I bind my boat to the shore, to the anchor point that will keep it safely in the harbour until conditions are fair enough to sail once more. I wrap the rope as my grandfather showed me how, though that was so very long ago. It's a memory made from watching him in awe, feeling the movement of his weathered hands as if they were my own, then trying it for myself. My hands move as if they were his, the decades between nothing at all, feeling the texture and the movement it takes to make the so knot fast and true.
The forest hums with life all around me. I twirl about, gazing up at the canopy, searching for the birds that sing sweetly. The sun breaks through the cracks, lighting up the dirt path ahead of me, decorated with outgrown roots, wildflowers and fallen leaves that crunch beneath my bare feet. I trudge on, taking in the fragrance of minty grass and the damp earth. Each breathe is like water, fresh and cleansing, flowing freely into my lungs.
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.
Emmanuel Kant said, “Happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination,” yet for me, happiness is not an ‘ideal,’ nor conjured by imagination, yet is a state of being that thrives when we are at peace within ourselves.
We have these autopilot submarine tankers. They go to where the sea-storms are and collect the rain, a funnel filling the underwater tank. Then they go to where the fresh water is needed... and it's all done with clean technology. We still do desalination, but this is easy and there's no point in letting all that clean water just fall in the ocean.
"I'd rather they said 'slave' than employee, it would be more honest. If we aren't freely cooperating, if it's coercion, then that's the reality. If you want to see the truth of any system imagine money doesn't exist - then you see the movement of labour and goods from poor to rich. That's slavery." Tom turned his face to the window as if inspiration might come, as if some choir of angels might descend with a solution to release him from these long days away from his baby.
I'm in love with him.
He never leaves my mind, he's always there; mentally if not physically. It's just incomprehensible. He's my one stable force, my one stability in a world filled with chaos and I so desperately need that in my life. I love him so much for that. I’m in love with him and I can’t believe I’ve only just realised it.
This feeling is so strange; it stretches throughout my whole body. It’s overwhelming, yet makes me feel complete. It has no bound nor length nor depth; it’s just absolute. It feels as though I’m in a dangerous fire, yet I’m completely safe at the same time. It feels as though someone’s given me peace. It feels as though my heart is dancing around my chest; and a hole, I was never aware was there, has been filled. I feel so light, like I’m on top of the world yet my heart is constricting and it feels as if there’s no oxygen in my lungs.
It’s strange – frightening even – how you can go from someone being a complete stranger, to then being completely infatuated by them and wondering how it ever was that you were able to live without them, because you sure as hell couldn’t imagine being without them now. I know we’re only young, and most people would consider me to be foolish and naïve, but it’s true when I say that I love him more than I could ever love myself. He’s my best friend and, as cheesy as it sounds, he’s my anchor. My one stability in this world filled with chaos.
Bottle in the Sea
To Whomever Receives This Bottle:
I never expected that I'd be lost and forgotten to the world. I suppose I write this hoping that perhaps you will remember this note sometime after you finish reading it, and in that way my memory lives on. Somehow that's enough. Now listen closely, if you've found this bottle it means that even though it has been tossed to and fro by the waves, perhaps pulled by the undertow and cracked against the rocky reef, it still found you. With that being said, life may break you, but know you are too strong to shatter. Your journey is your own. Do not be afraid if it's perilous. Take heart. Face your worries for they will be too afraid to face you. Ride the currents, do not let them control you. Listen to your heart for it is more than just a beat. The one you seek will find you when you least expect it, and they will give back what your journey has taken away. Your boat, your guide: you chart your course, not anyone else. Take responsibility for your faults, but do not apologize for them: they are what make you human. Dwell not on your mistakes, because your mistakes will sail you on the greatest adventures.
I started pedaling, inching toward my destination and enjoying the newly cool air. It was a lovely day, the first of all the days of spring, with crocuses and daisies in the neighbors garden, and white asters blooming all around. I didn't simply like nature, but rather I loved it. The trees and the flowers and the animals who lasted all around. Imagining all of nature destroyed would be like leaving my soul gasping for breath.
My fingers become entwined in the woollen blanket, gripping it as if it were more substantial than a square of multicoloured yarn, as if it could keep me from tumbling into the abyss. But as the flames engulfed my cottage, scorching my skin and singeing the surrounding trees, what I needed wasn't a teddy bear substitute. I needed Greg to be here. I needed real comfort, strong arms and reassuring words. I needed platitudes however empty, because if he said them I would believe it. Then from the lane comes the sound of sirens and tires throwing up spray from the puddled, rain-kissed lane. The cavalry are here to save the ashes. I look down at the blanket and release my hold of it. The once perfect knit now has finger holes, it is stretched out of shape and there is a singed portion. The charred wool stirs a memory of stamping a flame from it. Funny. The recollection seems far away. Then a gloved hand is on my shoulder and there is a tender voice but I can't focus on the words.
The opposite of teaching hate is teaching love and appreciation - not tolerance or blindness. If hate is ice, then love is warmth and tolerance is a cold neutral. If you want to melt ice, be warm. If you want to combat hate then love with a passion. Instead of "blindness" show others how to see beauty in whom they fear. Show them how to make the loving bonds of true and lasting friendship.
Janice lifted her glasses with the end of her pencil, seating them delicately upon her nose. "Philosophy, these days, is founded on the principle of love, but we use neurology and biology too, plus anthropology, some history and such. The old Greeks were wonderful, but we have access to so much more now and learning across subjects brings as a much more solid feeling of truth. The idea of love though, it taps into our intuitions, and there's so much intelligence there it's astounding. Perhaps love is the 'Philosopher's Stone' of our societies, not for an individual but for our Earth. It makes everything easier and now we have so many philosophy students. When we can say things in ways everyone can relate to we become this new and better society."