Category: Compositions

The requested assembled shifted restlessly, seated on the hard, creaking bleachers – which I have always thought of these mechanisms as a trip-and-fall liability waiting to happen – so a sense of anxietal irony pervaded the air to me.

Subtle sighs of grateful relief could be low-audibly detected as the participants were invited down onto level ground to sit by groups in solid chairs nestled around large tables offering refreshments and writing implements.

One group for “colliders;” one group for “receivers of impact.”

They then proceeded to share their detailed stories.

When I turned twenty-one, my beloved and I were recently arrived to San Luis Obispo and I was already disenchanted with employment.

From a small bequeathment upon my cherished grandmother’s passing, we were able to rent The Carriage House on Pepper Street perched on a hill’s incline rising above the railroad tracks.

In a one bedroom square unit with wooden floors raised above two storage garage units, we had a view of the mountains with the moon and sun rising and passing overhead. Down below under the entry stairwell was a small patch of dirt where I first tried my hands at gardening.

I succeeded in growing some small gourds and a huge honeysuckle bush that thick-tendriled all the way up the handrails and along the deck’s sidings with its greenery and tri-colored blooms, fragrantly welcoming winsome hummingbirds.

It was the first time in my life that I felt truly alive, and I began self employment as one of the first-ever environmentally-safe cleaning services based upon the virtues of hard work, morals of environmental ethics, and innovative application of vinegar and baking soda.

We were just a few blocks from downtown and the Fremont Theatre while adjacent to the old tree-laned historical neighborhood. Being on the Southeastern position from Madonna Mountain placed us in the warmest spot of SLO at that time. During summers, we had balmy 80’s – yet better remember to at least take sweaters when visiting Montana de Oro in Los Osos where the ocean’s upwelling currents had fog waiting for us

We held our Thursday evening drum circle gatherings on Pepper, which would echo from the living room down onto the street below – and we would sometimes find people there dancing to our rhythms under the lights and stars. My guy and I trained toegther at The Central California School Of Body Therapy for massage, connected with world music, and played for Belly and Tribal dancers.

We still occasionally rode his motorcycle with me snuggly wrapped around him and holding on tightly. On sunny days, we would wind our way up the curving backroads along Whale Rock Reservoir and into Cambria past hidden homes and sheltered rivers. Sometimes we would go farther up the coast past San Simeon’s Hearst Castle, through the salt spray afternoon breezes while glimpsing wild zebras and Elephant Seals.

On the way home, we would stop for dinner at our favorite spot called The Whale’s Tale in Morro Bay for the best clam chowder and batter-fried fish strips that hot-melted apart in our mouths with crisped potato slices. I was in love with my quick-witted rogue stoicist; I wanted to be in love him; and I knew we had been given a glimpse of Heaven in our Central Coast Californian paradise.

On her worst days, she despaired that she would never speak with him again as the days stretched into months, then into years.

Sometimes, she tried to forget about him – about the bond they shared beyond this plane’s existence. At other times, she became rebellious at her having to keep waiting – and pushed him abruptly away from their link in her mind.

She didn’t understand why he got upset when she did this, because it seemed like he had everything in his favor and that she was just being strung along on the sidelines.

What was the point of having a bond if you didn’t get to embrace it in the present? She continued to grapple with her limited understanding.

Depression hit like a heavy stone tied around the hip, sinking emotions down into deeper waters where there was no light but the dimmest glimmer, and no hope for air – except what was brought with her.

Reaching at last an underwater cavern, she bedraggedly struggled onto the surface of a ledge outcropping, gasping and wheezing to clear her lungs while clawing desperately at the spear tip thrust into and broken off just above her heart’s center.

“God created Man in “His Image,” but “He” could not infuse understanding where Man was unwilling.

Woman was more receptive. She desired to learn and become one with Creation, so God blessed her with the ability to bear children.

Man in his base jealousy prized power and raved at God for favoring “weakness” – threatening to overthrow Dominion and becoming abusive to his environment.

The Wise Teacher of The Garden warned the Woman about Earth’s future possible destruction by Man’s hand and gifted her with abilities of Foresight to help counter what could be coming.

When Man learned of Woman’s further Understanding, he sought to bind and enslave her – so the The Golden Serpent helped her and her child escape from The Garden.

Since then, Man has waged war against Peace and Prosperity, still unwilling to listen to Wisdom.”

Athena Stairs
October 11, 2022

She did not want to do damage, but she was tired of others pushing against her in their attempts to keep what belonged to her.

She had known the risks before entering, but had not fully understood all that would be stripped from her in her quest to find the truth behind this reality.

Humans were a vicious breed when unschooled to their purpose: backstabbing and dangerous.

Was she here to show by example again how to make life worth living? How exactly can one help a dying, intelligent breed recover when it has become resistant to guidance?

Choosing a portal that would not be watched by sentries, she exited ahead of schedule so that no one could interfere and stop her.

She was not sure that she could trust her people, for someone had been letting proponents of corrupt mindsets into Earth’s reality sphere.

Someone was tampering with the Celestials’ prime directives.

So she took a leap of faith, certain that the couple she had found had the Tenants of Love flowing in exchange freely between them, unknowing that upon her entry, their union would be terminated and she would be swept through rough circumstances into a tumultuous Earth’s future.

Alex: “Why would you do that to us? You leapt through time before we were ready!”

“I am so sorry, Alex. I felt that I had to.”

Alex: “You were selfish! You didn’t believe in me!”

“I was unsure. I didn’t know what to think. I wanted and want now, more than ever, what we promised to each other. But, I was worried for the world. I was worried that I wouldn’t think about it clearly. How many of us have arrived before and forgotten our true purpose?”

Alex: “Do you know how much I have suffered, waiting here – searching desperately to find you? And look at what you’ve gone through – look at what they’ve done to you! You hardly remember anything!”

Mustering fragile dignity: “I had to put the world first and foremost – before us. Maybe I didn’t trust either of us, fully. I mean – look at your history with women. You keep choosing them younger and of a certain symmetry! I am older than you, now – and always will be!”

Alex: “You have gravely underestimated me, and I am angry that you did so – and so willfully.”

“Are we to stay separate, then – as Twin Flames are known to not reconcile, after all, in this plane? Now that our free will allows us to choose any destiny, do you no longer want me? Are these shallow delights enough for you? Should I fade away again – back into the scenery?”

Alex: “Your self esteem has been damaged, and your courage, depleted.”

“Yes, and yet I stand here before you and ask, can you forgive me? Am I anything to you now? You have everything in hand and I have nothing but my hope for this world, and the deepest love for you to commend me.”

When he approached, she froze.

She could feel her elements phasing.

Like a startled deer, she didn’t know whether to stay or to bolt.

So she just looked at him, paralyzed, while assessing.

Gone was the wolf predator inside of her that knew how to forage on its own.

She wondered if she had made the right decisions, calling him forward to find her.

She was shocked that he had actually done so.

The programmers did an experiement, playing thematic music to the gym attendees picked up from trends on their phones which the gym goers listened to.

What the programmers had intended was to see if playing music that paralelled attendees’ favorite positive selections would make them feel happy – and thereby improve performance and encourage return visits.

But for some attendees, the programmers found that they even further went on to create their own manifested destinies.

For as we are learning on this timeline’s plane, it is about energy in intention and how we gain reinforcement in our dreams that helps set them in motion.

The car ran over something hard and metal on the way to work this morning.

I could hear it clanging and hard bounce-banging around underneath and against the car’s carriage for a few seconds before rattling away into the distance.

I thought the car had lost a part because I had not seen anything on the road.

Maybe it had blended in with the dark, smooth matrix.

When I drove the rest of the day, I listened for the car to make weird noises that would indicate something next stage deconstruction was happening.

After 10pm, I headed to a gas station on the way “home,” and at last I heard a sound and felt the performance shift off-kilter.

Darn!

I pulled into the station for gas, got out, and found that I had a flat tire.

Ok, I could deal with this.

However, in process of clearing out the back trunk region to reach the spare, my hand got into something slick that had leaked from a mystery container – and suddenly I felt and tasted lots of oil in my mouth!

A great time to panic!

Don’t panic!

Is this a problem?!?

I quickly walked into the mini mart to use the soap – oil-cutting dish soap, please! – and washed my hands several times at the front sink while nervously chattering about the issue to the clerks behind the counter.

Then, I returned outside and called 911 with calm voice, yet shakey laughter.

“Um…am I going to die from this?”

And then I couldn’t find the container to identify what my hand gotten into.

“I know this looks bad…” I told the kind dispatcher on the phone who was keeping me company, “but I can’t seem to find the container!”

What did I do with it?!?

I began further casting about to find it, going so far as to rumage through the garbage cans by the mini mart’s doors.

I had no recollection of what happened to it after I realized I could be in danger.

I sifted hrough miscellanious refuse, bemusedly lifting up an oil-stained bag – only to find it contained a partially-eaten, long donut in it.

I realized that I was blankly inspecting it, looking like a befuddled homeless person.

I felt so embarrassed.

The paramedics arrived to a scene where the garbage from the back of my car that I had planned to throw away was strewn around on the ground behind like large, picked through candy wrappers on a late Halloween evening.

Just then, I at last found it!

The container revealed as brake fluid.

The paramedics assured me that I would be fine – and then proceeded to change the flat tire for me!

Lucky they did because it was stuck on the mount bolts from rusted mud, and they had to pound on it to get it free.

In the original scenario, there would have just been me under the parking lot lights at 11pm, futiley beating on the tire like an unskilled monkey.

When they finished, I gratefully thanked them and gave them each my card, telling them to look me up so that I could help them keep saving people more comfortably.

As they were leaving, we wished each other goodnight, and I called out cheerfully that they had helped set me back on my path – so the night was going well for me!

She usually did not put lotion behind her ears, unless for some reason she felt there was some dryness.

On this day when she did, she felt something like a tiny crab scramble away from her fingertip toward her ear’s posterior crease insertion against her skull.

It eluded her touch and imbedded itself, now only detectable as a resistant scab she could feel barely lifting just under her fingernail – yet, not flaking off.

She had resisted its programming. No wonder she felt so tired and overloaded all of the time! Her immunity had kept fighting against its neuro-injection messaging.

Whether by instinct, design, or fate, she now realized why she had chosen her life’s vector of entering.

She had acquired just enough hardship exposuire while maturing while her consciousness kept getting manipulated to near wiping of her identity so that by the time the bots were set free on society she was used to auto- rebooting when glitching.

This explained why she could “see” where others could not through the fugue of confusion, for truth had been what she had practiced seeking.

With an unexpected rush of elation, she realized that she could now find a way to conscript the device to aid in restructuring her core thinking.

(July 14, 2022)

I had a vision of you by my side in a public garden winding in London.

You stood in front of me while I was on the phone with my ex, being pulled at by the past while leaning into the future…

+++

She could feel his impatience and worry to have her fully in this life with him, and she could relate because he was still tied up in ending it with his girlfriend.

She reached out while still on the phone and took his strong, warm hand, pulling him close to sit beside her.

She brought his hand up to her face, resting her cheek against it and then kissed it, marveling at its smooth texture.

Holdiing him like this for a moment, the call was finished and she turned to look up at him, her eyes smiling in wonder at the restored joy being in his presence brought to her.

His eyes softened as he watched the changes move over her: from one moment of broken down weariness to now returning, fatigued youthfulness.

He could never get enough of watching the seasons play across her, and of the vibrance burning inside that always found a way to return to him.

There’s a tree on (nth) street that is dying.

I passed under it one day while walking between my parked car and the moving truck I was renting one hot day in July this year.

It’s lush, green leaves were beginning to curl inward and I got the sense that it was struggling more than it should be in this kind of hot weather, being as it was many years successfully established with a lovely array of limbs arching.

It seemed to me that it needed water badly, and it turned out that landscapers had recently removed the weed roots that used to cover its own roots (likely goring its top feeder roots in the process) and then moisture-sucking “bark” was spread all over the now stripped dirt’s surface.

I kept having to walk past it throughout the month while moving slowly from my apartment, and I began to water it a little about every other evening to try to give it a boost if hydration.

Sometimes, when I had finished pouring three to four gallons of water evenly in a easy ring around its roots, the wind would suddenly pick up and the tree’s branches and leaves would rustle – as if it or the wind itself were thanking me.

The day came when at last I was finished moving and I asked the shop employees at the three shops nearesr it if they could inform their employers and take over giving the tree more water that it needed to ensure its recovery.

One shop furmly refused; another shop’s employee listened, bemused and barely responsive; and the one directly in front’s desk reo humored me by coming out to see – but apparently, no one has done much of anything.

Nature seems to be an asset, only when it self redeems.

So I kept going by occasionally after hours, still trying to give it at least “sips” of water to keep going and get through summer, even though its leaves began steadily declining.

And now, tbis evening of September 3rd on the half moon when fall should soon be approaching with the promise of much needed rain, the tree’s leaves are beginning to brown in its life’s retreat as they whither in defeat.

And I ask the community: is it just so easy to let a life go, fleeting?

(It is positioned between the street and sidewalk, so I think technically it falls under public domain.)

Loneliness can drive a person to settle for less than what they believe.

Should I wait another life’s time – and possibly more – for you to recognize me?

Extreme frustration and railing at the waste makes me want to pound a tree.

Having been with people who did not appreciate my worth – at least now I can learn to shrug off that baggage.

But I ache to know what we can be if we brave shrugging off ego’s insanity.

Being with him was a concept I was definitely open to.

Not because of his status, but because of what within him had driven him to be there.

But, I freaked out and made a fool of myself.

Duress does not suit well like a well-tailored dress.

I guess I was just afraid that our story would play out to where he wouldn’t be capable of being as strong as I have been.

And if we were going to be in the public eye, I didn’t want to have my resultant grief laid wide open for people to stick their fingers in it.

I got ahead of myself, playing out a tangent of possibility according to past negative trends.

It was because he was so important to me – and for once I realized that I needed to be as equally, if not more so, important to him.

Yet, what was his fault was that he did not reach across the space and time divide to show me how these fences can mend.

That had been in the second dream, you see.

In that one, he helped me fix my family’s gate along a forest lane, and told me that he loved me.

She got her car back after asking a friend to come with her so she could think straight and not get further intimidated.

The mechanic immediately launched into a loud tirade, of which she was able to counter each outrageous statement as she listened carefully, observing her voice volume rising to match and counter while keeping clarity.

When he at last stated what he wanted and she saw it was reasonable – in fact, that it never would have been a problem, had he just asked her for it from tbe beginning – she cut through his tirade and reached out to take his hand in agreement.

“I like you. I have no problem with this. Let’s do it. Let’s write up the new contract. YES.”

And the conversation deescalated as they came back out as amicable collaborators returned to the road of building trust and friendship.

What was the purpose of such prior mistrust and emotional charging? Why the incurred stress and need to gear up for battle – the sword waving and poundimg on shields to prove their mettle?

Shakey on tbe otherside, she was confused by remnant fight-flight struggle and realized this was a rare time when someone had pushed at her this hard and then the situation ended up well.

As I maneuvered the moving truck, I waited until the right was clear before merging – yet, some guy came barrelling up behind me, throwing a fit at me for getting in his way by honking extremely.

Of course, I slowed down further, not knowing what he planned to do with his volatility as he swerved wildly around behind me and decided he would speed past me on the right and then slow down in front of me.

Clearly, he wanted to make me angry and acknowledge how big he was for getting back at me. He wanted to engage me in the drama of his jacked-uppery.

So, I just leaned back and gestured big and bright as I kissed my hands to him and called, “I love you! I love you! I love you!” And, I kept smiling.

He hated that and needed to escalate further, so would speed up, then slow down, and finally put on his left turn signal, impatiently having to wait for other cars to pass to get into position.

Then, he slowed down with the passenger’s side open and lined up with me as I carefully eased by while his white girlfriend in the passenger’s seat stared glued to her phone in front of her, trying to not be seen.

Smiling with white-flashing teeth like the leaned-out pimp he was, he threw a crushed and sharp-disked can at me with an arced precision that let you know he had practiced this back home on the streets of his hood – and that he could “cut you good.”

It missed my window by not much and hard-crack-thunked into the cab wall next to it, but I kept smiling because he’d taken his shot – and I threw more big kisses while again shouting big and bold,”I love you! I love you! I love you!”

For a moment, I was grateful that I could not remember previous associations that had kept me hypervigilant.

I had been sucked down the rabbit hole of internal terror when that sorcerer from another dimension managed again to capture my attention.

His thrall was something I could not easily look away from: I had to allow myself to be drawn through the eye of a needle, down into and through that blackhole of obsolescence as I nearly lost my identity.

It’s how he has had some power over me, you see? He has been there for a while, terrorizing my sanctity. Such a small, shallow soul full of spiteful enmity, laughing at my struggling to keep in the light while he’d undermine me.

Yet, as I braced into the fear and turned toward it as I began suffocating, the gravity well compressed me inward and I lost track of time and what has beleagered me.

Such inconsequence these other mortals cling to that has entrapped me. I must endeavor with greater purpose to set my self free of societal misperceiving.

She couldn’t sleep well last night – in fact, she was still shaking with adrenaline. She could not stop the physical reaction when feeling endangered as every cell screamed “Take it to the mattresses!”

So after investigating her rights and options, she weighed what it would take to resolve the issue positively vs. what to do if “worse came to worse,” and then called the mechanic.

She told him in a pleasantly inclusive but firm and calm voice that she would be picking up her car at the original price agreement, and that they could then discuss the next phase because they worked better together in person.

Getting off the phone, she reflected he had been wary, but receptive. Her body continued shaking uncontrollably at this next level need for taking command over her own emotions and another’s fear-based projections.

I get impatient and caustic with myself – as if I am to blame for what has been done to me. It is vexing to be operating at only partial capacity.

I should be happy and satisfied by how much I have accessed and utilized; of how mindful and attentive I have been in all things; of how much I have created against such odds.

But society – and unfortunately, available “life mates” – have been brainwashed to disregard the greatness of such accomplishments.

And if a prime directive within me is to claim love for fulfilling my destiny, well…the options and opportunities available do not seem favorable.

I am not like any of the other candidates: there’s been a glitch in my system.

I am proud of it at times, but I am still learning to own it – and I must defend, not trade it in for a pipe dream.

There is danger in reunifying pieces of a rifted consciousness, for in doing so, each may suddenly download an onslought of past sensate-emotional experiences that the other aspects have no seemless ability to process.

The concept being that a once-unified identity having taken many head-shot blasts is barely clinging to sense of its own defining. If pieces just rejoin willy-nilly, there’s apt to be a lot of pain with uncontrolled screaming.

Soul Mates, Twin Flames, Love Matches – it was all a game for thought’s mainframe to become haywired!

The reality she faced was bachelorette loneliness drinking cool replenishment of thick mango juice straight from the fridge and warmed-up leftover Chipotle remnants.

Responsibilities of ensuring the plants, humans, animals, and stuff all had a place to be during the next bridging transition was not “attractive.”

Guys wanted those plastic, simpering doll faces that changed their appearances every day to keep their inner thighs elastic!

As the so much younger man went on with manic stars in his eyes, he spoke of his dream of feeling inclusiveness at his own wedding, where the men separated from the women, and each gender had their own party after the initial ceremony of life union.

He spoke of family and community rebonding that was shared and magnified at such events: how the brides were dressed beautifully and revered; how there was dancing and so much laughter; how a money tree was lavished upon for the honeymooners to enjoy and have solid financial footing for the start of their journey.

And the more he spoke of his desire to ride sitting high on the top crest of a convertible’s back seating, smiling and waving while the caravan of beeping ceremony attendants wove their ways through shouting, happy responses from downtown anonymous well-wishers, the more her heart became burdened.

Every aspect he mentioned by default was excluding her: she was older, unknown, and a foreigner. She would be seen as a “cradle-robbing interloper” depriving one of their younger daughters of the opportunity. In fact, hadn’t she already been married and had a family?

As the immaturity of his youth’s doubt tore apart her maturity’s valid worth in standing, heavy shame was cast over her heart’s connection with him, cutting her off from the source of love’s joy and prosperity – relegating her to the view of a sallow future frought with others’ biased judgments and consternations.

As the little girl lay on her back, terrified and frozen into catatonia, she cast wide and delved deep into her imagination, projecting hard and calling the woman warrior she would someday become to arrive and protect her spirit.

In the realm of the unseen, two phases of mind crossed time’s boundaries and she was given the strength to endure, though the fortification jarred her out of being able to act naturally as a child again.

Through the years and layers of assault as she grew, she’d come back to consciousness of herself after enforced hypnosis and periods of waking coma, feeling as if pieces of her were still missing.

Until one day after she matured beyond half of a century, the older her turned to look backward and opened her arms to welcome the child self who had escaped through that first portal to reunite with her.

“Please God, No…!” She was thinking about those going on without her.

But, the awful truth was: she’d been living her life as a ghost.

She didn’t want to go backward, but the dream was compelling.

The man she had once loved so dearly wanted her, doted on her, and participated with their family.

She needed to feel this after having been blasted by someone she had called friend – after she had let this person in and they had just ripped her assunder.

The balm of a fantasy…being nourished, desired, and craved even…in the comfort of once knowns gave the soul a sense of sanctified continuum.

Honesty is not something that should be a shifting moral value open to misrepresentation – nor persuasion within incompleteness as someone seeks to defeat stability’s grounding.

Having been whipped and slapped about by partial truths used to entrap and then harming, the biggest thing in relationship that I now fear is my partner not knowing their self well enough to help establish and ever revitalize our harmony.

The Crone has hunted and attacked me – stolen from me. Jealous of my youth’s boldness of spirit, she has killed love that belonged to me, leaving it as organic dust fit only to fertilize trees.

But now, I grasp her gnarled, spiteful hands and pull her struggling and railing into me, absorbing from her what she destroyed of me.

I shall feast on her energy and make it a part of my own identity. Vanquishing her, I reclaim my soul and gain fealty.

What we are essentially is magical, ethereal, untameable.

We enter into the construct of this “reality” dependent upon others to guide us, help us, to support our growing into our best capabilities.

Imagine my surprise and horror to be born into such a time where genius of the great masters before has been bludgeoned nearly dead and buried!

White flesh and fragile skin, fine blond hair and gray eyed depths within made me the target of pedophiles and power-hungry corruptors – yet, Truth kept my soul from sin.

You false prophets who conscript our allegiences; you aberrations of evolution’s innovative strategists – kneel before the Light of Righteous Indignation!

Know humbleness to calm your swollen egos, to feed your bloat-starved bellies, and to at last find peace over bitterness to embrace your kin.

As she slid open the door inch by subtle inch to her suppressed subconscious, essence of who she used to be flocked to her reality in forms of mythical creatures, hummingbirds, flowers, and butterflies. The skies lit up for her etch-a-sketch imaginings, reflecting the wild-child little girl’s wish-filled delight returning to her as seas of emotional tides poured out through her writings.

Akin to Sisyphus, she seemed bound to hoisting the truth of responsibility’s consequence up mountain over mountain, rolling it through swells of valleys in passing, only able to pause for rest and to help when someone was in need.

The boulder had become proof of her abilities and its emblem now gave material reason for why society had naturally avoided her. For she was different from the usual human. What she accomplished would drive others to their knees.

Having wound their way carefully, yet with haste, they found a spot along the bridge’s sidewalk railway with the rest of the crowding onlookers to view the fireworks clearly displayed overhead.

No pictures were taken of the main event’s light explosions, just the warm memory of them cuddling in comfort together now imprinted, and recognition of their having achieved a next stage of freedom.

Fourties had been “fine” – except that they were about struggling to get back what I’d built through my thirties that was lost, and watching it all slip from my grasp despite valiant efforts. The conveyor belt of life kept whooshing me forward into new dramas and incidences adding to the historical documents our current timeline will record.

Having made it this far, I was suddenly thrust into the ages of fifty and just beyond, whereupon I have been told by society that all of my validity as a human being no longer matters nor counts. I have been told that I should start planning for retirement, for any warranty should now be cashed in – and in fact, check the fine print: all promises have been rendered null and void.

No wonder my muscles lock up. No wonder my tissues swell. No wonder I feel as if I am in hell. There’s no longer any operant premise easily available that excites my life’s continued participation.

It shouldn’t really matter to me by now what society thinks. After all, I have always walked my own path in my own way, careful to not dance too close to such irrational dictates. The problem is, I’m having a hard time finding other people who think like I do – people who want to push back and challenge “the accepted norms” and prove that youth’s vitality doesn’t have to end after you’ve lived half of a century.

In fact, I am just now beginning to get a new grip on understanding life’s purpose. We each have a responsibility to share the truths that having accumulated years comes to prove are most important. We are supposed to hail each other and join together to reinforce efforts toward more sustainable strategies.

That’s it, that’s all there is. I have lived long enough to where I can now justify my positions. Ageism is just another way for society to avoid evolving its own maturity.

They wanted her to plan for her “bucket list.” Give up and give out remnants.

But, she wanted so much more than they would qualify her for, so she fought the brainwashing.

Around her, society marched to established rhythms. Those with intact families got to keep them, while those who came from wreckage walked through the rubble.

This wasn’t what she was born for – to just keep innovating for mere survival.

Yet, for now, she recognized that all she could do was hold her ground.

Being denied easy thumb-access to her phone’s writing pad prompted her to try writing by hand for the first time in a while by pen and paper. In doing so, she began accessing associations normally bypassed.

Why did speaking God’s name in Arabic actually seem to work for her?

As an experiment, she had tried saying “Jesus” and came to have a stream of conscious conversation with him as a prophet healer, rather than the “Son of God” everyone insisted on now calling him. She realized that he could be her “patron saint” if she considered it long enough, and thought that if the man she was interested in marrying wanted her to join him in this faith, she did not feel that she would have much internal conflict over it.

God is God is God in whatever language, nationality, and version a person could choose to worship in. Except perhaps such versions as Satan and the Flying Spaghetti Monster, the term “God” encapsulates many of the same meanings that can be shared around the world.

The reason the Arabic term for God worked for her is that she was removed from that culture’s indoctrinations. Having previously been force-fed poisonous aberrations twisting the purity of “The God Christ,” she now had found a version of God that to her current perceptions felt pure and uncorrupted.

Take out the religion and focus on the meaning: like her, God evolved.

She did not necessarily desire fame’s acclaim nor fortune’s bounty.
She wanted the man who inspired her to start her life over again.

For with him, their love would not end –
She could see it in his every movement.

Every breath he took strove with grace for further self improvement.
Every glance he shared of wit or correction gave clemency of solace.

He was the perfect canvas for her projections –
Yet, delivered more than wildest expectations.

He was magic forging manifesting reality:
His essence was a dreamer’s dreaming.

(Title play on words.)

It gave its last circuit charges to warding off the imminent corrosion imposed by inadvertent flooding of its battery when the shower’s deluge bypassed barriers.

He had wanted someone just like him in physicality, mentality, and lack of emotionalism. As long as he could maintain the upper hand and feel stoically superior, all was well.

Bumping, squeaking, creaking floors – conversations permeate from ceiling. High vocal tones mix with low response distractions. Repetitive, intermittent shoe clomps, furniture scuffs, and heavy draggings disrupt sleep’s comfort. Another family’s interactions penetrate bones. Solitude’s healing embrace is stolen from our home.

Adults always lied. They only told the truth if they wanted something from you – and went right back to lying, once they got it from you.

She would be different…even if she was the first.