come with me
the night is young
with bated breath
Let us drink
of cerulean waves
and gentle breezes
flash pearly whites
swim in pupils
black and blue
imprint our feet
on soft shores.
We will have
will be necessary.
We'll taste our sweet
explore with our tongues
peak and plateau
the sands will be
by our passion
of the deep
will wink thier approval
in the morning
bow to our promise
envy our union
be warmed by our fire
till the end
Burning embers flow up from the campfire
Laughter echoes over the ashes.
The sound used to be sweet, but now I see.
It’s a bitter, putrid taste.
What to do?
When you don’t want to be the villain anymore,
What do you do? What do you need?
But you have never known anything of the sort.
Nothing but villainous thoughts circled around
Circling around like the flames of a phoenix….
Can someone come and help me?
A few people have recently expressed kind thoughts on my femininity, and I so appreciate that because I love being a woman. To be feminine is to be soft and tender, but it does not equate to fragility or subserviency. With that said, it does not make you less of a woman if you are not as gentle. Being strong or effective does not require that one always be loud, angry, or generally intimidating. There is strength in grace - in control. Take your time to measure your words, to be cognizant, and compassionate. Know that emotions (your own or others’) don’t control you unless you allow it and that you can be vulnerable without breaking. Be fluid enough that you are resilient, steadfast but not so stubborn that you are blind. Be confident enough to learn, (just) listen, and allow others to take the reins sometimes for doing so does not mean you are sacrificing your independence. Own your roles, body, feelings, opinions, and sexuality - don’t hide, neglect, or deprive yourself because of the fears and insecurities of others.
I’m inherently feminine but am ultimately human; there’s no need to limit myself by choosing to be one thing or another. One can be nurturing and still set boundaries, sophisticated and still playful, classy and still sexy, opinionated and still respectful, brave with somethings yet fearful of others. Lastly, the fun part - as a woman, you can enjoy primping from time to time while still maintaining practicality. Take pride in your appearance, as the degree that you care for your external self reflects how you nurture your internal self.
#opinion #nonfiction #femininity #womanhood #female
Shivers were going down my spine when I was trying to wide open my trembled eyes, feeling as if I hit my head on a rock. Still hungover, I gazed into the mysterious depths of the forest alienated in an unknown country. It felt like a free falling from hundreds of miles, when I’m sitting here still. No direction, no reason, no meaning when I feel like lingering here longer. The woods look lovely, dark and deep but I got promises to keep and miles to find my way back before I sleep.
As I stumbled forward, the heat smacked my face. It stung my eyes, burned my nose and I felt as if the little skin that wasn’t covered was already burnt toast. My lips, tongue, and throat were parched, and I’d only just arrived. I tilted my head back as I sipped from the camel skin canteen I carried. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and replaced the cap.
When I’d stepped into the machine, trembling, it was late winter at home. I had been sweating, but that was from fear, not heat: Would it work? Would I actually travel through time? Had I and my new mentor eliminated all the flaws or would I be in my lab still? Again. Or worse, would I end up nowhere and merely cease to exist? I’d achieved some sort of success, it appeared, for here I was, melting in the sun. I smiled as I looked around. All I saw was sand, sky and sun. Not my lab, at least. In the distance, I could see something not sand, so I started walking towards it.
Fortunately, I had dressed with the hope that I would indeed arrive, and thus was covered from head to foot, a loose scarf and robe protecting me from the heat. The sandals I wore were comfortable although not quite of the period. I didn’t even know if they wore shoes 2000 some odd years ago, but barefoot on burning sand did not interest me at all.
As I walked, my heart began to pound – not from exertion, or fear, but rather, excitement. If I had calculated correctly, very shortly I would be meeting the man who had had such an influence on human history. A world religion and its many offshoots. I frowned as I thought, and an endless number of wars, the Inquisition, the beheadings of kings and queens, unremitting hypocrisy, pain and death. I wondered: If I tell him of the future, what will he think? What will he do? I was startled out of my reverie by a terrible sound.
“Get thee hence, Satan,” his voice reached me, loud and ominous: as clear as if he were at my side though he was still some distance in front of me. I looked around, but saw no one, nothing. No horned creatures, no snakes, not even what might be considered a fallen angel. My heart skipped a beat. Not even my machine. I wondered if it was no longer visible because it was no longer there. I shook my head and kept walking towards the man who I assumed was he whom I had crossed centuries to meet.
“Do you not hear me? I know you in all your forms, Satan,” he continued, loud, almost echoing, which was rather scary in the desert. I looked frantically everywhere as I approached and still saw no one.
“Stop right there. Your efforts are wasted here. You cannot touch me. I know what I must do,” he said firmly, grimly. I stopped as it dawned on me that he must be talking to me.
“Are you talking to me?” I questioned more than a little confused. I’d been called a lot of things, from brilliant to lunatic; Satan was not one of them. Not even witch.
“Don’t play with me. I know your tricks. Your guises. Should I think you an innocent woman alone in the desert who just happened upon me? Perhaps you’ve just come to wash me, feed me, care for this miserable body that has been burnt by the sun these last 40 days, without significant sustenance, nor the cooling, soothing touch of water…or woman?”
I shivered. “Well, uh, I really don’t know what to say except that I am not who you think I am. My name is…”
“I care not for what name you call yourself. I know who you really are,” he snarled, inches from my face.
“But, um, sir, really, I am just a woman who has always longed to meet you, talk to you.”
“Your first mistake, Satan. I am no one, unknown. How could an innocent, young woman know anything of me were she not in possession of your knowledge? Confess. You come to tempt me, to change me from the path, the path chosen by my father for me to follow, to save men, all mankind from eternal damnation, forever absent from my father’s presence. To save them from you,” he spat out the last words.
I leaned back though I didn’t move, afraid to show my fear. His eyes were wild and red. I could count his ribs; he wore only a loincloth and his skin was burnt by the sun and crusted with dirt. If I were home, I’d look down and hurry by, assuming a recent psychiatric hospital release. But I wasn’t home.
“I know this is going to sound really crazy,” I began, “but I know you because I come from,” I hesitated then continued in a rush,” well, the future and I made a machine that allowed me to come back in time so that I might meet you. And talk to you. I wanted to hear the truths you speak as you spoke them, but I also wanted to share with you some of what is going to happen in the future in the hopes that it might, I don’t know, encourage you to do things differently, maybe…if possible.” I stopped, thinking I sounded like a recent release from the psychiatric ward, too. What had I been thinking?
He smiled an unfriendly smile that did not reach his eyes. “Is that not what you did yesterday, Satan? And all the days before? Show me with your words and pictures the wealth, the kingdoms you might offer me were I to prove myself to you, to follow you and not my father? ‘Turn this stone to bread.’ ‘Throw yourself from this height.’ ‘Kneel before me that I might give you all this, and you might be so great’,” he finished, sweeping his arms around as if presenting the desert to me.
I kept silent, thinking, well, I’m in the right time. He’s in the desert, apparently at the end of the 40 days and he probably hasn’t started seeking his disciples yet. Doesn’t quite look like what I’d expect but he probably cleans up pretty good. And anybody’d look and sound a little crazy after 40 days alone in this heat with no one around, and no food or water from what I could see. No one thinks about the details…
He laughed. “Have you given up so easily this time? I have worn you down, have I? I told you, you have no hope here. I know what I must do.” He turned from me and began to walk away.
“Wait, please! Where are you going?”
He stopped. “I don’t need to tell you. You already know.”
“May I follow you?”
He looked over his shoulder and down his nose at me. “As you wish,” he said sighing, his shoulders hunched forward. “What shall I call you, that I might not put fear in the hearts of men who hear me speak your name?
I smiled. “My name is,” I hesitated. Why had my mother been so unoriginal in naming me? At least he would not think me even more out of place. “Mary,” I finished.
He frowned, eyes hard. “So too is my mother called. You call yourself thus to soften my heart as I think tenderly upon her gentle hands and eyes. I will not kneel before you, you cannot weaken me. Leave me!”
“Please, don’t send me away. I don’t wish you to bow to me or deny your father, or your destiny, or whatever it is that is calling you. I just want to walk with you, know you. And maybe one day, tell you of what I have seen and known…if you’ll listen.
He looked at me, so intently I was sure his eyes could see my heart pounding, read my thoughts as I heard them in my head. “As you wish. It appears my father wishes to test me more. So be it.” He looked up. “As you wish,” he repeated, softly.
“Come, Mary, let us begin.”
As I drew close to him and we began to walk, I said, “If you prefer, you can call me Magdalena. It’s my middle name and that is what my mother always called me. Magda or Maggie for short.” In that instant, I sucked in my breath and covered my mouth. I turned around and knew the machine was invisible because it wasn’t there. My mentor’s name, Dr. Luciverio took on new significance as I guessed who he was and why he encouraged me so in my efforts. And why, in a way, this man before me was correct in his assumptions. What I didn’t know was what was going to happen next. That part of his story was never told, or at least it’s telling did not survive the centuries. Will it this time?
Malevolent voices command that I kill! I’m surrounded by harsh, condescending and abusive random words, swirling, twirling. You’re worthless, they say, you’re going to Hell. People are spying on me, reading my thoughts. Hammering and pummeling, they urge me to hurt myself or others with complete abandon. I can’t block the whispers to kill my mother. She is destroying my soul, I have to kill her to get rid of her threat.
Crowds of people scream at me, resounding with power as negative thoughts filter into my skin, disabling my brain and changing my behavior. I can’t fight the darkness; genes inside my bones strike blows as delusions surround me, urging violent acts. I inhale the fog of paranoia, engendering bitter resentment. My thinking is racing around me in circles as my speech becomes incoherent. I can’t talk, I can’t talk! I can’t live with the demons so must hide in my mean streets. I can’t make sense and walk, walk, walk in circles. I’m emotionally flat until the voices overcome me and tell me what I must do.
Eat this sandwich, the sympathetic girl offers as I twist her words around trying to sort out her motives. The food is poison. Kill her! Kill her! Black clouds flail all around, discord drumming, jarring, rasping, overcoming my mind. I can smell and feel the evil emanating, hallucinating my fear, knowing she means me harm.
I jump to my feet and grab her by her pulsing neck, squeeze until the threat oozes out. A few sighs of this she-devil is all that I hear, as her malicious presence ceases to exist. I have done what you said, I tell the voices. I have erased her menace. She is my mother in another form.
Why are people in uniforms surrounding me? It was my imagination, not real. I tell myself this, over and over, mowing down my doubts. I convince myself with the incessant chorus of voices, chanting, ranting, yelling, do it again, bane of my life, but guiding me onward.