Relativity

He stepped into the emotionless moonlight and breathed in deeply, the cold biting at him bit by bit. He stared up into the sky, deep into the dark abyss of space, and continued to fall into infinity without leaving the ground. He was so small against the backdrop, so insignificant, that his presence or absence made no difference. The universe did not care if he was or was not. In the scheme of things his time as this set of molecules was immeasurably small. In the fullness of time he did not even spark.

He felt his smallness, his meaninglessness in space and time, and smirked. As he was insignificant to the universe, it was insignificant to him. But in this relative timeline, he mattered. He mattered to himself, to his family, and to his friends. He mattered in this space and in this time. For that he was grateful, and he planned to make the most of it.

 

 

Posted with Blogsy

Edge of darkness, edge of light

I stand on the edge of darkness

as morning comes to take the night

and watch as new wonders arise from the dreams

of all who dared be greater

amongst these frail days.

 

From this place I see what needs seeing,

the struggles and fates untwined

the open spaces between heart and mind

where imagination lives and dies,

this place of my making

for having chosen unwisely.

 

I see the wonder in a child's eye

and understanding in an old man's heart.

I feel the yearning ever bright

in the soul of a forgotten slight,

and more than that I see what is hidden

deep within those with the darkest fright.

I see their fears alive

thrown at others with all their might.

 

This new morn brings toil and trouble,

it brings magic and untold stories,

narratives dark and bright,

but more than that it brings hope

that on this new day we find our way,

that suffering, loneliness and fear

be held always at bay.

 

But all too soon the day will end,

as night reclaims what light illuminated,

and we sit in ardor unrequited

to think and ponder of our failed plight.

Are we better for having lived

another day

the tide moving in the same old way?

 

The moon rises, the sun sets,

the season recedes,

and in this moment I lament

that you do not know me

and I do not know myself,

for I am not who you think I am,

nor am I who I might.

I am what you make me

all despite.

 

In this I am dying

none to remember

that once I was here in all my splendor,

unseen, unheard, and unimagined,

but only as a trouble encumbered

should my history surrender.

My gifts lost to witness blinded,

awash in inequity,

drowned in sorrow and pain.

In the shade of the silence of friends

lest they too be spited.

 

But tomorrow is another day,

a dawn of new endeavor

upon which I set my hopes

of living life beyond these shadows,

in warmth and peace enchanted.

A new day with fear for being

what I have become, decanted.

 

The light swallows the darkness,

I slip into the shadows,

a finger ripples the water

and then there are none the wiser.

 

Posted with Blogsy

The Human Gift

Compassion is not a natural human gift, that being automatically given as a matter of course. We find ourselves drawn to acts of kindness  given to those we agree deserve it. This is at odds with the most valued of acts of compassion, those  acts of kindness extended to those we would rather hurt or put down for their nature does not agree with our own. Kindness is rare, as we are a judgmental lot. It is its rareness that makes it come to our attention, for despite ourselves, we all wish it extended to us unconditionally, and we know we are miserly.

In our work with ill infants and children, we are predisposed to give kindness more freely, and yet it is not unfettered here either. We must remind ourselves that compassion is a gift best given without condition, that as we must write a story to put this person, this family, in context we should work to make that story a positive one that allows us to give kindness without expectation. Compassion, kindness, is truly our most unique of human gifts and is greatest among them. Nothing but good can come of it, in the end, if not for the one who receives it, for us who give it.

In winter

He thought that if he cried, it wouldn't hurt. It didn't work out that way, in large part because he found himself unable to cry. Anger, frustration, had taken up that part of him that emoted, and he had long been beyond crying. So he just sat there on the bench, grumpy, agitated, and cold. He had been grumpy, agitated and cold for weeks now.

 

The stone face of the mountainous train station behind him forced the Siberian wind downwards, increasing in penetrating meanness as it hounded him. Or so he thought. He beat his arms and rubbed them for warmth, the cold nizzling its way through his bulky gloves, wool ushanka pulled down over his ears, sturdy coat and scarf, turtle necked sweater, vest, two fully buttoned shirts, and long underwear to reach his fatless reddened skin. Any more layers and he would be unable to move, like a matryoshka. He was sure he would lose something to frostbite, but in reality he hadn't been outside for more than a few minutes and was well bundled against the northerly wind. Dmitri was just having a bad day. He waited for Casimir, who didn't understand the concept of other people's time, or how the cold affected it. This was odd, being they lived in Minsk, arguably cold frequently enough one should be thoroughly familiar with it, and where no one had the patience.

 

The massive ornate wooden door of the station creaked open narrowly and a slurry of reluctant people flowed out carrying the equally unwilling Casimir within it. He saw Dmitri, waddled down the icy steps toward the bench, gestured with his head for Dmitri to join him at the bottom of the stairs. Dmitri sat a moment then unstuck himself from the icy bench and joined Casimir. Two furry giants among the herd of people making their lurching way.

 

"You gotta cigarette?" Casimir asked chatteringly, wooled hands buried deep in his coat pockets.

 

"What? Are you kidding me? Even if I did would I bother to to freeze giving it to you?"

 

"Eh...", Casimir grunted.

 

They walked then in silence, too focused on not falling and not letting the cold in to have much to say. It was getting dark, and the gas lamps had not been lit for over a month. It took several more minutes than it usually did, but they found a crowd outside a department store where someone rumored there was toilet paper, and they waited in the queue. It didn't matter what they actually would fine, whatever it was you needed it or could sell it.

 

"So... you going tonight?" inquired Dmitri, gazing up with as little movement as possible at the taller man.

 

Casimir made a face that offered something unpleasant, "I don't know... I have this thing about getting arrested. It upsets my stomach."

 

"Yeah, there's that, you with the stomach of a baby...", replied Dmitri. They shuffled forward in the queue. "I don't know which is worse, getting arrested or working. At least you get to go home after working, but then", he hunched his shoulders, "maybe that's not such a good thing either."

 

Casimir looked askance, "I'm tired of being cold. In summer I get tired of being hot, in winter of being cold. At least in prison factory the climate is constant, eh? There's that."

 

Dmitri chuckled, "I am tired of always being hungry". They shuffled forward again, the throng moved murmuring, huddling like penguins. "I am tired of always being angry...".

 

They came to the front of the line, and learned it was bread that was being sold. Two small nearly frozen loaves a piece, then they made their way towards the street their small apartments were built over. Along the way they stopped at a small shop and left a loaf each for the old lady who lived upstairs, then continued on home. Dmitri went with Casimir, together they crowded into Casimir's kitchen, and made a fire in the stove that quickly overwhelmed them in their heavy clothes. They started shedding layers as the room warmed, piling them mindlessly to the floor. The cats gathered and took refuge in the layers.The fulfilling smells of bread, soup and vodka being heated on the stove filled the room.

 

"So, Dmitri, I know you are upset..."

 

"Yes, but I don't want to talk about it. The anger keeps me warm at night, I don't want to give any of it up."

 

"It was his fault, you know it was, and there is nothing to be done. It's in the past, he's dead, and he needed dying, that one."

 

"This is my consolation, Casimir? That this, this zasranec, he's dead, but Myrna, she has to live her life knowing what he did to her?"

 

Casimir shrugged, carefully lifting the glass carafe of vodka off the stove with a handkerchief and pouring half into Dmitri's cup, the rest into his own. "It is what it is, Dmitri. You would rather she too was dead? There is nothing to be done."

 

Dmitri said nothing, sipped his vodka and took the warmed bread Casimir offered, spreading the thin preserves over it, dipping it in the vodka and popping it whole into his mouth. He looked into the bottom of his cup, swirled it, sipped then drank the entire thing in one gulp, grimacing. He handed it towards Casimir as he lifted another warmed carafe and refilled it.

 

"I am going tonight. I will come", Casimir said, setting another carafe on the stove to warm.

 

Dmitri nodded in agreement, "Good, good. No one gets arrested tonight." He held his cup up towards his brother, raised it to Casimir's, clinking them together gently.

 

"And nobody dies", Casimir offered.

 

"And nobody dies...".

Posted with Blogsy

The Human Condition

He stood on the side of the road, silent, and wind swept, deep in The Valley of Lost Souls. He knew how he had come to be there, he knew why, but it didn't matter. There was a time when being alone was what fed his loneliness, a wolf that succored at his soul. There was a different ghost there now with no name, but a pallored visage that lacked definition and resembled emptiness. Where once a man existed there was now a void that lost all sense of being. He was an empty vessel, no dreams or aspirations, no will, no thought, no desire. He simply was. He simply was broken.

 

He looked skyward, looking into the starry night, into the depths of the universe unfettered by anything for billions of light years. He seemed less significant in this scheme of things, and his emptiness deepened, his concerns irrelevant. In his own skin he had lost meaning, and in this wide sense of being he was far less than he already was. He did not know who he was for being shown he was was an enigma.

 

This was not the way it was supposed to be, but it was the way it was. He felt he was not unhappy, only empty. He did not know which way to go, but he knew standing here accomplished nothing. One cell in his brain knew this was not his nature, and that in truth, things were not as dismal as the rest of him felt they were. His broken heart wanted nothing but for the deep ache to wane, it felt no compulsion to move in any direction until he could breath. He found solace in not caring, not worrying, being nothing, being alone. He believed in himself, and in that there was hope.

 

So, for now he stood there and gazed in loving wonder at his universe. He knew he was, that he mattered for himself, and that this would be the spark that would find him and renew him. He would heal, he just needed to stand here for a while, alone, unthinking, unfeeling, unbothered...

 

Posted with Blogsy

To sleep sweetly, sleep...

I lay upon the lush grass that grew right up to the tree, and looked up through its leaves and branches as the light shimmied and danced between. A sparkle, a star of light, a flash here then there, all the while the warm colors of the leaves imbued in glowing greens, reds and yellows. The breeze lead a dance of light and color along with the music of the gentle percussion of one soft dying leaf upon another, entwined with the lilting melody of a lone songbird. I sighed deeply and let go of my troubles, those shallow and blown easily away, those deep so they only cooled but stayed. I closed my eyes and the color was gone, but the light show dazzled in whites and reds, and with the songs of the tree and the wind, I fell into natures loving embrace in peace and quiet, and sleep came ever so sweetly.

 

 

Posted with Blogsy

Stand

A line formed to one side and the world stood beside it

judging those who chose one side or the other

for nothing more than that choice.

Most found themselves by birth where they stood

and yet it was found that they too deserved to be judged.

They were bullied, beaten, raped, tortured and destroyed.

The victors were stronger or more driven by hate,

rarely in any way superior that mattered.

In that moment where one was not in focus

stand silent and inhuman before inhumanity.

And this was what mankind was about

deciding the greater and the lesser

and keeping the lesser in its place

for no more reason than it made the lesser feel greater.

How will we judge ourselves

when there is no one left?

 

Posted with Blogsy