Cry of the Wind

Beauty rest your soul. 

Never was there an entity which made my heart feel the same, 

And kept it for what seems like an eternal flame, 

For the mirror inside my soul reflects an eternal pain, 

And I am lost forever in this delusion. 

Never before have I trembled as I do now, 

To feel us deny something so wonderful 

Is like watching humanity spin into disorder, 

As if that hadn't happened already. 

You asked me where the birds went when we set them free. 

The mystery of such a memory seems like a misery to me, 

Lost in uncertainty, 

Spinning in a tapestry. 

You always asked me why the roses on our mountain never rose with the wind, 

Going places in our mind and yet struggling to find 

The reasons why the wind never blew out the flame, 

The treachery of abandoning something so divine, 

Leaving our hearts to face the reflection of a melancholic rapture. 

Oh Starla, you're the poet in my heart, 

Now we can explain why those roses under the moon never blew away, 

Now we can answer why the Earth's children cry.  

Solipsism

Sometimes I think that since truth can only be attained through subjective perceptions, I have no choice but to accept solipsism- the belief that the thoughts of one's own mind is the only truth.  No other belief system can work because knowledge can only be gained through the self.  All the facts you read about in books have been skewed by the subjective experiences of someone else, so they really have no relation to your idea of what is real.  The only thing they can do is influence your perception of it. 

Admittedly it's a dire philosophy.  Whenever I think about it, it's logic forces me to feel isolated and less trusting of others.  It also clouds the capacity for compassion.  In my experience, the belief that your thoughts are the only real ones blocks out empathy as well as input from others.  But who's to say that other people exist anyway?  Perhaps it's all in my head, that I've imagined this foul world of suffering, greed, and corruption.  In that regard, solipsism would make a lot more sense.  How could people treat each other in all these awful ways if it weren't all just a figment of my imagination? 

Ultimately, since there's no way to prove that other minds don't exist separately from my own, I can't really accept solipsism as the truth.  Besides, if my own mind exists, then why can't others?  If someone else disagrees with what I know, who's to say who is correct?  Who judges what the ultimate truth really is?  Is there any way to prove anything outside the scope of subjective experience?  And if not, does knowledge even exist? 

Instead of providing answers, solipsism only raises more questions.  All this uncertainty has boxed me into believing in nothing.  My conclusion is that you create your own reality, and nobody can change that, except you.  You are your own God.  If you decide to let someone push you around or make love to you or convince you that something is right, then you've decided to imagine the apparent realities of that person as being true.  And this isn't even a person in the definitive sense, it's only your imaginary version of who that person is.  This is because we can never fully know all the various intangibles that go into what constitutes the psychology of a person.  No one fully knows anyone, so how can anyone possibly judge another person and deem what they say as true or false?  All you can perceive are their tendencies, but even tendencies have a way of adopting new recursions.  Then again, your perception of those recursions might reflect how your own psyche has changed and interpreted their actions.  

That is why the truth is always so difficult to fathom.  Things we once recognized as true may not be the same many years down the line.  Perhaps it's only until after we're dead that we finally learn the truth behind everything we've ever wanted to know. 

Controlling Emotions

Emotions can't be controlled.  Anyone who tells you they can is trying to roboticize the race.  Therapists, psychiatrists, shrinks, counselors, doctors.  Most of these people are pill pushing cyborgs, programmed to fix people who can't be fixed, only distracted by altered states.  We'd be doing a better service to ourselves if we stopped trying to get rid of them, by being open and honest about how we feel.  When we repress our emotions, they tumble around inside us for so long that they end up escaping in overblown ways.  The more we try to lock them up, the bigger this reaction becomes.  If something has ever bothered you and you did your best to ignore it, but it kept eating at you until you reacted in a way you normally wouldn't, you know exactly what I mean. 

What can be controlled are our reactions to emotions.  We face fear with courage, anger with calming techniques, sadness with coping strategies.  Emotions can be tamed, but never controlled.  They are the lions of our conscience, strong as justice and free as the will.  Sedating them with medications only serves to prolong the inevitable; that we haven't fully processed them, or let them come out, strengthening those brewing storms in our hearts that lay dormant. 

Baker Lake

During our last camping trip, we rode out on Baker Lake in a motor boat.  The waves were calm, letting us go fast without being jerked around.  It was a beautiful, cloudless day, the snowy peaks frosted against the baby blue sky.  The water itself had a spectacular hue to it, a reflection of the clearness of the sky above, presenting us with a most picturesque setting.  As the boat jumped over the waves, the wind on my face made me feel like I was flying.  A song stole its way into my head as the waves crashed along the side of the boat.  I want to run, I want to hide.  I want to tear down the walls that hold me inside.  I want to reach out and touch the flame, where the streets have no name.  It was the perfect song for a moment like that, when the beauty of the mountains, the fresh breeze of the wind, the transparency of the water, and the love of my family- Mom, Jason, Roger, me- all came together to enfold an emotional prism of clarity.  The feeling upraised me, and in that moment, I was once again proud to be alive.

Star Dancer VI: The Pixie

    Now the river was pink and the sky was orange.  Light shades of green pastel palm leaves blocked out half of it, while the blazing sky shone through the many openings between trunks lining the river.  Maracaibo was the first to hear the sound of roaring water, coming from about a half mile downstream.  When asking the others if they could hear it, nobody was able to for another hundred yards.  He thought he must have had the finest pair of ears on board, and we must admit how impressive that is for an old man. 
    Panic set in as they came closer to the falls.  Everyone frantically tried to paddle the raft to shore, but they couldn't get it moving fast enough against the strong current.  When Maracaibo saw that the inevitable was upon them, he dived into the water, planted his feet on a rock straddling the ledge, and pushed backward against the raft with all his might, willing himself to give them the last foot they needed to secure a landing.  However the rock was too slippery and his feet came out from under him, causing him to fall over the ledge, with the raft and everyone else behind him shortly after. 
    In mid air Managua saw a spinning kaleidoscope of land and sky.  He straightened his legs and saw what appeared to be a cloud of illuminated dust rising from below.  An orb of light zoomed past, releasing the same dusty particles from above.  Feeling himself buoyed up by the strange dust, he kicked his arms and legs in the air, running for a place in the sky that was nowhere.  His companions were all doing the same- all but Maracaibo, who was nowhere to be seen. 
    The dust brought them over the shore, safely landing them on the ground. 
    "What the guano just happened to us!?", cried Jingo. 
    "Pixie dust, a levitation spell", said Ojaca, like it was common knowledge. 
    Jingo looked around but was unable to see a pixie.  He'd heard fables of them during Marduk's fireside yarns.  "You mean they're real?" 
    "As real as the sky is blue... Er, orange.  Anyway, never thought I'd live to see one." 
   "You still haven't," said Managua.  "Where is it?" 
    "They're elusive as ghosts.  Only seen when they want to be seen." 
    "Just like Maracaibo." 
    "That old tattler's gone", Jingo pointed out.  "Anyone going to miss him?" 
    "Not the best choice of words for someone who tried to save your life," said Ojaca sternly. 
    "I see him!", said Nautica.  "Over there, in the water." 
    Managua dived in to retrieve the body, hoping he was still alive despite all the trouble he'd caused.  Once he got there, he found a head submerged and blue skin.  The fall had been too great for his frail body to endure.  Managua swam him to shore, and everyone gathered the obvious: that the body wasn't moving, the shock of death absent thanks to the high amount of it they'd already seen. 
    "I'm sorry I couldn't save him," came a timid voice from behind.  "There wasn't enough dust, and I had to choose between him and the rest of you." 
    They all turned around and saw a small, glowing bug that vaguely resembled a girl.  Her skin was a peachy cream color, and she wore a blue paisley dress that looked diaphanous in the glow of her light.  Particles of dust sparkled from the crown of her sandy blonde hair, which fell straight to her shoulders in streaks of glitter.  A pair of beady, big green eyes dilated when they landed on Managua.  On introducing herself, Managua was pleased to find she had a peppy voice that was full of enthusiasm, much less a spellbinding image. 
   "Are you real?", asked Jingo, trying to touch her.  She flew away faster than a scat bug. 
   "No touchy!  The old man told you, of course I'm real." 
   She flew in circles, dazzling them with her acrobatics.  "I've been following you for days down the river.  You're following the fire people, aren't you?" 
    "You saw them?", asked Managua. 
    "Heavens yes.  Smelled them, actually.  They are worse than rhino dung." 
    Jingo laughed. 
    They decided to pitch camp and call it a day.  Maracaibo's body was buried under a nearby tree.  Ojaca said a long prayer, as he'd done for all the other men who'd died at the battle of Inana. 
    Any sadness was short lived, for truth be told, the boys weren't entirely persuaded by Maracaibo's honorable effort.  He'd failed to save them after all; the pixie had done all the work.  It would take some time for either of them to acknowledge Maracaibo's sacrifice, that if he'd stayed in the boat instead of trying to save them he'd probably still be alive.  But things like this seldom enter the mind of a youth.  Managua joked that the fool was so evil that he couldn't do the right thing properly, even when he tried, and Jingo laughed with him.  They made fun of his botched effort at being a hero, as if he deserved the shame for getting Managua banished. 
    Twinkie grew fond of the boys instantly.  She laughed at all their jokes and liked to sleep inside Jingo’s skull-bone necklace.  The girl was a mystery though; she wondered why Nautica made her own bed and spent her evening away from the others.  Other than being a girl, there was no obvious explanation. 

    Next day, they built a new boat and had a dinner of stew and fruit salad outside the bungalow.  Jingo built the fire while Twinkie played with Mango’s tail.  Together they sat around the campfire, telling stories about the world outside.  Twinkie was surprised to learn that Nautica was the first female Jingo had ever seen.  Managua’s story with Naya was even more compelling, making her dreamy and envious.  She told then all that she’d been a girl too, before being turned into a pixie.  Nautica asked her how it had happened.  She told them about the Star Dancer- a magic wand that can only be destroyed when she’s turned back into a human. 

    Star Dancer.  Jingo and Managua looked at each other in confusion, not knowing if she was talking about the same thing they'd found.  Before the voyage, Jingo had searched high and low for its whereabouts, but it was nowhere to be found.  When Managua found out it was missing, he looked almost as upset as he had when he found out his village had been burned. 
    Twinkie read their thoughts.  “I can feel it.  It’s in Marlana, the Paradise City.  That’s where I think Drake is taking Naya.  Rumor has it Naxis has it now, he’s the Panther King.  What it does is channel energy from the stars and turns people into anything they wish.  To get there we’ll have to ride the Night Train.  I’ll take you there.” 
    She never mentioned why she’d been turned into a pixie of all things.