He looked outside. Nothing… He squinted and felt trapped. The river was still there, flowing freely. But where were they? No boats, no whales, no dragons. They weren’t coming after all, were they? He squinted again and thought he saw a… No, nothing. The people here mustn’t know he was expecting them. Then the horn sounded. Alarm, alarm. He rushed back to the window, but… “Ronnie, what’s going on?” He shook his head. “Come on. It’s time. Let’s get you bathed.” He knew one day they’d come and rescue him. “And don’t forget to take your pills,” said the nurse.
Sparkling or Still?
“Sparkling or still?” The waiter asked, his face cocked expectantly to one side.
“Tap!” I responded bluntly, and his upper lip curled into a semi-snarl.
Yes, I’m one of those annoying people who balk at the thought of paying for ridiculously overpriced bottled water in posh restaurants.
It’s bad enough being charged for the dry and tasteless bread rolls that they slip onto your table without invitation, but it just adds insult to injury when you’re expected to pay for water too.
“One tap water”, he snarled.
“Oh, with ice, please – I assume that’s made from tap water too?”
At first, there is the terror – the screaming and crying; the frenzied fighting. The heart pounds, arms and legs flail, the body twists and turns maniacally as the pain courses through.
Time passes; your struggles begin to cease, breathing becomes heavy and laboured. Then comes sobbing, the weeping, the whimpering.
Soon, exhausted, broken and beaten, both physically and emotionally, you cross the boundary between hope and despair. The will to live that has driven you so far, now fails and fades.
Succumbing to the inevitable: There is nothing, save the occasional involuntary twitch.
Until, at last, all is finally still.
Cluster Fuck III
As music dies down, all that is left is the rustle of paper and fabric. Then just a still. On the stage is a lone mic, a singular silver thread in a mass of mat black flats and curtains. Greg slowly walks across the stage dozens upon dozens of eye tracking him. In the row ahead and to the left sits the woman who was the departed woman’s best friend. I know because she has said as much the whole week. Greg tracks the room and takes hold of the mic stand like a man born to the touch.
Billbert held his breath when the federal agents approached Linoliamanda. “Okay, young lady. Tell us what you know about this boy’s super powers.”
Linoliamanda stood there, as still and silent as a winter night after snow fall.
Mr. Withybottom put his hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Linny. Tell them what you told me.”
She glared at her father, fire burning in her eyes. She pressed her lips still tighter together and shook her head.
The federal agent folded his arms. “Your dad knows something and we don’t have all night. Do we need to take you downtown for interrogation?”
Meditation is the art of doing nothing constructively. Our conscious mind steers our lives, for the most part, from infancy to old age. There is an incredible benefit to be had in training oneself to release control of our thoughts by the conscious mind, and allow the subconscious to take the wheel.
Once the mind is truly motionless you may be surprised, or enlightened, by that which fills the void … or skitters along a distant but visible horizon.
Observe and contemplate.
Observe is a powerful verb!
It can be all encompassing!
Observation done properly, well contemplated, can be / should be life-changing!
It’s been twenty-six years since you died. Twenty-seven?
Our baby, the one you were going to tell me about, would be about that old.
A boy? A girl?
I didn’t ask.
But they’d be on their own by now.
Graduated college, maybe finishing medical school.
Or some time in the military, maybe make a career of it.
Like you did.
Would they earn honors and medals, raise kids of their own, or earn an early grave?
Like you did.
It’s easy to live in the past and the never-was.
And be just as dead in the now as you are.