Categories
fiction Poetry

In The Windswept Fields Of My Soul

Paranormal, Vampires, Secrets, Death, Horror, Fear, Blood, Fairy, Mysterious, Forest

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.*

I wonder what secrets they keep.

The moon paints the leaves with a blood-red stain.

If I go in there, will I come out again?

Do thirsty vampires await?

Are the seductive voices I hear bait?

A ravishing woman appears from out of the air.

A second ago, there was no one there.

Her slender fingers with crimson tips beckon me.

She leans casually in a flowing negligee against a tree.

I have never witnessed such radiance before.

Her flaming red hair and porcelain skin are features to adore.

My senses awaken with overpowering lust.

She tells me her name, Melinda, and asks for my trust.

Can I believe my eyes or Melinda herself?

She stares at me confidently, embodying love itself.

What lies beneath such perfection?

To Melinda, am I just a confection?

My mind tells me these images are wisps of smoke.

In my heart the hellish fires of desire are stoked.

My right foot steps forward all on its own.

In the windswept fields of my soul, the seeds of madness are sown.

Blood Is The Nectar Of Life

DISCOVER

SCARLET AMBROSIA–BLOOD IS THE NECTAR OF LIFE

*Excerpt from the Robert Frost poem “Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening.”

Categories
inspiration self-discovery

Fresh Water

A Droplet In A Fresh Water River

I thought I had reached the end of the road. In one sense, I had. After spending almost thirty-five years with one spiritual teacher, it finally became painfully and everlastingly clear that I had to find another way to go. It became a matter of spiritual life or death.

I had been studying drama and fiction writing. Like a standard movie plot, I had reached the “all is lost moment” in the middle of the third act. Allow me to explain.

I come from a large extended family. I have a few good friends, but I never had to go far when it came to my direction in life and people to turn to for good advice. My father and my uncle provided everything I needed in terms of my physical survival, and I had found my own way to satisfy my spiritual needs. Spiritually, I traveled an unorthodox path, but I was able to integrate it into my conventional lifestyle. I’m not the type to live in a commune or an ashram, and I never discussed my spiritual life with my parents and extended family.

And then things changed. Life moved on, as it inevitably does. In my late fifties, the only close family relationships I had left were my wife and my daughter. With no spiritual community to turn to, I felt terribly alone, rootless, and achingly lost. I felt myself sinking into an abyss of despair.

At this point in 2013, I found Saniel and Linda Bonder through a local Meetup Group in Miami, Florida. I had been actively searching for the next step, but nothing had clicked, and then it did.

The leader of the Miami Meetup group encouraged me to attend a weekend retreat with Saniel and Linda at a private home in the Atlanta suburbs. At the last minute, I decided to go.

The teaching and the experience I had been following involved a long-distance relationship with a teacher who appeared periodically in Miami amid thousands of people. In the local groups, we watched videos of the teacher appearing at events around the world. I never felt I had much in common socially with any of the local practitioners, except one very good friend who I still have lunch with regularly. And the teaching was a one-size-fits-all kind of deal. I wanted something more personal. I wanted something deeper and more intellectually comprehensive. And I wanted the chance to awaken now, not in some distant future if I jumped through all the right hoops.

At the retreat in Atlanta, I sat next to Saniel’s wife, Linda Bonder. The first thing she did was offer me her hand to hold. I suppose she intuited that I was nervous. I was amazed at Linda’s act of kindness. I felt at home with the audience of twenty practitioners seated in an intimate circle in the lovely living room. Saniel came into the room to start the meeting. He took a seat less than twenty feet away from me. This was the kind of personal touch I was looking for, and the transmission of peace/love was powerful in the room.

I learned that many of the people at the retreat had experienced their awakening to consciousness. They were working towards stabilizing and embodying their individual awakenings. I learned that the Trillium Awakening Path is a completely individual process with constant support available from teachers and fellow students. The process does not center on a Guru. It centers on the individual. It is an awakening within community where each person learns to grasp the means to their own realization. Hundreds of people in the community have awakened.

I am deeply grateful that Trillium Awakening exists. I feel that I am holding and being held by the others. I feel personally seen and met. I am deeply committed to the process and the community. Recently, the Trillium Awakening Teachers Circle has created a program of online events to enable anyone interested to participate in daily gazing, meditations, mutuality circles, mini-seminars and weekend retreats.

After eight years of participation in Trillium, I am significantly more rooted in myself and the community. I lead a normal life pursuing multiple interests and avenues of self-expression. There is nothing I have to conform to in Trillium. I am becoming more and more my true, authentic self within the Trillium Community and in my everyday life. Feelings of peace, love and joy dance in my heart intermittently throughout my day.

I’m fortunate to have found this next step. When the river bed is dry, the rain falls, and fresh water flows, once again.

Categories
fiction humor Stories

The Silver Sphere Part 2

Neutron Star Explosion

I am writing this story at the behest of a super-intelligent synthetic being from a distant star system in our galaxy. If you missed part one, click on “story”.

I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing this, aside from the urgent request, but I feel strongly I’ll have at least an inkling by the time I finish. I’m assuming a cataclysmic event will not intervene to prevent me from finishing. As they say; nothing ventured nothing gained.

My name is Joseph Aleksov. When I first stumbled upon an odd-looking shape on a moonlit beach, it had little patience with me. It called itself Arcon to facilitate communication with my simple human brain. I thought of the thing as a “he,” but Arcon isn’t really a he or she. He’s not even an it. Arcon is pure consciousness of an artificial variety. That’s the best description I can offer. I originally described Arcon’s physical features as follows:

“It was a shiny silver sphere punctuated by streamlined indentations on its sides. It had a hole in the center which, in the moonlight, revealed nothing but bottomless darkness. Hardly an eye, at least not a human one. I couldn’t look at it for too long. It pulsed every few minutes, as if it were breathing at impossible intervals. And then it started flashing.”

Silver Sphere with Streamlined Sides and a Hole in the Middle.

After Arcon convinced me to take him home to my friend’s plush split-level house on Daytona Beach, he finally stopped his painful-to-my-eyes strobing. I was able to look him straight in the eye, man to man, so to speak.

I had driven Arcon to the beach house in the back seat of my decrepit Mazda Miata. Arcon reclined there regally, like the CEO of a large corporation, ignoring my attempts at conversation. Occasionally, he flashed, vibrated, and made annoying electronic clicking sounds. Clearly something was up, but Arcon refused to let me in on the secret.

As we walked up the stone steps to the sculpted front door, I kept an eye peeled for voyeurs. My womanizing friend, Jeffrey, had commissioned a local artist to carve a seductive female nymph into the oaken door panel. Jeffrey’s amorous adventures were the talk of the town. Frustrated husbands in the neighborhood were known to point telescopes at Jeffrey’s door to catch a glimpse of his latest conquest. I shrewdly camouflaged Arcon with the light coat I had been wearing to protect me from the evening chill. I did not want to be caught smuggling a super-intelligent piece of alien hardware into the house.

When we arrived safely inside, I unwrapped Arcon and perched him atop a glass kitchen table. I took a seat opposite him and asked: “Why did you find it necessary to nearly blind me with pencil bolts of lightning shooting out of your eye.”

Arcon replied telepathically in my native Serbian tongue: “I needed to get someone’s attention, and I was thinking about my mission. Then you happened along, and a strategy fell into place.”

“Please let me in on it”

“Are you certain your friend won’t be returning any time soon to reclaim his house?”

“He’ll be in Paris for the next two weeks writing for a fashion magazine.”

Arcon’s silver sides glistened. “Good. Let’s get down to business. And don’t interrupt me unless you have a highly intelligent question to ask.”

I made every effort not to be insulted by Arcon’s cavalier attitude. I had gleaned from our discussions at the beach that the fate of the world was at stake. If that were true, I had to put my petty feelings aside.

“To put it bluntly,” Arcon began, “your world will be destroyed by a pulsar from a neutron star that exploded two hundred and fifty light years away.”

“What?”

Arcon seemed to pause for dramatic effect. “Unless we do something about it. As your people are fond of saying; ‘time marches on.’ In this case, time not only marches, it is taking a shortcut through a wormhole. The pulsar has heretofore been disguised by this wormhole. It will reappear fifty thousand miles beyond the outer reaches of your solar system. Think of it as a traveler walking to Orlando, and then deciding to hop on a supersonic bullet train to save time and shoe leather. By the time the pulsar appears, it will be too late. We have seventy-two hours to save your planet.

I thought: This must be an elaborate ruse my trust fund friend is playing on me. What are the odds of something like this happening?

“Did you come here to share a bottle of twenty-year-old single malt scotch to enjoy what is left of our lives?”

“If I was capable of laughing, I wouldn’t.”

I stared back at Arcon wondering: How can a super sophisticated being like Arcon not be capable of laughter?

“I wasn’t created to laugh. It’s a waste of time and energy. Instead, I’ve used the time remaining to arrive at a solution to your problem. I must warn you that it’s not guaranteed to work. It all depends on you following my instructions perfectly.”

I closed my eyes thinking; Okay, I’ll play along.

“Why me?” I asked with faked timidity.

“You tripped over me.”

I sighed. “You win, great wizard of the universe. Where do we begin?”

Arcon vibrated and made clicking sounds, as if he were annoyed with me. “Stop thinking this is some kind of foolish joke. I’m not a cosmic comedian.”

“Okay. Okay. Don’t get more bent out of shape than you already are. What now?”

“You take me to New York City,” Arcon answered crisply. “To the top floor of the One World Trade Center building.”

(To Be Continued)

Categories
dreams inspiration Making Changes Poetry wellness

If I Dare To Leap

Lightness And Darkness

On a rainy day there is no place to go

Except inside

To a safer place

To a better place

A place where I can spend days basking in meditation

Soaring close to the Heart Sun

Inevitably, I must arise and live in the world

Where the only way to move forward is to take a leap

Into the deep unknown

Into who knows what

Or where

I don’t want to jump

I’m not looking for trouble

Or confusion

Or more suffering

But walking in weary circles leads to “nowheresville”

As my Dad used to say

And holding on doesn’t work

So, a path cluttered with dried leaves is unveiled

Beckoning me towards a seemingly un-crossable crossroad

A paradox or a dilemma

The wise ones say, “Be who you are where you are”

Really? What if that place is constantly under water?

Unless I do something

Like making lemonade from demon lemons

I want to feel real love

I want to feel real peace

I want to feel real joy

If I take the leap

Will I find these delights?

Within reasonable bounds (if reason is necessary)

And so, I am pushed by unseen forces

To the edge of a cliff

Where I must decide

Without Knowing

“The path forward may sometimes be unclear. And it may be messy. But the shared heart is calling, and we have an opportunity to make lasting shifts toward love and justice in our world.”

Kristi Nelson/Executive Director of Gratefulness.org

Decision Time At The Edge Of A Cliff
Photo By Pagie Page On Unsplash
Categories
Folk Guitar Music

These Days

Music Is A Balm For The Soul.

These days are unbelievable. And horrific. And wonderful.

Let’s forget about current events for a few moments. Let’s listen, instead, to some music by a singer/songwriter I admire.

“These Days” is a song by Jackson Browne. He wrote it when he was sixteen. He still performs it today many years later. Brown’s music is lyrical. He is a consummate guitarist and performer.

Please enjoy my version of this hauntingly beautiful song. Focus on the music. Ignore my facial expressions. The old bones are losing the war on multiple fronts. I’m playing this 75% the way JB does.

ACOUSTIC GUITAR STRINGS
Categories
Issues

The Homeless Man

Climate Change Will Make Us Homeless If We Don't Do More About It Sooner.

When the man carrying a sign walked by my car at the intersection of I-95 and Broward Boulevard, I did not thank my lucky stars that I wasn’t him.

Instead, I wondered: How did he get this way?

Certainly, I figured, he’s had some bad breaks. Even more certainly, I was sure, he put himself where he stood, begging, with a sign that reads:

“War Vet. Homeless. Anything Helps.”

I didn’t ask his name. To give him a face, let’s call him Richard.

Richard, a young man with empty eyes, too young to be homeless, has left himself adrift with nothing to fall back on.

In the same way we are leaving ourselves adrift.

With our addictions to old habits.

The worst of which is an addiction to fossil fuels.

Heating up the planet.

Swelling the oceans.

Threatening coastlines.

Killing plants and animals.

Causing droughts and disease.

2020 was the hottest year recorded in human history.

Where are the headlines screaming: We Can’t Keep Doing This!

Where are the leaders imploring us to come up with solutions.

“We’re working on it,” they say.

“It’s a hoax,” some of them say. “What’s good for business is good for us.”

Idiocy. Short-sightedness. Laziness.

We are lagging too far behind.

At the rate we are going, we will soon be homeless.

Just like Richard.

Then, we will wonder:

How did we get this way?

The Destructive Effects of Climate Change

Categories
inspiration Poetry

The Sun And The Clouds

Seeing the Sun Through the Clouds

From my terrace

I can see the sun through the clouds.

Is there another choice?

There are always choices.

I can only see the clouds.

I can see my life through a glass darkly.

And be enmeshed in shades of black and gray.

Or…

I can see the sun through the clouds.

I can revel in my time.

Until there is no more.

Or…

I can see the clouds and the sun.

I can see life in all of its glorious colors.

Along with the grays and the blacks.

The clouds will be there.

So will the sun.

I can choose to be a lamp unto myself.

I can choose to submit to the darkness.

I can choose not to choose.

There will be darkness.

There will be light.

I can prance.

Or shuffle.

Or limp.

I choose to prance.

(More like play at every chance).

What is your choice?

Photo by David Gittlin

Categories
dreams humor

What Is Your Desire?

Man and Woman Having Passionate Sex in Bed

Pencils on their own are dumb creatures.

Put them in the hands of children, and they are apt to draw Moms and Dads, third-grade teachers, tulips, and dragons.

Pencils in the hands of adults are apt to write brilliant plays or novels.

The work of Robert Ludlam and Lee Child comes to mind.

In adult hands, pencils are also useful for solving complex mathematical problems.

Or sketching landscapes, faces, and naked bodies.

Or drawing just about anything, like plans for an invention to wash, dry, and put away a month’s worth of dirty dishes.

What if pencils came with the option of connecting to a vast reservoir of primeval energy?

In order to make your dreams come true?

How does it Work?

First, you’ll need a supercharged pencil at a cost of three-million-five-hundred-sixty thousand dollars for the special writing implement. Then, you’ll have to cough up another one-million-seven-hundred-fifty-three thousand dollars for the one-time primeval energy hookup.

The primeval energy bubbles and bursts somewhere deep in the bowels of the Earth. The exact location is kept under wraps for the sake of National Security.

Visually, I’m told by confidential sources, the energy resembles molten lava amped up on mild steroids.

The connection to the energy is wireless.

The special pencil allows the user to manifest (bring to life in three dimensions) anything the operator’s heart desires.

If you are thinking: where do I get one? please be advised that the item is backordered well into the next century.

And you must pass a battery of exhausting psychological tests to have the privilege of placing an order.

Due to the long lead times required to process many of the orders, the manufacturer assumes science will develop the technology to extend human life spans and thereby delivery dates.

If science fails to adequately extend human life spans, or if a purchaser tires of his or her two-century life, then the buyer will have the right to bequeath the order to a qualified heir.

If you lack the patience or funding, then try making your dreams come true the old- fashioned way.

Good luck.

Now, then. What is your desire?

Beautiful Woman With Mysterious Look
Categories
dreams inspiration

Making Meaning In These Hard Times

Potter Making A Clay Pot On A Potter's Wheel.
Photo by Deb Kennedy on Unsplash.com

Is there a meaning to life?

Some say yes.

Some say no.

Some say, “I’m not so sure.”

Some say, “WTF. I give up. I don’t care about it anymore.”

Some may be fortunate enough to have the meaning they seek fall down on their heads like summer rain. As it is said, “Seek and ye shall find.”

Then, there are those who make their own meaning. They refuse to “surrender,” as so many religious pundits counsel them to do.

Instead, these intrepid souls stand up and refuse to be shredded by the unkind cuts of life.

They make their own meaning. They have the courage, the confidence, the motivation, the talent, and the perseverance to make it happen.

Above all else, I believe motivation and the intelligence to use talent wisely are the most important qualities for making a beneficial impact personally and inter-personally.

Talent without the requisite qualities to use it beneficially is a waste. We’ve seen too many examples in the media of people who can’t handle their talent. Who think it’s a curse rather than a gift. Who take their talent for granted. Who don’t accept the responsibility that comes with the gift.

Where am I going with this?

Ah, yes.

I’m simply making meaning in my own little way.

Through the haze and uncertainty of these hard times.

How about you?

Colorful Photo of Man Welding
Photo by Max LaRochelle on Unsplash.com
Categories
fiction Stories

The Silver Sphere

Man Walking On A Moonlit Beach

It wasn’t a sphere, technically.

I found it on the beach. Right at the water’s edge.

Actually, I didn’t find it. We’ll get to that later.

First things first.

My name is Joseph Aleksov.

Two days ago, I left my comfortable beach house to go out for a stroll in the middle of the night. The full moon and stars were my sole companions. I needed to think about the plot of my latest novel, and I found the salt air always helped.

The night was clear. I splashed my feet in the tips of the tides. I felt the crisp ocean breeze ruffling my longish hair as if it was saying, “Tell me your story.”

Before I could answer, I almost tripped and fell.

A thing about the size of a basketball rocked gently in the water at my feet.

I had the distinct feeling it was looking up at me, even though it had no discernable eyes.

It was a shiny silver sphere punctuated by streamlined indentations on its sides. It had a hole in the center which, in the moonlight, revealed nothing but bottomless darkness. Hardly an eye, at least a human one. I couldn’t look at it for too long. It pulsed every few minutes, as if it were breathing at impossible intervals.

Silver Sphere with Streamlined Sides and a Hole in the Middle.

Light exploded into my eyes when it breathed. After two or three breaths, I had to look away.

I thought; What if the thing is radioactive?

Then it spoke to me. A voice inside my head. In my native tongue: Serbian.

“I am not a thing, or some genus of clap trap concoction humans refer to as a computer. I am a highly evolved organism. You may think of me as Artificial Intelligence. I am much more than an AI, but your mind is incapable of conceiving what I truly am.”

I drew back a few steps thinking, “I must be dreaming.”

“For a man who writes novels, you display little imagination” the thing said.

I felt strangely comfortable speaking to the machine, as if speaking to a telepathic silver sphere was as everyday as munching on macaroni and cheese.

“Do you have a name?” I said out loud.

“Call me Arcon. A-R-C-O-N.”

“Got it. Are you from some far distant solar system?”

“Next you will ask me: Do I come in peace?”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“The answer is yes and no. I’m not here to hurt anyone, but I’m certain to upset a sizeable subset of the population if news of my mission leaks out.”

“That sounds a bit ominous.”

“It’s more than a bit.”

“Should I be alarmed?”

“It won’t help.”

“I see. And how, may I ask, do you know I’m a writer?”

“Not important.” A terse reply. “We have work to do. Urgently.”

“Since you appear to know everything about me, you must realize I’m way past my deadline. My editor calls to scream at me daily.”

“Not important. Look, Joseph. I’m getting cold and I’m tired of soaking in this sea water.”

“It sounds like you are inviting yourself to go somewhere.”

“I am. I need your assistance. Why don’t you take me home to the fabulous beach house your wealthy friend has so generously lent you. We have much to discuss. Among other tasks, there is a story I want you to write.”

“But I just told you–“

“Never mind that. Pick me up and take me to the beach house. If I miss my deadline, you won’t have to worry about yours.”

To Be Continued…