Don’t listen to them Sister, for I think you are beautiful: your garments hide your figure and show only your eyes.
If one considers the eyes as the gateway to the soul,
you are a walking spirit among those who cannot see nor understand you.
I see you and it is they who I cannot understand.
They reveal their bodies to feel beauty, but is it beauty they feel? Or the hungry eyes of men.
Every day their faces are covered with different types of chemical warpaint to portray the beauty they need to feel,
but is it beauty they really need?
Sister I assure you that within your garments, you reveal more about yourself than those who criticize your tradition.
On their Instagram and Facebook, pictures of themselves doing what they do with their friends, their dogs,
their shots of soju, henny, patron, grey goose, and every other drink under the alcoholic sun.
They constantly portray themselves in sexy poses, puckered lips, painted nails, and painted toes.
Show off them shoulders,
Show off them legs,
Strap on them heels,
It’s Lady’s Night bitches!
Look at all the things they do! Oh how glamourous!
But do we actually see them?
Revealing your physical, yet letting your spiritual hide in the corner.
Sister, their warpaint and lifestyle hides more than your garments ever will.
I don’t see grown, or respectable women. I see girls pretending to be Barbies.
But I grow too critical. They are not to blame.
It is not the fault of anyone really, it’s merely supply and demand. So let’s make new demands.
Let’s demand to become walking spirits.
Let’s throw away our war-paint, our masks, and let’s uncover the truth of what we are.
Let us reveal ourselves through the mind and not the body.
Let us have spirits walk the Earth once more.
A thick film wraps around my brain: it’s a slowing fog, a murky haze, a heavy tar which sticks to my brain cells. An invisible shrink wrap holds my brain in place, keeping it perfectly preserved for some day in the future when I may need it. What if I need it right now? Too bad. Time to live as a living dead. Time to wander through daily tasks aimlessly. Time to pretend that I am listening. Time to pretend that I am me and I am here.
The to-do list never ends because I never make it a point to do the list. Can I use my brain now? Nope, not yet. My hair grows long, my laundry needs to be washed, and my bills, I try to accept as my responsibility. I am a bored child with nothing to do but the list. But hey, I could always do it later.
Instead let’s dream, let’s play, let’s go to a place in my imagination where I live with no limitations and no to-do list. Let’s live in a world unlike this: a place of magic, monsters, Gods, Goddesses, warriors, monks, heroes, villains, and everything else in between; a place where there is no toxicity in our skies, a place without Hollywood, a place without iPhone, iPod, iPad! I had this dream and dreamt it over and over again as a middle school boy looking out the window instead of in his books, as a teenager worrying about the ground instead of his looks, and as a person, half-man half-unknown, wondering and wondering alone.
In my dream, I saw those who loved not for the sake of a political campaign, not because their religion promised them eternal life if they did. I saw love for another man despite skin color, I saw love for another man despite their sexual orientation, and I saw love for another man, not because it was the right thing to do, but because it was the only thing to do on this list of things to-do.
Then the film on my brain begins to lift: my mind can work once more, shackles lifted, and quick thoughts gifted unto me once more. What to do? I see my list and my brain begins to worry, my brain begins to stress. Pay my gas, wash my car, do my laundry, study for my test, wash my dog, check my facebook, post my twitter, watch my shows, pay my phone, work for money, lift some weights, buy some veggies, make a deposit, do a withdrawal, move some cash, do it all, push my chronic, take a bath, don’t slouch, clean the dog shit, vacuum my room, pay off my credit card, cook some food, buy more food, take out the trash, pay my taxes, trim the tree, roll out the trash cans on the street, take my girlfriend out to lunch, buy you a beer, wipe down the table, sweep the floor, brush my teeth, follow the laws, shave my beard, comb my hair, cut my hair, organize the freezer, dry my laundry, fold some clothes, paint the fence, remember to act civilized, rewire that light switch, change that lightbulb, help my mom, water the plants, hit up the homies, tie my shoes, make my bed, change my oil, listen to the presidents speech, believe some lies, vacuum my car, chew with my mouth closed, shampoo the rug, keep myself busy, keep myself blind, clean dishes, dirty dishes, put them away, gotta pay more taxes, don’t forget that online quiz, pay your loans, practice guitar, write some poetry, finish that novel, do this, do that, do try to remember, do try not to forget, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, DO!
I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! To live in the glory of the Sun, the Earth, and the Moon is all I want! To greet a stranger as a brother is all I care for! Where did this come from? Why does my to-do list sound like a goddamn pop-up ad?!
The only place I truly belong is the world I’ve created beyond this one. How can I get there? That film. That murky haze. I need it, I crave it. It is the only way I could find peace. How did I get there in the first place? I drink. I smoke. I drink and I smoke to shroud the hideous stressors of this world, to cover the fake smiles, and to forget the promises of success my mother whispered to me as a child. I can never live up to them.
Forget this cursed to-do list and forget this physical world. I want to live free in my own mind, but the sad truth is that I’m free in a cage I’ve created myself. I’m free in my own cage in a zoo I’ve been born in. No one will see my world; not ever. No one will believe the tales I tell, nor the champions I’ve created. No. The haze, it covers my brain once more and slows me down. Maybe I should write about my world, then maybe people will see. Yeah, that sounds like a good thing to do. I should put it on my to-do list.
Because if I don’t, how else would it get done?
There is something beyond me which I am made for.
What is it you mean?
I mean I am called for something beyond myself.
A calling from God?
No. More than that.
Nothing is beyond God.
I disagree, something must have made God, and something must have made which created that!
The ramblings of the mad. You’ve gone mad.
Have I? Is it mad to disagree with a common belief of others?
I suppose not, but it is mad to believe you are beyond God.
I do not claim to be beyond God. I only believe something beyond Him calls me for something I am unaware of!
There is nothing beyond God.
How do you know?
I just know: I believe, I have faith. How do you know you’re called by something greater than God?
I just know: I believe, I have faith.
But you’re wrong for believing that.
What makes you right?
Be patient, be still young one and listen.
Listen to the voices around you.
Listen to the soft hymns of the angels,
Listen to the angry roars of the devils,
Listen to the confused mutterings of the lost.
Listen to them all, they have stories to tell.
They will tell tales of happiness,
Tales of sorrow,
and tales of tales told unto them.
They will teach you lessons,
teach you tricks,
and warn you of traps along the road.
The road, Oh how it twists and turns!
Appears and vanishes!
Nurtures and destroys!
Oh how your feet ache!
and body break under the fatigue!
Weakness will overtake you,
and still these cursed voices cry!
To help, to help, to help, is all they desire.
The angels, the devils, and the lost,
they all find their place eventually,
and you will too.
Listen to the voices, but act upon your own.
For one day another will need guidance,
and you will call from Home.
Mirrored in the water’s reflection, fireflies dance above the cool surface of Murkberry River. The river moved calm and slow as water insects skate left and right. Their delicate movements create ripples on the water, barely visible to the eye. A chilling shadow stretches across the placid surface of the river as the world around me descended into a state of twilight. The fireflies dim their lights and the water insects scurry into hiding. The shadow brings with it an uncomfortable silence and the world darkens before me.
“Oh Darkness, why must you bring such a presence with you?” asks I.
“What is this presence you speak of child?” replied the shadow.
“Under darkness, evil is present.
Under darkness, sadness is felt.
The darkness brings the shadow and
chases away the beauty of life,” proclaims I.
The shadow laughs and speaks to me, “Darkness is to be feared?”
“I am nothing more than a spirit at rest.
It is man who fears me, not I demanding man to fear me.
I am a spirit who’s come to this river to rest.
I open the doorways to the dream so that man can make life beautiful.
Without me, light would burn the skin of man and blind him.
Man fears me because he cannot understand me.
Man needs to see to believe,
However, he never thinks of seeing beyond his own sight.
He has called me evil and blames all but himself for death and suffering.
Demons are a manifestation of man’s fear,
Just as heroes are a manifestation of man’s courage.
To think that I am a creator of all evil would give me far too much credit!
Yes, I am a bringer of darkness, but not the darkness man fears:
I bring the night so man can rest.
I bring dreams to the minds of slumbering men.
And bring peace to the restless.
So blame me not!
For the birth of your demons.
Blame me not!
For the hatred in your hearts.
Blame me not!
For man’s inability to find peace.
And blame me not!
For your sins.
The darkness you fear lies within the hearts of the ones you call:
mother, brother, sister, father, friend, lover.
The darkness you fear is the fear of the foolish!
Man is a beast growling at his own shadow!
Afraid of what he cannot understand!
Such a sad and pitiful thing!
Leave me to rest young child.
Leave me to rest and take upon rest yourself.
For now that you are aware of the truth of man,
maybe now you can dream of a new age of man.
An age in which mean fears not his shadow.”
A white flower grew at the center of a dark field within the mountains of Y’ldore. Luminescent willow tree branches shone an ominous teal glow in the moonless night. The white flower, though beautiful in nature, stood as a grim omen for all. A sign of a bleak future lay with the meaning of this pale flower.
The wind blows and carries the mournful voices of the shining willows. Hushed cries of warning: Stay away! Turn back! Protect all which is precious to you! Oh such woe expressed with each cry, yet in the breeze, the warnings go unheeded!
A young man, such a fool to be where he is, approaches the flower. What a fool to seek such a cursed thing.
“Run! Turn back!” the willows scream, but, as with many things, reason and warning is lost in the wind.
Drawn as a moth to flame, the child continues his foolish quest, seeing not the flower but the maiden for whom he seeks it for.
Turn away! Turn away!
Turn away! Turn away!
And yet, his hand grips the stem of the flower and pulls from the earth. A rumble in the distance grew as mountains crumbled to dust, the sky shattered as glass, and the oceans of the world began to boil. The world is falling apart around this fool, but despite the catastrophe around him, he still holds the flower! He holds the flower for the one he loves knowing it meant chaos for the world but nothing to her.
What a fool he is.