His eyes were green. The kind of green that pushed its way through the piles of gritty snow to remind you that spring was coming. The kind of green that budded on the prisoners of winter, bringing life back to their branches. That churning, passionate green that the ocean turns during a storm. That colour of the forest after it rains. The colour of the tadpoles making ripples in the pond. That green colour that brings hope and life no matter what has happened. And looking into those eyes, I could see it. And he knew that I could.
The boy's eyes were green but not the kind of shade that's easy to describe. It was almost like they were both green and yellow at the same time, with blue creeping in around the edges as if it were trying to take over. He blinked and the beauty was momentarily covered by the shield of his eyelashes; naturally long and soft looking - feminine compared to the rest of his well structured features. By the time the boy's eyes opened again, I had still not recovered from his intense stare. It was a stare that communicated the boy's former pain, and his wish for me to let go and to move on. But I could not move on, just as I could not forget those glaring eyes whose light never faded even in death.
The malnutrition that leads to over twenty thousand child deaths per day is a rolling holocaust of the world's babies. They are the new "Schindler's List" and there will come a day when we look at our materialism they same way Oskar Schindler came to see his gold watch at the end of the movie. We will see the shallowness of our advertising industry and our egotism this way, how we preen while others die. This world can produce enough food for us all. Can you imagine all the people as John Lennon did? Can you imagine how different they could be if they had enough food, shelter, clean water and love. Can you imagine the world when communities heal and humanity reemerges as a gregarious and social species who love and cherish each other? They are all the girl in the red coat and we can rescue them. Can you imagine such a way of living? The newspapers daily explaining how many kids we'd saved, the new food production techniques and photographs of cultural festivities and joy? Can we start to imagine how we can feel about ourselves when we step into this heroic version of ourselves and fill the boots that are waiting for us? Love is our answer, it always was.
The nature the public institution is the magic that makes everything work. For example, the university is wonderful when built with love, treasuring all, built to nurture both loving spirit and academic excellence. The same is true of all of our societal structures. When the farmer has all they need freely provided with engineering and scientific support, and are valued as the real source of production, everyone wins. And this is what emotional maturity is; we take care of everyone by designing an intelligent system in which everyone is free. Perhaps imagine this change as a previously authoritarian parent who turns over a new leaf and chooses to love and support instead. Fear evaporates, love dominates, and in freedom we blossom into a beautiful society. Or perhaps imagine the Buddhist monk who is a wise leader supported by the charity of the community, there to guide yet never control. We are the preeminent social species of Earth and we are capable of forming a complex society that is free.
The cheese had a bold flavour, not the almost-there flavour of childhood memories. It was the kind that demanded the tang of a pickle, the freshness of tomato or crisp salad leaf. I liked it that way. It woke my brain up, made me grin within, as if it were wonderfully cheeky, a secret pleasure to savour.
Beloved, be loved all of your days. Be loved from the first newborn rays of the dayshine to the first cascade of stars in the sweet ebony dark. Be loved for all the wondrous things you are, for the love within and that which you radiate into the world. Be loved while I may hold you close and when you are far away. And that I love you this way, and you love me this way, is how we can say we are each other's beloved.
All that could be seen in front of her was the silhouetted dark shape of the rising moors, rolling on for miles and visible up until a touch of emerald light scathed the horizon. In the darkness, the unexpected scent reached her, of honey- heather- and- gorse bush that seemed to be embroidered into the very landscape. Something sounded against the slick, slightly damp tarmac and an auburn fox was suddenly visible. The frightened creature stared at her with it sharp, noble eyes as it was unveiled from its cover when in the dark, smoky bitter blue sky, something shifted and the entirety of the rolling hills was all of a sudden bathed in a whimsical silver. The air there could be sold for millions in a polluted country, and a glimpse of the moon and of the stars that seemed to lilt in and out of existence could inspire anyone who is lost. She was bewitched by it, intoxicated on the strange yearning that it brought her; the place brought with it the happiness of freedom and also the romance of melancholy found within old classics, poems and music. Light.
That morning, the woods were filled with an ominous brittle silence. There was a shriek from the trees that Henry said was a branch twisting under the sheer weight of ice. I had opened the curtain to the blue dawn, but I hastily closed it against the cold diffusing across the window glass. In our unheated room, our breath was vapor, and the floorboards cold to the pads of our feet. Henry's nose was red, and the tip of mine was numb.
GDP is called gross domestic product for a reason; it is "Gross." It's gross to measure success by how much gasoline is sold, or how much money young mothers earn as they are separated from their babies. Of course, the "daycare" where kids go to scream and be soothed and diaper changed right before pick up time earns money too. It is gross to measure success by how much big pharma makes from illness in a stressed out high cortisol society. It is gross to measure success in sugar and fat sales when the nation is suffering more obesity. It is gross to measure success in the revenue from casinos and from sales of booze to alcoholics. It is gross to measure success in production of items that are destined for landfill or ocean pollution that are not needed - pollution when produced, sold via vulture advertising that does psychological harm and then becoming pollution (the packaging, the product and the transportation). The entire system is governed and perpetuated by lunatics in suits. Let's be clear that Gross Domestic product is aptly named and success is measured in smiles, in healthy children and families, in clean water, air and land.
"We are the fireworks in this velvet dark, the blaze that dares to light up the night."
The town was a maze of narrow winding streets, as complex as the heart. The streets were the veins, paved with dark red stones, and the people were the blood. The sound of the smiths, beating swords and breastplates into shape, was the consistent and dull pounding that let you know the town was alive.