The Several Fails in the Tales of Lucy Gale pt. 4

Salt crusts the window, refracting the light,
(she'd never clean it, she hated the view)
breaking his promise and dimming her sight.
She left it dirty to hide hopes she knew.

They'd now been apart more than together.
Each hopeless dawn somehow brightened her day,
but fleeting light did not help her weather
and the cold, empty rooms were not okay.

As weeks turned to years it weakened her care,
but she missed the mornings with steaming tea.
So some part endured and she kept her stare
through troubled tides and the mountainous sea.

Inside and out it is crusted with salt
from the waves and the tears which never halt.

The Several Fails in the Tales of Lucy Gale pt. 3

Every day, young miss Gale would take a walk amongst her fair city. No one else knew why she called the city fair, most people were scared by the town's reputation and some even cringed at the name, but she loved it there. Every night the rivers brought a breeze through town so even though it was exhaustively hot during the summer days, you could always throw open your windows at night and enjoy the cool moisture. It was an old place too so every few blocks you had a change of scenery. Every building was unique and every street seemed to have a different style, a different purpose. Even today, as she walks or feels a particularly pleasant rush of air, she thinks back on this home often.

On one particular day Lucy had the lovely chance to go walking for a couple hours before lunch. Her time was almost spent though and she was heading home. Lucy loved walking with a companion and had one with her that day. Her companion was not having a good day and really wanted to get home for lunch so Lucy was doing her best to accommodate her friend by traveling swiftly. Except, Lucy had a wonderfully terrible (or maybe terribly wonderful) habit of talking to strangers on all these walks of hers and today was no different.

To get to her friends house they would have to travel over a small bridge. It traversed a small, man-made creek. During the night, with the darkness and local ruffians, it was a seemingly creepy place, but during the day it was peaceful. It was small, covered, and provided a nice view of the creek which often housed a heron and some fish.

The most important part of this tale happened right before the bridge on this particular day though. As Lucy companion was trying to hurry home, Lucy spotted a woman on the other side of the road and just instantly wanted to meet her. No rationale, she just thought it would be nice to talk. As she started to cross the street she started thinking about her friend who was very hungry and she hesitated. Then the road was filled with carriages. Then she worried if it would make the other woman uncomfortable. Then she made another excuse. Then another. Then...she was too far away to do anything but watch the next event.

It was not just a woman walking on the other side of the street. She was dragging a little girl (they bore a striking resemblance) and some luggage (which looked a little haphazard and hurriedly packed). Then the large man rode up alongside her in his carriage. He shot his head out the window and started screaming at her. Lucy could not really hear what was being said except, "Get in!" being yelled by the man. Lucy was stunned. Hundreds of what ifs flooded her mind. Even more were the questions about why. What if she had talked to this woman when she first felt she should. Why was she leaving her husband and taking her daughter. Why did he want them back. Would anything last. How long until the next fight. What could she have done for her. Would it have helped.

Then her companion turned around and got frustrated at her for slowing down. So, they hurried home and didn't talk to anyone else until after lunch.

The Return

I'm as nervous as a school boy before recess the day after the school bully openly declared him the new "victim" now that the old one has transferred schools. C'est la vie.

I just returned from two years. It doesn't feel like it. I can still remember the goodbyes, the hugs, the promises. True to form, I seem to have failed most of those last ones. But, well...I have no room to apologize really.

It is good to be home. I have so much I want to write. So much to post. The people were extraordinary. Phon Yun (om srei) changed what love can do. A little old Cambodian woman, I couldn't even communicate with her, loved me without end and even remembered me two years later. She just did what she could and hoped that was enough. It always was.

The places were breath-taking. Sunsets (almost) as good as Arizona's. Bridal Veil Falls. Apple Hill. Loon Lake. Even the deep city showed me a new beauty. Oak Park. Downtown. Murals galore. The Crocker Art Museum. I can't say the art I saw changed my life, but each memory is pleasing. And there are lots of pictures.

Even the music. One day while riding down Broadway a young man stopped me. He asked, "If you are a man of God, what do you think Christ would do for a man who hasn't eaten in three days?" My mother had recently sent me a package of energy bars and granola (thank you for always being inspired dear mother). I offered all I had. He told us a bit of his story. He raps, for Christ. He recently came to Sacramento because he feels it is where he was being led. He is probably 18 now, but this was a year ago. He had arrived in town the day before but had been traveling for two days and he ate like he hadn't eaten the whole time. In return he sang for us. Well, he rapped for us. It is unexplainable how good it was. His voice was sweet, from youth and desire, but commanding because of his subject and its personal relation to his recent development. And all the reggae and rasta about Jah. It brought a lot of peace.

Some things changed, but many did not. I'm getting used to having the bracelets on again, wearing shorts and sandals, moccasins, staying up late, writing blogs, playing games, and the like, but it's all the same. It has the familiar feel of riding a bike again. I write poetry more often, especially limericks. They're fun. I study the gospel more. I want to be a good person. I want to impress someone's parents, especially in the first encounter. I want a large family. So there are a few changes, mostly in my desires. And I feel I'm beginning to understand how freeing but empowering it is to rely on someone else for your biggest worries.

I got accepted to BYU this last January. I did not sign up for classes or found housing until I got home last week. I now have a full schedule of the classes I need and the Moore's offered for me to stay with them. Still paying rent, still need a job, but I have been able to let all the stresses of those events and needs fall to the wayside because someone up in that big, blue sky loves me and was preparing a way. Life is good. It always had been. I don't know why I keep resisting. I don't know why I keep going back to the old self. But that is the point of this, Speaker for the Dead speaks for the dead me, the old thoughts and desires.

What I'd love to do right now is see a whole bunch of people face to face, hug them, and let them know that I love them. Many people over the last four years have made a big difference in who I am. I am thankful for that and I am thankful that I need other people to help me make the change. But the love will wait, probably strengthening in the process.

Never Count Our Friendship

This is aimed at all willing to read and those willing to learn; I feel it must be understood.

Never count the bills we pick up for the each other, because I'll get it sometimes.  Never count the times I fail you, because I will do it again someday.  Never count the days we talk on the phone, the letters that should have been sent weeks ago, or hours spent together, because there will always be more.  Never count the hours I am unable to speak with you or give you advice, because I'm always devoted to you.  Never count the times I give you advice, because I often need to hear it more than you do.  Never count our friendship, because those things of greatest value aren't defined by numbers.

Never count me for good or evil, because I'll always prove otherwise.  Never count on me making the right decision, because neither of us know what it is.  Never count on my waiting, because I serve those most immediate.  Never count on my resolve, because I have faith in no end except ending all.  Never count my love, because you can't define how much you mean to me.  Never count our friendship, because I stopped keeping score once you won my loyalty.

Buddha Blogs

Years ago, in a surprisingly quiet classroom I saw a poster on the wall of a dear teacher.  It was a beautiful picture of a man walking into a valley with high cliffs around him.  The quote on the poster was, "At first, I walked along the floor of the valley for many years.  I looked up, witnessed the power of the mountains around me, and began to climb them, with much difficulty for I was weak and inexperienced.  After many years, I became agile and as strong as the mountains I conquered and then I looked down and beheld the gentle beauty of the green and flowing valley beneath me.  I descended and have since relished in the life of the valley floor."  Or something like that.  It attributed the quote to Buddha.

The man had three parts to his life.  He started in a life of ease, but he didn't understand it.  The path was flat and easy.  Water and food abounded around him.  He opened his eyes though and witnessed how much he was missing out on, so he chose to explore, climbing up the steep and dangerous slopes.  He was lucky to survive long enough to gain the strength needed to conquer his mountains.  He beheld his glory and reveled in it, because he was great.  But then he noticed the gentle stream below him, the calm valley, and remembered the ease and bliss of his previous life, so he chose to return.  That life, now understood by him, became beautiful in absence and learning.  Had he stayed there forever, he would have simply lived an ignorantly blissful life devoid of trial, strength, or need.  This is not a life I view as worth living.

Life is a progession of trials which test the ability to climb the next mountain.  Unless I become stronger, abandoning the weaknesses I had develop as a source of pleasure and thus addiction, a source of inaction and thus atrophy, and as a source of pride and thus blindness, I will not survive long enough to survey the obstacles of my past, the deeds of my present, and the choices of my future.  Not all pleasures become addictions, because many are needed to help us relax and renew, only those pleasures that distract us from that which must be done.  Not all inaction atrophies, because sometimes there is no action to take, only those actions avoided out of fear.  Not all pride blinds us, because we should all be proud of a bang-up job, only that which clouds our fear of the future.  (Pink Floyd just came on, I am pleased)

This is also true of every part of our life.  At first we are ignorant of everything.  Then we notice literature, art, martial arts, music, religion, sports, and many other beautiful dangers.  We attempt to conquer them or we don't.  Our success is defined according to the failures we survived and moved-on from.  Those who choose to come down early, just produce objects not worthy of masters' hands andminds, are little better off than those who never challenge themselves.

We can't be stagnant and great.  We must try ourselves upon the rocky slopes life placed around us or accept our place beneath those climbing.  If we choose comfort and safety we shall be content, but without pain we can never know true pleasure.  If we choose the trial of the mountain, we shall be miserable and tired and beaten, but our glory and happiness will be greater than that of kings, in the end.

Deal With It

I watched Stranger than Fiction for the first time tonight.  It was fantastic.  It just moved onto my list.  It was fairly predictible, but I was alright with that since the commentaries on life have become more and more predictible as I've learned about natural and literary symbols.  Nice, but boring.

As I watched Harold die, he is the protagonist of Stranger than Fiction, I came to two realization.  As the movie ended, I suddenly wanted to go outside and pound on the punching bag.  I had already done so early this day so I was tired, but it felt like the thing to do to make me feel better.  For me, fighting is one of the greatest ways to live.  The combative competition and my body reacting as quickly, powerfully, and accurately as I desire it to do so.  The control and sensations of muscles straining, tendons stretching, and pain awaken an often slumbering part of me.  And very little of fighting is physical.  I have never lost a fight I knew I would win.  That might sound silly, but every fight I have lost, I knew I was going to lose before it happened.  Watch Hero, I hope it makes more sense.  And the same benefits of fighting with my fists is achieved when I fight with other parts of my body, most commonly my lips, most commonly used in seduction or debate.  It's all a combat, just different rules.

I suppose it was not a realization, but another confirmation that I do not cry at death.  It bothers me in no way.  Honestly, it never has confused, scared, or disarmed me; I am not this way because of my faith, but because of my experience.  Death is not the worst part of this life.  I am incapable of mourning the eternal happiness of another.  And it is selfish of me to mourn for my own loss.  At a much too young age I was subject to pain indescribable; a pain that changes an individual.  No one dead is subject to that, so the only emotion I can feel for the dead is jealously.  And then (but only the first time freshman year) I realize that for every moment of physical or emotional pain I have endured, I have received happiness ten-fold from friends, family, and by existing.

One of my favorite scenes in Firefly is in one of the un-aired episodes where an old friend of the Captain and Zoe shows up dead.  Shepherd is walking past the casket and comes upon Jayne, who is working out.  Jayne asks the Shepherd if he'd like to do a couple reps and that he, Jayne, would spot him.  Shepherd declines and Jayne continues saying that if he killed a man in a fair fight or a man wanting to start one he had no problem with the man's death.  But this death made him feel...like he wanted to work out or be with a woman.  Shepherd responded that he understand, Jayne sought to feel alive when in the presence of death; he sought to simply acknowledge his five senses and prove he was alive.

A few thoughts on...stuff I guess

I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad, the most romantic thing I can think of right now is something along the lines of, "For now darling we must stand strong in the angry flames and endure the choices which coerced us there, but someday we shall be free.  Whether our freedom is a heaven or a hell doesn't matter, because we'll be there together.  So, you and me babe, how about it?" (I have a lot of songs going through my head right now)

The summer Institute class is "Preparing for a Celestial Marriage."  This is often quite boring for me because...well I will gone in two weeks, I won't be married for quite some time once I return, and the boy to girl ratio is never quite right.  But this evening's lesson was about finding an eternal companion and it was kinda fun.  We talked about what we looked for in a companion and after a while of hearing the same old trusting and goal-oriented and spiritual and oh so many cliches I decided to suggest a heart-melter.  I said, "I want someone with a beautiful smile that I get to see all the time because I can make her laugh."  I received chorused "ahhhs" from the girls.  But thinking about it seriously, I really do mean that.  The only two physical traits that I have seen as beautiful in an 80 year-old as an 18 year-old are their smile and their eyes.  They just seem to never fade in a person who is truly beautiful.  And if I can make someone laugh honest, gut-wrenching, boistrous laughter, it means we share a sense of humor and can get along most of the time.  That means a lot to me.

Tonight, I also had the chance to play volleyball with a bunch of strangers.  Some of the girls we played with, particularly these two gals, were quite attractive.  Like really attractive.  It was surprisingly nice to see and play with and flirt with two complete strangers I'll never see again.

On an important note, at least to me, I kissed a girl yesterday.  It was quite nice.  I won't see her again for over two years.  I also just realized that she is the last person I'll kiss for the time period.