Celestial City (i did not write this)

Once upon a time

there was a society of priests who built a Celestial City

with gates secured by word-combination locks.

The priests were masters of the Word and,

within the City,

ascending levels of power and treasure

became accessible to those who could learn

the ascending intricate levels of Word Magic. 

At the very top level, the priests became gods;

and because they had nothing left to seek,

they engaged in games with which to pass the long hours of eternity.

In particular, they liked to ride their strong,

sure-footed steeds around and around the perimeter of heaven:

now jumping word hurdles, 

ow playing polo with concepts of the moon and the stars,

now reaching up to touch that pinnacle,

that splinter of Refined Understanding called Superstanding,

which was the brass ring of their merry-go-round.

In time, some of the priests-turned-gods tired of this sport,

denounced it as meaningless.

They donned the garb of pilgrims,

seekers once more,

and passed beyond the gates of the Celestial City.

In this recursive passage they acquired

the knowledge of Undoing Words.

Beyond the walls of the City lay a Deep Blue Sea.

The priests built small boats and set sail,

determined to explore the uncharted courses

and open vistas of this new terrain.

They wandered for many years in this matter,

until at last they reached a place

that was half a circumference away from the Celestial City.

From this point the City appeared as a mere shimmering illusion;

and the priests knew that they had finally reached a place Beyond the Power of Words.

They let down their anchors,

and the plumb lines of their reality,

and experienced godhood once more.

Under the Celestial City,

dying mortals cried out their rage and suffering,

battered by a steady rain of sharp hooves whose thundering,

sound-drowning path described the wheel of their misfortune.

At the bottom of the Deep Blue Sea,

drowning mortals reached silently and desperately 

or drifting anchors dangling from short chains far,

far overhead, which they thought were lifelines meant for them.

Perhaps

He told her lies and she believed them.

The illusion of his false sentiments gave her hope.

And, above all else, is that not what we all want? Something to hope and long for? Something we can't see or touch, but we can feel with the heart.

She may never know why he whispered sweet nothings in her ear, but they will echo in time.

Perhaps one day, a realization will flash across her thoughts, just as briskly he did when he entered and exited her life.

Perhaps there she will find hope in hoping.

A flash

all goodness emits from You.

You are my Light.

I love You.

A short story about a best friend.

I'd heard rumblings about her. Being that I am who I am, I didn't pay them much attention, except for the fact that I was very intrigued to meet "the very pretty new girl on the 9th floor who dressed questionably."

Growing up, and now, well into my adulthood, I have never been a jealous person. I just don't stack people against myself. When I was little, my parents always told me how smart I was, how fresh and clever, how beautiful, how interesting. If I was made fun of, they would tell me to shake it off and pay my aggressor no mind because "she probably sucks anyway." I cheated once, perhaps to prove to myself that I was smarter than I thought was. Instead of getting mad, my mom told me "Don't do that again, it's wrong. And if you do it again, just don't get caught." Instead of feeding into the comparison game, or just flat out ignoring the fact that it does indeed happen, my parents nurtured the better parts of me. My dad taught me about ancient greek mythology and what redlining was. My mom read books to me, shared her deepest and most personal stories with me and played her favorite music to enjoy with me.

All that to say, I never competed with anyone but me.

So, my curiosity peaked when I first learned about this new chick who started in my company. Mind you, I'd been there for many years and I was beloved by most if not everyone. And I loved everyone back. So, naturally, people were curious what I thought of this mystery girl who I hadn't met yet.

She might tell this story in a different order, but all of this is true.

I believe we met as ships passing in the night, or, perhaps even less glamorously, on a trip to the front desk to obtain office supplies. This female, unknown to me, HAD to be her. She was tall. Her skin was very tan and was so smooth and essentially perfect that it resembled glass. Her eyes were big and dark and bright and confused-looking.

"Hi, I'm Molly. Can I help you find something?" I asked her. She was desperately looking for letterhead. I walked her to the supply closet and her eyes got even wider, less confused and also much more at ease. She peered into the closet with what could be described as pure elation, grabbed some paper, thanked me profusely and introduced herself. "I'm Lena."

Lena. Her name was Lena. I decided then and there that I needed to know more about her. Why was everyone making such a big deal about her? We had recently brought on a lot more staff and no one gave them much mind. You might say that my innate curiosity peaked as if I was about to set off on an excursion across the great savannah to marvel at some near-extinct species.

A few days or weeks later, we ran into each other again. We were waiting for a large staff meeting to start and I saw her waiting in line for coffee. I b-lined towards her and greeted her with a big, warm smile. She seemed happy to see me, someone she had met already, and we exchanged pleasantries. That's when our friendship began.

I asked Lena to get lunch with me. She looked at me with probably the biggest grin she could possibly grin and obliged my offer.

We went to lunch later that day and we had an absolute ball. We discovered how much in common we had, that our senses of humor were basically the same and I found out what I had always known but appreciated when it was underscored before my very eyes: Looks are deceiving.

Sure, Lena was beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Many of the lesser sex like to pigeon-hole beautiful women into categories relegated to "pretty but dumb" or "hot and probably a slut." Sadly, other women do this, too. But not me. It is deeply engrained in me to recognize someone's exterior image, typically one that they have carefully crafted over time in order to gain some sense of control over their identify, while simultaneously inviting them to show me who they are inside. I believe it is one of the greatest honors to warmly and lovingly learn and accept someone for who they truly are despite appearances.

Lena showed me that very day, and every single day since, who she truly is. She is gorgeous, she is kind and she is smart as a whip. She is a wonder.

After lunch, we parted ways- her to the 9th floor and me to the 8th. I think I left early that day, because to my surprise, when I entered my office the next morning, there was a note slipped under my door.

The note was from Lena. It was hilarious and ironic, much like how I would describe her. She thanked me for inviting her to get pho and shared that it was "pho-king fantastic" and we should do it again "pho-real." If I recall correctly, she also taped a few of my favorite candies to the letter (she is one of the most sentimental and thoughtful listeners I have ever met). I nearly fell over laughing.

Then I ate the candy.

Then I set off to make her one of my best friends forever and ever, whether she wanted to be that or not (spoiler: she did).

We became fast gal pals.

Since then, we have laughed together, we have cried together, we have gone through dating and breaking up and losing jobs and quitting jobs and all of the in-between. She has met many of my other best friends and I hers. She has met my family and I hers. She is one of the people I go to when I need sound advice and I usually if not always take hers (and no, not because it's usually what I would do anyway, but more, because I trust that she loves me and knows what's best for me).

I am writing this, not so much as a love letter to one of my best friends, but to whoever is reading this as a reminder...

Do not let heresy about others influence your imagination of how someone might be.

Doing this, aside from being an incredible waste of time, limits your chances of finding out who they truly are, first-hand, from them.

Instead of gaining a dear friend, I could have at best gained another coworker, or at worst, an unwelcomed "enemy" who I would have been placed (by others) in direct, albeit artifical, competition with until one or either of us left that company, never to see each other again.

Thank you for being you, Lena. And, thank you for reminding me of this valuable lesson in adulthood, one that I have always carried with me since I was young but sometimes take for granted. My natural reaction is to get to know people beyond the exterior that others often use to cast judgment. For that, and for you, I am grateful.

Remember when

I don't remember my first memory.

HUMOR

what is humor,

if not the innate need

to make sense of

and laugh at

the absurd?

CHAOS

in order for life to thrive,
it must propel in a forward motion.

this motion is what we conceive as time.

as instances pass,
movement forces change,

sometimes violently so.

and therefore,

is not life,

in its purest form,

simply

an

act

of

C

H

A

O

S

?

Thoughts on fear, understanding and love

as humans, we naturally SEEK TO CONFIGURE.

we reject confusion and that which is abstract, as these breed FEAR.

FEAR, above all else,

is the presence of something we can not control.

inherently, fear calls on us to lack EMPATHY,
the one thread that delicately holds together our sameness.

in order to conquer fear, and, as a result, achieve HARMONY,

it is necessary to peer beyond an IMAGINARY WALL

that separates and DIVIDES US.

in so doing, we create room for a unique perspective.

that perspective is UNDERSTANDING,

or, in another word, LOVE.

with that, I ask you this:

is love real, or merely an ILLUSION we've constructed

to explain what we can not grasp?

is love simply a function

of our innate need to CATEGORIZE the abstract?

is love a figment of the human IMAGINATION,
developed over time,
to protect our hearts from the unknown?

and if these things are absolute truths,

should

LOVE

therefore

be

FEARED?