Windows Into a Cream and Azure Sky

These are all unedited in any way.

Opal

Character study, page 63, “Writing a novel”

1^st study

“An old woman is opening a letter from her son. He is suggesting she moves into a home for old people. She doesn’t want to go.”

Opal carefully slit the letter open with one of her long, dark-purple nails.

            The porch swing she sat on swayed back and forth in front of her beloved home; her adoring young husband, Eli, had built the small, pristine white house as a celebration of their marriage. He had died more than four years ago, but Opal still felt the gaping hole that had been left in her life after his passing.

            She began to read the tidy penmanship of her eldest son.

            “Dearest Mother,

                        “I know you have reassured me that you’re quite fine; I still worry about you living all alone in Vermont, so far away from my brothers and myself. Since you won’t consider my offer to come and live with me and my family in California,” Too damn hot, Opal thought to herself before she continued to read the letter with trepidation;

“I decided to research homes for the elderly in Vermont. I’ve found a very promising institution, with minimal rules, and it’s close enough to your neighborhood that you won’t feel out of place.

Please consider this offer, Mother, I truly want the best for you.

            Your loving son

            Michael.”

            Opal set the half-open letter down on the porch swing, the edges of the paper trembled slightly in a spring breeze.

            If that well-meaning, persistent, eldest-son of mine thinks I’ll move into an ‘old folks’ home’, he’s as crazy as the kaizer. She thought, while a fond and annoyed grin stretched her wrinkly mouth. Though her face was as creased as a Shar Pei puppy, she was a beautiful woman.

            She sat up from the porch swing, her joints creaking more than a little, and stalked through her front door to fetch a pen and paper, a determined look giving strength to her face and stride. 

Interpretation Heart Translation

All of my words are gone today


there is poetry in my heart, 
but it does not translate well in the open air, 
the words are born translucent-white and empty,
no substance, no weight.

Not That Different After All.

"The kingdom of heaven is within", said by Jesus.

I read this yesterday, not for the first time, but it got me to thinking about what it really meant for me.

I started thinking about the truth it held for me, which is not necessarily the same for everyone else.
My interpretation is that God lives within me, God, in my belief, does not live on some far off planet, removed because of the unbearable sins of his children. I am a physical manifestation of God power and so on. God is always near, always listening, always teaching me that I have power, that I am never alone. 'The kingdom of heaven is within'.

I also apply this same idea to the whole of the Earth; plants, animals, rocks, trees, the ground, the sky, the wind. God is within, God is all around, God is everything.*


I think that this is very comforting, God, my heavenly creator, loves me so much, loves you so much, perhaps even loves the world so much, that he can't bear to be parted, and, I think, is really just not able to be parted. We; God, you, me, are a piece of the same whole; 'namaste', I recognize the god within you that is akin to the god within me. Or, as defined by this yoga website;  
"The divinity in me bows to the divinity in you, because I know we are one", 
and also as described by this website; 
"The definition of Namaste (pronounced na, ma, stay) is both a physical gesture and a spoken spiritual salutation, which is the recognition of the divine spirit (or soul) in another by the divine spirit in you"
This whole thing nearly-almost leads to another subject I've been thinking on, to continue in another post. 


What is your interpretation?






*There are many different facets to this idea, but I'm only addressing about two right in this article to try to simplify this enormous subject a bit.

Crash (Rewritten) [Pay no attention to the numbers in the parentheses.]

“Wait!” I yelled after him,

“Pointer! Wait for me!”

            He was bleeding badly; a piece of Dramaticon shrapnel had ripped the side of his right calf open and blood drops spattered the tree tops as he shot away.

            I jumped on my Rotor Floater (3) and cranked after him.

            He was riding in a North-Easterly direction through the tall pine trees, his longer-than-fashion-dictates-as-proper black hair whipping around his fine-boned face.

            I was having a hard time keeping up with him, he goes especially fast when he’s upset.

            He seemed to be heading for the lake; we had done recon around it yesterday, and Pointer had, well, pointedly remarked on how beautiful and peaceful it was. Later that day he had told me in private that the place had actually been soothing to his normally harried soul.

            I figured that he was heading there to be alone and to sort out his current emotions.

            But I, personally, did not trust him to be by himself in his current state of mind and body. I could only guess at the thoughts currently racing through his head. Erratically emotional at the best, he was down-right dangerous to himself during the current circumstances. (1)

           

            He had almost reached the soft blue pudding bowl that is Benedict Lake, and I was just about ten yards behind.

            I was starting to really worry about him; he nearly crashed into an imposing bristlecone pine at the beginning of the pepper-and-salt sand. He wasn’t all that great of a flyer, but he was also usually much more careful than that. It looked as if he was entertaining some sort of a death wish.

            He crash-landed, his rotor floater sliding in the sand, then landing nearly a foot away from the softly lapping water.

            I carefully maneuvered around the tallest bristlecone pine; the same one Pointer had almost crashed into, and landed my RF next to his.

            He had already stumbled off his Rotor floater, and was kneeling in the water, blood from his right calf trailing scarlet swirls in the miniature surf. I couldn’t see his face, he was bent over, fists clenched to his chest.

            I knelt down next to him, and put my arms around his shoulders.

            “Pointer, it wasn’t your fault that we lost the Omotor containers,” I said softly, he angrily jerked his body, nearly dislodging my arms, but I held on tighter.

            “How do you know?!” He spat, his face contorted with anguish and fury as he turned to look into my eyes.

           

The whole point of our mission had been to retrieve the highly explosive containers, but they had caught fire at the last minute. Pointer had doggedly tried to hold on, but Robert had wrestled them from him and chucked them at a pursuing Dramaticon, therefore blowing it and the entire Lonquine base up.

            A pretty successful mission, if you ask me.

            “Robert made you leave the containers,” I replied, “You would have blown up with them if he hadn’t.”

            “I should’ve put out the fire, Crash, I could’ve spat on them or something!” Pointer said wildly, an imploring look in his eyes.

            “You know that’s nuts,” I told him gently, “There was nothing you could have done”

            “Maybe you’re right,” He gave in, “But I still feel like an utter failure.”

            “Don’t, you have no right to, Pointer.” I admonished mildly, despite my choice of words. “Besides, you successfully blew up that Lonquine base, and even if it wasn’t part of the plan, it worked out pretty fillerackin’ well, if you ask me.”

            He leaned back into me, inner turmoil calmed, the previous rigidity in his body lost. I held him tighter. We kneeled in the water a few minutes more, letting the peace of the lake sooth us both.

           

I noticed that Pointer was still bleeding.

            “Come on, get up. We need to go back to Robert and get your leg wrapped.” I told him, giving his shoulders one last squeeze and then standing up, water dripped from my jeans.

            Pointer raised a hand, and I heaved him upright.

            I kept hold of his hand as we walked back to the Rotor Floaters, supporting him as he limped along.

            We climbed onto our RFs, and began a much slower and safer journey back to camp, leaving the semblance of a peaceful world behind. 

It Was Named 'Enlightenment'

Stricken, I am pain.

Beauty, a sharply sweet sword.

My eyes are open.

The last few were a sort of panorama, but my camera is frustrating, that's why the colors don't really match.

For Raven

 Just for you, Raven :)
I headed out to my garden with my cat the other day to take sunflower pictures just for you.

That's all there is, there isn't

any more.

Pigeonholed

9/8/11

Psst, you, yeah, you.

C’mere a second, I have somethin’ ta tell ya, something that’ll blow your mind outta the water, princess.

Trust me, you’ve never heard this one before.

Lean in close; lemme whisper it inta’ yer ear, soft and sweet.

…Wait… never mind that, ya might actually want ta’ sit down.

Here, park yer seat on this here bench, it might be hard on the posterior, but it’s always been a pal to me, especially on warm summer nights, when spiders are a’prowlin’ in the soft grass. Winter nights, mind you, are a ‘nother story altogether, but it sure beats sleepin’ on the snow.

Ya com-fert-able now? Good, ‘cause like I said, this one’s gonna blow your mind out of the water, I guarantee it.

Life, as you know it, as I know it, as that constable over there eyein’ us all weird knows it, is nothin’ but a dream.

Who’s dream it is, whether it’s yours, mine, all of us together’s, or an a’sleepin’ God’s, is anybody’s guess. (Though, just between you and me, I’m a’guessin’ it’s mine, and let’s hope I don’t wake up anytime soon.)

What? You don’t believe me? Okay, fine, maybe hopin’ the dream is mine was just high as’spire-ations, but the rest of it is true, or could be, anyhow.

Just ask that pigeon over there, he’ll tell you all about it; after all, he’s the one who told me.
           

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This (telephonelines are a scourge)

We Like The Moon (Especially The Full Moon)

Friends (I am very behind on my photo-posting.)

We like the clouds, the clouds are very good to us...