The crisp, white snow has smothered summer. It appears somebody has laid a sparkling white sheet over what was once summer and put it to bed. However, there is beauty in the winter too. The way the snow is sprinkled down from a grey, clouded sky and floats to the ground with grace and elegance, so pure. But spring must eventually wake up and pull of the pale blanket, revealing all the beauty it holds and melting away the snowy days.
Her face wasn't anything extraordinary or significant, and yet, he felt somehow magically draw to those serious and silent features. Though she always avoided his gaze, he couldn't help but notice her clean skin and lack of makeup, along with her always messy hairstyles. Perhaps many would consider her homely, but he found her awe-striking.
The cow is akin to some sort of magical being. I gaze into her eyes and feel a sort of peace, a gentleness. Under that fur and frame, within that body with its beating heart, is a brain and nervous system much as my own. And in that moment of connection, of feeling our brains come to some sense of togetherness, my heart breaks.
Our conversation is so much more than words. It is the smiles, the gentle shrugs and the light in our eyes. That we are both elevated by each other's presence is obvious and even the silences are comfortable. They are moments to savour the company of the other and feel that sense of peace that comes from feeling loved and protected, within the arms of friendship.
When a mother is stressed, brain function is decreased in her infant even by two months old. This alteration of the brain harms the ability of the child to be a happy person who is a member of a functional complex society. The stress also changes the expression of over 900 genes for a shorter life in a competitive (rather than a cooperative) society. Darwinist principles would only operate for humanity if their society was broken... and this is the most stressful environment a human can be asked to endure. So, for the future, for peace, the first gift we must give to every newborn baby is an unstressed mother... and this comes of taking food out of capitalism and working together as farmers, scientists and engineers... working out how to maximise a nutritious global harvest for all that is distributed fairly to all nations. To change the world, decrease stress.
The garden birds are my sunshine, my inner warmth as I watch them play. There are so many of them out there today, large and small, brown, red capped and golden stripped. I listen to their chirping; I watch how they seek worms and insects from the soil. They have an entire life of their own, these feathered friends, something completely separate from our human existence, yet I am so much richer for their casual company.
I'm stuck in the same spiral staircase again. No matter if I go upstairs or down, I keep coming back to the same spot. A light bulb overhead shines overhead, and it's the only light in the whole place. If I just put a foot on a step of the stairs, it immediately gets turned off and I left in utter darkness. Then I only have two choice - to get back to my place or walk to the next floor in this darkness only to find myself in the same spot again. After thousands of attempts at escaping this place, I've finally chosen the wiser way - to stand still under that night and wait for this nightmare to be over. I don't know how I know this is a nightmare, but every time I have it, I know that it's not reality.
I take a few deep breaths trying to make myself comfortable in there while I wait to wake up. The light slowly moves from me to a door a few feet to my right. She steps out and slowly walks to me. She'd be just an ordinary woman if she hadn't shown up before in my other nightmares, or in my hallucinations. I step on the stairs and the light goes out immediately, and I hope she can't get me either as long as that light doesn't get me.
I froze when I saw myself in the bathroom mirror, my knuckles going white as I clench the edge of the sink tightly. I stare at my reflection, or more specifically my neck. A long jagged scar snaked down the right side of my neck. It was an unusual looking scar, an odd mixture of bright white and light pink. The skin around the scar was also slightly discolored, suggesting that it did not heal properly. I slowly unclench one of my hands from the sink and lightly brush it down the scar, tracing the jagged line slowly with the tips of my fingers. I sigh and avert my gaze from the mirror, biting my lip. It's been months since I had gotten the scar, but I was still unable to look at it for longer than a minute. I hang my head, shame washing over me as I stood alone in the dimly lit bathroom.
We cry for the child of the streets, turned to chemicals for the feelings they should have had from real hugs, real love, real nurture. We cry for those trapped in the cycle from production to distribution, either there because they need the money to survive or have become addicted to power and adrenaline. We cry for the officers caught in the charade that is its law enforcement, just enough done to persuade the public that the bought politicians are actually fighting what has become so very lucrative for the corrupt. And the answers to this war on drugs will never be guns or violence, but to provide the hugs and nurture our children need so they never seek this chemical version of what they imagine real love feels like. This is why all of our faiths and our secular humanitarians speak of love as our answer, because it is.
I never experienced grief this bad before. It all started when I lost my mother, my world and my hero. It sneaked up on me quietly and took me under its arms in an instant. Every memory played like a song in my head, repeating itself for what seemed like forever. I was lost mostly because I had lost a big part of me. I couldn't get that part back and I wanted it so bad as my life depended on it but it was all gone, vanished in thin air. I can't say it got better but it did get easier. At first, I thought grief was something bad that takes you ten feet under but soon I learned that it was just the price we had to pay for loving someone.
"I don't know why I split myself open for someone who would never even bother to show me the thread."
I wonder of the perspective of the chaser, if they can fathom the fear of the chased. For in this need to escape my head and heart go to the place that is crushed and without light or match to bring a comforting spark. I feel the screaming of my lungs and the will of my muscles to go far beyond what exercise could ever demand. This is the body and brain if full survival mode and it is nothing but pain.