Room to Grow

Take Me Away

2009-07-17T03:02:39Z

Take me away from the cascading dawn.

I wish not to walk by foot any longer, nor soar,

nor feel any of this confined space. Take me

from the rhythms that arise between us, from

the blank chords, the damaged, off-beat moments

that color and align; pluck me

from the grass and sky, erase me

as a whisper and disregard these words--

here, in the deep solace of the river, under

the tumbling fountain bridges that flow me

down to the pond, I would sleep

in the shade of the lower branches

where my lungs might sink,

where I might fill my breath with water,

where the shallows might sway me

in their musical silence,

in the echoing chambers of my heart.

A Few Thoughts

2009-07-15T19:53:10Z

So I've learned a few things upon this road of life. Here's some thoughts for today:

-- Surround yourself with kind and loving people. Why would you want to be around anyone else?

-- If there is a negative influence in your life, let it go.

-- Not all negative influences are 100% bad.

-- Pray, if only to feel like you have a purpose and direction. Often that is what leads us through our problems.

-- Be in harmony with the things you love. If you are a writer, do not fight against your writing. If you are a painter, do not feel bad or discourage yourself with painting. If you love a thing, do it, and don't waste time feeling frustrated. Skill comes with the three P's: Patience, practice, and progression.

-- Love what you do. It's yours.

How to be Cool in College

2009-07-14T08:09:39Z

1) Skip as many classes as possible, but when you're in class, make sure to have plenty of opinions about the material. Share them loudly and often.

2) Remember, the less "relevant" you find a class, the smarter you seem.

3) When asked a question, reply only in academic jargon. This will make your professors respect your impressive knowledge, and other students will see you as mysterious and elusive.

4) Don't decide on a major, or if you do, make sure it's not anything too serious.

5) Wear the same clothes that everyone else does - just make sure yours are more "you."

6) Don't talk about how cool you are. Make it apparent by criticizing others.

7) Talk on your cell phone as much as possible; people need to know how busy and important you are.

8) Never be seen without a hot girl by your side. Or if you're a chick, never be seen with less than three guys talking to you at once.

9) Drive your Jaguar to class and park it where everyone can see it.

10) Dye your hair at least three times a week, and make sure to wear plenty of makeup so you look natural. Also, if your ass doesn't fall out of your pants when you sit down, then they're not low enough. Remember girls, always wear heels! Three-inches are best; more pain, more gain!

11) Sunglasses speak louder than words. The bigger, the better -- unless you're a guy, then wear a hat, and make sure it's facing any direction but front.

12) Every sentence you say should be stylized by using the words "fuck", "sweet" or "whatever" at every possible opportunity. If you're a girl, cover up awkward pauses with the phrase "Like, you know."

13) Smoke cigarettes, weed, and drink beer at every opportunity. Learn how to be "alcohol savvy" - after all, it's only cool kids who drink these days, not loser alcoholics who can't hold down a job... that'll come in a few years.

14) Set your ringtone on extra loud and have your friends call you during class so everyone can hear your great taste in music. Oh, and flip off the teacher while you're at, in case he or she still thought you cared about the lecture.

15) Definitely don't hang out with that Theresa girl. She'll ruin your reputation for sure.

Hopefully these tips have helped you along your way to becoming a more popular, intelligent, well-rounded individual.

angel_fixation @ 2009-07-11T23:26:00

2009-07-12T06:28:55Z

That's it.

I'm done hiding.

I will not hide anymore, I am not a coward. I will be the mouthpiece god needs me to be in this world of hate. I will be a warrior. I will take my righteous anger and wield it as a sword - yes, my identity is enough, my love is enough, and so I will embrace it and fight. I am done waiting in silence. Now is the time for action. Move, or I will move you. I will find a way.

If not me, then who?

angel_fixation @ 2009-07-11T20:43:00

2009-07-12T03:44:14Z

Fun for you poetry buffs out there. Pick a book of your favorite poetry off the shelves (anthologies are better). For each question below, flip to a random page and find either a title of a poem or a chunk of the poem that answers the question. Have fun!

1.

Are you a male or female:
"Many days and many hours:
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers."

2.

Describe yourself:
"I am wood -- I write I'm plastic
I write playing my piano
I'm wood I'm plastic"

3.

How do you feel about yourself:
"I have been to lots of parties
and acted perfectly disgraceful
but I never actually collapsed"

4.

Describe your ex boyfriend/girlfriend:
"I did find the orchard
in a leafless season.
But [he] was not there.
And I was not there.
Dark, and rain in the air."

5.

Describe your current boy/girl:
So be it. I am
a wholeness I'll never know.
Maybe that's the best.

6.

Describe your current location:
"Long since that time I have walked night streets, heel-turn
clicking the stone, and in dark in windows have stared.
Question, quarry, dream -- I have vented my ire on
My own heart that, ignorant and untoward,
Yearns for an absolute that Time would, I thought be prepared,
But has not yet."

7.

Describe where you want to be:
"Down at the docks
Where everything is sweet and inclines
At night
To the sound of canoes
I planted a maple tree
And every night
Beneath it I studied the cosmos
Down at the docks."

8.

Your best friend is:
"Now let the cycle sweep us here and there,
we will not struggle."

9.

Your favorite color is:
"It is the third commonness with light and air"

10.

You know that:
"'God is dead,'
I tell him."

11.

What’s the weather like:
"With wind slicing in from everywhere,
And figures growing small. I may remember
Only a month of this. Or a God's hour."

12.

If your life was a television show what would it be called?
"Tokens"

13.

What is life to you:
"I am unhappy that I am not God,
I talk to myself and listen,
hoping to find in this dialogue
a hint of Him."

14.

What is the best advice you have to give:
"All I called mine
has gone or will go
from its place in the sun.
This we know,
and nothing can be done."

15.

If you could change your name what would it be?
"Rosemary"

Writing Progress

2009-07-09T20:20:15Z

Writing Progress
Blood of the Wolf	82,000 words	95% complete (editing/last chapter)
Tainted	60,000 words	50% complete, plotted, needs reworking.
The Winding Way	50,000 words	50% complete, somewhat plotted.

angel_fixation @ 2009-07-07T19:49:00

2009-07-08T03:10:52Z

Today I sat outside and prayed.

I looked down at the small ants that were crawling around my legs, and I wondered -- what use does God gain in being such a thing?

And then I wondered -- what does God have by being even the biggest thing? Nothing is as big as God.

And then I thought -- God can only know the concept of gain if it can know the concept of loss. That is why God is both the smallest and the biggest thing; to know the full range of what it means to be small and what it means to be big. God has nothing to gain except the knowledge of what it means to gain.

Summer Reading List

2009-06-09T20:50:40Z

Slow Up and Other Stories -- Julio Cortazar
Cosmicomics, -- Italo Calvino (Caluno?)
100 Years of Solitude -- Marquez
Anthologies -- William Libson -- Pattern Recognition
New Wave Fabulism
John Lethem -- Girl in Landscape, Amnesia Moon, As She Crawls Across the Table
Kelly Link
Parapherses: New Fabulism by Small Beer Press
Metamorphosis -- Kafka

Blood of the Wolf Chapter 7 end

2009-06-05T01:12:55Z

"Please Seth... please... put the gun down!

"Babe, don't distract me right now--"

"Seth!

He pushed her back further and the black werewolf laughed; Jaime caught a glimpse at his gun arm, at the sleek muzzle of the pistol. She couldn't stand this -- between two males this dominant and bullheaded, somebody was going to get killed. She sure as hell didn't want it to be her....

Äw, is the poor girl scared?" Tabari laughed, his wide grin splitting his face. Jaime found herself reminded of Seth's smile, but this one was worse somehow; broader, more deranged. Something slightly compulsive about it. "Why don't you just come over here, little lady, and no one will get hurt."

Jaime bit her lip. She had shot down the last offer, but now she didn't see much of a choice. She could let Tabari shoot Seth, but then she would never get her revenge, and the whole trip would have been for nothing... and she would still have to deal with these three.

What Resides

2009-05-26T02:16:52Z

What Resides

That little cottage

sitting on a dark hill,

overlooking

what once was a silver place,

as moonlight

guided all of the spirits

to their destinations.

That little cottage

which stands lonely now,

when it was abandoned by the Wind.

Only silence has come to claim it,

that silver tongue, slipping through the windows

and all of the cracks in the floor

which never speak,

which stand mute and pervasive in that dark place,

in the shadows behind chairs,

echoing the smoke stains of the heart.

The closet door stands open,

the only words left in this house, telling me

You once shut this door on yourself

and lived here,

in all the hidden corners of a child's closet--

I was the doll.

This was the paper boy come to claim my Night.

I closed that cottage door and

locked it.

Only black dreams are whispered here.

A Letter to Someone

2009-05-22T18:19:25Z

As always, it is at the front of my mind that you will die.

It is true that deeper than my own mortality, I am afraid for yours. I feel that I have not taken from you all that I need, and it will never be enough, I will never have enough from you and when you are gone, it will be an eclipse that withers my world. In what earth will I sink my roots? In what winter shall I bloom, a new soul, a new life that begins the day yours ends? There would be no tomorrow; there would be no return. Would I find a love that replaces yours? Impossible. Inevitable. Unthinkable.

All I know is that your end shall be the catalyst. Such sorrow will inevitably lift me to heights never before seen, never before known, because that is the temperance of my heart. It is true that every eclipse leads to revelation -- that we must lose the deepest parts of ourselves in order to build ourselves anew. That in losing half of my heart, my own soul will grow it back, and this time it will be strong enough to carry the whole world.

What the Grass Said

2009-05-05T02:09:48Z

The tall grass sleeps against the wall;
we speak and listen in turns.
I have to wonder how I sound to the tattered ground leaves
and the buzzing nets in the shadows--
I am sure,
  as I speak of many things that my textbooks would rather not say,
that the grass doesn't understand why I pace on, fretting about
  islands,
   or the oceans between them.

I pause for breath in the sleepy shade,
a humming place where I enter the ground
and the grass hollows after me,
speaking as a tunnel:

Why would anything wish
  to prove that it is nothing?
We have known for eons
  that each blade stands apart from the rest--
But we are all counted as carpet.

Shall I tell the grass that it does not exist?
That its roots are only in language,
   and without my voice, it would simply be a sliding thing--
slipping into everything else.
No, dear grass,
you are only a carpet that I made, when
I decided you were for walking.

I know the grass laughs.
It laughs as the air laughs back at me,
throwing pale echoes in my face.

Dear soul,
you are not the worm,
you are not the sun.

angel_fixation @ 2009-04-22T12:00:00

2009-04-22T19:20:47Z

Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko is a story of a Laguna boy who goes through hell and back, only to find that in the end, he can only heal if he forgives himself. As an American Indian boy who is half white and half Laguna, Tayo's conflict with his own identity can be compared to the struggles of the Laguna people as a whole. Tayo's guilt, shame, and war-related trauma can be related to the overall suffering of the Laguna people, who also experience guilt and shame from having sold their native land to white Europeans. Silko shows us through Tayo's struggles that the key to healing the Native American tribes may be through forgiving themselves, and reconciling their traditional culture with Western civilization.

In Ceremony, Tayo is a boy of the Laguna Pueblo people who suffers from severe guilt. He is a mixed blood, someone who is half-Indian and half-white, and for most of his life he has been made to feel a burden to his family because of his impure bloodline. When Tayo and his cousin Rocky enlist to go to war, Tayo promises he'll look out for Rocky and bring him back safe. However, Rocky ends up dying from a grenade blast, and Tayo returns home with extreme mental trauma, feeling he has let down his family and that he was the one who should have died, not his cousin. This is intensified by the fact that upon his return, he finds out that his uncle Josiah has died, and Tayo's promise to help out with his uncle's cattle herds is also unfulfilled. He is left to deal with his problems alone until he finally accepts the help of a medicine man who will enact a complicated ceremony to heal him.

This relates to the plight of the Laguna Pueblo people in several different ways; Tayo's mistreatment as a half-blood could show a conflict in the Laguna tribe. Many times Silko mentions the guilt of the Laguna people throughout the book, talking about how the tribe blames themselves for having sold away the earth. Silko states that the Laguna people feel as though it is their own fault for selling away the land. They feel that their disrespect and mistreatment of the land is what led to the situation they are in today, and it is their punishment for betraying the earth; Silko writes "The blame on the whites would never match the vehemence the people would keep in their own bellies, reserving the greatest bitterness and blame for themselves" (235). This can be related to Tayo because he blames himself for his own mixed blood, and for having brought so much shame to his family.

It is also significant that Tayo's healing ceremony is more of a “hybrid ceremony” than a traditional one. Betonie, the medicine man, mixes many old world items with things that can only be found in the new, such as calendars and shopping bags (111). Silko states that the medicine man and his ceremonies had been criticized for being new and different, but the medicine man tells Tayo that "after the white people came, elements in this world began to shift, and it became necessary to create new ceremonies" (116). He continues to tell Tayo that all things must change, and if the Indian tribes don't continue to progress and adapt, they will suffer and die: "Things which don't shift and grow are dead things... But [growth] has always been necessary, and more than ever now, it is. Otherwise we won't make it. We won't survive" (116). However, it is also notable that Western medicine alone failed to cure Tayo, and he needed to return to his roots before he could begin to recover. This instance in the book could allude to the idea that before the Laguna people can heal themselves -- or all Native Americans, for that matter -- they need to reconcile their traditional heritage with the new Westernized world. Silko's message, in this sense, is that holding onto the past and waiting for the old ways to return may not be healthy for the Native American tribes, and that they should look to the future and try to combine the two. Tayo had to come to terms with his mixed blood and guilt before he could find forgiveness for himself and happiness.

In the end, Tayo states that the lie that had poisoned him was the same lie that was poisoning the white people, and through Silko's writing, it can be interpreted that the lie is separation, the idea that some races are superior to others, and that we were made different from each other: "You don't write off all the white people, just like you don't trust all the indians" (118). What Tayo learns by the end of the book is that we are all the same, that there are Indians who are bad just as there are white people who are good. It is racism and tradition that separate the two, and in a sense, those are the lies that are most damaging.

As Tayo recovers step by step through the book, Silko shows us how the Laguna people must also recover from their own guilt and shame. Ceremony is not just a book about the struggles of a Native American boy, but of an entire nation and people. Although Silko's message is not necessarily the only way the Native American tribes can recover and move into the 21st century, it is definitely a prevalent one, and worthy of some consideration. At least for Tayo, finding forgiveness for himself is what allowed him to find happiness and, finally, peace.

In Bad Taste....

2009-04-20T02:10:17Z

It seems that there has been some confusion among the readers of some of my prose.

For a thing to be written "in bad taste," it does not mean it is written "badly" or "poorly." It means it is vulgar, and stylistically contains material that is dirty, obscene, or offensive in quality. Something can be written very well and still be in bad taste.

Dreaming

2009-04-13T02:01:37Z

When I see you --
    dreaming --
I always find a way
   to warn you,
be careful,
    be careful because
you might get sick
    and die.

Careful,
I seem to recall
   that you were sick once,
sick and dying.
You got better, though?
Or is this still before?
   Before that thing, that thing that happened,
the bad thing
I can't quite remember why
     but why do I feel
like I haven't seen you
in such a long time?
I've missed you.

What happened?
I've missed you.

And then sickening, cringing,
   drowning
as I remember another dream,
a dream within the dream
   where I woke up
and you were gone,
    a long time gone,
so cold and gone.

Shade

2009-04-13T01:58:00Z

It was a dream
   where I faced you last,
some otherworld
   where your shade
         met mine.
Because what disturbs me
    is not that it might be you,
or from you,
    or of you,
but rather nothing like you
    except the stubborn child
of my mind,
    a child past--
insisting,
    shouting,
         yelling
that your silhouette is something real.

I touched it once,
   knowing it was a dead woman
dreaming.

Somehow, she never
   came back to life.

We are walls....

2009-04-13T01:41:46Z

In this way,
   we are walls,
built of brick and clay.
   Strong, to hold the difference
as a floor
    differs from a roof.
And yet some of us are floors,
   happy to support,
to be the firm tiles or boards
   that the rest of us may
        walk on.
Even less of us are roofs,
    nor should we really need them --
those tight capped
     locked down
           gates against the stars,
     a lid to block out sunlight,
few plants can live indoors.

It is in this way we are walls,
   keeping separate floor and roof,
Holding carefully the beams
    so that none may tilt
          or splinter --
For without walls there is no shelter,
    no place from weather,
          lock nor key;
with no walls, we are all flat
     ongoing lines,
        indefinitely.

All things return from winter....

2009-04-13T01:36:04Z

A softer gold,
   and suddenly the eys
        are seeing,
the wind has cooled,
   and I remember fading things,
like the strength of winter,
   a season close to death,
        if death is anything
             like sleeping.
Or freezing.
   They say death is nothing,
        the onset of nothingness,
    like a disease.
But even a disease is living,
   even a disease grows and evolves;
death is always the same.
I don't know where it goes,
   that nothing,
that empty that spreads from empty,
     only that it must be
          different from winter,
because all things return from winter,
                  except the dead.

angel_fixation @ 2009-03-29T16:39:00

2009-03-29T23:45:26Z

Wind Chimes

Does anyone hear
   the tingling
oh sweet mingling
      of the bells?
When the wind
    blows around here,
we hear a
flutter of fairy dust
and of tiny footsteps,
   dancing
oh so laughing,
just the passing
   of the
bells.

Shitty, shitty date....

2009-03-26T18:52:18Z

So I went on a date last night.

I go on dates now and then... you know, just to break up the routine. Anyway, the date started out well... to be honest, it was a third date. The first time, the guy showed up at my house wearing a velvet blue coat, long hair tied back in a pony tail, sky-blue sneakers and skinny jeans. Not my idea of style, thank you very much. That look might work on sixteen-year-old boys, but not twenty-two-year-old half-men creatures who are supposed to be impressing me.

Anyway, first date bombed, but he was funny and nice so I went on a second date. It was better, but he tried to kiss me after only half an hour, and that was a little too fast for me. Slow down there, Blue Velvet. Not sure if I want to try out those lips yet. Ew. I left soon after.

Third date happened... much more fun this time, still didn't kiss, he backed off after the original rejection and now neither of us knew what we were doing. It was destined to fail.

Then last night happened. We went to dinner, got sushi, ate, only to find out that I'M THE ONE PAYING THE BILL. What the fuck? Pardon my French, but I never pay on dates -- no, I am not one of those trendy, hip, "I'm an independent woman and I pay my own way on a date" kind of people. I'm traditional. I want to know my man can and will provide for me, and I'm sorry, but this guy isn't even my boyfriend. Hello? If you were my boyfriend, I might make an exception, but not after three somewhat-okay dates.

The way he let me know was confusing too. We ate, afterwards he said, "Thank you, by the way."

Me: "Huh?"

Blue Velvet: "Oh, I thought you were paying this time."

Me: "Uh... well, I mean, can we go halves? I don't have a job right now and money is a problem." Did I mention that he is a programmer and rents his own house and pays for his own car?

Blue Velvet: "I would, but I left my wallet in the car, and I only have a card... I have six dollars at my house though." The meal cost me $20. His dinner was more than half of that.

I don't have a job right now. I don't have money. I recently spent three hellish nights babysitting a dying dog so I could scrounge together enough money to buy myself some new clothes and a birthday present for my friend.

What kind of man lets a woman buy him dinner? Shameful. Instead of men taking care of women, we're breeding a society where men get full advantage -- they get gorgeous companionship, entertainment, sex, and then free dinners. No. Men and women are different. Men should take pride in caring for women, because we need each other, and if you buy me dinner and treat me like a queen, then I'll return the favor in all the wonderful ways that women CAN return favors. Just give me some respect. That's all I ask.

Which, by the way, I don't find sex jokes on dates cute. They're rude. And offensive. And leave me feeling uncomfortable. I am a lady, and you can treat me as such.

Wasted time... yet what is "when" and what is "wasted"?

2009-03-12T19:17:50Z

I have searched harder, found more, wasted less, and yet I'm still behind.

But is there such a thing as wasted time? I am constantly reminding myself that every footstep I take is necessary. Every new bump along this road is something I need to pay attention to, to notice for those who don't notice, so that at some point I may teach them what they overlooked. I have asked to be some form of messenger; I don't know what that entails, but some people seem to be born with it and I would like to think of myself as born again with it. Thus, life teaches me. Life teaches everyone, but I have always been a good student. Some just absorb faster than others. Sometimes I think I've been here before, and this is somehow all a way for me to remember what I'm supposed to already know. It's like a crash course, a quick review before the big test. Except there is no real test. A test is something to dread -- this, I look forward to. A test is something you worry about passing. This, I feel as though I already passed.

Wasted time... but everything I run across is necessary. Wisdom isn't supposed to feel light and flitty, or uncertain -- wisdom is universal, I think, and contains that same universal feeling of deepseated, indescribable confidence. That thing that says -- "this is how it is, how it always was, how it will be." That unerring judgment born of experience. I want wisdom, but in my eagerness, I forget that wisdom does not come from rushing, but from waiting. Wisdom does not come only from experience, but from the joining of experience and observation. One must reflect, look at themselves and ask who and why.... always always always, why.

I am ready, and yet I'm not ready. I know I can do it, but I don't know what I must do. I feel that push, that push push push... and yet what direction? Where is the road? Faith is blind, and I don't know where I am walking, only that I must trust I will be led in the right direction. That is the easy part. The hard part is waiting.

I look back on wasted time --
yet what is when,
and what is wasted?
Can you count minutes like they're money?
Can you buy back one more day?
We're either pushing pushing pushing
   or crying stay, stay, stay....
but in this life of 'stop and go'
we haven't time to break away....

Does a flower waste its winter?
Does a redwood waste its youth?
Who am I to tower
   when only anthills
can be moved?
I would seek a greater hour,
a higher time,
   a better place --

But out of fear of wasted words,
    I'll hold off
          for one more day.

All I have....

2009-02-25T02:04:08Z

All I have are pictures,
and pictures don't forget.
For all the thoughts inside
I haven't found the words as yet.
Despite these past eight years
your gentle voice prevails,
inside my mind
I try to find
a reason that entails --
Or justifies,
or thus explains
why your soul was taken,
why it had to be my love,
what longings have awakened.
What lessons of this world
were taught to ordinary me --
I search inside,
Hypothesize
a reason this may be.

On a border somewhere....

2009-02-05T06:37:00Z

I was alone
in the circle,
around smiles and laughter --
Sometimes it seems
like I belong on a border
somewhere,
between you and him,
between them and they,
Somewhere closed,
not open,
like the words they say.

The Winding Way - Chapter 2

2008-11-24T06:58:32Z

To read from the beginning: The Winding Way -- Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Conditions

“There abides the very being with which true knowledge is concerned; the colourless, formless, intangible essence, visible only to mind, the pilot of the soul.”

- Plato, Phaedrus

It was later on in the day when they came across the wagon. It was a sorry sight, weathered and teetering, heeped full of fresh hay. Two horses pulled the wagon forward at a slow yet steady pace, huge beasts with long tufts of hair around their hooves.

“Excuse me, sir?” Aden called, waving her hand, her book bag slung easily over one shoulder. “Hello? Could we possibly get a ride? We're headed out to Krishna.”

“Ah, the White City,” the old man grunted, pulling up alongside them. He squinted in the sun, pushing his straw hat back from his head. “I have heard they're running into trouble lately....”

“Trouble?” Aden frowned, glancing back to her silent, stoic companion. A wind was beginning to toss up, blowing about his feathered hair. She wondered if the trouble had anything to do with him, not that she could fathom how it would be connected. “Well, we could really use a ride, if you're headed there.”

“Near there, I'm traveling back to my farm,” the man nodded, pulling his hat down against a strong breeze. “I suppose so, young'n -- you two climb in the back!”

Aden responded quickly, grabbing Lucifer's hand and tugging him to the back of the wagon. She motioned for him to climb and was surprised when he moved for her to go first. She hopped onto the back of the wagon, using the railing to help pull herself up, then flopped down onto the pile of hay beneath her. Thankfully it was fresh and clean. A moment later Lucifer started after her, mimicking her moves, even the casual flop into the hay. She turned to say something to him, amused, but was unnerved by the empty appearance of his eyes as he gazed back at her. She shivered.

The cart continued and she sat up, glancing around at the passing countryside. The clouds overhead were moving in, gray and wind-tossed, with the slight tension of rain. A storm definitely approaching.

“Sir,” Lucifer suddenly spoke, and Aden turned, surprised. “I see that your horses are of two different color.”

“True, young master,” the old man said, obviously amused. “One black and one white.”

“It is unusual.”

“Why, that it is!” the old man laughed, slapping the reigns affectionately. “And you know, funny you should bring that up, because I was just thinking about how much you two... remind me of them.”

“Huh?” Aden asked, not having expected that response. “We remind you of your horses?”

“Only in a surface sort of way,” the man replied with a slight laugh -- she wasn't sure if he was blushing or just sunburned. He pushed his hat back and scratched his head. “Y'see, these two beasties o' mine have very different personalities, and just seein' how y'two talk, you can tell there's a similarity.”

“Oh, and what's that?” Aden asked wryly, unsure if she was happy at being compared to a horse.

“Y'see, my white steed, though the most loyal and beautiful of beasts, has quite the personality about her. Always curious and getting into things, getting in trouble, pullin' the cart from the road. She sees something she wants, and she just off and goes after it, no mind about her. Always has to let her passions override her senses, if y'know what I mean.” The farmer took a long breath and spit to the side of the road, then continued. “This here steed on the left, this black beast, he's pure logic and discpline, this 'un. He'll stick to the road, rain, sleet, or snow, through any terrain. Farsighted, good at avoiding holes and whatnot... I can rely on him to try to keep the white horse on the road.”

“I don't see them struggling now,” Aden pointed out, glancing over the farmer's shoulder at the two horses. The giant steeds were walking slowly and calmly through the fields, their hooves kicking up light puffs of dust.

“Of course not, young missy -- they do nothing but get along!”

"Huh? Well... why?"

"Because they're in love!"

“Horses in love?” Great, they had jumped into the wagon of a madman. It was still a widely disputed concept, whether or not animals could have such feelings. Aden was doubtful, as anyone with any sense would be.

“So what are you trying to say? That I'm a white horse that is over emotional and misguided?” Aden asked, folding her arms. “And some... off-the-cuff story about love overcoming two complete opposites? Maybe in a perfect world, but that's far from reality.”

“I didn't say nothin' of the sort, young miss,” the farmer replied, his tone indignant. “But then, it's interestin' that you saw it that way, ain't it?”

The question gave her pause, at least. “It was implied,” she grumbled.

“There is another problem with your story, Jonathan Cook, which you do not realize." Lucifer spoke up suddenly, using the driver's full name, and Aden saw the man scratch his head, obviously wondering if he had introduced himself before. "There are beings that do not feel love. Whether to be united through a the love of something or love of one another, it is purely an expression of the Incarnate. The Immortal take no part in this.”

Aden swallowed, unsure of what to say. He had pretty much blurted out his own identity in a completely tactless way. Didn't the Immortal care at all about hiding his presence? Then again, these were the Goodlands, and people were in general decent and trustworthy. It was farther past Krishna that one started having to be careful. There was the border between the Goodlands and the Opaque, and then further out, into the Moaning. Past that, very little was known.

“Still, it is the principal of the thing,” the man continued, shaking his head as though oblivious to the bizaar conversation. “The black horse, once it has finally fallen in love, will unite with its ever-shifting companion and they will walk the same path.”

“I do not Love,” Lucifer intoned.

“All beings Love,” the man responded.

Silence settled on the wagon. Aden contemplated the last exchange and frowned, turning to look at the Immortal. "What do you mean, you can't love? What good is living if you can't even love? Can't you do anything?"

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "We of the Immortal do not feel. We are pure containers of logic and reason, so no, we can't love. We have no need of love."

"Uh-huh," Aden didn't believe a word of it; in fact, she didn't agree with either of them. Sure, the Lords were Immortal and part of being Immortal was being devoid of change or progression, which also meant devoid of emotion... but that didn't mean it was impossible for them to feel. It was well known that The Incarnate and The Immortal Realms were connected in unknowable ways. They could not exist completely or wholly without the other. Maybe Lucifer didn't think he could love, but she was sure he was mistaken. Immortals could become human, after all. They could Fall... though she was not sure how.

She shivered against the wind. At this rate, hopefully by late tomorrow they would reach Krishna, the last town before heading on to the Opaque, and there they would find the directions they needed. She would get this pompous, stoic drone back to the world he belonged in, and continue with her life. At least this way she would have been closer to a Lord than most humans get in their lives... perhaps something would come of it some day.

Besides, despite his high-handed manner, he really was quite... lost.

"So what do you do inside The Immortal?" she asked quietly, not wanting to draw the wagon driver back into the conversation.

"It is not something you could easily understand," he responded, echoing her volume. "We have no means of which to end or begin things, so action in that sense is not possible."

Aden nodded; that much she could understand, or at least, try to. "So then do you... exist?”

The Immortal hesitated. “No, not in the sense you are thinking.”

She frowned. “Then how?”

“Existence in the Immortal is not something that requires Experience. We exist completely and totally in the same space, yet each Lord embodies a different collection of Ideals and Concepts. In that sense, we are similar to how your simpler ancestors viewed us -- as Pagan gods.”

Aden couldn't help it -- she reached into her book bag and pulled out a journal and quil, along with a neat bottle of ink. She had to write this down, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. “Pagan gods, huh?” she said, dabbing the feather into the ink. “Is The Immortal far removed from the Incarnate?”

“Space has no meaning.”

“Then how did you come to be here?”

“A folly of logic,” Lucifer said sharply. “The Immortal contains the True Forms of things that are expressed in the Incarnate. Here you see a door -- there, the true idea of everything a door is and stands for. There is no need of space, or time, or other such things. It is a world that is built of and contains only ideas, for only ideas are Immortal.”

Aden was writing it all down, though it was all a bit confusing for her. Still, as a Student, it was her duty to ask.

“Then, emotions, feelings, actions, you don't--”

"Aden," he said directly, and she glanced up, meeting his black gaze. It was possibly the first time he'd directly used her name. His hair brushed back against his forehead from the growing wind, and his eyes reflected the clouds above. "The Immortals are not human. We do not exist in this realm, and must change our natural forms -- incarnate, as I have -- to do so. It is our nature. We are the embodiment of ideals -- we contain not just love, but all-Love, everything at once, the totality of all concepts -- but we cannot feel or experience them. That is how the balance is struck. You will never know what we know, never understand what we understand, never be able to comprehend full Truth and Knowledge; but then we shall never know your Experience."

Aden was silent, finally struck by the first seeds of respect -- not just awe, but the beginnings of understanding. She suddenly felt like she was in the presence of a much older creature. Not just a beautiful man in black, ornate clothing, but an actual higher being. Something of a different realm of existence. Something that contained thoughts and ideas that she couldn't fathom; quite literally wasn't meant to fathom. A man who never feared death. An Immortal that never felt emotion, who couldn't travel the Incarnate by himself because he had no ability to sense direction.

She shivered. "Perhaps I shall endlessly reincarnate and forget all of my lives," she said, "but I would much rather die if it means I get to feel love and pain."

Now it was Lucifer's turn to look struck... if he was even capable of making such an expression. He leaned forward slightly, his face extra austere. "Would you?" he asked.

Aden nodded with no doubt. "Definitely. I don't care how much some people want Knowledge and Truth -- I'd rather experience all that life has to offer. I'd rather... I don't know, roll in the mud and see nature and all the different forms it takes."

Lucifer was looking at her with an odd expression, one she couldn't quite place. "Indeed," he murmured, almost as if to himself. His eyes suddenly seemed unfocused. "Indeed."

An awkward and obvious silence fell over the group, and Aden finally rolled back, covering herself with the hay to protect against the cold breeze, allowing the gentle rock and creak of the wagon to soothe her. She used her book bag as a pillow. "I'm going to take a nap... uh, Lucifer," she said, feeling that she should at least say something.

He didn't respond, which she had expected.

She fell asleep some time later, lulled by the ever-present creaking of the wheels.

The Winding Way -- Chapter 1, Part 2

2008-11-18T05:42:18Z

To read from the beginning: The Winding Way, Chapter 1

"I am named Lucifer, Lord of Night, and I am the Master of Chaos and Dreams. I am an Immortal, and I must return to my realms to reclaim my title, or else I am Master no more."

"Master? Chaos? What?" Aden asked, bewildered. Sure, she had a book on the Immortals, but nothing so specific.

"It is unreasonable for me to expect one such as you to know anything about these matters," he sniffed.

Still stoic and aloof. Aden hated it. She gripped the book in one hand and glared firmly. "You said you need to 'reclaim your title' -- was it lost somehow?"

Finally a hesitation. The Immortal didn't meet her eyes and stared past her at the trees, at first as though he wouldn't answer at all. Then he finally said, "I was otherwise occupied."

No further information seemed to be forthcoming on the matter.

Aden gritted her teeth and tried to think through the situation. She usually didn't have problems with people doubting her abilities -- she was a student, after all, the most respected occupation in all of the Incarnate. If not learn and succeed, what else could she do?

"Look, if you have to get back to the Immortal so bad, I can help you get there," she said, almost hating herself. Why was she so desperate to help this... being? "Do you know how to travel the Incarnate?"

Lucifer shook his head slowly, still refusing to look at her.

"Well, then I'll take you to the next town, there should be someone there who knows how to get back to the Immortal," Aden said agreeably. "I mean, how hard can it be?" she muttered after.

"It will be a long journey," the Immortal said, finally turning to look down at her. The expression in his dark eyes was unfathomable. "And in all honesty, I am unsure of your intentions."

"Huh?" Aden frowned.

"I mean, can I trust you?" the Immortal stared at her, and for a moment she felt an almost-awkwardness emanating from him. "I am, Incarnate, in need of a guide. I know not of this realm, not of time nor space nor direction -- such things are not of my Nature. I know of the ideal of Trust, but not whether I can trust you."

"Do you always speak like a text book?" Aden grumbled, using it as an excuse to mull over his question. He had a point, and in all honesty she did have an ulterior motive -- by signing on with him, she'd gain valuable experience, and most likely be the envy of her peers. Plus he was an anomaly... and beautiful. There was just something about the whimsy of it all that attracted her; semester was done for the winter, and she would have nothing to do for a full two months before heading back to classes. She didn't want to sit in a chilly town and relax -- she wanted something new. Something fun.

Now how to make a creature from an entirely different level of cosmic thought understand all of that?

He beat her to it. "How about we sign a contract."

"A what?"

"A contract, young one," the Immortal intoned. As he said it, a feather drifted down, and before her eyes Aden saw it shift into paper. Another feather floated up next to it, forming itself into a pen, already dripping with ink. "These are all-binding, but do not fear. It simply states that you will help me return to the Immortal."

"Wait, I can't read this.”

And sure enough, she couldn't read it at all. It was a blank piece of paper. There wasn't even a line to sign on. She placed her fingers around the quil haltingly, unnerved by its floating presence, and snatched the paper in her other hand, holding it up to him. “Look, there's nothing written on it.”

“Written... I do not write, child.”

“What?” she choked, taken aback and even more confused than before. “Can't write? Well can't you read?”

“Oh yes, I can read, but I do not write.”

“But... how?”

“I have no need to write, young one. The paper,” he took it from her hand without asking, “is a symbolic representation of our all-binding contract. It does not need words, nor does it need your signature. Place your hand upon it.”

Aden frowned, suspicious. “What's going to happen?”

“In the Immortal, we transfer information instantaneously, since we have no concept of boundaries. Place your hand upon the paper, and you will... understand the contract.”

Aden was hesitant, for more than good reason. But here was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Here was something she had never experienced before. As a Student, it was her duty to Experience as vast and wide a range of things as possible. And when was the last time an Incarnate had a chance like this?

“Alright, here we go,” she muttered, and put her hand on the paper.

A tingling against the tips of her fingers, but that was all. Then suddenly something bloomed in her chest, something that reminded her of a flower, and what felt like a huge air bubble traveled up her throat... only instead of coming out her mouth, it continued into her head, where it expanded. Quite suddenly she felt light.

And then the emotions funneled through. Aden had never experienced anything like it -- direct feelings and understandings coursed through her, concepts and images that she couldn't fully interpret, yet which translated into overall sensations of trust, sincerity, partnership, and... severity. There was something gray and dark hanging over the entire ordeal, as though the situation was very dire. Aden wondered once again what had happened to her new companion -- what had made him Fall into the world of the Incarnate? Had he truly Fallen, or was something exceptional happening here?

Suddenly a list of information transferred through her, and she understood what would be expected of her -- honesty, loyalty, and a vow to see it through to the end. And on his side, he was offering....

“Nothing?” she blinked, surprised that she could talk while all of this was going on inside of her.

When the Immortal responded, she wasn't sure if she heard him or felt him through their strange new connection. “You are a Student, are you not?”

She was surprised. “How did you know that?”

“I am all-knowing, young one,” the Immortal replied, with no inflection of emotion. “But your just rewards will be through the Experience, so whereas I offer you nothing, I actually offer you exactly what you want.”

“Oh.” So he knew. She should have guessed -- the Immortals were as gods, after all. As close to gods as existed between the worlds of the Immortal and the Incarnate.

“How do I know you're not lying to me?” she asked suddenly, the thought having just occurred to her. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“The Immortals do not lie,” Lucifer answered fluidly, one perfect eyebrow raised. “We know what a lie is, and we can tell when someone lies, but we do not lie.”

Aden frowned. “Why not?”

“Because it is not in our Nature.”

Another vague answer -- for a fourth-year student, Aden was beginning to feel that she had missed out on some very serious information. “So then how do you know when someone else is lying?”

“Because,” he said plainly, as though stating a fact about the weather, “We know everything. It is the actions of things we have no familiarity with, since we are the containers of knowledge, not the actors of experience. That is your job, Incarnate.”

“Look, this is impossible, every time I try to get a straight answer out of you, I get a lecture!” Aden dropped her hand from the contract and picked up the quil she had set aside earlier. “I'll come along, alright? I'll help you out. And look, even though this contract is forcing me to help you, I'm doing it of my own free will, okay?”

The Immortal's eyes glinted, and for a moment she got the horrible feeling that he knew something she didn't. “Of course, young one,” he nodded. “Your assistance will never be forgotten.”

She had to reflect for a moment on just how literally he meant that.

“Alright,” she said. Then, “I can do this.”

She set the tip of the quil to paper.

Scratched in her signature. A-d-e-n P. L-o-s-t.

“Aden Lost,” the Immortal murmured, and turned the paper to look down at it. He raised a finger, and it was then that she saw his left hand, the one he had healed, how the fingers were shaped into black, clawed points. The claws were long and glinted almost metalically, as though part of his armor. He tapped his index finger against the paper and suddenly she saw a signature appear across it; elegant, long script compared to her tiny scribble. When she focused on it, however, she no longer saw the signature or the letters, but rather... somehow... felt his name.

“I do not write, young one,” he reminded her.

“Stop calling me that,” she growled, embarrassed that he had caught her staring. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and clutched the book in her hand. For a moment they stood there like that, hesitating, silent and awkward. She kept expecting something fantastical to happen since she had signed the contract, but no event or transformation took place. The sounds of the forest grew loud. Finally Aden looked back the way she had come. “The road is that way,” she said, pointing. A brisk wind suddenly skipped up, brushing at her plaid skirt and loose brown hair. She had decided to walk home in uniform, since her university clothing was no more suited for winter than the casual summer garb she had back at her dorm.

“Let us go,” Lucifer intoned.

Aden led him silently through the trees towards the road she had been following, her sense of direction more instinctive than knowledge-based. They reached the road soon and she paused again, looking up and down the dirt track, suddenly worried. Where to go? Who in the Incarnate knew how to get to the Immortal? It wasn't a simple matter of crossing a border, after all -- this was a matter of transcending dimensions. It required not just a change in reality, but a change in Consciousness -- to walk a path that was experienced as much spiritually as it was physically, which would blur the meaning of time and space. Then there was the matter of whether or not she could even enter the Immortal, or if it would somehow transform her into something that wasn't even herself anymore.

Maybe she should have thought this through before signing the contract.

Aden shook off her doubts; as a Student, it was her job to investigate, not worry. It was too late now, and she had her Experience to consider. But which way to go? Who in this world knew anything about the Immortals, other than historians looking at dusty old texts? She couldn't very well take him to her university; this was her discovery, after all, and they wouldn't know what to do with him... and she didn't want to waste time going home if it would do her no good....

She riffled the pages of her book with her thumb, then suddenly she paused.

The book. A brief foray into the world of the Immortal. She was holding it in her hand.

And all books had authors.

She snatched up the text quickly and checked the front cover, then the binding; it was an old, leather-bound thing, and no marks adorned the front or side. How could it be that she hadn't checked the author's name before? She opened it, turning to the title page... and let out a sigh of relief.

“And to think, when I pulled you out of the school's library for some vacation reading, you would have come to such use,” she told the book, straightening her glasses. “Written by Elo J. Hymn.” Luckily right below the author's name was the city and date it had been printed. Since authors usually printed their own books, and printing itself was a fairly new, bulky, and awkward process, chances were he would be found in the same city. “Krishna,” she murmured.

The Immortal was standing silently next to her, then he looked down at the book. “This book holds information about the Immortals, how did that come to be?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I do not guess.”

“Don't be so literal,” she sighed... she wondered if Immortals could be anything but literal. “Well somebody wrote it, and we're going to find him and ask him how to get you home. We're headed to the city of Krishna -- let's see here...” she stopped for a moment and rummaged through her book bag. Finally she produced a map. “According to this, we continue on this road for a bit, then take a fork about a mile or two that way,” she pointed into the forest in the direction she had been heading. Thankfully Krishna wasn't back the way she'd come; she didn't want to risk running into any of her schoolmates who lived closer to the university. She'd only been walking a few days, after all. Still, the town was awfully close to the border between the Goodlands and the Opaque. Evil was a force in the Incarnate that could not be ignored... they wouldn't be crossing into its domain, but they would be damned close.

The Immortal hardly looked interested. She turned to look up at him, curious, and her breath caught in her throat all over again -- if this was her traveling companion, then the trip was bound to be easy on the eyes. His ribbon-and-feather plated hair was the most perfect black she had ever seen, his skin flawless, his features smooth. He was ageless, it seemed, embodying all of youth and all of wise years into one perfect being. She knew she didn't look like much with her mousy brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses, but in this situation, that didn't matter in the least. Immortals were not sexual creatures. He probably could care less about how she dressed or what condition her eyes were in.

Black feathers still managed to be falling and dusting the ground around him, though she was never sure where they fell from, since his wings had solidified into metal ornaments. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps the feathers somehow melted from the armor itself.

“Let's get going,” she said, and started off down the path. “Just stick by me and we'll do just fine.”

“I know,” he responded, falling into step beside her.

Aden couldn't help but feel a boost of confidence at this. Immortals didn't lie, after all. They knew everything.

This winter vacation was going to be better than she ever anticipated.