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The rickety steps trembled as I swung open the back door of the dilapidated farmhouse.
There was no warning! The chunk of two-by-four appeared out of nowhere and split my chin. It was not the first time the old farmhouse had attacked me.
Once a proud weekend retreat for the family, the house and owners had fallen on unfortunate times… and some parts had fallen farther than the rest. I watched the front porch mysteriously collapse one day. When I came to, I was part of the rubble.
I had been trying to remove the deteriorated parts to see how much structure, if any, could be saved. The house seemed to resent my interest in it.
It had long ago been the home of Aunt Belle, an old wise woman reputed to have a fortune buried on her property. Someone had suggested Aunt Belle thought I was demolishing her home… and she had hit me with a board a couple times to make me stop.
They suggested I should have a conversation with Aunt Belle to make my intentions clear. I might possibly even enlist her help in saving the old edifice.
The moon was full the night I crept into the spooky farmhouse in the middle of the night to beseech Aunt Belle. I told her that if she would guide me to some of her buried treasure… I would either restore her home or make sure she always had a home, even if I had to let her share mine.
The next day I was impelled, for no particular reason, to dig in a spot I had not dug before. I had begun to wonder if it was Aunt Belle guiding me when my shovel touched something solid in the soft earth.
In an obscure corner of my home, there is an antique bottle with some of the original earth from the farm still inside. It occasionally also houses feathers from some special birds.
I couldn’t save Aunt Belle’s home… but the bottle reminds me she lives with me forever.
I haven’t had the bottle appraised. It doesn’t matter if it is a valuable antique… the memory it contains now is already priceless.
If it is worthless, so will be my story… so I don’t want to know!
I am an artist.
My art manifests in many ways… indeed, in everything I do… but it is Performing Arts that earn my living. I bring a character to life and get rewarded for it.
Earlier I learned some of the things I did were endearing… and several folks would buy my dinner for entertaining them by pretending I was some other character. I was fortunate to now have a patron who had been providing for my needs for some time.
I was entertaining my liege one day when a stranger interrupted. He spoke of a gift but I could tell he had come to receive something instead. I spoke to him harshly and revealed what I had surmised.
My patron could not smell a “rat” as well as I… but I was pleased he deferred to my judgment and asked the stranger to leave.
His trust obliged me to accept, perfect and perform a new role. Now I must pretend I am Chief of Security. I am not the subject of laughter much anymore… but I do see contented smiles. It must be that I am convincing in my portrayal of a competent protector.
My role is relatively routine with rare bursts of creativity when a stranger appears. I walk the grounds at dusk and check the livestock. The outbuildings are inspected and the estate is secure when I retire.
Once I am satisfied my patron is resting normally, I take up my position between the house and the outside world.
Everything is usually routine… including my habit of scratching a shallow depression in the cool earth… and turning around several times before I curl up with my tail over my eyes…
But not my ears!
Greyspirit
The island is small…
Just the rock, the tree, and me.
and, of course, the sea.
The island is small…
Though I would like to see All..
I see only sea.
I sleep on the rock,
I also breathe on the tree.
The tree breathes on me.
Far beyond the mist
Did Intelligence exist?
Whence did we once come?
The island is all…
Just the rock, the tree, and me.
and, of course, the sea.
The island is small…
Though I would like to say All..
I say only … see!
By Greyspirit
My mission required I cross the lawless land.
I was told to escort an old monk, but the robed figure was spading a garden when I saw him. He seemed to be unaware of the pending journey.
The message I was to deliver could broach no delay. I urged him to be rapid in preparing to leave.
His motion was more fluid than fast as he separated the metal shovel blade from the handle. The metal disappeared beneath the folds of his cloak and the handle became a walking staff.
His long gait had carried him a distance before I realized he had started the trip. I had to hurry to catch up with him.
My sword was useless in the shelter less sea of sand between forests… but the old man’s shovel carved a shaded burrow into the coolness of the earth when needed.
The edge of my blade was my protection… so I dare not defile it on the sticky vines and woody growth of the forest. My sword was only feared by humans. The briars had no fear.
Fortunately, the monk kept his shovel blade sharp enough to clear the trail overgrown from last passage.
My intent had been to see the monk safely along the road… but so far he had been the one exploring the trail ahead and providing protection.
There was only one threat where my sword would be useful… but I was more than a sword length behind when the monk was attacked.
I raced forward as the huge assailant swung his weapon against the frail figure in robes supported by the walking stick.
Still too far away to assist… I heard the clang as the weapon struck the shovel blade beneath his robes. I saw the attacker fall… entangled by the walking stick.
By the time I covered the distance and arrived panting… there was no throat for my sword to threaten. The thief decided a shovel blade could be as frightening as a sword blade and had departed for easier prey.
At the edge of the city I was feeling proud of myself for my success. I had not only arrived with my important message, but I had safely delivered my human charge as well.
The old man did not enter the city; however… he held his walking stick in obvious salute to me and said…
“You have arrived safely to deliver your message. My job is done.”
He turned then and started his return trip to his garden.
Trained to stand against any man…
He had been struck, stabbed, shot, and burned.
But none won the war; just some had lost more,
And again his adversary returned.
Matched in their skill, neither wanted to kill,
But both struggled still, to survive.
The threat would draw near and in the shadow of fear
Is where they felt most alive.
But the battle grew old and with heart turning cold,
He struck desperate blows … and then several more.
That battle soon done with the war still not won,
But the mirror then shattered and fell to the floor.
Joy overwhelmed me when I first poked up through the cool dark into the warm light. The sun’s energy bathed my unfolding green shoots. My roots grew deeper into the nourishment. Anticipation surged into my leaves as I watched my brothers stretch into the sky.
My kind and I would each eventually die to be consumed into oblivion by tiny creatures. But, another brother would rise from our memory.
One day, the pasture quaked and fear shook my outstretched limbs. I saw brothers being crushed into the ground un-withered. The rays of Father Sun were blocked out as the huge beasts descended on us.
I saw white scythes appear and shear a swath through my green society.
Then my roots were gone… and I became darkness.
……………..
Life was good. I spent most days wandering in the sunshine… leisurely grazing on the luscious green grass. Anticipation quivered through me as I passed the food trough… soon substantial treats would appear there. I snorted with glee and rubbed up against the warm skin of my kind.
Occasionally, some of us would be honored and chosen to walk through the gate and up the ramp into the chariot of the gods who provided our food and comfort.
Today, I had been chosen. I ascended into the vehicle with much pride.
…………….
My home is beautiful to me, even though others prefer their own home the best. It is like many other farms but is perfect for me. I admired my own cattle as I trudged towards them with the buckets of grain.
I considered how fortunate they were to be destined for consumption by a higher order of life… what a marvelous purpose they bring to us. My own oblivion, I reflected, would be at the hands of tiny creatures in the soil…
As far as I knew…
I thought i was a guru... i thought i knew it all.
I saw myself above the crowd... but i was really small.
My human sought a lover... my spirit sought a peer.
But none met my conditions... and my human would not go near.
I helped with others problems... so i could ignore mine.
I put them in a little box in a corner of my mind.
I felt the pressure build as the little box filled...
with what i didn't want to find.
“I'll give“… i said, “the love i have... if it’s returned by you.”
And thus placed on love, conditions, that sent it all askew.
What flows from me when i set it free... is energy and true.
What i lack would fill a sack, all the things i thought i knew.
Logic tells me love means pain... and warns me not to leap again.
It speaks to me "There is no way!!”
Emotion screams, "That was yesterday!"
"Find the joy of the moment... don't send it away!”
Tomorrow makes its own rules... and we all must wait and see.
Likelihood can be misunderstood... because anything can be!
