"What is your wish?" he asked "I don't have any money" she said thinking he was a beggar. "Plenty of money at the bottom of the fountain" she pointed her finger to the shining coins that tiled the pretend spring. "I have no use for money, I grant wishes, tell me your wish. "He replied in a voice lacking the typical cadence. His shining skin looked greasy, his eyes constantly moving. He moved his head in a strange way a controlled constant motion. His fingers had the same fluid appearance. Each hand trying to contain the other he intermittently would palm his fingers. It looked like he was passing something back and forth between them. She watched him, and was aware that he couldn't remain silent. If he wasn't talking he was making sounds, like humming, or sighing, or gasping for breathe, which he would hold momentarily, then release it through his nostrils while his head, and his eyes and his hands undulated. She said "I'm all out of wishes." "How can that be?" he said with an over exaggerated smile. Like the big phony smile of a clown. It was hard to take him serious. He seemed to be waiting for his thoughts to catch up to him. "I will read a script from your life." He began to talk in a generalized and vague way. Like all of her emotions had turned into text and was being written across her skin. She was accustomed to people attempting to read her. Many years would pass between real connection she forgot how to be gracious, too often an open circuit, creating a drain. She had grown weary of making connections since most considered her naive. Two men approached to talk with the fluidic man, he motioned them away. They walked around him at a distance looking toward him while they kept their course. Their body language said an important appointment was going to be missed if they didn't leave right now. She said "Your friends want to leave." He said "Forget them, I need to talk to you." The two men now stood behind a tree and fixed their eyes toward the man in constant motion. They grumbled and pointed, confined and anchored to a proximity. The man continued to say nothing even though he was speaking words. She tried to understand the meaning he was trying to convey. It was clear he had been sent as a messenger. A tongue tied messenger. His hands now looked like they were trying to tie themselves in knots. He began to talk about the feelings created by love. The warmth, the comfort, the amplified sounds of subtly. He couldn't completely say everything because it was too vast a concept to convey, he said "I need to see your hands. " She held them out palms down. He grabbed the left one first in both hands and turned it over. He looked at it intently. Then slid both hands over it like he was working with soft clay. His own hands were soft and smooth, but big and muscular . His nails were well manicured, and contrasted everything about him. He wasn't a tall man but he looked like he was not a stranger to physical work, his hands were pampered but they had the bulky look of a laborer. He never touched her hand above the wrist and seemed preoccupied with her fingers. He straightened them and curled them into a fist. He took her right hand placed it next to her left hand. He paused holding them together, and went completely still and quiet. Nothing about his manners frightened her she was too busy observing, and listening. She was familiar with these types of encounters, and welcomed them. Rigid formal occasions made her nervous and quiet. Spontaneous encounters that were choreographed never unfolded like this. There was an innocence about this interaction. Something was trying to manifest. The thoughts were forming, taking shape. This contrary messenger was trying to act out as best he could all that he was receiving. The most important thing for her to do at this moment was to be still and observe. To take in and account for all that was being presented to be processed at another point in time. He asked her "How does it feel to be out of wishes?" "It feels safe knowing for certain nothing will happen." she said, knowing it was engaging the wish granter in a conversation. He reacted by saying he had to go soon, creating a limit. She knew her comment misled him. Her intention was to see if he was speaking to her words, or her thoughts. He said "It seems no one is on your side, that doesn't mean you're right." "I always thought it did." she answered. "How can you be certain you've made the right choice?" he asked. "I never make decisions when I'm crying." she explained. "That's why I'm all out of wishes. The last time I cried I wished I didn't feel like that anymore. I'm being held to my word, so I can't feel like making a wish. He put his finger to his lips and laughed, then bit his finger nail and giggled like he was trying to control his laughter by distracting himself with a habit. He was having trouble stopping himself from laughing completely. "What a nasty deed, I wish I'd thought of that, although it isn't original, it has a clever twist." he continued speaking " you couldn't have been crying from a broken heart, there are rules against such cruelness. I'd bet you'd been misled into thinking something was true, you realized you had been made a fool." She looked at him and said "If you think about it long enough you can get specific details." "Of course!" he said pushing his chin forward, narrowing his eyes. His smile grew without parting his lips. She became aware of herself and felt alone. She realized the constant expanding universe like a movie screen before the film starts, black and vacant. Off to the right she saw a slow spinning white wedge. Slightly loosing it's shape and then regaining it as it spun. She saw several tall women run across the street wearing well fitted black suits each had one white sleeve on the right side. The effect it created as they swung their arms to run, were vertical lines moving to the left. The white wedge continued to spin. The women stopped and turned waiting for another to catch up, her white sleeve flashing as she moved. They resumed the direction walking, they seemed to vanish without the white sleeve being visible. Her mouth felt like it was full of rocks and crumbly gravel. It didn't make her choke or gag, it felt like it belonged there, a purpose. The wish granter began to talk about his home, the place he was born, where he grew up. His words passed through her. She was unable to connect to his memories he realized he had strayed from the purpose at hand. It's impossible to change the course without changing everything, effecting everything. Each moment has it's specific meaning. Each moment is unique and constant. In an instant is everything.
musings from a November day '07
Stories about the Storm
The lightening would strike the desert floor and run off zigzagging in all directions. On the road before sunrise, we drove into an Electrical Storm. I was young, and I don't remember where we were heading.
I could see the little boat floating on the water. It looked small like it would fit into my hand. I could hear some words louder than others, fragments not enough to make sense. I could hear them laughing. I stood on the gravely shore line putting a stick in the water. The little waves kept pushing it back like the lake was playing fetch with me. I asked "Mommy , when is it my turn?" The sky turned gray the boat headed toward the dock we got into the car to drive home. "Why didn't I get a turn?" "There was a storm coming."
She placed the jewelry box on the bed. She picked out a piece and said the stone in the center is black onyx. Next she held up a ring and said "This is platinum." It looked dull gray like an empty feeling. The color before the storm.
I rode my horse across a field up on a small hill. I looked at the sky that was being filled with gray clouds. There was a place along the horizon the light shone bright. Like a stage with the curtain drawn, and lights covered with amber gels. On the stage lightening was striking in rapid succession.
I hadn't notice how hot the sun was that day until I felt the bright light burn my bare skin. It felt intolerable. The clouds moved in front of the sun, the cloud shadow brought an instant cooling. The hot and cold of spring, like a person that doesn't know how beautiful they look to those around them. Innocent and unrestrained one moment, shy and guarded the next. The sky was a brilliant blue. Clouds were forming. Lying along the far off mountains was a misty gray cloud. It slowly started to rise taking on the shape of a long flowing dress. The further it rose, being carried by the sea of air, it revealed another cloud that was white and for a span looked like a man lying flat on his back with his knee bent up. The change of seasons consummated, I was a humbled witness. I stopped what I was doing and marveled at the thoughts that had overtaken my mind.
A large piece of cardboard, someone had nailed to a phone pole. The red paint sprayed on thick, shaped like a heart. It was hung too soon after it was painted, the drips had dried making it look like blood. When he showed up at my door acting like I had invited him over, I knew the reason. He stood over me in judgment looking down at me. His face changed and his voice matched someone else that had accused me. He said "I made your heart black because you asked me too." This is your chance to change it.
When you write in the sand, the wind becomes an eraser. Unless you're an ancient human leaving your mark on the desert floor, by brushing away at the layers to expose a different color dirt underneath. Leaving giant pictures for whom? The wind can weather the top layer of soil, and expose the water table. Creating an oasis, a place of repose. Is the wind affectionate, or just a crude force that can't be trusted
I felt the cold space placed arms distance from where I rested. I could feel it swirling around my outstretched arm. Reaching toward the source feeling the temperature change. A cold pocket of air familiar to me from the many times I've stood outside feeling the air move as a storm approached. The mass of air that moves with a coming storm, from warm to cold, carrying with it the smells being gathered along it's course. Unlike a storm it's advent forestalled for reasons unknown. It was not looking to mix with the air that surrounded it, but being able to remain at it's core different. Not belonging to what it moved by way of. Belonging to the destination it was heading. There it floated unseen, at the end of my outstretched arm. It held back the turbulence that fed it. The chaos under control, untamed but manageable.
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