Psychedelia
Ghastly screams haunt me. The wind fills my ears with the damned whispers of those long gone. I walk in a dark alley.
The rain falls on me. I feel the wet drops on my skin. The rain turns to snow, the snow turns to hail, and the hail then turns to stone. All of a sudden, everything stops. A gumball hits my skin.
Behind me, tortured voices follow my wake and hounds from hell bay at my tracks. I attempt to run. I take a step forward. I fall.
I am falling for what seems an eternity into a chasm where there once was solid road. The whispering ravine swallows me whole.
For many a dream, one only needs to close his eyes, count to three and it’s over. That’s never the case for me.
I fear that the fall would leave me broken. I fear that the fall would cause my demise. I find myself wrong. I fall lightly upon a grassy meadow. Psychedelia, it is the beauty in chaos.
I wake. I am human… or am I? I know that all hell breaks loose when man and nature collide. I am he who seeks freedom, but I am trapped in a corporal prison. I seek peace in chaos, but I am trapped in the organized fray of war.
I look outside and I see snow. Moisture condenses upon the glass. I see an eye and I shiver.
I look around, the room is empty. Outside is freedom. An iron door bars my path. It opens and I fall into slumber once more.
This time, the dream is different. I am a wolf being chased by a pack of bloodthirsty rabbits. The hunter becomes the hunted and the hunted becomes hunter.
I run across a clean forest floor. It was free from the litter of dead leaves and garbage. I wonder why.
I break through the dense thicket. I find myself before the same ravine. Behind me, my predators caw like crows. They find me, I have but one choice.
I take a step forward and I begin to fall. I feel the wind on my face, I savour it. I yearn for the rock bottom for I wish to die. Instead, I sail effortlessly through the air. I am born anew.
I resume my human form. I am awake. A man in white enters the room. He tells me I am free to go. I stand and I leave.
I am dazed, I walk some more. A woman I do not know runs up to me. She hugs me. I see on her hand a diamond ring. "It seems she is married" I think. She places a kiss on my lips. And she takes my hand.
I remember that I forgot to ask the man something, something important. I wish to ask him “Will the dreams go away?”
Before the woman takes me away, I have a final glimpse at the building I am leaving. It has a sign that says. ‘Mental Asylum’ I dismiss it for I don’t even know what that means.
I walk away, wondering if I am ready to face the world.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Dreams...
DREAMS
“Bianca, I said no. Don’t push your luck!” said the lad whose hair sat awry. His feet were gently lapped by the waves. The sun was setting over the horizon; it created an orange glow upon the sea’s surface. An auburn haired youth sat beside the young man. Both seemed to be in college, owing to the IDs and textbooks they held. The lass seductively said “But Ryan… please…” “N-no Bianca! T-that’s f-final!” stuttered the lad as he held his temple and gently rubbed it. “Now, Bianca, I have to get back to the dorm…” said the lad weakly.
Ryan banged the door to his dorm room and laid his bag upon the bed. “’sup?” said his room mate.
“Nothing…” he replied sourly. He plopped his head down on the soft pillow and relished the feeling. His temple was by now throbbing with pain.
“S**t! It’s getting worse…” he mumbled to himself.
“Well, I’ll be out tonight. Knock next door if you need anything,” said his room mate.
“Sure…” he said weakly.
“Sure you’re alright?” asked the other.
“Cal, I’m fine,” he said with weak finality. “Well, if you say so…” replied Cal. Before he went out, Cal slung his leather jacket upon his shoulder and took his keys that hung by the door.
“See ‘ya later!” said the other.
“Agh!!” Ryan almost dropped the glass of water he had in his hand. The cool drops hit his foot but provided little comfort. He reached for the pills in his bag, but he collapsed and lost consciousness before he was able to.
*** ***
“C**p!” Ryan spat out what seemed to be phlegm with blood. He looked around and saw a different surrounding. He saw a bathroom with a mirror on the wall opposite him. He saw himself and almost jumped back when he saw bloodshot eyes, weary face and unruly hair.
“Is he okay?”
“What do you think will happen to him?”
“Don’t worry…”
Ryan shrank back from the whispers that he heard. For once, he noticed that the light in the room was not on but a diffused glow was still present. “The F**k?” he said. He let water run from the tap and washed his face and tidied up his hair.
“He’s moving!”
“But he’s not waking…”
“Am I going insane? Go away!” he told inexistent voices. After a loud thump, the voices in his head melted away.
Ryan walked back to his room. It was tidier than he remembered. He lay on the bed, arms behind his head. He looked at the ceiling. The bulb was not on. Outside it was dark, but inside the room, light was present.
The door creaked open slowly. “You ready Ryan?” said a most seductive voice.
“B-bianca?! I-I thought I said NO…” Ryan began shaking.
“No you didn’t… you were the one who told me to come tonight…” the woman took her jacket off.
The door shut. Who could have known what would happen behind the closed door and moans of pleasure? The door shook on its hinges as a form banged against it. It vibrated as that which was behind it shuddered.
The woman left the room, a broad smile on her face. She wiped the sweat from her brow and laughed. Inside, Ryan lay bare-chested upon the bed’s tangled sheets. His face was a mixture of pleasure and pain.
The next day came and Ryan went back to school. There was no sign of Bianca anywhere. Cal hailed him and asked if he was okay. Ryan responded by a wordless nod.
He had seen Bianca kissing a basketball jock passionately. He banged his fist against a nearby locker and saw that it had wounds but no blood poured out.
Back at the dorm he moped upon the still-tangled sheets. Cal had never come back. Weeks passed, months even. The memory of Bianca burned bright in his mind. One day, everything just faded into oblivion.
*** ***
Ryan felt a cold metal surface beneath his bare body. A suffocating plastic wrap covered his nude form. For some unknown reason, it simply slipped off of his form. He looked around, for the first time he realized it was cold.
It was a hospital morgue. Being a medicine student he had been to the place a couple of times, sometimes for reasons beyond academics. But that was beyond the point. He shivered, no nurses were on duty.
He didn’t even bother to find clothes. He pushed the door open, it was mysteriously ajar. He climbed the flight of steps and rapped the countertop at the nurse’s station. The on duty nurse was roused from her sleep.
She screamed at the sight of him and the tag that usually marked dead bodies in the hospital. The date on the nurse station’s calendar was June 14, 2013. The clock displayed 4:36 PM on its face. The tag on his arm said March 13, 2013 12:00 AM.
“W-what happened to me?” Ryan looked at his hands.
“W-what’s your name sir?” the nurse was shivering.
“Ryan Stanford” Ryan told her.
“C-cause of death: Stroke” she answered. “According to this, you had a coma for the first few weeks. Afterwards, you were declared brain dead because your brain had too small an amount of activity. You were scheduled for an autopsy but it was struck out. Your relatives never came for you.”
Ryan only stood by in stunned silence. He asked for clothes and walked out of the hospital. He had never once noticed the people that trotted around the hospital.
He went back to the dorm and saw that the building had been taken down. He went to the university and saw a crying Bianca. It had been months, but he never knew she was that devoted to him. He thought of going to her, but the vision he saw in his coma haunted his very core. He smiled sadly and walked away.
“Oh joy, I should go and inform my DEAR parents that I’m alive…” Ryan sighed. Back at the university, Cal went to Bianca and consoled her. Man looked upon grieving woman; grieving woman looked upon comforting man. Love formed anew from the end of an old age. Thus is the power of dreams.
“Bianca, I said no. Don’t push your luck!” said the lad whose hair sat awry. His feet were gently lapped by the waves. The sun was setting over the horizon; it created an orange glow upon the sea’s surface. An auburn haired youth sat beside the young man. Both seemed to be in college, owing to the IDs and textbooks they held. The lass seductively said “But Ryan… please…” “N-no Bianca! T-that’s f-final!” stuttered the lad as he held his temple and gently rubbed it. “Now, Bianca, I have to get back to the dorm…” said the lad weakly.
Ryan banged the door to his dorm room and laid his bag upon the bed. “’sup?” said his room mate.
“Nothing…” he replied sourly. He plopped his head down on the soft pillow and relished the feeling. His temple was by now throbbing with pain.
“S**t! It’s getting worse…” he mumbled to himself.
“Well, I’ll be out tonight. Knock next door if you need anything,” said his room mate.
“Sure…” he said weakly.
“Sure you’re alright?” asked the other.
“Cal, I’m fine,” he said with weak finality. “Well, if you say so…” replied Cal. Before he went out, Cal slung his leather jacket upon his shoulder and took his keys that hung by the door.
“See ‘ya later!” said the other.
“Agh!!” Ryan almost dropped the glass of water he had in his hand. The cool drops hit his foot but provided little comfort. He reached for the pills in his bag, but he collapsed and lost consciousness before he was able to.
*** ***
“C**p!” Ryan spat out what seemed to be phlegm with blood. He looked around and saw a different surrounding. He saw a bathroom with a mirror on the wall opposite him. He saw himself and almost jumped back when he saw bloodshot eyes, weary face and unruly hair.
“Is he okay?”
“What do you think will happen to him?”
“Don’t worry…”
Ryan shrank back from the whispers that he heard. For once, he noticed that the light in the room was not on but a diffused glow was still present. “The F**k?” he said. He let water run from the tap and washed his face and tidied up his hair.
“He’s moving!”
“But he’s not waking…”
“Am I going insane? Go away!” he told inexistent voices. After a loud thump, the voices in his head melted away.
Ryan walked back to his room. It was tidier than he remembered. He lay on the bed, arms behind his head. He looked at the ceiling. The bulb was not on. Outside it was dark, but inside the room, light was present.
The door creaked open slowly. “You ready Ryan?” said a most seductive voice.
“B-bianca?! I-I thought I said NO…” Ryan began shaking.
“No you didn’t… you were the one who told me to come tonight…” the woman took her jacket off.
The door shut. Who could have known what would happen behind the closed door and moans of pleasure? The door shook on its hinges as a form banged against it. It vibrated as that which was behind it shuddered.
The woman left the room, a broad smile on her face. She wiped the sweat from her brow and laughed. Inside, Ryan lay bare-chested upon the bed’s tangled sheets. His face was a mixture of pleasure and pain.
The next day came and Ryan went back to school. There was no sign of Bianca anywhere. Cal hailed him and asked if he was okay. Ryan responded by a wordless nod.
He had seen Bianca kissing a basketball jock passionately. He banged his fist against a nearby locker and saw that it had wounds but no blood poured out.
Back at the dorm he moped upon the still-tangled sheets. Cal had never come back. Weeks passed, months even. The memory of Bianca burned bright in his mind. One day, everything just faded into oblivion.
*** ***
Ryan felt a cold metal surface beneath his bare body. A suffocating plastic wrap covered his nude form. For some unknown reason, it simply slipped off of his form. He looked around, for the first time he realized it was cold.
It was a hospital morgue. Being a medicine student he had been to the place a couple of times, sometimes for reasons beyond academics. But that was beyond the point. He shivered, no nurses were on duty.
He didn’t even bother to find clothes. He pushed the door open, it was mysteriously ajar. He climbed the flight of steps and rapped the countertop at the nurse’s station. The on duty nurse was roused from her sleep.
She screamed at the sight of him and the tag that usually marked dead bodies in the hospital. The date on the nurse station’s calendar was June 14, 2013. The clock displayed 4:36 PM on its face. The tag on his arm said March 13, 2013 12:00 AM.
“W-what happened to me?” Ryan looked at his hands.
“W-what’s your name sir?” the nurse was shivering.
“Ryan Stanford” Ryan told her.
“C-cause of death: Stroke” she answered. “According to this, you had a coma for the first few weeks. Afterwards, you were declared brain dead because your brain had too small an amount of activity. You were scheduled for an autopsy but it was struck out. Your relatives never came for you.”
Ryan only stood by in stunned silence. He asked for clothes and walked out of the hospital. He had never once noticed the people that trotted around the hospital.
He went back to the dorm and saw that the building had been taken down. He went to the university and saw a crying Bianca. It had been months, but he never knew she was that devoted to him. He thought of going to her, but the vision he saw in his coma haunted his very core. He smiled sadly and walked away.
“Oh joy, I should go and inform my DEAR parents that I’m alive…” Ryan sighed. Back at the university, Cal went to Bianca and consoled her. Man looked upon grieving woman; grieving woman looked upon comforting man. Love formed anew from the end of an old age. Thus is the power of dreams.
Monday, January 11, 2010
The Rose and Her Bandit...
Bearing a black bandana, a black coat of arms and in his chest a blackened heart, the bandit brings sorrow to all he encounters. With traitorous soul, deceptive mind and despicable manner, the rogue brings tears to many who are on his path.
Search the skies for the eagle, search the seas for the whale, search the plains for the tiger, but look no further than the distant cries of women to find the bandit. Standard raised and flapping in the wind, he holds control over his domain using fear. Death, doom and destruction, his name is synonymous with these words.
The sun rose upon a bloodstained battlefield, a lone white flower bent in its midst. Drops of blood stained its pristine petals, tears of sacrifice for love. Yet the bandit had come and destroyed all that she knew.
The white rose loved the blue eyes of the bandit, the depth of their eternal abysses. She loved him dearly, sacrificed all she had for him. But he had done nothing but enslave her, deceive her and molest her innocence.
She was unable to do much but cry. Her heart once filled with gentle compassion burned with the fires of hate. Yet her love for him prevented her from laying waste upon his tender face.
The rose stood, high, mighty, glorious and beautiful. A ray of hope for lives ended, families shattered and relatives divided by her love’s hand. She sought his change and that of her own.
Little existed to describe her deep infatuation, but her emotions mingled with that of loathe. Shame! What woe did she speak upon her love’s evil, upon her love’s delirium!
The rose walked to the polished pebbles. The sun’s light cast silver upon rushing liquid. Crystal clear and cool, the waters rushed along. The rose set her hands upon the currents to wash away the blood. She immersed her trunk in the water, washing away the grime of war, purifying herself in the tranquil stream.
She called out in vain; her cries could not be heard. The lone witness of her despair was the river. The river called to her, its gurgled noise seemingly took the form of human speech. The river told her of the wonders it flowed through, the valleys it cut through, the lakes it fed and the falls it leapt over. But it told her that nowhere did it see water so pure as that which trickled down her cheeks.
The rose called out to the playful naiad, she asked if it knew how to help her. The naiad turned away sadly and said it did not. It was simply too immersed in the world’s beauty to know. It was too deeply intoxicated in childish innocence that it did not know what to say.
The rose turned away sadly and thanked the naiad. But she had one request, for the river to take her to see the places it had so beautifully described. The river was more than happy to comply.
For days, she sat upon the currents as the river showed her the things it had seen. It never paused speaking through the rising of the sun and the setting of the moon. The rose awed at what it saw, but they did little to distract the rose from thoughts of the bandit.
One day as the river gurgled along happily with its new companion; it was distracted for a while and did not notice the rose being washed up upon the roots of a massive tree. The rose did not notice either for it had slipped into a quiet slumber.
*** *** ***
The black standard of the one-man army fluttered in the breeze. His eyes were blinded by the searing sun. He had embarked on a journey, one of self discovery. He never deemed the extent of his delusion.
The gentle cawing of an eagle resounded high above, its sounds blending into a wild but graceful voice. Full of raw ferocity, it spoke well of the world it saw.
As the bandit rode down below on his steed, the eagle wove its tale. It told the bandit of the horrors it saw in the world, of the wars and bloodshed it bore witness to. The bandit did but blink at these stories, but his newly discovered self cringed in disgust.
The eagle flew high above, took him into its wings and showed it the horrors it had seen. Tears almost fell when the bandit saw the blood strewn battlefield that he had created. They descended and the eagle landed upon his armoured shoulder. It told him to continue down the path he had found, reach higher and he shall find his new companion.
*** *** ***
The rose looked up and saw the massive tree with its gnarled branches. Its crown of leaves was lush and green. The wind rustled through the branches and made a sound that would pass for a human tongue.
The tree told the rose that in the time he stood there, he had not seen such youth in distress. He had seen the sky’s wrath and the river’s rage, but he had never seen such sadness in any of them. He told the rose of the things he saw as he stood there, of the little animals that played among his branches and of the small shoots that grew at his roots.
The rose asked him if he knew enough to help and he replied immediately that he did indeed. But when the rose began to speak of war and plains, the tree was puzzled; it did not know what she talked of.
But when the rose asked him of things in the forest, he described everything in great detail. The rose realized with great disappointment that the tree only knew what happened around it. It was impervious to the matters of the world; a self-centered and arrogant being.
Then the rose asked the tree if he could keep her company as she contemplated the world in silence. The tree looked sadly at the rose and told her that he would keep her company. The wind blew the tree’s sigh, it knew it had failed and it did not know enough.
The rose, in its silence saw itself lose hope slowly. When the rains came and her friend the river returned to her and carried her away, she hardly paid attention.
The river chattered on and on as the rose swam in her currents. Soon, the river came to the mouth of the sea. The river pushed her out into the waves of the sea.
The rose talked to the sea lightly and asked many questions. The sea told her much of everything, but its arrogance was too much. It rose its crests higher. It bragged of its power and its strength, but when the sun came out, it cowered in fright. Water began to leech from its surface and formed clouds up high.
The rose asked if the sea knew enough to help her, but it was too busy boasting of itself. The sea knew much strength, but little wisdom and little courage. So the rose simply asked the sea if it would let the river flow back to its source so that she could come upon it back to the land.
The sea hesitated but soon agreed, the river took her once more into its embrace. The river noticed then what the rose truly saw and was ashamed of its endless chattering.
*** *** ***
Lonely, the coyote howls in the light of the moon for the moon. Lonely, the bandit has no companions, his evil left him the despised of mankind. Truth be told, had he not seen his face in the rose’s gentle eyes, he would have spread his evil further.
The eagle cawed out in the distance, the coyote came running. Sly but knowing, its fur was painted in different patterns. No mark of blood stained its chops. No mark of blood on its paws.
It was symbol of wit, primal intelligence. It was an animal clean of sin, doing what it does by dictation of nature. The moment the bandit asked his question, he knew it was not to be answered. The coyote led him on to find his next teacher.
*** *** ***
The river felt a pang of sympathy for the rose that floated upon its currents. The river was lonely and while it felt obliged to help the rose, it felt that it was beginning to discover something about itself.
It had always awed about the world’s beauty, but it had never appreciated it. It was always gurgling, always in a hurry to see more. It always chattered and it never fell silent.
The rose taught it that in silence, one would discover oneself. Now it knew that it wanted to help the rose. Now it knew that it yearned to help the rose.
It took the rose to its source. The mountain was more than happy to see the river. Upon it drifted the rose, the river gently rolled to rouse the rose.
The rose looked up and squinted at the mountain. The mountain laughed gently. It was a laugh that sent a rolling boom through the land. The rose asked the mountain if it could help her.
The mountain didn’t hear. He talked about the land he saw from his peak. He spoke of vast forests and unfathomable lakes spread across the landscape. But alas! The rose asked the mountain if it knew of the bandit. It knew not.
The mountain didn’t know what a human was at all. It still kept talking even as this issue passed. The rose welled up with indignation.
It told the mountain that it was no wise man. It told the mountain that seeing the entire picture without seeing the smaller things was the same as seeing the smallest things but not seeing the entire picture.
The mountain reared up, and swatted the river away. It had been offended. Downstream, the rose, badly bruised washed up. Her friend remained by her side to offer consolation. Beside her was a tiny seed.
*** *** ***
The coyote trotted on, the bandit’s horse followed close behind. It came around a bend and there flowed a crystal clear river. The sun shone from it. Little did the bandit know his next teacher would be cruel.
*** *** ***
The rose saw in the seed herself. She saw that to find what she was she needed to go back to her roots. But it was too late. The bandit came around; his horse crushed the tiny rose. Her screams of pain frightened the poor steed that bucked and threw the bandit from its back.
The coyote stepped back. The bandit sailed through the air. The last thing he saw was his reflection in the river. He realized that all the answers he sought were within him. He just hadn’t known where to look.
Then, the cool embrace of the waters surrounded him. His clothes dragged him to the river bottom. Before he allowed the water to enter his lung, he mouthed “I’m sorry…”
He closed his eyes and opened his mouth. A single moment of pain took him and death’s cold embrace wrapped around his body.
There are times when we are obsessed with our quest for truth. There are times when we forget who we are in our obsessed quest to find answers. We forget that we can find all these answers within ourselves. We fail to realize this until it's too late…
Search the skies for the eagle, search the seas for the whale, search the plains for the tiger, but look no further than the distant cries of women to find the bandit. Standard raised and flapping in the wind, he holds control over his domain using fear. Death, doom and destruction, his name is synonymous with these words.
The sun rose upon a bloodstained battlefield, a lone white flower bent in its midst. Drops of blood stained its pristine petals, tears of sacrifice for love. Yet the bandit had come and destroyed all that she knew.
The white rose loved the blue eyes of the bandit, the depth of their eternal abysses. She loved him dearly, sacrificed all she had for him. But he had done nothing but enslave her, deceive her and molest her innocence.
She was unable to do much but cry. Her heart once filled with gentle compassion burned with the fires of hate. Yet her love for him prevented her from laying waste upon his tender face.
The rose stood, high, mighty, glorious and beautiful. A ray of hope for lives ended, families shattered and relatives divided by her love’s hand. She sought his change and that of her own.
Little existed to describe her deep infatuation, but her emotions mingled with that of loathe. Shame! What woe did she speak upon her love’s evil, upon her love’s delirium!
The rose walked to the polished pebbles. The sun’s light cast silver upon rushing liquid. Crystal clear and cool, the waters rushed along. The rose set her hands upon the currents to wash away the blood. She immersed her trunk in the water, washing away the grime of war, purifying herself in the tranquil stream.
She called out in vain; her cries could not be heard. The lone witness of her despair was the river. The river called to her, its gurgled noise seemingly took the form of human speech. The river told her of the wonders it flowed through, the valleys it cut through, the lakes it fed and the falls it leapt over. But it told her that nowhere did it see water so pure as that which trickled down her cheeks.
The rose called out to the playful naiad, she asked if it knew how to help her. The naiad turned away sadly and said it did not. It was simply too immersed in the world’s beauty to know. It was too deeply intoxicated in childish innocence that it did not know what to say.
The rose turned away sadly and thanked the naiad. But she had one request, for the river to take her to see the places it had so beautifully described. The river was more than happy to comply.
For days, she sat upon the currents as the river showed her the things it had seen. It never paused speaking through the rising of the sun and the setting of the moon. The rose awed at what it saw, but they did little to distract the rose from thoughts of the bandit.
One day as the river gurgled along happily with its new companion; it was distracted for a while and did not notice the rose being washed up upon the roots of a massive tree. The rose did not notice either for it had slipped into a quiet slumber.
*** *** ***
The black standard of the one-man army fluttered in the breeze. His eyes were blinded by the searing sun. He had embarked on a journey, one of self discovery. He never deemed the extent of his delusion.
The gentle cawing of an eagle resounded high above, its sounds blending into a wild but graceful voice. Full of raw ferocity, it spoke well of the world it saw.
As the bandit rode down below on his steed, the eagle wove its tale. It told the bandit of the horrors it saw in the world, of the wars and bloodshed it bore witness to. The bandit did but blink at these stories, but his newly discovered self cringed in disgust.
The eagle flew high above, took him into its wings and showed it the horrors it had seen. Tears almost fell when the bandit saw the blood strewn battlefield that he had created. They descended and the eagle landed upon his armoured shoulder. It told him to continue down the path he had found, reach higher and he shall find his new companion.
*** *** ***
The rose looked up and saw the massive tree with its gnarled branches. Its crown of leaves was lush and green. The wind rustled through the branches and made a sound that would pass for a human tongue.
The tree told the rose that in the time he stood there, he had not seen such youth in distress. He had seen the sky’s wrath and the river’s rage, but he had never seen such sadness in any of them. He told the rose of the things he saw as he stood there, of the little animals that played among his branches and of the small shoots that grew at his roots.
The rose asked him if he knew enough to help and he replied immediately that he did indeed. But when the rose began to speak of war and plains, the tree was puzzled; it did not know what she talked of.
But when the rose asked him of things in the forest, he described everything in great detail. The rose realized with great disappointment that the tree only knew what happened around it. It was impervious to the matters of the world; a self-centered and arrogant being.
Then the rose asked the tree if he could keep her company as she contemplated the world in silence. The tree looked sadly at the rose and told her that he would keep her company. The wind blew the tree’s sigh, it knew it had failed and it did not know enough.
The rose, in its silence saw itself lose hope slowly. When the rains came and her friend the river returned to her and carried her away, she hardly paid attention.
The river chattered on and on as the rose swam in her currents. Soon, the river came to the mouth of the sea. The river pushed her out into the waves of the sea.
The rose talked to the sea lightly and asked many questions. The sea told her much of everything, but its arrogance was too much. It rose its crests higher. It bragged of its power and its strength, but when the sun came out, it cowered in fright. Water began to leech from its surface and formed clouds up high.
The rose asked if the sea knew enough to help her, but it was too busy boasting of itself. The sea knew much strength, but little wisdom and little courage. So the rose simply asked the sea if it would let the river flow back to its source so that she could come upon it back to the land.
The sea hesitated but soon agreed, the river took her once more into its embrace. The river noticed then what the rose truly saw and was ashamed of its endless chattering.
*** *** ***
Lonely, the coyote howls in the light of the moon for the moon. Lonely, the bandit has no companions, his evil left him the despised of mankind. Truth be told, had he not seen his face in the rose’s gentle eyes, he would have spread his evil further.
The eagle cawed out in the distance, the coyote came running. Sly but knowing, its fur was painted in different patterns. No mark of blood stained its chops. No mark of blood on its paws.
It was symbol of wit, primal intelligence. It was an animal clean of sin, doing what it does by dictation of nature. The moment the bandit asked his question, he knew it was not to be answered. The coyote led him on to find his next teacher.
*** *** ***
The river felt a pang of sympathy for the rose that floated upon its currents. The river was lonely and while it felt obliged to help the rose, it felt that it was beginning to discover something about itself.
It had always awed about the world’s beauty, but it had never appreciated it. It was always gurgling, always in a hurry to see more. It always chattered and it never fell silent.
The rose taught it that in silence, one would discover oneself. Now it knew that it wanted to help the rose. Now it knew that it yearned to help the rose.
It took the rose to its source. The mountain was more than happy to see the river. Upon it drifted the rose, the river gently rolled to rouse the rose.
The rose looked up and squinted at the mountain. The mountain laughed gently. It was a laugh that sent a rolling boom through the land. The rose asked the mountain if it could help her.
The mountain didn’t hear. He talked about the land he saw from his peak. He spoke of vast forests and unfathomable lakes spread across the landscape. But alas! The rose asked the mountain if it knew of the bandit. It knew not.
The mountain didn’t know what a human was at all. It still kept talking even as this issue passed. The rose welled up with indignation.
It told the mountain that it was no wise man. It told the mountain that seeing the entire picture without seeing the smaller things was the same as seeing the smallest things but not seeing the entire picture.
The mountain reared up, and swatted the river away. It had been offended. Downstream, the rose, badly bruised washed up. Her friend remained by her side to offer consolation. Beside her was a tiny seed.
*** *** ***
The coyote trotted on, the bandit’s horse followed close behind. It came around a bend and there flowed a crystal clear river. The sun shone from it. Little did the bandit know his next teacher would be cruel.
*** *** ***
The rose saw in the seed herself. She saw that to find what she was she needed to go back to her roots. But it was too late. The bandit came around; his horse crushed the tiny rose. Her screams of pain frightened the poor steed that bucked and threw the bandit from its back.
The coyote stepped back. The bandit sailed through the air. The last thing he saw was his reflection in the river. He realized that all the answers he sought were within him. He just hadn’t known where to look.
Then, the cool embrace of the waters surrounded him. His clothes dragged him to the river bottom. Before he allowed the water to enter his lung, he mouthed “I’m sorry…”
He closed his eyes and opened his mouth. A single moment of pain took him and death’s cold embrace wrapped around his body.
There are times when we are obsessed with our quest for truth. There are times when we forget who we are in our obsessed quest to find answers. We forget that we can find all these answers within ourselves. We fail to realize this until it's too late…
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