The evolution of humanity, from one advancement to the next.
We stood in the main hall like a constellation of stars as we listened to the chancellor call out people's names. We must have been standing for longer than an hour. Every time the chancellor opened his lips I fear he will say my name or one that I recognise. I could feel my heart beating. I feel paranoid. I look to my side and see my sister, Cassie. She is a few years younger than me and barely reaches my shoulder. She's pretty. Her face is covered in freckles. Her hair is long and falls down her back. Her hair is tawny like a lion's fur or a least what I think a lion's fur looks like. I've never seen one in the flesh. I've only ever seen them in pictures hung up on her wall. Cassie bites her lip as her leg trembles. Everyone else hides their emotions. I gently squeeze Cassie's hand. For a moment she looks at me and I crack a comforting smile. She smiles back and also squeezes my hand just as tight.
The copper gold of the twilight dissolved as the silent breath of night settled in the woods. Shanta hoped the moon would not shine as bright as it did the previous night. She could see it hidden behind a cluster of softly glowing black clouds. Please, please stay there, she prayed.
Death poured me a cup of tea. It was a herbal blend, one of my least favourites, because it tasted more like dirt than water. Still, I tried to appreciate the bitter flavour. I didn’t know if I’d ever taste it again.
She wasn't a woman who believed in omens, usually. After the third night of waking up to the demonic growl of a barn owl she was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of ignoring these apparent warnings. With her latest discovery she had been leery, feeling as if she was being watched and would be discovered in violation of the Tenants at any moment. She knew it was dangerous to posses any printed words, but this wasn't a book, this was a secret cache of writings; folded pages with scrolling text and tucked inside a paper packet and on one side in a top corner there was a tiny painting of a barn owl and the number 50. She knew people who had turned in books which they had found. She knew them and never saw them again. The wise ones, the ones who knew what the words said were hunted and had high bounties on their heads. Even with all of this information she couldn't resist picking up the bundle of writings. When they fell out of the rafter where citizen 103050 was searching for food stores she didn't put them back, she didn't burn them, she didn't take them to the authorities & report the abandoned cabin. Perhaps it was the face of the owl in the tiny painting, or the grey twine that bound them that made them so intriguing. Of course she didn't know what the words meant. Somehow she felt connected to the painting, the number 50. The wise ones had whispered stories of times when the writings were everywhere, when even small children understood and were able to decipher their meaning. These stories always left citizen 103050 feeling that something must be wrong. If they were shared with children how could the writings be so dangerous that they required total destruction? Tonight she woke in a cold sweat. The otherworldly sound of the owl had awakened her from a deep sleep, but unlike the previous two nights it didn't stop. The growl of the bird was intended to scare off would be attackers and usually did the trick and subsided reasonably fast. This night it kept growling and she knew that she needed to act fast if she hoped to see daylight again. In a flash she had the bundle of writings in her hands; four papers per packet, each one sheathed in the heavier weight paper pocket, six in total, each baring the image of the owl and tied tightly together. She raced to the hearth, thankfully cold from lack of use, and stood up inside the vast stone chimney. Carefully she placed the toes of her boots on one side and her back against the other. As fast as she could maneuver she shimmied up the inside of the stone stack driven by the constant call of the owl outside. As high and as far as she could ascend she moved not knowing what was to come, but knowing it was coming for her and the writings. Suddenly the growls of the owl stopped cold and so did citizen 103050. The last dust of chimney soot settled on the hearth as the door swung open. Whoever it was had no concern about being stealth which indicated that they were likely with the authorities. She could hear the sparse furnishings being overturned, the one cupboard was open and the closet was open and inspected. The intruder stepped toward the hearth and placed a hand on the stone slab just inside the chimney. Instinctively she stopped breathing. As the hand withdrew from her view she exhaled silently and as she breathed in something tickled in her throat. This was it, she felt a cough working it's way down into her lungs and ready to erupt from her mouth. She knew it would mean sudden death to be found with writings and yet there was nothing she could do to stop the sound from revealing her hiding spot. In the exact moment that her own body betrayed her and threatened to end her life a shrill screech emanated from the owl in the woods masking her wretched choked cough. In that second she knew that she had to discover what the writings meant; that she was destined to find their meaning. No matter the threat to herself, no matter the hardship she would have to endure, no matter the Tenants she had to break she would find a wise one who would read the writings to or she would die trying.
I always thought it was a cruel joke that everyone, at some point in human history, looked at everything as symbolic. I closed the door to my four door sedan and began the slow ascent up the gravel driveway to the "Family Cabin" that was flanked on all sides by towering, spindly pines that gazed down at me as I entered the sacred hall of "solitude" (hint: the cabin was only five miles outside of town, hence the quotes around solitude). This was the same family cabin that had been passed down through my grandparents onto my mom and then, eventually, whenever I figure out the hell I'm doing with my life, it would be passed down unto me. Which is terrifying because, well, what do you do when you have a giant old, creaky, downright haunted piece of real estate that you only use to sit behind a laptop and keyboard? Look at the trees, see some faces in there and divine some weird-ass story about finding yourself in nature?
Kali- I met her three weeks ago, in the snow. I had never seen anything more beautiful and was greatly embarrassed after walking right into her. She had golden-brown skin and long dreadlocks, made even more magnificent by the contrast of the dreary January sky.
I awoke with a start. Panting heavily, heart pounding in agitation, I looked around the room through bleary eyes. Lying on my back, I could see the beginning streaks of morning light filtering through my grandmother’s worn-out yellow curtains. It was only a dream. A bad dream, which unfortunately contained too many elements of truth. Sighing in resignation, I closed my eyes and rolled onto my belly, punching my relatively flat pillow for good measure. All at once, my frame went rigid as a board. My fingers gripped the edges of my pillow like a drowning man who has just been thrown a lifeline. The events of the last seven months played like scenes from the worst movie I had ever seen. Not wanting to trigger a stress induced asthma attack, I ruthlessly slammed that door into my mind. Yea, I envisioned a real door. It was painted a deep blood red. The black doorknob resembled a clawed talon-like hand extended in welcome, just waiting to snatch me into the abyss of depression beyond. Jerking upright I began my deep breathing techniques. Suddenly my nose became alert to the tantalizing smell of homemade biscuits. Smiling to myself, I felt the last tendrils of tension melt away. My grandmother always knew just what I needed. To some of the locals, she was a healer. Many others called her a witch. To me, she was just Gran. The elderly woman who took one look at the sad-eyed mute little girl and raised her as her own. Kicking my legs free of the clingy sheets, I made my way to the kitchen. My tiny grandmother moved adeptly around the room like someone half her age.
The doorbells jingle, a woman who looks to be about eight going on nine months pregnant waddles into X$team, a local mini-mart on the corner of North Lewis Drive. Her flip flops drag as she walks into the chip aisle to snag sour cream and onion Pringles. Next is the cold beverage aisle, where she contemplates every flavor of available juice.
When I woke up that morning it seemed just like another day. Filled with the mundane task of my regular routine of house chores and taking care of the animals around the farm. Until I got an unusual call from a friend down the bayou who was concerned about some of her cattle gone missing. Losing your keys is one thing but a whole cow...strange. But hey mischief can strike at any moment who am I to say when things should go down. I picked up the phone sounding concerned. After hearing the news I finished breakfast and headed down that way to help. When I pulled up in the yard Rachel's face looked like she was missing more than just a cow. I reassured her that we'd find it to just take a moment and breathe...farm life ain't cheap. So I figured that's where the extra stress came from little did I know the cow was the least of our problems.
Everything flowed; through her human eyes, from her soul to the cosmos. She was different; not unique, not refreshing, not weird, nor an outcast, or sociopath- but wordlessly different. She was not from this world and she knew it. Energetically sensitive as she was, she realized she was (what is known now as) an Empath at 5 years of age. She unknowingly embodied tremendous power. She could both receive what others put out energetically, and transmit to others energetic codes that would make them integrate higher vibrational frequencies and emote the feelings that corresponded. It was just a little energetic and emotional manipulation, but she had no idea that was the case at the time. She was just a child and knew that if someone’s energy field made her feel bad, she could make them feel better. Even if only because she wanted to feel better herself.
A Room with no walls Lyrics by JD Glasscock I've been singing songs in a room with no walls Wondering how I got here
Preface A world of relativity, hell for those seeking the absolute, the truth. So many opinions, so many perspectives each claiming equal validity as merely an opinion. A world of many entities all experiencing the same phenomena yet perceiving them very differently and concluding in stark contrast. This world, this reality is very much is analogous to the story of the tower of Babel in biblical scripture. Systems built upon systems of limitation of perception and expression. I posit that this reality is designed to obscure truth. If the pessimistic slant of my words put you off reading further i.e. the emotional tone of message matters to you then it is unlikely that you seek truth; for to seek truth is to do so without expectation of its appeal or lack thereof.