Small Guardians

In the beginning, there stars were incapable of remaining aloft. They constantly fell back down to earth, for they were silly, clumsy things who could not focus long enough to remember their steps for a night (we must not judge them too harshly- they were very young, after all). This left the world in darkness a great deal more often than the world might like. Finally, Mother Luna had enough of such shenanigans, and she appointed the most gentle and sensible of her children, the moths, to help the stars learn their nightly dance.

For thousands of years, this was the way of things- moths gathering up the fallen stars and carefully ushering back to their appointed path- until gradually the stars began to be able to fend for themselves. To be certain, the stars were not perfect; no, at least once a night one or more would get distracted and fall again, and the moths would go and find that one (or five) who had strayed, and return it (or them) to their proper positions. Still more time passed, however, and eventually weeks might pass without a star falling: but the moths did not forget their purpose, and remained ever vigilant for their wayward charges. This is why, when man appeared with his false stars- his captured flames and his strange cold lights- the moths continually attempt to gather them up and return them to their distant, dancing brethren.


Moth to Flame

Regarding the Breathing of Life into Stories

So one of the problems with having a story to tell is trying to find the right way to tell it. Humorous or serious? First person or third? Start with a shocking revelation, or leave a trail of subtle crumbs until the reader can put them together into a delicious cake of Awareness? For that matter, start in the middle, the end, or the more conventional beginning? It is a problem I was wrestling with today, and it turned into three potential beginnings to a story (and there are more in my brain). I'll share them with you now:


Beginning the First

Alone. I am alone, now, my earthly brothers and sisters long since gone back to Him. By all rights I should be an old, old man, living out my final days here in this sunlit land, surrounded by seas the color of Heaven’s shadow, waiting for that time when I close my eyes for a nap, and never again open them. But I am not an old man. And I never shall be.

I thought when I Fell that I would become a man as He did, able to die as He was destined to. In retrospect, such an assumption was foolish- after all, Lucifer didn’t become a man, nor did his followers. But I thought that since my Fall was voluntary (more akin to a Jump) and my circumstances different, the results would be different as well. And they were- but not in the way I thought they would be.

Oh, I appear to be mortal to any who might see me- I inhabit a body of all-too-human flesh, without wings, without celestial fire. But I do not age, and I will not die. I may hunger or thirst, but these things will not kill me. You may beat me, or even crucify me, but I will not bruise or bleed, and my bones will not break from any force you can apply. I do not need the air in my lungs for anything more than speech- and even that I may do mind-to-mind, if I so desire.

Of course, there are so few worth talking to since He left.


Begining the Second

It is funny how none of the books mentioned bedraggled young man who showed up in the stable a few days after the child’s birth. Of course, he was neither shepherd nor king, which made him difficult to fit into the narrative, so maybe that explains it. No one really knew what to make of him- he didn’t ask for anything, just seemed to like being around the baby, caring for him and for Mary, and Joseph too when he’d let him. All Mary knew was that she liked him immensely.

“He reminds me of someone,” she told her husband, who was quite frankly growing irritated with the curiosity their child was arousing. “And I feel better when he’s around. Don’t be so rude.”

So Joseph tried to curb his rudeness, but he could not help but feel strange about the young man who- when pressed- called himself Johnael. The truth was, Johnael reminded Joseph of someone, too- but the thought didn’t comfort him the way it did his wife.

Johnael disappeared the day they headed back to Nazareth. Mary was concerned about him, but Joseph pointed out that the young man had obviously survived over two decades just fine without Mary mothering him, and doubtless he would continue to get along just fine from here on out.

“Besides which,” he added, “Don’t you have more than enough to worry about with little Joshua, there?” Mary conceded her husband’s point: this was her first time as a mother, and as shockingly easy to handle as Joshua was, she did find her hands full (sometimes literally) keeping away all the small animals that seemed to want to curl up with him.

“The angles never said anything about this,” she muttered as she removed two sparrows and a hare from her son’s makeshift cradle.

Before long they were settled back into their lives in Nazareth, and they forgot all about the strange, quiet young man. Joshua matured swiftly, and it seemed as though hardly any time at all had passed before he had left home to strike out on his own. But Mary knew that time had passed- all she had to do was look at her once-smooth hands, now somewhat gnarled, and beginning to stiffen with age as she entered the middle of her fourth decade.

She found herself glancing down at her hands the day her son brought home a group of his friends- for there amongst the young men was one who appeared younger than them all- but who looked just exactly the same as he had when she’d last seen him, thirty some-odd years ago.

Johnael was back.


Beginning the Third

What do you do when the love of your life- of your very existence- decides to split Himself away from Himself, and send that part to become a mortal, destined to suffer and eventually die? Do you stay with the immortal part in heaven, and observe the unfolding of time as you have done for millennia? Or do you cast off your own semi-divinity to follow the mortal part to earth- to Fall?

At least my Fall did not hurt, as Lucifer’s is said to. I think that is because it was done to him against his will, whereas I gave up my wings and took on flesh of my own free will.

Free will- some mortals say we do not have it, but we do. We just have a better insight into the consequences of our choice- and such knowledge usually leads to better choices.

But not always.



So there you have it- three potentials. And I might not even go any of those routes. What do you think?

Random Brain Blurbs? Sure, Why Not...

I love the smell of spring in the South (pollen count notwithstanding). Summer, too, for that matter. It was one of the only things (emphasis on things rather than people) I missed while I was living in the northwest. There are many wonderful scents up there, but none of the flowers can even begin to compare to the riot of jasmine, honeysuckle, and magnolia that takes over the warm summer nights here in the Heart of Dixie.

My brain is a little bit all over the place tonight- I've been in a rather Industrious mood, which means things are getting checked off my To Do list with abandon, but the fact of the matter is that I just spent about four hours working on a stupid play list for my H2O Bootcamp tomorrow night, and I'm really starting to question my sanity. Don't get me wrong- I like making play lists (never would have lasted so long as a DJ, otherwise) but it does bring a certain level of irritation to it when I also have to figure out choreography for the darn thing. And this is the third one I've made since January. And I only get paid like $15 a class (if that- I haven't seen a paycheck in few weeks, and I'm about to bring it up with the Powers That Be). What is wrong with me??

Anyway, putting so much time and effort into that thing means that I didn't get to the spate of other things on the To Do list for the evening (although Nathan sweetly did a few for me) which makes me feel a bit grumpy. And I'm supposed to have read the first ten chapters of Moby Dick by tomorrow, and I haven't even finished the first five.

Also, I haven't been drawing lately, so when I tried to render Sallie the other day it came out embarrassingly awful. Why do we have to practice our skills? Why can't they just stay sharp always, ready to come out and play whenever I want them?

Whine whine whine.

I think I'm done for now. Hopefully we'll return to our regularly scheduled program of useful writing tomorrow... (also, I like Nate's picture today so I shall link to it, in spite of lacking the energy to write it the short story it deserves...)

Blue Menagerie Pt VII

Sallie couldn’t make her vocal cords work- but that was alright, because she didn’t know what she could possible say to explain herself, anyway. The voice belonged to a woman, was lightly but strangely accented, and it was right below Sallie when it spoke again.

“What’s got you so worked up now, you wretched thing?”

Zeb let out a strange twitter that Sallie was pretty sure would have gotten him in trouble with any adult lemur within hearing range. The woman, however, let out a low laugh. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

“Such language! You’ve been all but impossible ever since we got back to this town. I suppose it’s in the blood- that was your family that made such a fuss on Sunday, wasn’t it? And they did the last time we were here, too, as I recall… how I wish I had met your father at a younger age! It’s just too bad your hysterical sister has hazel eyes… of course, if you’re feeling lonely, I’m sure we could find a way to bend the rules… I have been thinking of taking on someone new to clean the cages.”

Zeb barked, and Sallie had a sudden vision of his sharp little lemur fangs. She didn’t know that she would taunt him in this form, intervening bars or not. The woman laughed again.

“Rage all you want, you ring-tailed brat. The fact remains that as long as I hold the amulet, you and all the others stay in your animal forms, which means you’re in no position to dictate who else I may or may not bring into our little family. Although you’ve been so very troublesome… if you didn’t hold such potent viv, I’d have let you escape long ago. Wouldn’t do you any good, you know. The first person to find you would either shoot you or put you in a real zoo. Or maybe even try to keep you as a pet. How would you like that, boy? To be someone’s exotic pet?”

By this point Sallie was biting her lip so hard she could taste blood. It was all she could do not to hurl herself over the edge of the cage and start pummeling the horrible woman- but a memory of her father stopped her;

You remember this, Sallie-girl, he had said as they watched a movie about a little boy who defeated the bad guy by being clever. You’re like that kid- you’ve got heart but you’ll probably always be too much smaller than anyone else to go in with your fists flying, hoping for the best. You need to know your enemy, know their weak spots- and then develop your weapons to take advantage of that. Find that weak spot- and it won’t always be physical- and then you can hit ‘em with all you’ve got!

At the time Sallie hadn’t thought the advice particularly useful- after all, who would she ever fight with? She was a good girl who stayed out of trouble, and she got along pretty well with almost everyone. But now, as she sat frozen in the darkness, she realized that she really, really wanted to fight the horrible woman- but that she was definitely too little to stand a chance. She’d have to find the weak spot.

Trouble was, she couldn’t even see the woman from her current position, let alone any weak spots- and she didn’t dare move to remedy the situation.

“Anyway I’m bored with your chatter now, and since you’re obviously not going to go to sleep on your own…” the woman trailed off, and Sallie heard a faint clinking noise. Zeb let out a sort of whimper that ended in a sigh, and then was silent. Sallie squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath as she listened to the fading footsteps of the woman. Only when her head was beginning to spin from lack of oxygen did she breathe again, open her eyes, and ever-so-carefully peer over the roof to see if the horrible woman was really gone.

She was.

Sallie’s heart had decided to renew its attack on her rib-cage, but Sallie ignored it as she groped her way to the trap-door. Fortunately it was not locked- just double-bolted. Her hands shook as she eased them open, every moment expecting to hear the woman’s voice again, this time full of angry accusation. One of the bolts let out a little groan, and Sallie cursed herself for not thinking to bring any sort of oil.

Slowly, slowly she lifted the heavy wood panel of the door, easing it over until it lay flat against the roof of the cage. She had expected Zeb to spring immediately out, but he did not. Sallie poked her head into the opening, afraid of what she might see.

There he was, not visibly harmed, but collapsed in a little heap at the base of the tree branch.

“Zeb,” she whispered. His head stirred and she watched with alarm as he tried to sit up, only to fall back over. Tears of fear and fury stung at her eyes as she tried to calculate if the platform beneath the opening would hold her weight.

“Nothing for it,” she muttered, and slipped into the opening. Fortunately the platform did hold her weight, and she was able to use it to (albeit awkwardly) make her way down to where her little brother was still struggling to get upright. Somehow his behavior reminded her of the way their grandfather had acted when Sallie had visited him in the hospital after an operation- kind of wobbly and unfocused. It made her even more afraid for him.

“Shhh, it’s okay, Zebbie. Come here,” she picked him up and transferred him to the backpack, where he curled up with a tiny, pathetic trill. He was big enough that she was just barely able to zip it closed around him, and she knew the tools in the bag had to be digging into his flesh- but she couldn’t risk leaving them behind.

The new weight on her back made the reverse climb near impossible, but by this point Sallie had so much adrenaline pumping through her system that she thought she might be able to lift a train if she had to, and she eventually made it out. Her journey back across the fairgrounds to the opening in the fence was as quick as she could make it, although she did manage to slice open the other arm when she passed back through.

The bicycle ride expanded her concept of torture- she was slower with Zeb on her back, and each pair of headlights that approached brought with them the queasy realization of their vulnerability, the certainty of discovery and capture. What if it was the horrible woman? It was one thing to end up in jail, but Sallie couldn’t stand the idea of what it would do to her parents if she just disappeared the way Zeb had. The whole night became a hideous, unending nightmare, the kind where you can’t go as fast as you know you should be able to, the kind where you know the monster is breathing down your neck, even if you can’t see it. Can’t see her. In her sleep-deprived delirium, Sallie felt certain she would never find daylight again, let alone make it home.

She did make it, however, and even managed to do so before Daddy got up. Trembling with exhaustion and the after-effects of too much adrenaline (she’d had to pull over twice to vomit) Sallie carefully shut her now-sleeping brother into her closet, wished as hard as she could that he would stay asleep, stripped back down to just her night-gown, and collapsed into her own bed. Her digital clock said it was 0427. Mommy would be in to wake her for school in about two hours- but Sallie was pretty sure she could convince her she was too sick to go.

Her sleep was dreamless.

Suspend

how odd that
upon coming face to face
with eternity
(itself composed of nothing
but the endless passing of time)
i have come to realize
that said passage of time
has somewhat lost
its meaning.

because in the ever-changing
face of forever
(in your face)
all time is one-
all time is now
(an endless repetition
of now
and now
and now)

and how can i be expected to notice
whether this now
holds one hour
(one day)
(one year)
or one thousand?

and how can i help but be surprised
that this moment
(to outsiders)
is not the same moment
as when i breathed my first breath
as your wife
(is not the same moment
as when I will breathe my last)?

syllables of amber:

i am my beloved's
and my beloved is mine

those are the words we spoke
the words we speak
the words we will be speaking

forever




(One Year Later)

Blood Drinkers

You may or may not be aware that today is Easter, which is kind of a big deal in Christian circles. As such, Nathan and I put on our go-to-meetin’ clothes and went with Curt and Alana to church (side note: in spite of the fact that I am not, myself, a believer, I find myself almost ridiculously devoted to such old-school commandments as “Thou shalt not bare thy shoulders in the sanctuary, nor shalt thou leave thy hair all loose like a wild heathen girl, regardless of the fact that thou actually art one.”)

It was a pretty good sermon, focusing on (no surprise here) the resurrection of Christ. The preacher could have used some work on some of the secular view-points he was trying to refute (and I am always willing to provide such points for the faithful to practice on) but all in all, not bad. Anyway, I mentioned as much to Nathan, which got us into a conversation regarding Christian apologetics, and the fact that one of the better arguments for Jesus being who he said he was, was the martyrdom of all the apostles (who saw him after his death). All, that is, except for Beloved John.

Apparently Beloved John died alone on an island in the Mediterranean, and when Nate told me as much the whole Storyteller aspect of my Being began to quiver like an excited hound on a particularly delicious scent.

“Or so you think!” I announced. “In reality, John was a vampire who just pretended to die, and has spent the intervening centuries doing what he could to further the faith!” Nathan made one of his Pained Expressions, but I continued- “No, think about it! It’s the only thing that makes sense! How else could Christianity have survived without an immortal element propelling it along, popping up every once in a while to manipulate history! I totally need to write that story…”

“Please don’t write that story,” he said (automatically, I think). Then, a heartbeat later, he grinned and admitted, “Actually that would be kind of good.”

And it totally, totally will.

(Of course, this story with directly contradict the one I wrote in which Jesus was the vampire, but hey- that’s what the Multiverse is for, right?)

Memory Lane, and Trying Not to Stumble During a Stroll

(Warning: this is the sort of post that results from me going, "Oh crap what time is it??")

Tonight we watched our wedding video, which was a very weird experience, indeed. It brought back good memories, and made me smile and laugh and keep up a running commentary on the behind-the-scenes action (we were watching with Nathan's sister and her husband, because they had not been able to attend the wedding, being as they were rather busy with having a baby). But it also was vaguely uncomfortable having the vows telegraphed into the ether once more. Part of me couldn't help but feel it was a very private thing we were revealing- which of course is ridiculous since the whole point of the vows was to stand up in public and exchange them in front of witnesses who could then feel free to yell, "No take backs!" So I'm not sure what was up with that, but there it was...

Another weird part was seeing a certain guest appear in the video- at the time I thought this person was going to be a permanent part of my life, and I daresay I loved them. But that is not how things worked out, and what I feel for that person at this point... well, let's not get into that. We'll leave it at the fact that it's not pleasant, and it was kind of jarring to see them pop up in my wedding video- I think part of me had repressed the fact that they were there (which is ridiculous, since they appear in several shots in all the versions of my wedding album, as well...). Afterward I turned to Nathan and said, "I just have to divorce who [that person] was then from who [that person] is now, because they're not even remotely the same." And it's true- they're not. And it makes me really sad.

But not too sad, because it's not worth dwelling on when there are so many wonderful things in this world that are worth dwelling on, like being almost a full year into a fantastic marriage, and getting to spend quality time with family, and getting to hike a little on the AT while wearing my totally freaking sweet new shoes. That was good for two reasons- one, it was nice to be on the same trail my dear friend JoeSeph hiked about this time last year (not to mention it made me feel all bonded with my brother, who did the PCT about two years back). Two because (as mentioned) my new shoes are totally freaking sweet. They're designed to let you feel like you're barefoot, and they do just that- only without the pesky sensitivity to thinks like tiny rocks or pine needles jabbing at your arches. The way they allowed me to scramble up rocks- heavenly. I can't wait to do a longer hike in them (our hike today being cut short by large quantities of snow, which the shoes emphatically do not have the traction for). And I must say, hiking up here makes me really long for the Gorge. Birmingham area hiking just doesn't compare...