Work in Progress—The Light

…and that’s when it hit Me.

In all that time, I had forgotten to Live…to truly honestly L*I*V*E.

The years, now turned to light, the seconds no longer creeping along, had finally caught up to me…

“Do it NOW”—the Voice whispered. “You KNOW what will happen if you wait for another moment to pass you by…”

And so—IT Began.

Two solid months of bumping, aching, seeking, learning, seizing the ever-loving essence from each breath given on the fringes of what remained of Normalcy.

There were a total of 60+ days of L*I*F*E lived in a Daze…appointments, rehearsals, check-ups, things no one could have prepared for, thrust not just on me, but on anyone casually passing by this cacophonous experience.

I would try to give warnings—a heads up as IT was descending around us, but to no avail…no one was ever spared…no quarter was given because none was deserved.

We were ALL culpable—culprits who had allowed these event to transpire.

And I? How did I fit in to this Electro-Shakespearean Dramedy? What was I…had I Become?

The Lightening Rod.

Peace Be with You

Words are power.

Words are where the magic happens…as a prayer or a curse.

Creating or destroying, for better or for worse.

They can empower, encourage, lift up and change the tide.

Cutting to the bone, to the heart, sharper than any blade or vice.

A word softly spoken can have the same effect as a dagger, so mind the cost.

Or, it can in turn, give hope to a soul thought to be forever lost.

So choose them wisely, carefully, craft them each with care.

For even if you think no one is listening, if it’s in your head, it’s already in the air…


What if you imagine love & hate as physical things that grow larger & smaller at any given time…see it?

Living breathing “things” with a pulse and a beat, a rhythm of inhalation and exhalation…what then?

Is it harder to create our thing of hate…easier to create our thing of love?

And how, then, do we go about stopping, killing, this living, breathing love/hate “thing?“

Or, what if we instead turn our imaginings of the hate/love thing as parts of the same beast…just a bit of a lopsided creation?

With Love showing us one face & Hate another…Are these the cheeks we are supposed to turn, to offer?

Is this she-thing just one face split in two?

…or could our she-beast truly be a two-faced cretinous manifestation?!?

Inquiring Minds want—demand—and say they NEED to know.

I know my beasts, My burdens. I know what I see in the mirror and what’s there in the dark, still of the night…the thing I reach for in my mind’s eye. When all lights have gone out & when all hope has forsaken me…

How about Y^O^U?

The Eyes Have It…

Another successful procedure. That is what the Doctor had said. But Anna knew that wasn’t true. There had been a glitch. A moment when the power surged. The instruments should have spiked, recording the incident, but it was too brief for even the machines to detect. But Anna knew.
Her recovery that afternoon went just as the Doctor’s staff said it would. With sedatives in full effect by the time they’d driven home, she’d slept hard. Only waking to take her next dose of meds, she could barely open her eyes enough to sip the water her husband offered. As evening approached she began to stir. She could hear her children quarreling quietly in the next room, trying hard not to wake her, but emphatically decrying some injustice done to them by the other. Then her husband’s soft yet stern whispers for them to “knock it off, or else” brought a smile to her face. He wasn’t exactly the most stern of the two of them, but she had to give him credit for trying. It was time for her to move from the cocoon of the bedroom and make an appearance. Having worn glasses since she was a child she was giddy at the thought of seeing life without either contacts or glasses! Or perhaps that giddy feeling was still the sedative wearing off, she thought.
Slowly she made her way to the dresser to take a look at herself in the mirror that hung above. The oversized sleeping goggles the Eye Center had sent home did a great job of protecting her peepers while she’d slept, but left plenty to be desired in the world of modern eye fashion. Just as she turned from her sleepy-eyed reflection, she saw it; a shimmering haze outlined her body. She blinked cautiously a few times, not wanting to upset the fresh stitches on her eyes, but the outline remained.
Surely this is part of the recovery process, she thought, and stepped away from the mirror. Hadn’t she read something in all the paperwork she’d signed about possible floating, sparkling specks clouding her vision temporarily? No reason a shimmering haze surrounding you should be of any concern, right? Besides, she thought, it’s probably time for another dose of something or other, and I’m also starving. Food should do the trick…