"One of my earliest memories," said Angela, "is of my little brother calling me 'la la gel,' because he couldn't yet say my name. So I guess it was always my destiny to come in some way to these Hollywood hills, this 'La La land.' Fate is that way I guess, there are signposts if you are willing to see them."
This skin is a cover to a book you cannot open until I want to give you the key. It is a boundary, my boundary, for in this sacred home of body and brain, I live here. The fires are in the hearth, the lights are on and there is both beautiful music and aromas of home baking. Yet recall, that you cannot read my pages without my key.
Love me, O my sweetheart. Give me love, make me feel safe among the viciousness of this brutal world. Shield me from the bloodthirst. I have made you my knight in shining armor; don't you agree? Keep me out of harm's way; defend me. But I shall love you, no matter what. My entire life is devoted to you, I vow. I am thy possession, and thee is my life.
Someone once told me I am strong. Sometimes, I really do think that I am. But on days like today, when my feelings overwhelm me, the word "strong" becomes insignificant, to the varying waves of emotion that engulf me. Today, I got lost in the tide and I caved, swept away by my own fears.
I am only human.
Fortunately, I am not defined by my moments of weakness and fear, but by the days when I muster the strength to rise above the tide. Then and only then, I consider myself to be... strong
Good witches work with and through the synchronisations of the positive universe, we are agents for the divine power, for the will of a loving and healing God, as natural as any other part of creation. We simply let good magic flow through as as a copper wire lets electrons flow. Without that divine energy we are as that metal, so ask yourselves, if you fight the good witch, are you not fighting God's energy? Cannot a good witch be seen as an angel? Did you ever wonder where the angels of Earth went or who slew them? The witch hunts you see, could not tell the difference between angels and those who channelled evil.
A widowed wife. A mother of two. Living in a country of chaos. She lives in a scattered pile of concrete held together by fractured planks of wood. Trying to survive in a country that wants everyone dead. Seeking refuge in any broken, run-down house that is still standing. Living every moment of her life in constant fear of death for herself and her children.
She stumbled to the corner of the room, and with each step her stomach tightened and ached all the more. She kept swallowing, and her throat kept clenching, but no matter what she could not stop the warm feeling rising through her chest. Then she could taste it at the back of her mouth. Constance buckled over. A warm, clouded, cream coloured liquid spilled from her mouth, and sizzled as it splashed over the cold stone floors.
These legs keep asking me to rest, to find somewhere warm and cozy, to simply enjoy the sunshine and stay right there. This brain feels as if it's been on a treadmill and it wants so much to press stop. This body needs to feel another body, to cuddle, to feel safe, to feel the warmth of a lover. Everything about me, from the muscular aches to the emotional pull toward lethargy, this fatigue, overwhelms - yet this is a world that has no empathy for such matters. All that appears to count is how much we got paid more than the actual work done or feats achieved. If you got a lot of money clearly you worked hard, if not, no matter how much work you did, clearly you're lazy. My body, my brain, my tired tired soul, can testify that I've worked at full tilt for so very very long. The truth is, in this state, in terms of my biological capacity and energy stores, I can't afford to care about all the things I have been caring so very deeply about. It isn't kind to run a horse into the ground and it isn't kind to do it to a human either.
Its fiery wings glided softly past me, bring warmth into my body. It flew once, twice around me, finally stopping to rest on my shoulders. Its body is like blazing fire, burning brightly even through impenetrable darkness. A fire is the light in the dark, while the phoenix is the light of my world.
The galaxy out there is always relaxed, because they live in sustainable ways and have mastered peaceful relations. To them our entire lives are as one sunny afternoon, so, they care and they don't. Earth is a project they are hoping will make it into the inter-galactic community, but whilst we don't challenge the ego-driven narcissists that control so many nations... well, they do their best and hope for the best while remaining invisible. The galaxy doesn't need guardians, but apparently we do.