouettes floating magically in space as if in levitation. A goose rose on the wing creating dapples as defused sunlight beamed through in glory bathing all in a golden glow.
We both stopped awe struck. I don’t think I ever saw anything so beautiful. I wished I had my camera but realized a sight like this could not be captured by a mere lens.
Dropping off my grandson I returned soaking in the magic of creation as if walking in another world. Tree limbs contorted in green grey shadows like a primordial forest. I felt alone viewing the earth in its initial splendor, pristine, untouched. The gentle sound of lapping water added music to the ethereal background.

I wandered slowly breathing it…

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Dream Master (no. 3)

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flash fiction from October 2014

Song Bird Songs

lights
The darkness was soft around her like a comforting blanket, warm and snug, endued with a faint glow. Embedded in the walls, if such they could be called since they had no substance, glimmered pinpoints of light, momentarily flickering. She reached out her hand, as in slow motion, clasping substance in the mist. A jewel glistened within her hand, glowing in the darkness. She reached out eagerly to get more wondering at the rainbow forms glistening on her palm.
She was aware of a being beside her his face picked out in silver light. The dream master was here.
“I’m sorry you had to come alone,” he whispered, his voice an echo of the stillness. “This lesson cannot be taught another way. I wanted you to overcome your fear of the darkness, those black times when clouds of doom and destruction overcome your life.”
Reaching up he plucked a delicate…

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The Prisoner.

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from September 2014

Song Bird Songs

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Skinned knuckles clasped the iron bars of his cage, beast like, haggard, grey. His clothes, once immaculate, hung in tatters, stubble and dirt lined his face. He gazed at the moon, pale, imperial, untouched by the hate and anger around him. Serene it floated on high, unsullied, eternal. Against all reason hope stirred in his chest.
Like wolves, eager to feast on his bones, his captors snarled, a rifle butt descending towards bruised fingers. He moved back, back into his isolation, into the darkness, but he had seen the light of the sun reflected in the night sky. He cherished the image of purity in his heart.

Once there had been love and life. Somewhere this moon shone on them still secure and safe in their beds. They would be praying for him of that he was sure; agnostic though he was the thought somehow comforted his heart. At daybreak…

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Coma (final blog bite of short fantasy story)

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dev2

“I can’t tell anyone anything can I!” Alex grimaced alluding to his unresponsive body.

“You won’t stay that way Alex. You’re going to come out of the coma.”
“Sounds pretty much impossible from what the doctor said.”

“Ah!” Doc. raised his eyebrows, “but I’m his superior.”

“Now come there’s something else I need to show you.” Doc grasped his hand as if to lead him somewhere as the the blanket of darkness descended.

It lifted, not back in the hospital ward, but in a vast scene of devastation. There was movement among the rubble at his feet, insects scurrying through the debris. Alex recoiled in horror.

“They’re all that survive here,” Doc explained.

“Where is this place? Is… is it the future?”

“It’s part of the future.”

“But what about those other places I went, could they be the future instead?”

“They are the future. The weak inherited the earth, but there are still atomic wastelands. The rich and powerful elite were obliterated. Sad that it had to come to this. These places remain that mankind might see and understand the end result of war.”

A whirling sound made Alex look upward. Lights were flashing through the sky, some kind of vehicles – new technology – flying over the wastelands.

“Who or what are those?” Alex asked alarmed.

“Don’t worry Alex. There are no more war machines – remember the birds? There’s total peace everywhere, even here.”

“Then who…”

“Children, Alex, older ones. This is a history lesson of a different nature – a, learn from history lesson! The mind of man still has free choice to do evil. They teach the children there is no glory in war only devastation. It’s become increasingly hard for them to relate to cities as the generations pass, to understand why men would want to fight, kill, destroy in order to get more. It has become foreign to their natures, yet still these trips continue. It will be long before these lands heal. They serve as reminders of the price of man’s greed and selfish pride, his ambition. The earth has been pieced by sorrows she cannot heal of herself. One day it shall all be restored, new heavens and a new earth. Only then shall the healing process be complete, when, cleansed by fire, the earth and all that once dwelt therein shall be reformed and transformed, as water that, flying to the heavens, leaves the things and corruptions of earth behind, its very substance changed to vapor that it may one day return as rain to replenish the ground.”

“But where do I fit into all this?”

“I want you to witness what you’ve seen; tell people there is hope beyond the war, the strife, the annihilation. I want you to write, speak, publish, get the message out.”

“How can I do that? Even if I do recover who will listen? They’ll think I’m crazy, delusional!”

“Yes, no doubt they will, but some will listen, some always listen.”

“But what if they try and medicate me, put me in an institution or…”

“They won’t Alex. They won’t be able to. You see I’ll be there, helping you. Don’t you want people to know, to have the chance to believe?”

“I’m not even sure I believe it myself…”

“But you will Alex, you will…” Doc was fading, everything was fading…

He woke in his hospital bed. It was nighttime, the dim light of the monitor the only illumination. He reached for the light switch…

It was then he realized, as the hand responded, as the eyes adjusted their focus. He was awake, truly awake. He turned the hand from side to side in wonder, ran his fingers through his hair… He began to laugh, quiet, almost afraid to make a noise, scared the spell might break. He sat up, his back stiff but functioning. He grasped once more for the light his hand knocking something careening from the table. He groped on the floor to see what it was bringing it up into the newly broached circle of light. It fell open, his eyes falling upon the passage, “and I will give power unto my two witnesses.” He knew this book. The Gideon’s people left them in hospitals and prisons, suddenly it all made sense. He knew now who “Doc” really was. He raised the book further to the light eager to read about his future mission and ponder who his companion might be.