A section for my attempt at creative writing. Jumping from poetry, to fiction, this section is looking to explore the many possibilities of how to write and present ideas.
Have you ever looked out of a plane’s window? Okay… I’m sure most of you have. But did you appreciate it? How small did you feel? Could you count the square miles of clouds your eyes lay on? And did you ever wonder, “where the hell am I?”
Flying is simply beautiful. I mean, how could it not. You are literally soring a mile above the surface of the Earth, going the fastest speed your body will ever move. And all the while you are aboard this magic skyrocket, you can’t help but find your eyes wandering to the nearest window.
Cramming and angling yourself to get even the slightest sliver of those plastic ovals in your line of sight is all worth it. Because as you gaze into the far and wide, you are reminded just how large our home is. Seeing the clouds that ring around the beginning part of our atmosphere stretch farther than the eye can see, we are left with nothing to say. Sometimes not even because of how grand it is, but simply because we can not process so much area without contrast. Without a point of comparison or something to divide the area into chunks, we are left utterly dumbfounded.
But let’s not jump ahead. These planes don’t start in the air, somehow, they start in the same spot us mere mortals reside. We climb aboard, find our little numbered seats, put our safety strap of fabric on (because that makes a difference), and let the skyrocket do its thing. And as this 175,000-pound hunk of metal accelerates to the air, we all turn our heads to the nearest window. Why? Because it’s really freaking cool.
Eventually propelled into the sky, we all watch together as the cities that some of us spend our entire lives in, or reluctantly drive and get the hell out, come into full view. First with the buildings turning into shapes, and then with the lights turning into an organized light show, we watch as the city comes into full view. And just as we begin to take it all in, it runs away as we travel on our mind-blowing journey.
And so, as our little brains try to understand just what we are seeing, we can’t help but feel okay. Okay because at that moment it is no longer about where we are going, but instead where we are. We are in the clouds. We are above the world. And we are doing this all sitting on our stinking butts.
So next time you fly, look out the window. Think about its significance yet casualness. Think about its power yet fragility. And most of all, think about its impossibility yet reality.
Life is an interesting, unpredictable, puzzling, amazing journey. It is filled with memorable fun times, as well as inescapable hardships. One that gives us moments of clarity, along with moments of endless insanity. Our journey is on a windy road, at an unclear time with no known destination.
This journey is like a roller coaster you didn’t expect to sit down in, but there you, next to all your friends, family, acquaintances, enemies, lovers, exes, everyone. And as this coaster begins you can’t help but look around as they all get ready for the first drop. Some raise their hands. Some hold on, swearing under their breath. And some flat out don’t seem to notice as they daydream into the clouds they ascend towards.
As for me, well I just give my vocal cords a run for their money.
And what perplexes me the most is that no roller coaster is made equal. Descending from the front, I watch as so many people push their faces to the seat ahead of their own. Pushing and shoving the other passengers in their same row, the arrogance of needing the wind to hit their own face first is relentless. Yet only a few look down and realize the only way to the next row means leaving everything behind and leaping before the next loop de loop. And even fewer are willing to try.
And as so many of these people continue to push and shove throughout the ride, with no real progress ever made, the people in the very front continue to smile with ignorance. It’s not their fault. Who would think to turn around when the only direction they are told to look is ahead?
Privilege is odd. Life is odder. Because until the roller coaster is redesigned, and columns become rows, life will never begin equal. But until that day, I challenge you to think and to relax. Because what only a few realize, is that just because you have the clearest view, doesn’t mean it’s the most enjoyable. Sometimes the whiplash, the bouncing, and the extended sense of zero gravity from the back can create a joy that is never talked about, but only felt.
What is love? Well, that’s a bit tricky to answer. Why? Because everyone’s love is different. In each unique way, every person, every relationship, has its own rhythm and way about it. Each person’s love is love… it just may not be anyone else’s.
—-
“Honey, you know I love you.”
“Of course I do”
“This was a tough year”
“Possibly the worst”
“With us? Yes, it was our worst year”
“I think it’ll start getting better soon. I mean it feels better right now”
“It certainly does”
A hard year, the hardest year, but no more. There wasn’t an attempt to leave. There wasn’t an effort to protect oneself. And there was never a door leading out. Because as hard as it got, it was only hard. Hard for them, and it will always stay them because love is trust for them. They trust each other, and that’s why they will never leave. Because as hard as it gets, they trust that the other wants it to be better just as much as they do.
—-
“Today was hard”
“Do you want to talk about it”
“No, not yet. Can you just hold me”
“Of course. Here, lay down”
“Thank you”
“For what?”
“For letting me in your bubble” wrapping fingers together, follows a light kiss on the forehead.
Pain. So much pain in these two. Yet pain is manageable. Before they met, suffering inflicted the looming question. But letting each other in, turned that suffering to pain. They developed a reason to keep walking forward. And their reason was the other. Because as they curl up and pause reality, love protects them. In that moment, with their other, their bubble of love protects them from the dangers of their own minds. For them, love is safety, and they require no more.
—-
“Wow, we did it!”
“Oh my god baby, we really did”
“You know what this calls for?”
“What?!?”
“Shots. A lot of shots. Let’s get everyone over to the Rat tonight!”
“Absolutely, I’ll call John and Larry”
“Okay, I’ll let Jen know. I love you baby”
Are they just young, or is that just how some people are? They did it, together. Not I did it. Or you did it. No, they did it. And how do they celebrate? Exactly how they want to. Extraverts at possibly their finest. They want to party the night away together because when they look at each other they don’t see anything holding them back. They feel invincible with each other, and in many ways they are. They give each other the confidence to do and be whatever they set their minds to. Their love is their invincibility because together they can win the world.
—-
I find all love to be beautiful. Not because I would want every type of love, but instead I see the different forms of love. I see that they are simply different, not better or worse. All different shapes and sizes, I think it is good to remember that there is more out there than the star crossed lovers of Romeo and Juliet.
What is love? Love is whatever you make it.
—-
Now I have one more little blurb of love. This is controversial and I truly don’t know what my stance is on this. I see both sides and I am reluctant to go totally one way or the other. Therefore, feel free to read below and let me know what you think.
“I fucking hate you!”
“No, you don’t. You’re obsessed with me. You can’t get me out of your stupid head.”
“You are the grossest, slimmest piece of shit I have ever fucking met!”
“You egotistical, fuck up. Shut your whore mouth!”
“You gonna make me you fat bitch”
“I am going to fucking kill you”
“Not unless I do first!” with cruel hearts, they slowly get closer to one another as the tension grows. And within minutes, they are to sheets where they go again and again and again.
Control. This love depends on control. More that they depend on control. Especially the control they get from each other. Is this love toxic? Is it not ideal? Yes, of course. Is it wrong? Should it be ended? I don’t know. I don’t know if there is an answer to this love. If they both need this control, and if they both grow satisfaction from this control, then is their love something we should end? They demand control, and their love provides it… it could be as simple as that.
Add something they like to say. “Your life is without worth if not for what you contribute. Oh young one, you shall learn… blah, blah, blah. Elder knows best”. Ugh, what if I don’t want to add?
Well, that’s selfish. You must add.
I must?
Yes because if nobody added then what would we do? What would we do without the farmers producing the food we eat? What would we do without the doctors making sure our bodies function well? What would we do without the janitors cleaning the halls? What would we do without the…
Okay, okay. Well, what if there are other ways to add? What if the things we produce are not the limit of our worth. What if I simply existed and gained worth from helping relationships.
So be a therapist!
Well, I don’t want to be a therapist.
Why not?
I don’t want to just help random people mostly incentivized by money. I want to help the people in my life who are asking for help, not paying for it.
Okay, so what then?
I want to star out of my window.
Um… okay? Well, we can work with that. You can record it, or write about it, or take a picture of it, or talk about it.
Yeah, I could… but I’d rather not.
Why?
I just feel the moment will be ruined because it is impossible to experience when we consciously record. Whether that recording is through writing, thoughts, talking, etc., we are taking the time to pause the present to address it at that moment and explain it… except as we pause for reality, it doesn’t pause for us. Therefore, it continues to move just as it was. And even if we could find a way to record without it being conscious, it just wouldn’t be the same.
You sure it wouldn’t?
Of course it wouldn’t. You are not in my mind, you do not see what I see. You just see what you see and it’s impossible for you to see anything else. My mind’s array of emotions, feelings, thoughts, logic, and experience must be simplified to such a pathetic minimum for me to reduce it to my limited English vocabulary. And then as I use this old as time tool to transfer my thoughts, I have to hold myself back from shaking my head as you attempt to ingest my words. And in this pathetic attempt, you take my words and attempt to integrate them into your expansive, complicated, intelligent, ever-changing mind.
I see.
So what’s the point? Why can’t my experience just be mine to hold onto and then nothing more? Why must I make it something everyone likes, everyone relates to? Because in truth not everyone will understand my experience, just as I will not understand theirs.
Well, it sounds like you could be a motivational speaker… or like a philosopher.
I guess, but that’s just because of what I was talking about then. And it’s already said, so we can’t go back. I can’t just recreate things in a desperate attempt to restate the idea that already flew in and out of my head.
I mean, you don’t have to repeat yourself. It just seems like you have a lot of things in your head that people may want to hear.
Maybe. I don’t know. If they ask, or if I feel like talking, I’ll see if they care. Or maybe they’ll have something to say instead of me. If that’s the case, then it’s my turn to listen. But I guess if I am a “speaker” then I won’t be doing too much listening would I?
Probably not.
Yeah, probably not. Well, I’ll pass on that as well then.
Okay, listen. You need to add something. Anything. You’ve got to contribute. If not for humanity, for just yourself. Everyone wants to just walk around doing as they please, but the bottom line is that those wanders will eventually get hungry, and tired, and cold, and hot, and thirsty, and so on. And if nobody is preparing for that, or at least have the knowledge of how to fix those issues, then there is nothing those people can do. And as free and open their lives will be, they simply will not be able to sustain themselves. Do you get what I mean? We need to keep adding so that we survive. And once we survive, we can consider living.
Hm, that makes sense. But is adding really enhancing our ability to survive? As we add CO2 into the air from fossil fuels, are the rises global temperatures going to increase our chances of survival once the polar caps have melted and the 2.75 billion people living in coastal areas are forced to relocate? As we add to the list of endangered species, are our chances of survival growing with a less diverse amount of animals to be able to continue the circle of life… which we conveniently pulled ourselves out of, yet still consume the benefits? And as we add our fucking waste into our landfills and oceans, do we ever once consider that the production from raw materials, to consumer goods, to leftover junk is a line instead of a circle… and last time I checked, lines have a start, and an end?
Well, not all adding is good.
Hears what I think. We should contribute. It would be unfair and probably impossible to try not to. But why is it segmented? Why is contribution broken up into such isolated, finalized parts? Why must a farmer only make food? Yes, it’s efficient. I get that. By the time we learn to be a doctor, it will take many years until their utility from work has compensated their time learning and training. But we can do it faster. Especially with new ideas and innovations on how to transfer knowledge, we can do it fast. And cut through the crap. How much do engineers really learn as undergraduates that carry into their careers?
I guess I know where you’re going with this… but it just sounds unrealistic. Plus, weren’t you against adding anything?
I’m against “adding” being the only thing of defined worth. I think there is so much we can and do contribute on a daily basis, but it’s not really seen as anything significant. It’s just seen as volunteer work or being a good person. And honestly, most of those activities are just met with stigma and/or skepticism. So they really aren’t as accepted as they first appear. And is my view of the world unrealistic… well, maybe. The thing is we don’t know until we try. And it doesn’t have to be everyone. Just a sample. Think of it as an experiment. A test of what society and structured humanity could be.
Well, that could be your contribution! You could add to science.
Yeah… I’m sure I could.
Alright, halftime is over! That took forever. I swear if Tom doesn’t get his head out of his ass this half I’m gonna lose it. Hey, I’m gonna grab a beer quick, you want one?
Waking from a sleep that is in its own way a lifetime, a boy is flooded with thoughts that equate to when one considers the vastness of the universe. Only when one first realizes they too shall grow old and die. Only when words like ‘sonder’ and ‘rubatosis’ integrate themselves into one’s lived experience.
Emotions bubble up like a packaged deal with these thoughts. Anger, joy, fear, pride, lust, greed, happy, sad, and most of all, confusion. It’s all there in one mouthful, but just as my mother taught me, don’t bite off more than you can chew. Because with these thoughts, these emotions, this moment, can come suffocation: an entrapment with no walls; fear with no threat; a death with no life.
Get a hold of yourself! The boy was young, and with that, his brain was silenced. For a person is a god of themselves without the devil of insecurities weighing on their decisions.
Opening his eyes, for what could be the first time, the boy finds himself lying in a field on his back. Naked, without contemplating shame, the boy takes note of his new sensations. Cold from the dampened grass gently pressed against his back, yet warm from the sun’s rays sprinkling throughout his body. Quiet from the stillness of the land, yet loud as the breeze conducts its symphony through Earth’s vegetation. Colorful with the natural wonders all around him, yet colorless in the brief moments his eyelids refresh the view.
Digging his fingertips through the blades of grass that rest beneath him, he finds the soft, cold soil. The edges of his fingers then begin to follow the greenery as they rise from the ground below. Gently rubbing along these thin plants, he traces their movement as they travel up to the sky.
Now, with both hands pointing at the absolute blue, the boy takes note of its brilliance. Without a cloud in the sky to ground one’s thoughts, he wonders just how far he would float until Earth grew jealous and asked for his return. Like a sailor out to sea, he wondered if he would grow tired of water and search for land, or if the land would become obsolete.
The boy then came to a conclusion that would never bend. An assumption of the world that would be true for him until his end. Earth is his home. He loves his home. Whether that be the moist soil that tops the land, the heavens illuminating the sky, or the never-ending ocean filling the in-betweens, the boy loves it all. Earth, in its many forms, is his to love forever.
Accepting his thought as fact, he feels that it is now time to move, for an assumption begins every path. First pushing with both palms of his hands against the sturdy ground below, he curls his back upward to an upright position. As he moves, his vision changes from the sky above to the land around him. He is delighted. Watching the squirrels chase one another, the birds gossip in song, and the autumn leaves fluttering to the ground in their unique shades, he knows that he is not alone in calling Earth home.
Getting to his feet, the boy begins to walk. Walk to where? Well, that’s easy, he followed the path. Existing for him, and him alone, the boy would have preferred to skip down the yellow brick road his eyes configured.
Why was the boy imagining a road? Well, in short, the boy was only human. Humans are bound to a road they set themselves yet are convinced it is set for all.
Walking the path, he encounters many different shapes and sizes that we call nature. Grinning from ear to ear, the boy feels enwrapped by wonder. A heaven that he hopes has no end. No, a nirvana that he will allowno end. He loves his home, and just as children believe that they can protect their parents, the boy knew he would not let anything hurt his beloved world.
Unfortunately, high expectations are commonly followed by disappointment. With every created heaven, there must lie a hell.
Skipping through the forest, on the path he would never question, whistling along with a nearby robin, the boy skids to a stop. He hears a noise in the distance. Happiness flutters into confusion which subsides to fear to then deflect into anger. Another boom fills the air. The racket is loud and destructive, carried with this sound is death. The boy is sure of it. The noise is infiltrating the harmony and as a third crack jolts his eardrums, the final stage is reached. The boy’s anger becomes an uncontrollable rage.
What is that? It needs to stop!
The boy flounces towards the source of the noise with his fists clenched. Does he notice the path veering with him towards the commotion? Does he recognize that his unbinding direction turned ninety degrees within a flickering second? No, of course he doesn’t.
He had only been speed walking for five minutes until he knew he was close. The cracks and smashes were growing louder. Destruction was unarguable now. The boy was certain that something was meddling with nature. Something was breaking the peace.
Nearing the fight against his unknown foe, his impatience grew yet his intelligence persisted. He wanted the element of surprise on his side. Sooner however than anticipated, a dark figure suddenly comes into his view. He jolts to the side, pressing his back against a tree. Slowing his breath, he feels certain that it didn’t see him.
After a few moments, he hears another explosion of noise from behind him. The boy nearly leaped out right then as he watched an entire tree fall to the left of him. A TREE!?! IT’S KILLING TREES!?!
Self-control now hovers at rock bottom as he risks a glance from behind his hiding place. Wiggling his head so that just his right pupil is exposed, he sees the back of an eight-foot figure. No, ten-foot. Hunched over, the thing was looking down on the ground. Right on top of the boy’s path that now swirled all around where the thing stood, it poked and pried at something on the ground.
IT’S DESECRATING THE TREE!
The boy sizes up his opponent. With large sasquatch-like feet, accompanied by hairy legs, the creature first seems to be some kind of animal. But when continuing to look up its body, the boy notices its square metallic torso. Extending from that torso were two crab-like snappers picking at whatever was on the ground in front of it.
A MONSTER!?! The boy thinks. AN EVIL MONSTER! IT MUST DIE!
The boy did not shutter as he advanced. He was not going to let evil exist in heaven. He did what he knew was best.
The boy kicks down on the monster’s calf, causing its knee to drop to the ground and lose its balance. Not missing his opportunity, the boy extends his arm and pushes as hard as he can against the front of the monster’s metal chest. Forcing the monster down, the boy is about to kick its head in when he froze.
Seeing the monster’s face for the first time, the boy was shocked to find the face of an older man. Maybe around the age of sixty, the face looked as human as they come. One chin, two cheeks, one mouth, two ears, one nose, two eyes, and one forehead. Just the average person with the body of a monster. Funny how looks can be deceiving.
In the boy’s hesitation, the man, no, the monster took action. Extending his its claws, the monster grabs a hold of the boy and throws him. Flailing through the air, the boy lands hard onto his stomach.
Getting the wind knocked out of him, the boy takes a moment and realizes his error. He no longer had the upper hand. Hearing snaps and cracks, the boy sees the monster advancing. Struggling to his feet, he braces for impact.
The monster kicks the boy, sending him back into a tree. Peeling away from the tree, the boy barely avoids another blow as the monster barrels through. Destroying the entire two-hundred years of photosynthesis, the monster takes a moment before continuing to pursue his its prey.
Aching all over, the boy gets back to his feet as he decides between fight or flight. Looking around, the boy knows the decision is made for him. Seeing the upturned dirt and leaves, destroyed trees, and squashed brushes, the boy knew he could never run from such cruelty.
Looking the monster in the eyes, the boy screams as he runs forward. Leaping to his feet, the monster is caught off guard by the boy’s sudden attack and fails to avoid a direct blow to the face.
Dazed, the monster stubbles a step backward. The boy sends another punch, and then another. With his right fist growing sore, he begins to alternate between right and left punches until the monster is down to his its knees.
This time, without hesitation, the boy does what he should have from the beginning. Taking the monster by the head, the boy shifts its chin as far right as it will go and then pulls up. Instantly snapping the neck in half, the monster drops to the ground.
Breathing heavily, the boy looms over his kill for a moment. Oblivious to the black ora of energy steaming off of him, he told himself that it was over. He had won and in this victory, he was not only relieved, but he was also happy. Smiling like the devil himself, his guilty grin could not be concealed even if he cared to try.
Using what strength he had left, the boy reaches down and pulls on the monster’s chest. Surprisingly easy, the boy is able to remove the metal torso from the monster onto himself. He realizes then that the metallic frame was only a form of armor. Once removed, the monster’s bare chest lay vulnerable for the world to see. And that, like its face, was as human as they come. The boy fits the armor and agrees with himself that this will protect him in a future fight.
Time to go back to heaven, the boy thought.
Before he was ready to enjoy the wonders of planet Earth again, curiosity overtook him. Tracing his steps in joyful dance, the boy walked back to where he had first found the monster. Now standing where the monster stood before the boy interfered saved the day, he looked down.
The boy saw thin strips of wood peeled from the broken-down trees. Entwined, the wood bent around itself into a ring. Extending up and out, it seemed to grow branches in obscure angels. Covered in a stickiness that the boy later identified as sap, a sprinkling of a thousand pine needles were gathered throughout. Making a glowing green, the tree on the ground seemed more alive than most of the trees around it. In short, it was art. Beautiful, art.
Looking at this creation, however, the boy saw everything but. Broken limbs, dead trees, nature destroyed. That is what he saw. With rage boiling once again, the boy looked at the evil he was witnessing and apologized to mother Earth for not stopping the massacre sooner.
He promised Earth, his home, his nirvana, that he would not stop until the land of monsters was cleansed. Not until every ounce of evil was rectified. With this purpose came fulfillment. Although he believed he failed today, he knew he would not fail tomorrow.
Stomping the art to pieces, the boy continued forward on his golden path. A swirling, beautiful walkway with no destination other than up ahead.
The boy spent the rest of his life walking the path. Laying waste to all the monsters he came across and collecting their armor and weapons as he went, the boy grew better and better at stopping his evil. Not because he wanted to. No, he dreamed every day of being able to sit back and relax. How great it would, he thought, if only there wasn’t so much evil in the world. You see, he didn’t kill monsters because he wanted to, he killed them because it was the right thing to do.
I would like to begin this story on August 17th, 2149. That day I woke up with one thought on my mind: today is the day. I was in the prime of my life. At 16 years old, it feels like the world is yours for the taking, as long as you are ambitious enough to reach for it. And that is exactly how I felt on Union Day.
Jeffery and I had been perfect together from day one. We both grew at exceptional rates, far above the average height of our peers. He was also gifted with a natural physique that many resented him for. The outline of his prominent muscles seemed to bulge out with every outfit he wore. Complemented with my interpersonal intellect, and lack of genetic illnesses, we seemed to be the perfect match.
My hands couldn’t stop shaking. I just kept thinking over and over again, this is it! Sure, I had been busy all my life adding to my community, which we call Nirvana. Between unclogging Bertha, standing post, or cleaning after meals, there was always something to do. That’s how it was in Nirvana…and always had been. We were told staying busy and maintaining a purpose was the only way to live.
Being a third-generation, I was only told stories of the world before. One with billions of people, yet almost no resources. They said how everyone knew of this issue, I believe it was commonly referred to as climate change, yet little was done about it until it was too late. The leaders were too fixated on the short-term future to see what was coming. I believe it wasn’t until 2042 that major action finally began, but by then everyone started taking matters into their own hands. Citizens revolted and tried to gather anything they could. There was a scarcity of every resource and once the people at the top knew that, the real chaos came. Nuclear strikes were sent all over the world. With countries attempting to maintain what was theirs or what “should” be theirs, nuclear explosions covered the Earth.
Thankfully, a couple hundred friends and families prepared for this day. They invested everything they had into a bomb shelter, years prior to the end. This shelter was stocked with enough resources and sustainable equipment to last 25 years. After that time the radiation had mostly worn off and the Great Winter had restored the Earth to a cooled, sustainable climate. Placing the shelter in a valley, the original founders correctly assumed that the radiation would mostly miss our new home. It only took us a few months after the Great Winter for us to be fully moved out of the underground bunker and into Nirvana. With our water pump, hydroponic-based garden, reusable energy producers, and meat brew, which we like to call Bertha, Nirvana became our new fully functioning outdoor shelter. In short, we got lucky and took action; the rest of the world did not.
Contrary to what you may think, our history was not kept from us. Everyone knew of the old world, we just didn’t care. It happened then, but what is more important than ‘then’… is now. Now, it was Union Day and now is what matters.
I can still remember the rush I felt going to the town square. I remember walking down with Nancy and Jorge. All three of us had been on meal prep duty when the five o’clock bell rang. Yes! This is it! It’s finally happening! Both being picked, Jorge and I were nearly jumping out of excitement. Attempting to hold our joy in for Nancy’s sake, we giggled as we skipped down the path to the town meeting.
In a sympathetic way, I felt for Nancy. It was not her fault she was born with unsuitable dietary restrictions. She could not help it, and sadly neither could anyone else. She was not banished or mistreated in any way because of her genetic limitations but was instead held back from participating in Union Day. She was put on a list of reserves, as were others if dire needs arose. Other than that, she would only limit our existence.
The town center was a marvelous area where everyone in Nirvana would meet to discuss plans or concerns for our people. With such fresh grass and bright green trees, you would find yourself sitting there for hours taking in the world around you. Outside of the center, Nirvana was aligned with twenty wooden buildings on each side of the center in a circular shape. Encircling it, our town had a balanced feel to it. I seemed to never find myself too far from any building, or too isolated from anyone else. The final layer of our town was the wall. A rather primitive tactic, but effective nonetheless. The wall was put up as a precaution. The founders never thought anyone or anything was left alive after the bombs, but to be safe, the wall was built.
I remember breathing in the fresh, summer air when my name was called to step forward. Everyone was there looking at me and the other eleven participants with dancing fire in their eyes. At that moment I felt more important than I would even feel again. I held onto my family’s hands as we braced to hear our matches.
Jack, our leader, was calling out each participant’s name with their assigned match. Jack was a middle-aged man in exemplary physical shape with a constant positive attitude. Always wearing a smile, he really knew how to light up a room, while simultaneously maintaining his position of leadership in a respectable way. He was beloved in our community and I could think of no one better to guide us through any tough or happy times Nirvana will face.
Reading from the list of names, he smiled at us as he said, “Jane and Greg, Julia and Matt, Anna and Will, Shelby and Justin, Ophelia and Jeffery…”
Yes, I knew they would match me with Jeffery. I just knew it! Looking down the line, I met Jeffery’s glittering blue eyes and we shared a smile with one another. We were going to make the greatest child Nirvana has ever known!
Sparing the intimate details, we had quite a night, and let me say it was not as magical as I thought it was going to be. Nonetheless, when the act was done we simply embraced one another and then went back to our duties. It was odd seeing him after. I was told that I may feel gravitation towards him for a few months after, but to not worry for it is simply an instinct that we needed to resist. The doctors explained that this feeling could be satisfied with everyone, instead of just one person. By buying into these primitive instincts, we would ensure a similar end as our ancestors. I found this to all make sense of course, and sure enough within a few weeks I was seeing him as the same old Jeffery I had grown up with.
It was seven weeks later when Nirvana was met by its first visitor. I was half asleep on guard duty when my entire world was flipped upside down. Just like any other Wednesday night, I was given guard duty from 1:00 to 7:00 AM in the north sector. And let me start off by saying, I fucking hate that job. Not only is it exhausting, but it is also soooo unnecessary. Fighting to stay awake, the closest I ever came to seeing anything move was in my half-dazed shameful naps. I would typically spend the entire six hours of hell pleading that anything moved so that I could get up and do something.
About an hour into my shift, when my eyelids were just starting to feel heavy, I noticed something move in the distance. A bush jiggled. I didn’t believe my own senses at that point and proceeded to let my eyelids weigh themselves down. Yet just as I was about to begin my daydreaming of things “actually moving”, the bush jiggled again. Wait. Am I actually seeing that? Did it actually just…The bush juggled again. With no hesitation, I hastily wake my senses. Focusing on where I had seen the movement, I squinted my eyes, leaned in, and locked my sight onto the bush. Then, just as before, the bush jiggled again. How in the world? Even my thoughts were confused. I didn’t feel scared, my emotional self was instead filled with an overpowering sense of curiosity. I knew that I should call in the movement and stand by until help arrived, but what would be the fun in that. As the bush jiggled again, I slowly began to descend from the wall.
Probably out of laziness and disbelief that the wall would ever be needed, it only reached as high as ten feet. With a couple of careful maneuvers of sliding my hands and shoes in between the cracks of the wood, I safely jumped down on the outside of Nirvana. I had never been outside of my home during the night before. In my free time, I would occasionally walk the outside of the perimeter with a few friends, but never at night. Unless on guard duty or some other registered activity, nobody was allowed outside of Nirvana at night. It was commonly understood that it simply wasn’t safe to do because nobody actually knew what lies in the rest of the world.
But honestly, I felt fine. With minimal clouds and a first-quarter half-moon shining bright just above the horizon facing me, I felt as safe as ever. Staying low to the ground, I slithered from shadow to shadow in the cold summer night. Moving from tree to tree, bush to bush, I must have been ten feet from the bush when I heard a faint, “Hello.” I instantly dropped and tried to surround myself with the night’s darkness.
“You don’t have to be afraid”, the voice said. “I was hoping you would come down so that we could talk.”
“Who are you?”
Stepping from the buses, an elderly man with a thick white beard and boney arms emerged with his hands up. He had a small backpack on along with rags for clothing. From the mix of the darkness and his gray clothes, he looked more like a ghost rather than a human. Yet unlike any ghost I had ever imagined, there seemed to be a glow of positivity coming from his eyes. He warmly smiled at me and slowly lowered his hands.
“My name is James Alexander the IV, and I do not want to hurt you.” With a chuckle, he said, “I may not be able to even if I tried.”
I had never seen a man in such bad shape or anyone outside of Nirvana for that matter. He seemed so close to death, yet so positive I found myself at a loss for words. I didn’t even know where to begin with him.
“Where are you from? Why is your name so long? How are you alive? Are you okay? Do you need water?”
Calming down enough to think rationally, I unscrewed my water bottle and handed it to him. Thanking me, he proceeded to drink the water as he prepared to answer my questions.
“I am from Seattle, which was once a huge city before the Apocalypse”
“The Apocalypse?”
“Yes, the day that the nuclear bombs dropped and wiped out the human race.”
“Oh, you mean The Calling?”
“Well… whatever you call it, it was the end. I survived because of my father. Knowing the bombs would come, he had my sister and I moved from the city and genetically altered so that radiation would not harm our bodies. It is because of my family’s wealth and love for their children that I was given another chance on this Earth.”
Even at sixteen years old I knew better than to ask about his sister. I instead tried to make sense of his story.
“So you have been roaming the Earth looking for supplies and people ever since?”
“Correct there wasn’t much left after the bombs, but there was always something for the two of us. It was nice at times, just me and her. For a while, we felt no desire to find anyone else, for we had ourselves and that was enough. But when she passed, I knew I had to keep looking for someone or at least something. And here you are, with your something.”
We smiled at one another. Before I could ask my next question, however, the sirens started blaring. We rarely used the sirens since it was mostly seen as a waste of energy. I could tell James was scared and before I could reassure him, a spotlight was flashed onto us. With no hesitation, he threw his hands in the air and looked to me for help.
Advancing quickly, two men approached us, which I later identified as Joe and Logan. They pinned James to the ground and put his arms in a lock so that he could not escape. I had never seen anyone use such force before. Why were they hurting him? What had he done wrong?
Jack then approached me and asked if I would walk with him. As he took me away from the scene, we talked about what had happened… Well, it was more like he asked and I answered. I told him everything and then proceeded to ask where James was being taken. Ignoring my question, he took me back to my home and reassured me that James would be fine, that they were just taking precautionary steps.
Regardless of his promise, I could not sleep. Sleeping requires one to feel relaxed and safe, and I felt neither of those things. Something wasn’t right, that much I knew. I couldn’t just lay there, I knew I had to do something. Slipping out of my bed, and into the night, I went to find James.
It was not hard to find where they put him since he would be the only source of commotion this late at night. I followed the trail of voices and light until I found where they had taken him. It was just off of the town center, near the gardens. They had him tied up in one of the greenhouses. Creeping close to the building, I was able to get a glimpse of Jack as he paced back and forth in front of James. He seemed confused, but most of all he seemed worried.
“You will ruin us”, Jack said. “This place is far too fragile for your ideas…the old ideas.”
“The old ideas? Are you mad? What do you believe is so different about your new world? What could you possibly be kidding yourself about? Humans will do what humans do, it is in our DNA.”
“But it doesn’t have to be. We can grow, we can change. We have to change and therefore we will.”
“Change to what? To creatures that do not question? Animals that accept what they have instead of creating more?”
Jack stared at him a little while before saying, “Your kind…”
“My kind?”
“Yes, you’re kind. You never saw the bigger picture and therefore destroyed everything we had.”
“We had nothing. To destroy something assumes there was something, to begin with. At least then we were ambitious. We fought to live, not survive. And human beings will live before they survive, that much will never change.”
“Well… Not anymore!” With that, Jack stomped out of the greenhouse in a fury.
I didn’t know what they were talking about, but I knew I wanted to know more. Slipping into the greenhouse, as quiet as a cat, I closed the door and crawled over to James. Just as I was about to sit next to him, a rush in my stomach fell over me. Thankfully for James, I emptied my last three meals onto the floor towards the door. The vomit was so unexpected and violent that it took me a few moments to gather myself. Once stable, I sat down giving James an apologetic smile.
“Well that was quite the entrance,” said James.
“I was told this may happen with pregnancy, but I didn’t expect it to start now”
“You’re pregnant?”
“Yes,” I said. “I was selected for Union Day seven weeks ago.”
“What is Union Day?”
“It is our society’s semi-annual celebration of birth. I was honored to be selected and have my genes continued through intercourse with another participant.”
“You have a sex holiday?”
“I suppose you can call it that, but it is more about the continuation of our genes and species.”
James looked confused “But isn’t it more than that? Who is the father?”
“Father?”
“Yes, the father of your child.”
“We do not specify fathers and mothers by whose genes we were gifted. Instead, everyone is brother and sister. We are all family here.”
“Hm, I suppose that is nice, but what about the person you created the child with? What is he to you? Do you have no personal feelings for him or even the ones who created you?”
“I did, but now I don’t. These primitive instincts only lead to the destructive and unproductivity of humanity. Therefore, we do not let those thoughts consume us.”
James looked annoyed. I believe in a way he knew there was nothing he could say that would make me think otherwise that night. He understood the arrogance of humanity and if he was going to make me understand it would not be about the battle, but instead the war.
He said, “What do you care about most?”
“Nirvana,” I said. “It is my home and the people here are my family.”
“And why do you care about your family? What is it that makes your family and home worth loving?”
And that is where my brain stopped. I did not know. I did not know why I loved my family and my home. I did not know why I cared to keep them safe or why I cared to keep them fed. I could not even tell why I cared to continue their existence or why I wanted to maintain our legacy and produce a new baby for the world. I just knew that I wanted to.
“Because you have to,” he said. “Because surviving means living. If we are to survive in this world we must also live in it. We must give purpose to the things we do not understand and strive to fulfill them regardless if we can. You speak of primitive thought as if you have conquered it, but instead you have fallen subject to it. Just as I and everyone have. To be human means to live a lie. And that is why the human race must end. We are not going to change and unless we are stopped we will continue to hurt everything around us! We are the pain and suffering that we work so hard to end! We are the monsters…”
With his last words, I felt a rush, a pain as if I had been punched in the face. What he said was wrong, it must be. He was twisting my thoughts and laughing at my struggle. He was a madman and he was going to infect my home unless he was stopped.
The rest is a blur. Looking back at it I suppose my anger was a way to hide from my fears. To resist his sanity and replace it as an attack on me. I yelled for Jack and told him of the infectious thoughts James was going to spread. How he planned to end Nirvana.
Then to my disbelief, Jack walked up to James and did what I partially did not think was possible. He bent down, grabbed James by the head and chin, and snapped his neck into two.
I was at a loss. I had never seen anyone die, and I never thought I would have to. I was simply empty. Not angry or sad, I suppose confused, but most of all empty. I couldn’t even process my first question… my first thought. Eventually, a few others came and helped Jack move James’s body. Feeling death in my gut, I followed them to the wall. When opening the gate, I was held back from following and couldn’t even process the idea to resist. As I watched James’s lifeless body drift away in the night, I just stood there wondering if this was all real.
Later that night Jack and one of our doctors talked to me. All I remember of our talk was that it had to be done for the improvement of Nirvana. After making sure I was physically okay, I was scheduled to meet with a therapist every day until she felt that I was fully functioning. I showed the doctors, and all of Nirvana for that matter, what they wanted to see, a young bright person ready to support her home and family in any way possible.
A few months later I had a miscarriage and was never allowed to participate in Union Day again. Their reasoning was that my stress levels were too high, which created a risk for any offspring I could produce. I cared about the loss of my child, but that care was numbed. Numbness seemed to be my only feeling from that long night with James.
Years went by and I maintained my work. I did my duties and whatever else I could for my family. That never changed, but part of me felt it should. I didn’t know if what James said was right, but what I did know was that it could be. He could be right or Nirvana could be right. We could be a ruthless cycle of death and destruction, or we could be an experiment that needs to keep altering the ingredients until we get it right. I didn’t know the answer, and I suppose nobody else does either. We all have our assumptions and from there we all build our knowledge.
I write this story so that my experience does not die with me. I don’t know if it will serve as justice or chaos. But what I do know is that it happened. I think we should not look to change what has happened just because it does not agree with what we wanted to happen. Humanity destroyed itself along with most of the planet once. It may do it again because it has to, but we won’t know if it will – until it does. I suppose all I can recommend is that we hold onto what we value until that day and hope it never comes, but know that it very well may be inevitable.
Life may not be as absolute as we assume it to be, but regardless we feel it. What I do know is that whether it is true or not, that joy I felt on August 17th was like no other. The rationale behind that feeling might have been false, but the feeling itself was pure. And I would give anything to feel that purity one last time. One last moment in the sun, holding hands with my brothers and sisters, waiting for Union Day to begin.
Do you notice it?
Do you notice it?
Do you notice the wind moving between your fingers?
Do you notice the sun shining its heat, its warmth, its soul into you?
I can tell you that I do.
I can hear the birds chirping their clique songs.
I can see the beavers playing as they build their eloquent wood homes.
I can feel the water moving as I do.
I can even smell the sap of a nearby maple tree.
How pretty.
The nature we have painted for ourselves.
The illusion we create for this holy land.
Do you notice it? Do you notice all of it?
Do you still hear the birds when the airplanes soar by roaring their engines from above?
Do you still see wood on that lovely beaver home or is the mix of washed-up plastic too much?
Do you still feel the chilled lake water as you notice a rainbow ring dancing around your hand?
Do you still smell the sap or is it replaced with the smoked ham on your whole wheat bread?
I ask if you notice it.
I know you know of it.
I know you hear about it, and I know you read about it.
But I still wonder if you notice it.
Crazy
What does it mean to be crazy? I see things that aren’t real, but am I crazy? I hear voices that don’t exist, but am I crazy? I have lost control of my whole body and sprawled out on the bedroom floor Stop. Too much detail, or maybe too little? Should I tell them the size of the blade as well? Or is that too expected? A crazy with a knife Almost comical, I could laugh, I should laugh One who kills and enjoys it You read that every day
What if the real crazy is not in the shadow, but in the light?
Someone who is doing everything right A bright future they say They say This because of what they see, what they are allowed to see High GPA Athlete Volunteer That I say, is the real danger Because what you see is only part of what could be
With one hand sliding on the wooden railing, I continue on my journey through the Binghamton University Nature Preserve. When I initially walk into this foreign land, I am met with an alienated feeling. As if I am visiting a new world that somehow lives a mere few minutes away. One with beautiful tall trees that score high above my initial field of view. Which continues into a dirt path leading to a gorgeous pond (or lake, according to anyone from the city). I begin to see a glimpse of this pond through the many cracks in between the leaves and bushes. Step by step the pond begins to emerge, along with a bridge that allows the journey to continue. When stepping on this wooden structure, I can’t help but run my hands across the railing as I walk. Finally, as I walk out, the entire pond and the dozens of pines and oaks that hug its edge come into clear sight. Typically at this time, I begin to see the ducks rolling on one another. Squawking and playing, they always seem to miss the occasional beaver that discreetly swims over to its damn. Eventually, I near the halfway point of the bridge, which is a place to stand and observe, typically I sit.
I can’t understand why all the city kids insist on calling this body of water a lake. I mean, come on. A lake is expansive. It has cliffs you can jump from, room to ski on, and mountains to complement it. This is no lake, but instead a beautiful pond. One with the look of glass, except for the far away ripple of an airborne blue jay.
Already forgetting my thought, I take a second to observe the blue jay as it glides above the water. My eyes become fixated on its elegance. I see the effortless posture the creature maintains as it scans the pond looking for a snack. With its bright blue back and smooth white stomach, I begin to consider just how long it takes to develop such features. I wonder how long the gooey brown fluff ball that cracks out of an egg takes to transition into this independent flying animal. It would be a simple Google, but who would I be to resort to such an effective tool.
Ha, I suppose there is something fun about not knowing, even when knowing is just a few clicks away. But what is knowing? Do we really know what we know? Ugh, what a seemingly endless train of thought. One that tortures me more than it enlightens. It would probably be best if I just move on. Move on. Yeah, I should do that. How long have I been on this bridge? I suppose it doesn’t matter. Go to the right or the left? Well, I suppose that doesn’t matter too much either. Left it is.
As I come to the end of the bridge, I notice something in the bushes. I stop in my tracks and squat down in hopeful curiosity. You never know what you will find in the preserve. Like a child on Christmas morning, I peer inside the bush to see what gift was in store for me. To my disappointment, I find that it is just a piece of paper. Carly Davis. Carly Davis got a six out of ten on her unit two chemistry quiz. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been that ashamed. I mean it could have been a five or a four, and even so, neither of those would justify littering.
It was typical for little things like that to spiral into an entrapping thought loop of memory and reflection. A moment where simple observations become a connection to the world in the most twisted ways.
Paper. What about the doctor’s paper? A simple paper, single-sided, Times New Roman, double-spaced, and equipped with just the right-sized headers. Every six months I faced this paper. And every six months I faced the same issue. I was “forced”, more forced by myself than anyone else, to lie my way through the semi-annual depression screening.
The questions would always begin harmlessly. Have you had a poor appetite? Do you feel tired? Simple questions, but the simple answers are not what they are after. As clear as an inverse relation graph can show, with each question growing in significance, my confidence got smaller and smaller. The time between each question grew longer and longer. Questions like, have you been feeling hopeless about the future? and Have you been feeling blue became a tricky question to maneuver through.
This trend continued until I was stuck. I was stuck debating whether to answer how I feel or how I “should” feel. What I actually think or what I am told to think. I usually solved this issue by turning to my mother. She told me what I should think. She was good at that, always has been. She told me the excuses I needed to hear to feel normal. With her help, I was able to maneuver and lie through the questions successfully for years.
Years went by and paper after paper I was faced with the same questions over and over again. Each time I read them they got worse. Severity grew from 4 to 5, which later grew to 6 and then to 7. Questions that I could once confidently check off became questionable. Questions that were questionable now became impossible. Impossible until the normal was gone. Until the moment I accepted that I may just be abnormal after all.
On that day I looked at that paper and I answered it. I answered it all. It felt good to tell the truth. I didn’t totally know why, but I just felt satisfied. I was honest. And in my state of honesty, I felt true. True with the test, but more importantly, true to myself.
Not an hour after leaving the office I received a call from the very nurse who gave me my semi-annual paper. I heard concern in her voice. Over the phone, she asked if I knew what I had written, how I had answered and what it meant. I said of course I do. She asked if I was getting help. And I said of course I was. She said okay, have a nice day, and hung up.
That was it. Years of fear from telling the truth, from really saying how I felt, for that. For a two-minute phone call. It is amazing how extreme our imagination can inflate these situations. I mean come on, I was expecting something. No screaming or crying on the phone in protest of my answers? Not even a call to my parents informing them of my possible condition. Nothing.
Ugh, I hate that. Fading back into reality, I begin to wonder where I am. Ah yes, the preserve. I guess I took a right after all, and I once again, I am gazing at the lovely “lake.” I take a seat since standing requires too much focus. Taking a moment to settle into my new nest, I notice two squirrels playing what seemed like tag. Like ninjas on a mission, they leap from tree to tree, chasing one another. How cute, I think to myself. Connection is simply beautiful when done right. If done in love, and not need, but maybe the two are not so far apart.
Like a trap, I, once again, become wrapped in thought. I become engulfed in a memory and experience it like it was now and not then. The pond fades and I begin to reimagine last year’s New Years party, the time I knew what connection truly was.
There I was, at the annual New Years party I was desperately waiting for all year. As soon as I stepped inside the mansion-like house, a feeling took me over. With the music blasting and lights flashing, a sense of fun mania took me over. I was going to have a great night.
With dozens of people from all around the area, I was astonished by how many of them I had never met and would probably never meet again. With everyone in such a good mood, it was impossible to not feel the same way. Whether people were playing drinking games, busting a move on the dance floor, or lounging on the couch talking about god knows what, it seemed there was something to do for everyone.
The party was sensational, but as usual, it was only short term. A feeling that seems to never fully go away began to resurface. I have grown accustomed to this feeling, hence why it only took my subconscious to know what to do next. Like a snake slithering away silently, I withdrew from the scene and stepped outside as everyone continued to have the time of their lives.
As I stood there, with the cold winter breeze chilling my skin, a feeling of peace fell over me. I knew that I would just need ten minutes of this bliss before the night would be mine once again. As I stood in the cold winter night, I noticed a man around my age sitting with his legs hanging from the edge of the porch. As he looked down at his feet, which he swayed back and forth much as a child does on a swing, I recognized our similar situations. We both seemed to desire contentedness in so much fun.
I then proceeded to sit next to him. At first, we both said nothing. Listening to the distant noises of the party just one door away and looking over the glass-like lake, the need for words was not yet present.
After a few minutes, I began our conversation with a simple hello. We looked at each other and smiled. As we talked there was no secret to why we had ventured off to such an isolated spot. We spoke of depression, anxiety, and most of all, we spoke of suicide. There was no judgment and there was no stigma. We simply spoke our thoughts, and nothing was there to stop us.
The loveliest part of this conversation was that both of us were isolated, as we desired to be, but we were also not alone. It is rare when we simultaneously experience both solitude and the comfort of another person. We stayed in this unusual sense of bliss for what seemed like hours.
Eventually, some of the partiers ventured outside to find their lost friend. As they found us sitting on the porch, and I watched a look of confusion fall over their faces. If they were not questioning why their friend was sitting out in the cold, they certainly must have been questioning why he was doing so with a stranger. I then watched as my newfound friend bounded up from the porch with light in his eyes. I don’t believe it was entirely fake, yet I do believe his joy was a bit exaggerated in order to silence their questioning thoughts.
As they bounded away, back into the party, I was alone once again. Surprisingly, I felt better. I felt fuller. Normally it took a bit longer to get back to the level of happiness, but for some reason, my tank seemed to be refilled. Therefore my next decision was simple, it was time to slither back in the exotic New Years’ atmosphere.
Maybe from the distant call of a blue jay or the squirrels continuing their fun, I began to come back to reality. As I come back to, a thought hits me. This time I do not feel that it takes me over, but instead, I take it over. I analyze it, I record it and I use it.
I realize that the real beauty of the preserve is not the limitless treetops. Nor is it the hand attracting brown railing. It is not the blue pond and it is definitely not the nonexistent lake. I would not even say it is the blue jay, or the dozens of other animals running around. The beautiful part of the preserve, the truly beautiful part is freedom. The freedom to think, but not be required to.
This freedom lets our minds wander like an explorer in the pursuit of self-discovery. In this pursuit, there is no direction. Left is as useful as right. Our wandering minds explore the deep subconscious, along with the vast number of stray thoughts and ideas we have but many times forget. In this freedom, our minds can discover who we are, and not who we should be. There is no right or wrong in this pursuit, there is simply moving or staying still.
As I rise to begin my way home, I contently absorb this feeling. I look at the world from a new perspective, from what I believe to be a blue jay’s perspective. A blue jay on Earth would be quite curious. It would want to learn more because of how fascinating each and everything aspect of life would be. Seeing the land and water from far above or down low, the different perspectives would seem limitless. It would have the ability to see the world in such a way that no beaver, no squirrel, or any mammal for that matter has ever done before. It would have this choice, yet also have the luxury of flying low and seeing just how the other animals do. The blue jay would not be bound by any limits other than the ones it gave itself.
I believe the best part is that the blue jay does not know where it is going, but yet it knows it is going somewhere. And somewhere is exactly where I go in the Preserve. Somewhere in my mind that I can freely explore the vast savanna that we call consciousness. The true beauty of the Preserve is not the Preserve at all, but instead where our minds wander once in there.
Why? Such a question is expected to have an answer. But what if there is none. Or what if the answer to why is just somebody else’s why? So, let’s begin:
Path. That’s how most journeys begin. Walk the path! It’s my path! And I’ll be damned if you think I’ll leave my path for yours!
And isn’t that the truth. We don’t really care about anyone else unless they attempt to stop or change our path. Sometimes for good, and sometimes for bad. But either way, our path, MY PATH, is all that matters.
Simple. The path is just a line. A bennnding line. 3.1415926535979… did I miss an eight? Around and around it begins as we grow comfortable with the illusion of comfort.
Suffer. Why do we suffer? Well, walking gets tiring. And if not for the endless walking itself, then the minor bumps and detours that grow cumbersome (cumbersome, sounds fun). As I said, I won’t leave my path because it’s mine. Therefore, the discomfort grows and we begin to suffer. But we learn through suffering. We give the suffering a name and call it pain.
Pain. Pain is suffering with a reason. Pain is tolerable. Pain is even beneficial occasionally. So compared to suffering, we love pain. And with this pain comes rage.
Rage. The power that lets us resist the pain we no longer want. Rage allows us to focus on the pain and consider how we could end it. And as we fume from this pain a surge to fight emerges. Because humans are just like that.
Fight. Fight with rage and the pain will end. That is our formula and that has always worked or died trying. Except… this is 2019. We no longer fight with fists… well, mostly that is. Rage is fought through words.
Words. Extending the thoughts of one into many, we use rage and make power.
Power! The end. Exert your power. Use your power. And stop your pain!!
:).
Fear. As we anticipate our next wave of pain, we grow scared. Pain can grow and change, therefore I must as well. I didn’t fight this hard to take the next step down my path, for the following one to be just as difficult.
Certain. I grow certain that my path shall be walked with ease for now on. That nothing will bump me without being bumped first. How do I know? Because I have power. From my fight. Fueled by my rage. Reminded by my pain. Created from MY suffering.
I. So I will use my power. I shall suppress all that is not like me. I shall stigmatize all that I do not understand. I shall hate all who offend me. I shall end all that is without me.
And that’s their fault.
And as all of the “other” gather they will be left with one question… why?
Sometimes we are drawn to the simple things in life. Blowing bubbles as the cold fall weather takes the circular balls of soap for a ride. Watching just one blade of grass push against its brothers as that same breeze orchestrates its movements. Or swinging softly as you look to the sky above in your cozy hammock.
Simple is easy. Simple is nice. Simple is simple.
Simple is when you watch a daddy-long-legs crawl along your jeans looking for the right way to go. And as it struggles, you allow it time and go back to playing with bubbles. Simple is reading because life is easier when it is already written for you. Simple is matching your socks… and simple is also unmatching your socks. Simple is brushing your teeth in the morning, even when you’re in a rush. Simple is when they say that they love you and you love them right back.
Occasionally, I like to remind myself how simple life can be. And how beautiful that simplicity can feel. How liberating life is when you see the efficiency of inefficiency.
With far commutes come daily drives to give your brain a moment to be. With no hot water comes the reminder that cold showers are good for your health as well. With every line you wait in, it is the opportunity to find the name card of the person working that morning. And every meeting that talks about everything unimportant is a chance for you to improve your doodling skills.
The efficiency of life is not contingent on the speed of your car. The wasted moments are not added up from the minutes your waiting in life. And the thing that makes life beautiful is not how many things you see, but how much you see.
It doesn’t take a plane ticket to find luxury. Distance cannot measure the beauty of somewhere. Put simply, nirvana is all around us, it’s just whether we can take a minute to simply notice it.
