Slow Change

Slowly, there is change, morphing from the crusted earth that had grown into the body, fusing with every nerve like roots seeking water. The agony of this transformation lasts for one thousand seasons with images of another life haunting, dashing hopes with faint desire. I have been swallowed whole and left only with regret for a forgotten oath. I can feel the mourning of gnarled hands on foreign soil, stretched out across the landscape, as voices scream for justice. The screams, full of terror, have left something foul to rot and it is now seeping into my space. An ancient blood surges through my veins, forming flesh, forcing me into something I had not known before.

RISEN

Truth is sometimes meant to be forgotten. A whisper of it can raise an ancient memory where man’s reason is tainted by the unknown. That unseen presence waits, pulling strings to create the perfect moment when our attention is distracted by monotonous routine. Chaos crawled into the veins of society, like a parasite, feeding first on the most vulnerable. I remember when she first touched the surface and sent her dark seed to burrow into my thoughts and the ground shifted. Like startled from a dream, my reality jumped from one dimension to another, in a flash, and I fell from the comfort of the womb that held me. I was suddenly aware of her nagging presence in the back of my mind. But then, the audacity of humanity brought fear. Many blindly rejoiced in the promises of salvation that she offered. The nature of her was something they did not understand, and she preyed on them.

Slowly, the change came, morphing from the crusted earth that had grown into the body, fusing with every nerve like roots seeking water. The agony of this transformation spent a thousand seasons with haunted images from another life, dashing hope with faint desire. I was swallowed whole left only with regret for a forgotten oath. Gnarled hands that mourn from foreign soil are stretched out across the landscape as voices scream for justice. The screams, full of terror, have left something foul to rot that now seeps into my space. Ancient blood surges through the veins, forming flesh, forcing me into something I have not known before.  

Then, ageless elders speak to me in a manner of reverence, with a tongue I do not understand. The timeless state of our being is to bring harmony to the world. Stories come in slices. I recall a council from a race not of my kind that told of a great war where a peaceful race of giants became savage and broke with madness. But, alas, these are only visions that have come with my passing.

I am not myself, and look, the inner world begins to fade. No longer do I belong. In a convulsive spasm, I am pressed into the walls of my prison, suffocating to the edge of my last breath. Whatever I am changing into cannot survive here. I am undone as pain saturates the limbs taking shape, forcing me to move for the first time. Pressure comes from deep down, crawling up the sides of me. A presence from above is pushing, taunting.

“I have awoken a troubled soul…, no longer one with the Garden…, our worlds fractured, splitting…, rejoining.” My words are lost on her, but it is too late. I can’t turn back. I know this darkness and must see what lay above and confront it. Black eyes are searching for me, probing into the depths to take me. This planet is no longer friendly for my company but wants to expel me.

 “I am sorry, my love! Our duty brought honor and purpose to our kind. But now, something has happened. I am changing and cannot stop. Protect Gaya and look for my return. For you I am the love we share.”

This planet is my cocoon. But now, I am burning as the brightest star, breaking apart, forcing it away from me. My blood surges with the intensity of the sun and no longer am I suffocating. Tearing myself from the celestial body I had become part of, I break from my obligation to remain in this place, to the Universe, and the council that holds the gates to the worlds he created. I have lived in the Inner Garden for centuries, until now. I am thrust upward and squeezed through hot blades of rock and born like an infant into a new world.

Life Happening

Somewhere a man clicks through rejections while assuring his family that things will be OK. He spends his time over coffee getting his unemployment done for another week and wonders when it will stop.

A woman steps off the curb and just misses the cracks below her feet. A blackbird stops chirping just as the garbage truck stops for another pick up. A child is pulled behind a fence slamming the gate into more silence.

We were told not to leave today or the next day or even the next week. We were told to shelter in place. We were told it was pandemic time. Time to sweep over the land where people die, or get sick, protest, or riot.

It is hard to breathe. My reflection is aging. I can’t swallow. I am white.

Johnny began screaming from his crib right at midnight. Linda had just finished the dishes and poured a glass of wine to unwind and look at the news to see what day it is. I went to him.

Pressures from the outside were closing in, becoming heavy. Simple daily tasks could count the steps into averages to squeeze just a little more time. There is an energy present that carries a lot of weight like depression.

Shame for being.

The spider’s web now spans across all of the rafters. Maybe a commune. A ship has slowly entered into view, having floated the first set of locks. Cabbage moths are the new enemy in this isolated state.