Hello all, you've likely already recived an e-mail about this but I'm just commenting, I am really looking forward to creating this coat, with patching of cloth from everyone I know am close too being encorprated into it I will have a tangable symbol of both my travels and all of the people who are a part of my world and life that travels with me at all times, thus I really shall, in true Gypsie fashion, carry my home with me on my back. If I've somehow missed sending a message to any of the reading of this blog I beg your pardon and it was an oversight born purely of the volume of e-mail I've been sending out. Everyone here is meant and desired to be inluced which is another reason for this post. Also those tailor minded amoung you might get in contatct with me if you have the time, it's been a long while since I did anyting with needles and thread and I would like to have some compatriats to compare notes with and figure out what to do with the creation of this new artifact *grins*
all the best,
Sol
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Friday, October 28, 2005
This really happend...
but make of it what you will
today I woke up entombed, I woke up entombed after a vivid dream of many things which melted into the depths of my mind while I was wondering why there was a wall sealing me into where I slept and no familiar shelf above my bed. I finally realized that I was sleeping upside down and that I'd done it on purpose the night before(after coming home from hanging out with Riley and my mother) but .... it gave me quite a shock
it reminded me how deeply I fear waking trapped, not just caged tho I always use that word, as defense I believe, people go in cages, cages have bars, and food and air
my people, we go in tombs, we are buried alive and hoped to be forgotten. We are buried alive and left to wither away from the world. And I woke up with the cold calm of a panic and terror that has given up it's 'fish out of water' failings. It didn't last long tho I did have a moment of 'patting' along the wall trying to find a way it wasn't real before I understood what was up. it didn't last long but it exposed so much to me... a black well of fear that wasn't open to honest inspection before. the bonus side was/is that I may dissipate it now, my divest myself of some of the horror. But it's so much more than that, it exposes so much more. "my people" that no verbal feeling of profound difference, and profound difference by the judgment of the ones who would be different than myself. not set above by my own hand but cast out by theirs, how am I to respond? where does this deep seeded primordial steeped memory come from? was this the reasons we took to living away from light, in caves, once cast out we took on the mantel of everything which cause that same horror and dread in those who cast us out as they had instill in us as they interred the first swath of our blood within the earthen walls.
is this what transpired? is that the source of our blood lust? this feeling of life slipping away, stolen away, makes us hunger for more, desire more, and as it was 'stolen' once makes us willing to thirst for more in a predatory manner. when death is an omni present reminder all mammals will have sex more and more passionately if you will allow the term, is this then the birth of our passion that we know what judgment was rendered and we all feel we live our moments on borrowed time. I am shaken (not stirred) to my foundations as a kraft of well water is shaken all the way down by a falling stone. Dislodged, torrential, ultimately settling once more with no harm done, but things not quite the same. what time of year this is i'm sure influences this, as does spending so much time with R “vamp” Brown and Ash Black yet still this is that does not seem to be all saying that's the 'source' tastes metallic and dead on my tongue like blood gone bad and i'd more willingly say that the way you're dreams have touched me caused this than any environmental factors i'd think of.. yet this still feels as mine, something that was even if it was unseen until this conflux of events, people, places, and that's what the crux is, it feels revealed by those outside influences, reveal is in no way created. I exhale my breath as if to reaffirm that I am what I am and alive is a part of that. what little wonder is there in the aspect of willing death over consignment when that restraint always seen is the tomb better a true pure death, a clean death and that.
an outlaw never goes quietly. i realized a little while ago that if i believed i would be able to worm my way out of there even if it took a while I wouldn't mind so much being bound... but this, this is the true gall, the clawing in my gut that makes terror turn to bloodsprayed rage and abandon.
so, wakey wakey vamp, it's time to remember who you are, there are profound truths you've been playing at not seeing for far to long, and you just aren't meant or thankfully able to keep lying to yourself about them anymore... now it's only a pity your night visions so wavery just now and those shapes still remain a bit unclear..
today I woke up entombed, I woke up entombed after a vivid dream of many things which melted into the depths of my mind while I was wondering why there was a wall sealing me into where I slept and no familiar shelf above my bed. I finally realized that I was sleeping upside down and that I'd done it on purpose the night before(after coming home from hanging out with Riley and my mother) but .... it gave me quite a shock
it reminded me how deeply I fear waking trapped, not just caged tho I always use that word, as defense I believe, people go in cages, cages have bars, and food and air
my people, we go in tombs, we are buried alive and hoped to be forgotten. We are buried alive and left to wither away from the world. And I woke up with the cold calm of a panic and terror that has given up it's 'fish out of water' failings. It didn't last long tho I did have a moment of 'patting' along the wall trying to find a way it wasn't real before I understood what was up. it didn't last long but it exposed so much to me... a black well of fear that wasn't open to honest inspection before. the bonus side was/is that I may dissipate it now, my divest myself of some of the horror. But it's so much more than that, it exposes so much more. "my people" that no verbal feeling of profound difference, and profound difference by the judgment of the ones who would be different than myself. not set above by my own hand but cast out by theirs, how am I to respond? where does this deep seeded primordial steeped memory come from? was this the reasons we took to living away from light, in caves, once cast out we took on the mantel of everything which cause that same horror and dread in those who cast us out as they had instill in us as they interred the first swath of our blood within the earthen walls.
is this what transpired? is that the source of our blood lust? this feeling of life slipping away, stolen away, makes us hunger for more, desire more, and as it was 'stolen' once makes us willing to thirst for more in a predatory manner. when death is an omni present reminder all mammals will have sex more and more passionately if you will allow the term, is this then the birth of our passion that we know what judgment was rendered and we all feel we live our moments on borrowed time. I am shaken (not stirred) to my foundations as a kraft of well water is shaken all the way down by a falling stone. Dislodged, torrential, ultimately settling once more with no harm done, but things not quite the same. what time of year this is i'm sure influences this, as does spending so much time with R “vamp” Brown and Ash Black yet still this is that does not seem to be all saying that's the 'source' tastes metallic and dead on my tongue like blood gone bad and i'd more willingly say that the way you're dreams have touched me caused this than any environmental factors i'd think of.. yet this still feels as mine, something that was even if it was unseen until this conflux of events, people, places, and that's what the crux is, it feels revealed by those outside influences, reveal is in no way created. I exhale my breath as if to reaffirm that I am what I am and alive is a part of that. what little wonder is there in the aspect of willing death over consignment when that restraint always seen is the tomb better a true pure death, a clean death and that.
an outlaw never goes quietly. i realized a little while ago that if i believed i would be able to worm my way out of there even if it took a while I wouldn't mind so much being bound... but this, this is the true gall, the clawing in my gut that makes terror turn to bloodsprayed rage and abandon.
so, wakey wakey vamp, it's time to remember who you are, there are profound truths you've been playing at not seeing for far to long, and you just aren't meant or thankfully able to keep lying to yourself about them anymore... now it's only a pity your night visions so wavery just now and those shapes still remain a bit unclear..
Monday, October 24, 2005
out of the dusts...
hey folks this is something I meant to post and never did... at least from what I've seen I never did *grins* so if I have and missed it let me know *grins* don't want to get redundent, but in any event here it is.
all the best,
Sol
have you heard Sage Francis "personal journal" for some reason i have that impulse with you right now, maybe it's a hands tied thing, perhaps i feel that if i share my own inner works with you something will shead a light on confusions otherwise un-resolved. my families scars run deep and I've no way of knowing how much you know this. you are clearly well known and truly loved by my brother and sister [sister1 and brother1] and quite well liked and enjoyed by my other brother and sister [i simply have the impression that brother2 and sister2 don't know you as well]. i know you're important for and too them so you must know something. but let me tell you (ha, "let" as if I'm somehow gaining your permission by saying that when here in text there is no mind but mine to guide these keys turned letters turned words turned sentences... gods sometimes it feels like a sentence) the story of our lives... the brief dark version, the story no one really hears.. not really. the story of our scars, and of how our parents indiscretions have hurt even the intimacy of we siblings... of my siblings who are the dearest things in this world to me... (well isn't that ironic, now *I'm* crying). It all started long before most of us were born, only sister1 brother1 and I were drawing in this lifes sweet air by then, and we weren't to know the truth still till years later when it all came apart. The short version is that my parents used to practice unorthodox relationship methods and that my mothers emotions have always been more exposed than my fathers. I'll tell you the whole story on our walk if you'd like, text takes more time than I wish too and there's almost something crude about it... almost as if I'm making it more perment by writing these things down.. the unorthodox isn't the problem, at least not of it's self and very much not for me I'm quite unorthodox myself especially when it comes to romance and relationships (hell I'd rather suffer and watch the end of a relationship have my heart served too me on a platter than to lie to a loved one... but that's another story and totally mine and not what this is about). The problem came when my mothers sense of neglect and my fathers sense of burden flared and clashed. In the midst of the oh so chaotic and torrid affair that followed (and I don't mean the sexual one that everyone so wrongly supposed was the key to it all) there were wounds left across the trust and love of this family, of my dear brothers and sisters that I don't know if we'll ever fully recover from. BOTH our parents forgot us entirely to be wrapped in their own personal drama and power struggle. I still remember watching as sister1 brother2 and sister2 all tried to talk to each other in over loud voices to drown out the screaming and the fighting that was happening below. Watched it like a knife in my intestines until I couldn't stand it any longer and in a despret despairing rage went down stairs and screamed at both my parents until they shut up and both left the house (my mother to her ... now brother1's, room downstairs actually but it makes no never mind). I remember watching my brothers and sisters get thinner from lack of food because we really didn't have appetites with all that was going on. And I remember myself for the first time in my life just fleeing from something, just moving and never wanting to stop, always PUSH PUSH PUSH so that I wouldn't have to think. It's when sister1 when away.. you didn't get to see her then and that is truly a sad thing, she was always similes and such innocent cheer.. she's never been the same since and it always breaks my heart. Sister2 has this edge about her have you notice it? when some things too soft she laughs, it can't be sensitive right away first it has to be funny or foolish. She's been so strong to get through all of this and I have no idea what it may cost her in the long run. And brother2, my dear, dear brother2, so much like me, so much like me it kills me because I know where he was, where he's been, and how hard this was on me when I was already older and (if you can be such a thing) more ready. He doesn't walk untouched through this world , he just looks it because the wounds run so deep they look like the belong there. When he attacks someone, pushes them away for being "ridiculous" or some close synonym, they show up clear as day. I've seen dispair in his eyes unmatched by anything I've seen in this world... and while I know that there's oh such hard and hurtful things that I've yet to see, and that he's stronger now, more healed, it's still there. You've never seen him angry, anger is pain that lives beneath the skin and won't go away, won't be let out, won't breach the surface... it smolders and burns until it erupts. He nearly tore a sink out of the wall by mistake once when he lost his temper, he didn't even know he was doing it. So he keeps his emotions away from the world that he might not let anything prick him too deep and thus get hurt so that he'd hurt in return.
His worst fear in this world is, just like mine, himself.
And Brother1, Brother1 was my only friend for years. My ONLY friend... even people who've become close now who were there then, and who are truly my friends.. it's different, they don't know. I was so excited to have a brother, I was nervous and a bit unsettled too because I'd been an only child but I loved him so much... and somewhere I lost him, somewhere in the years, during the time we came to Logan, I lost him. And I never got him back. He was my dearest friend and to this day I don't know fully what happened or even why. We drifted apart and I'm not sure how to talk to him anymore, not about the big stuff, not about the things that we both so often and so frantically wrestle with. You can see it in our writings, in our music. You're right about art and pain, but don't court pain enough of it will come to call on you without your throwing wide the doors. And sometimes art can be happy too. I don't know how to tell him, how to even bring it up. Gods he sleeps in the room next to mine now and feels worlds away and I miss him more than I can even try to say, and I can't bring it up. I know I hurt him somehow, I know because I can see that much, I know that's not all and I pray someday I might understand. I know he was gone when Mum and Pops destroyed something ireprable in our family and I know his feelings on it and experience with it has driving this wedge between us even deeper because of those views. I'm afraid, I wasn't afraid to walk down streets where I knew people got killed every year, not a wif of it. But my brother lays there in the other room sick and in pain and not know why or what to do and I can't help him... I don't know how to even be there for him, and I'm afraid I'll lose him without ever having the chance to understand or make it right. He might die and I might as well be trying to grab smoke with my hands for all that I can do about it. To have the core of what taught you love be broken and the fragments twisted in your guts is difficult. Not because of the pain of it, that I've long since come to grips with, but because of it's distortion casting it's self upon everything else. I know it, can taste it feel it, I'm deadened now compared to what I used to be, the same record is playing but the volume has dropped, like speakers that have been blown out, or the world the day after a concert when you forgot to take care of your ears. I remember when I felt sick and cried a little (alone after they'd all gone away) at some kids killing a bumblebee in my neighborhood. Now I carry around a smashed bullet (the one that missed) from a shooting that took place not fifteen feet from the bedroom in which I slept. Sometimes I wonder if something inside me is dead, and I hope that it's not gone beyond recall... I know that it all sounds melodramatic and I don't mean to imply that this is the whole of life, there are counter points elements of laughter and love. But there's a space where some things missing and it's nothing someone else took from or gave too me, it's tied up with other people but it's always been my own. And when there was too much pain to bear and I didn't know what to do I killed it, and I hope I'm able to undo some part of that.
My story's gotten mired in emotion, what do I expect when it's about the mire of emotion?
I hope we do get our walk, I honestly feel as if it matters weather or not this happens, tho to say why is beyond me just now. There's so much to say, so much more to be told, but the ground just now is muddy (tears will do that to dust of memory) and the story teller's spent (tears will do that too often as not).
Sol
all the best,
Sol
have you heard Sage Francis "personal journal" for some reason i have that impulse with you right now, maybe it's a hands tied thing, perhaps i feel that if i share my own inner works with you something will shead a light on confusions otherwise un-resolved. my families scars run deep and I've no way of knowing how much you know this. you are clearly well known and truly loved by my brother and sister [sister1 and brother1] and quite well liked and enjoyed by my other brother and sister [i simply have the impression that brother2 and sister2 don't know you as well]. i know you're important for and too them so you must know something. but let me tell you (ha, "let" as if I'm somehow gaining your permission by saying that when here in text there is no mind but mine to guide these keys turned letters turned words turned sentences... gods sometimes it feels like a sentence) the story of our lives... the brief dark version, the story no one really hears.. not really. the story of our scars, and of how our parents indiscretions have hurt even the intimacy of we siblings... of my siblings who are the dearest things in this world to me... (well isn't that ironic, now *I'm* crying). It all started long before most of us were born, only sister1 brother1 and I were drawing in this lifes sweet air by then, and we weren't to know the truth still till years later when it all came apart. The short version is that my parents used to practice unorthodox relationship methods and that my mothers emotions have always been more exposed than my fathers. I'll tell you the whole story on our walk if you'd like, text takes more time than I wish too and there's almost something crude about it... almost as if I'm making it more perment by writing these things down.. the unorthodox isn't the problem, at least not of it's self and very much not for me I'm quite unorthodox myself especially when it comes to romance and relationships (hell I'd rather suffer and watch the end of a relationship have my heart served too me on a platter than to lie to a loved one... but that's another story and totally mine and not what this is about). The problem came when my mothers sense of neglect and my fathers sense of burden flared and clashed. In the midst of the oh so chaotic and torrid affair that followed (and I don't mean the sexual one that everyone so wrongly supposed was the key to it all) there were wounds left across the trust and love of this family, of my dear brothers and sisters that I don't know if we'll ever fully recover from. BOTH our parents forgot us entirely to be wrapped in their own personal drama and power struggle. I still remember watching as sister1 brother2 and sister2 all tried to talk to each other in over loud voices to drown out the screaming and the fighting that was happening below. Watched it like a knife in my intestines until I couldn't stand it any longer and in a despret despairing rage went down stairs and screamed at both my parents until they shut up and both left the house (my mother to her ... now brother1's, room downstairs actually but it makes no never mind). I remember watching my brothers and sisters get thinner from lack of food because we really didn't have appetites with all that was going on. And I remember myself for the first time in my life just fleeing from something, just moving and never wanting to stop, always PUSH PUSH PUSH so that I wouldn't have to think. It's when sister1 when away.. you didn't get to see her then and that is truly a sad thing, she was always similes and such innocent cheer.. she's never been the same since and it always breaks my heart. Sister2 has this edge about her have you notice it? when some things too soft she laughs, it can't be sensitive right away first it has to be funny or foolish. She's been so strong to get through all of this and I have no idea what it may cost her in the long run. And brother2, my dear, dear brother2, so much like me, so much like me it kills me because I know where he was, where he's been, and how hard this was on me when I was already older and (if you can be such a thing) more ready. He doesn't walk untouched through this world , he just looks it because the wounds run so deep they look like the belong there. When he attacks someone, pushes them away for being "ridiculous" or some close synonym, they show up clear as day. I've seen dispair in his eyes unmatched by anything I've seen in this world... and while I know that there's oh such hard and hurtful things that I've yet to see, and that he's stronger now, more healed, it's still there. You've never seen him angry, anger is pain that lives beneath the skin and won't go away, won't be let out, won't breach the surface... it smolders and burns until it erupts. He nearly tore a sink out of the wall by mistake once when he lost his temper, he didn't even know he was doing it. So he keeps his emotions away from the world that he might not let anything prick him too deep and thus get hurt so that he'd hurt in return.
His worst fear in this world is, just like mine, himself.
And Brother1, Brother1 was my only friend for years. My ONLY friend... even people who've become close now who were there then, and who are truly my friends.. it's different, they don't know. I was so excited to have a brother, I was nervous and a bit unsettled too because I'd been an only child but I loved him so much... and somewhere I lost him, somewhere in the years, during the time we came to Logan, I lost him. And I never got him back. He was my dearest friend and to this day I don't know fully what happened or even why. We drifted apart and I'm not sure how to talk to him anymore, not about the big stuff, not about the things that we both so often and so frantically wrestle with. You can see it in our writings, in our music. You're right about art and pain, but don't court pain enough of it will come to call on you without your throwing wide the doors. And sometimes art can be happy too. I don't know how to tell him, how to even bring it up. Gods he sleeps in the room next to mine now and feels worlds away and I miss him more than I can even try to say, and I can't bring it up. I know I hurt him somehow, I know because I can see that much, I know that's not all and I pray someday I might understand. I know he was gone when Mum and Pops destroyed something ireprable in our family and I know his feelings on it and experience with it has driving this wedge between us even deeper because of those views. I'm afraid, I wasn't afraid to walk down streets where I knew people got killed every year, not a wif of it. But my brother lays there in the other room sick and in pain and not know why or what to do and I can't help him... I don't know how to even be there for him, and I'm afraid I'll lose him without ever having the chance to understand or make it right. He might die and I might as well be trying to grab smoke with my hands for all that I can do about it. To have the core of what taught you love be broken and the fragments twisted in your guts is difficult. Not because of the pain of it, that I've long since come to grips with, but because of it's distortion casting it's self upon everything else. I know it, can taste it feel it, I'm deadened now compared to what I used to be, the same record is playing but the volume has dropped, like speakers that have been blown out, or the world the day after a concert when you forgot to take care of your ears. I remember when I felt sick and cried a little (alone after they'd all gone away) at some kids killing a bumblebee in my neighborhood. Now I carry around a smashed bullet (the one that missed) from a shooting that took place not fifteen feet from the bedroom in which I slept. Sometimes I wonder if something inside me is dead, and I hope that it's not gone beyond recall... I know that it all sounds melodramatic and I don't mean to imply that this is the whole of life, there are counter points elements of laughter and love. But there's a space where some things missing and it's nothing someone else took from or gave too me, it's tied up with other people but it's always been my own. And when there was too much pain to bear and I didn't know what to do I killed it, and I hope I'm able to undo some part of that.
My story's gotten mired in emotion, what do I expect when it's about the mire of emotion?
I hope we do get our walk, I honestly feel as if it matters weather or not this happens, tho to say why is beyond me just now. There's so much to say, so much more to be told, but the ground just now is muddy (tears will do that to dust of memory) and the story teller's spent (tears will do that too often as not).
Sol
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Earth dance, chaos kings...
Phoenix Flame
In the tale of the Phoenix the bird gives it’s self to the flame after having sacrificed it’s self to save the prince and princess. This wondrous creature risked it’s very survival, basing it solely on trusting a boy it did not know. Why? For the sake of saving two innocents from evil. The phoenix went into the flame and was reborn greater, stronger, more vital.
I am the Phoenix, I set my self in the fires to be reborn. Always seeking the safety and joy of my brothers and sisters. I welcome the turmoil of change so that I may grow. By my growth I am better able to uplift those that I encounter.
When the Phoenix rose anew from the flames it was bedecked with new and splendid feathers. And it took wing soaring to where the golden apples of life grew. It hovered o’re the tree for a moment drawing all eyes. Then it plucked one of the golden apples and returned with it as a gift to the prince and princess.
So too would I be. One able to take flight over the confines of the world, not that I might flee from it, rather that I may draw the eyes and hearts of those that watch to take flight as well. For I will lead if you will follow me there. Yet even having reached such a vantage I would not settle there, rather would I pluck what I may from that place and rejoin the peoples of the world bearing it as a gift that they might live in joy and love together.
The Phoenix held eternal life, renewed and protected by the evil sorcerer. It’s safety and life guaranteed for all time... so long as it did not oppose him. Yet it spent it’s time seeking a way to undo the evil, even if it required that the Phoenix too be undone.
Too often I see people seeking to bring down evil (as did the prince) with out the means. While those with what means are needed sit by doing nothing for the sake of their own preservation. I strive to choose as the Phoenix did, to choose an end to evil at any cost. To choose to help those that strive for a better world. Rather than to sit in safety and watch as others fall to odds they could not surmount alone.
When I was young I watched many children treat their weaker peers with cruelty, only to have our parents, teachers, adult guardians of all sorts, fail to stop it. I did not long sit by and watch this occur. Because of that choice I spent many hours alone, and many more with people angry at me. Yet I regret the choice not at all, for I saw the looks on the faces of those kids when they started to believe that maybe the world wasn’t just a cold uncaring place. It was wrong for the bullies to gang up on smaller kids, yet wrong though that was I saw less harm done by that, than by the inaction of everyone else. I’ve had my share of cuts, bruises, and so forth. So I can tell you confidently that they heal. What often does not heal is the faith and innocence of a child. That simple certainty that bad things don’t happen to good people, or that at the very least the people who love them will always stand up for them. It has been said that which is required for evil to flourish is for good people to do nothing. That is why I strive to stand like the Phoenix. Because I know that even if I can’t always stop the bullies from beating up the little kid on the play ground. I can at least show that kid that there are people who won’t stand by and let it happen. If I can shield any part of that innocence and faith it is worth any pain the fire may bring. This quote from Emerson says it well “Higher than the question of our duration is the question of our deserving. Immortality will come to such as are fit for it.” I seek to be deserving that as the Phoenix I may rise again and continue to serve.
I am the Flame, I shall burn as a beacon to those lost in the night. Shining with the warmth of old world hospitality, bidding the weary traveler take shelter from the storm. I shall warm those frozen with the chill of apathy. Reminding them of what is often over looked, how to love their brother and them self. I shall spark the fire that will burn through the forest of man ensuring that we will grow and evolve, not merely rot away in our opulence.
As the Phoenix reborn, I will not shy away from the flaws of this our world. I shall carry my flame to them, for I shall;
Burn away the weakness, for in weakness lies our self doubt and fear of service. Lies the silence of no defiant voices. In this is grown inaction, not for lack of feeling, but for lack of belief that anything can be done. “Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.” Shakespeare spoke truly for in this weakness lies the death of heros, not for a broken shield, or an overtaxed sword arm, rather because of those who bring others down so that perhaps they will not feel quite so low. In this lies a life devoid of dreams, or hope. A life wracked by the numbing pain of being truly alone.
Burn away the pain, for in pain we find many excuses. For it is in self pity that we author our own down fall. It is simple to create excuses for what we have not done when we can claim that our lives or ourselves are wretched and pitiable. “How can I be forced to strive for this hard thing while I am so down cast.” “How can I be asked to endure this discomfort of effort while I am in misery”. It is this pain that masks the fear hiding in the hearts of men. It is fear of making changes which causes us to flee discomfort. And in fleeing discomfort to turn our backs on life. The image of stepping into a fire, of having the tongues of flame consume what they touch. That image has evoked a shudder in many. I offer another image. The image of a lump of earth, shapeless. Being cast into this flame. Of it’s being pounded and beaten, and plunged again and again into the flame. The image of a sword flashing new and strong in the sunlight.
Burn away uncaring, the uncaring that makes us question every kind act. The uncaring that permeates our world such that feeling for the plight of another is tantamount to a crime. The uncaring that when we are given a gift causes us to ask “what are they getting out of this, where’s the catch”. Edmund Burke said “The true danger is when liberty is nibbled away, for expedience, and by parts.” it is uncaring that feeds this danger. It is this uncaring that is expressed by Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens book “A Christmas Carol”. The same uncaring that fed the rise of the Nazis, the action of rapists, and the execution of innocent homosexuals.
These things which have left the heart of the world laid bear and bleeding are at an end.
For I am the healing Phoenix Flame.
In the tale of the Phoenix the bird gives it’s self to the flame after having sacrificed it’s self to save the prince and princess. This wondrous creature risked it’s very survival, basing it solely on trusting a boy it did not know. Why? For the sake of saving two innocents from evil. The phoenix went into the flame and was reborn greater, stronger, more vital.
I am the Phoenix, I set my self in the fires to be reborn. Always seeking the safety and joy of my brothers and sisters. I welcome the turmoil of change so that I may grow. By my growth I am better able to uplift those that I encounter.
When the Phoenix rose anew from the flames it was bedecked with new and splendid feathers. And it took wing soaring to where the golden apples of life grew. It hovered o’re the tree for a moment drawing all eyes. Then it plucked one of the golden apples and returned with it as a gift to the prince and princess.
So too would I be. One able to take flight over the confines of the world, not that I might flee from it, rather that I may draw the eyes and hearts of those that watch to take flight as well. For I will lead if you will follow me there. Yet even having reached such a vantage I would not settle there, rather would I pluck what I may from that place and rejoin the peoples of the world bearing it as a gift that they might live in joy and love together.
The Phoenix held eternal life, renewed and protected by the evil sorcerer. It’s safety and life guaranteed for all time... so long as it did not oppose him. Yet it spent it’s time seeking a way to undo the evil, even if it required that the Phoenix too be undone.
Too often I see people seeking to bring down evil (as did the prince) with out the means. While those with what means are needed sit by doing nothing for the sake of their own preservation. I strive to choose as the Phoenix did, to choose an end to evil at any cost. To choose to help those that strive for a better world. Rather than to sit in safety and watch as others fall to odds they could not surmount alone.
When I was young I watched many children treat their weaker peers with cruelty, only to have our parents, teachers, adult guardians of all sorts, fail to stop it. I did not long sit by and watch this occur. Because of that choice I spent many hours alone, and many more with people angry at me. Yet I regret the choice not at all, for I saw the looks on the faces of those kids when they started to believe that maybe the world wasn’t just a cold uncaring place. It was wrong for the bullies to gang up on smaller kids, yet wrong though that was I saw less harm done by that, than by the inaction of everyone else. I’ve had my share of cuts, bruises, and so forth. So I can tell you confidently that they heal. What often does not heal is the faith and innocence of a child. That simple certainty that bad things don’t happen to good people, or that at the very least the people who love them will always stand up for them. It has been said that which is required for evil to flourish is for good people to do nothing. That is why I strive to stand like the Phoenix. Because I know that even if I can’t always stop the bullies from beating up the little kid on the play ground. I can at least show that kid that there are people who won’t stand by and let it happen. If I can shield any part of that innocence and faith it is worth any pain the fire may bring. This quote from Emerson says it well “Higher than the question of our duration is the question of our deserving. Immortality will come to such as are fit for it.” I seek to be deserving that as the Phoenix I may rise again and continue to serve.
I am the Flame, I shall burn as a beacon to those lost in the night. Shining with the warmth of old world hospitality, bidding the weary traveler take shelter from the storm. I shall warm those frozen with the chill of apathy. Reminding them of what is often over looked, how to love their brother and them self. I shall spark the fire that will burn through the forest of man ensuring that we will grow and evolve, not merely rot away in our opulence.
As the Phoenix reborn, I will not shy away from the flaws of this our world. I shall carry my flame to them, for I shall;
Burn away the weakness, for in weakness lies our self doubt and fear of service. Lies the silence of no defiant voices. In this is grown inaction, not for lack of feeling, but for lack of belief that anything can be done. “Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.” Shakespeare spoke truly for in this weakness lies the death of heros, not for a broken shield, or an overtaxed sword arm, rather because of those who bring others down so that perhaps they will not feel quite so low. In this lies a life devoid of dreams, or hope. A life wracked by the numbing pain of being truly alone.
Burn away the pain, for in pain we find many excuses. For it is in self pity that we author our own down fall. It is simple to create excuses for what we have not done when we can claim that our lives or ourselves are wretched and pitiable. “How can I be forced to strive for this hard thing while I am so down cast.” “How can I be asked to endure this discomfort of effort while I am in misery”. It is this pain that masks the fear hiding in the hearts of men. It is fear of making changes which causes us to flee discomfort. And in fleeing discomfort to turn our backs on life. The image of stepping into a fire, of having the tongues of flame consume what they touch. That image has evoked a shudder in many. I offer another image. The image of a lump of earth, shapeless. Being cast into this flame. Of it’s being pounded and beaten, and plunged again and again into the flame. The image of a sword flashing new and strong in the sunlight.
Burn away uncaring, the uncaring that makes us question every kind act. The uncaring that permeates our world such that feeling for the plight of another is tantamount to a crime. The uncaring that when we are given a gift causes us to ask “what are they getting out of this, where’s the catch”. Edmund Burke said “The true danger is when liberty is nibbled away, for expedience, and by parts.” it is uncaring that feeds this danger. It is this uncaring that is expressed by Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens book “A Christmas Carol”. The same uncaring that fed the rise of the Nazis, the action of rapists, and the execution of innocent homosexuals.
These things which have left the heart of the world laid bear and bleeding are at an end.
For I am the healing Phoenix Flame.
hehehehehehe
alright so this is just funny and I've been told it reminds people of me... guess which one I am
Sol
this is the origonal context, I didn't create it so give these guy the credit they deserve, oh and thanks to miss Cross for all her efforts in helping me dig this up again, love ya babe.
http://www.sluggy.com/daily.php?date=000223
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