Humans

In the beginning there was man. Some might say that, no, that's not right because in the beginning there was God. But, that is decidedly not right. A beginning implies a boundary in time; God has no boundaries; a beginning cannot be applied to God. For us, humankind, there is no universe before our existence. So, the beginning for us is us. So, in that beginning, there was a creature that may resemble us today, but lived in a very different way. There was a pond by the cave fed by springs that bubbled up from beneath the rocky floor which was the extent of their existence. The floor was surrounded by a circular ridge out of which caves had been hewn before memory for their shelter. No one as could be recollected had ever ventured outside of the refuge and safety of their encircled domain. There was fish in the pond and fruit in the trees that provided all they needed.

Fear

Tonight there's a rain storm outside Well, not really, I just sort of wish there was. The sound of the falling rain is soothing. The thunder and lightening, especially when it crashes loud and sudden, in a weird sort of way, makes me feel more secure inside. When there isn't a storm going on, then being inside is no big deal; it's the same as being outside. But, when it's raging on all around outside, then I feel snug and secure inside. I've never lived through a tornado, so my sense of security inside is complete when the wind is howling, the hail is pounding and the rain is flooding. But, that leads to an aspect of my life that I've never really suffered, never really been traumatized. Life has been gentle to me. I imagine I'm walking down a street on a bright summer day. A car pulls of with a beautiful woman and I decide to go for a ride for her. I know where this is leading and it doesn't bother me at all. The time is some where far away like in a Twilight Zone episode. Everything I'm connected to now doesn't exist or is so unimportant it doesn't bother me to ignore anything that is significant in my life. It's like I'm under spell. Though I'm making a conscious, willing choice, it's as if I have no choice about the choice. Like Captain Kirk and the green Orion slave girl who put a spell on him. So, I'm going with this blonde. It's a like red convertable, Dodge Charger. We're off. I don't where I'm going, but excited at the thought of going some where for a tryst of forbidden sex that I cannot control. But, she turns into a monster. It could only be so. The alure was just a lure. I am blown away from the car far behind and fall on the pavement as the fiend drives away. I am battered and bruised and hurt like hell. But, no worse for the wear. It was all just a joke. Just a play on my senses. Lure with no control of my own to resist, then throw me back as in punishment for unfaithful thought. Not unfaithful to others perse, but unfaithful to my own sense of what is right for myself. Is this just a lesson, a moral play, to teach myself to always be true to myself. But, no, that can't be it because I had no control. Is it to be more steadfast in what I believe so I can have more control when encountering great temptation. Why is there fear? Where is the fear?

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
--- Frank Herbert, Dune - Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear

Maybe the story was because I was titilated by fear. Or am I just rationalizing. There was definitely fear. Fear of being caught in something I wasn't supposed to be doing. Maybe I shouldn't have been afraid even though I was doing something I wasn't supposed to doing. Always be confident about what I believe even if it is wrong. I know what it is. Don't be afraid to do what I think is the thing I should be doing at any given moment. But, to be able to attain that confidence I must know myself well so I can trust myself. I must come to know myself so that I will not be afraid to trust myself.

The Boy and the Volcano

There was a boy looking up at a cone shaped mountain. It was an old volcano and I don't know if he knew what that was or what it meant. The room was dark as he looked out through the high up dirty window, looking dark more so because of the bright sunny day outside. He wanted to climb up to see what was on top. But, he was supposed to stay in his room. All that was inside was his toy soldiers. He'd long grown tired of them because in the real world they could only portend death and destruction, ruined and bloodied lives for ever shattered and never to be put back the same again. He missed his mother, but he didn't know why. All he knew is that he was empty inside. The men had come and taken her away screaming and kicking. He couldn't understand why she was so frantic. He was numb at the time and didn't understand what was happening, that more than anything she could not stand the pain inside her caused by the prospect of being separated and unable to protect him. Still, that volcano loomed outside. It hadn't erupted in decades, maybe even centuries; no one could remember anymore. No one even ever imagined that it would ever erupt. It's stoic appearance never changing; it would not be right for it to erupt. But, erupt it did. With such a vengeance just like the vengeance of war. It was indignant at being forgotten, at never being feared again. It wanted, no deserved, to have the respect of the town people. It had looked over them for centuries, never allowing any bad fate to become of them. Yet, they had no thanks, no appreciation for its stewardship. The boy never saw it coming just like he never saw the men coming to take his mother away. It was all a dream from which he would never awake. It was as if he was never born. Except his mother, still alive in a far away land would never know the emptiness inside her could never be made whole again because her baby could never come home to her. She never lost hope until that fateful night when she screamed "Bloody Murder!" at the top of her lungs and her heart burst from the agonizing pain of her separation from her only son, her only child begotten by a man she had despised all her life. She was so tormented by the deep love she had for her son in conflict knowing he was the prodigy of everything she saw as evil in her universe. She so longed for escape and it had not come through all the years until the pain was so intense it ripped her heart to shreds. She left in such an agonized and unbearable fit that any memory of her would evoke such pain as to bring deep, deep melancholy. So, this is the story of the boy looking up at the volcano. If there is a moral here, I don't know what it is. If there is any insight or enlightenment to be had, it can only come from your heart for the heart which wrote this story may have insight and enlightenment for its bearer, but only your heart contains what is meant for you.