Moon Fall on Her Face, Just Before She Scale Sky
Moon make a fissure
She bold moon...
Like the bald pate
Of a giant in flight,
Sliding back into
...He's her child
Black hole of
The Moon's pull...
...Black Sun on
...Felt her rest on
...Taking all of
Exudes from her
With each wandering
That gazes above...
Through night sky,
Treacherous in your
My lost smile...
...But, now I feel bribed.
...Sweet Swallow of
Take the Moon out
And express love for
Until you can kick
All this cheap form of
...I've been flirting with
In these tunnels
Where time has
Passed by, and erased...
...I'll meet you inside,
Or beyond this
Rattenfänger von Hameln!
Play, sing a tune
O, come on everyone
You'll soon-all swoon.
Listen to me hum
A lovely song to you
That you'll ne'er forget.
Send all to doom
Or maybe not.
I've changed my ways
As long as all goes well
Listen to what I say.
I want to be a cook
Come dine with me
Bring a friend or two.
Promise not to hatch
Any evil plot
I'll even play
A happy tune.
Playing my fife
This is the life
No more strife.
Taste of Defeat
Swallowing shades undisturbed
slowly advancing and unchained
too long a taste of tart...
too harsh a vermillion burn
everyone holding onto flying feathers
bursting morning lies in defeat
the fog sinks on burgeoning lights
nights devoid of stars portend Armageddon
there's no waking from this deceit
roses die drowning in the rain
chaos swells, the world reels in a squall
tossed and waylaid without a squeal
The head of the rainbow
Green and youthful exuberance, a key
to ambitions, burning like cinders at a breast.
the zest in the air does not pervade the effort.
but propels more itch, each inch further on.
no two minds in changing tides, no time to muse.
nay more, —no shrinking at the face of an
ever fresh strange well. and if it be so ordained,
then going forth, full force, and untired
in pursuit of the head of the rainbow,
indeed, this is a predestined end... and while
fear and conflict murmur in the head, and the
path extends to limitless voids, hallelujah is
a thin line of conveyance between here
and the end of the rainbow. strong faith takes
one there. withstanding barriers gather like clouds
blotting tomorrow's Providence with indecisions.
there've been rainbows arching the path before.
yes, zealots with hard heads have run for the head
chasing evergreen pastures, only to reap
diamantes, and dying sods at the twilight of life!
Better Late Than Never (excerpt)
Chapter 12 – Hell on Earth
As we left the plane and walked to customs many hugs were shared among the passengers. Nervous apprehension surrounded me as we left customs and headed into the airport to find the promoter. I wasn’t expecting to see TV cameras and journalists in the greeting area to interview people from the “lost flight”. There were even a couple of entertainment writers waiting to talk with the Americans.
“Sir, what would have to say to the president of the airline who is standing over there?” I was asked.
“I’d ask him if Mickey or Donald was helping run the airline.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well the entire situation was handled in a Mickey Mouse way. We were left in the dark. It was cartoonish.”
The promoter grabbed me by the arm and hastily pulled all three of us into a waiting car.
“Was it that bad?” his cute assistant asked.
“It was far worse that that. I’ll tell you over drinks later.”
“I look forward to it.” she said with a big smile.
The promoter pointed to sights along the way and lots of nice buildings and big homes. Conversely there were mostly older cars and people wore out-of-date clothes. The few black people we saw really looked bad. On the other side of the freeway were weather-beaten dwellings. There wasn’t much going on over there.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s Soweto. It’s not as bad as you’ve been told.”
“Well, it looks pretty bad to me.”
“Our blacks have it better than anywhere else in Africa.”
“You said we were going to be able to use black and white musicians and singers. Is that still happening?”
“Yes. You’ll meet some of them tonight at Alfie’s club.”
“Alfie’s club has the best music and great food.” his assistant offered.
Greg piped in, “I’m looking forward to meeting the people who will be helping us.”
“You’ll be impressed,” the promoter said proudly. “We’re almost at the hotel.”
The area we were entering resembled Westwood Village in Los Angeles. Lots of trees, nice shops and apartment buildings dotted the streets. As we pulled up to the hotel, two black bellmen came out with a white guy. The white guy led us into the lobby. The General Manager and his assistant waited for us at the desk.
The GM came over, “Welcome to the Claridge. I am Klaus Verhooven. I am the General Manager. If there is anything at all you need while you are here, please let me know.”
“Thank you, Mr. Verhooven.”
“Please call me Klaus.” He said as he led us to the desk. “This is Anton, my assistant.
Katie is our Front Desk Manager. They are here to help you as well.”
Katie was beautiful, tall slender and amazing eyes. She organized all the paperwork we needed to sign to check-in, “Mr. Karlsruher, if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Please call me Rick and thank you.”
“Everything gets billed to me. In fact, have them all checked-in under my name,” the promoter told Katie.
“Certainly.” Anton said as he handed the promoter all the paperwork.
It took the promoter and his assistant Anya a few minutes to fill out all registration documents. I guessed they wanted to keep our names off the books to avoid any potential problems or keep the press away. After they did, I asked, “Katie could you get me a copy of everything for my records.”
“I’ll have it done in about fifteen minutes, if that’s soon enough. I’ll have it all in an envelope for you here at the desk.”
Klaus and Anton joined Anya and the promoter in the elevator with us. There was plenty of room for the bellmen to ride up with us, but they were forced to take another elevator. They got to our floor before we did. One took Greg and Betty to their room. The other came with Klaus, Anya and me to my room. A few steps from the room, one of bags slipped off the cart. Instinctively, I reached to pick it up.
Klaus looked stunned, “Please no. That’s what we have those people for sir.”
I was stunned. Yeah, if blacks were treated better than we heard as the promoter kept telling us, this didn’t show it. Klaus opened the door and showed into the room. The bellman put my bags into the closet leaving the small one on a bench by the bed. I reached to tip him and saw a bizarre custom we would see from now on in South Africa. The bellman grasped his wrist with one hand as his other hand opened and his head was tilted down so as not to look directly at me. I intentionally over tipped the bellman to overcome the slight paid him on the way to the room. Klaus opened the drapes to show a panoramic view of the entire city.
“Is everything to your liking?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Then I’ll be going.” Klaus said as he left and closed the door.
Anya smiled. “I guess I’ll be leaving, too. This looks very comfortable.”
“Yes, it does. Tonight should be fun.”
“I think it will be.” She said moving closer to me. She put her arm around my waist, leaned over and kissed me. She moved away, then back to me and kissed me again. “It does look comfortable.”
As I walked her to the door, she turned and we kissed again this time with tongues. Tonight was looking very good indeed. She left.
I unpacked a bit and went down to the front desk to get my copies of the check-in materials. Arriving at the desk, Katie came out motioning me to have a seat in the lobby.
“I wanted to explain everything to you,” she said as we sat. She spread the papers on the table.
“It doesn’t sound like you are from South Africa.”
“I’m from Kenya, but there isn’t much opportunity for me there.”
“As nice and smart as you seem to be, I find that hard to believe.”
She blushed, “Thank you so much, but we don’t have many hotels in Nairobi where I'd have the possibility for advancement.”
“I like your ambition.”
Her smile and her eyes lit up the room as she explained all the sign-in materials.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but you came a long way alone. You’re not married?” she asked with a smile.
“No, and I think my girlfriend broke up with me just before we left.”
“She’s not very bright.”
I was blushing, “Thank you.”
Yes, we were flirting. It was innocent, but it was also great. I think she noticed I was puzzled.
“It looks like you have a fan in Anya.”
“I might, but I don’t get it. We barely said three words. To be honest, I am a little uncomfortable. I hope she’s not setting me up. That could pose problems.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
Several people walked in together from a minivan. There was only one other person behind the desk.
“It looks like your friend might need your help.”
She shrugged, “I guess so.”
She was amazing and so nice. I knew there was great potential for headaches here. How to navigate these obviously treacherous waters baffled me. Anya wanted me and if I screwed this up she could make my stay extremely uncomfortable. Why did Katie have to show up?
Anya picked us up at about 8 PM. Katie had left by then. Anya came directly to my room. She did look really good. We spent about half an hour fooling around before going to get Greg and Betty. I felt really bad about that. I was thinking about Katie.
Alfie’s club was on a bizarre street. The street was surrounded by walled homes. Part of the sidewalk was a boardwalk similar to the one in Atlantic City. The rest was very old cement. The stores were old and rundown. Through the windows, you could see empty shelves. What was for sale appeared old and patched together. The outside world’s economic sanctions were choking South Africa.
Alfie’s place was tired and dingy. The bar was more of a counter-top than a real bar. Each table was different than the next and no two chairs seemed to match. The clientele was mixed which shocked me. What was more surprising were the pictures on the walls. They included Mick Jagger, John Lennon, Hugh Masekela and many others hung in the dusty room. This was long before Photoshop. I couldn’t believe all those superstars would be able to find this hole in the wall.
As I looked around, the steaks looked good, but It didn’t look like they had more than one bottle of each kind of booze, a few bottles of wine and a refrigerator containing a couple of cases of beer. There were lots of people here. Was Alfie going to run out of booze? I was very confused. Alfie’s didn’t seem to have enough product for this big a crowd.
Shortly after we sat down, the promoter leaned over to me, “You’ve had a tough trip. I think you should take two days off to get your bearings and get over the jet lag.”
“Do we have the time?”
“It’s better to wait a couple of days than to do it over.”
“That sounds good. Thanks.”
A young black kid and an older white guy went up on stage with guitars. The white guy started playing some tasty, jazzy blues riffs. He was so smooth. The kid couldn’t have been more than 16-18 or so. I figured it was teacher and student. The kid mirrored the older guy’s riffs but with a little more rock flavor. The kid slowed down and looked at his guitar. He tapped with his fingers. He tapped the strings. Then he stretched them a little. I don’t know what he did next but instantaneously his guitar soared. The place erupted. He went higher and higher. The old guy started playing co-lead. It was beyond amazing.
I looked at the promoter, “Please tell me these guys are going to play with us.”
He smiled, “The night after tomorrow you’ll hear your drummer, bass and horns.”
“Are they this good?”
I was very happy. A large black man came over to the table with an Indian woman. The promoter stood up and greeted him. “Rick, this is my friend Lefty. He went to university in America.”
“Nice to meet you, Lefty. Where did you go to school?”
“I got an MBA from Harvard.”
“Would you mind if I asked you a question?”
He started laughing, “I’ll answer it before you ask it. I came home to train the next generation of blacks so that some of us will be ready when apartheid ends.”
“Doesn’t that make you a marked man?”
“Well, I represent several white companies who want to do business in the townships.”
“Do your employers or the police know what else you do?”
“I keep the two separate and I make the distilleries I represent a lot of money. Would you like to come to Soweto tomorrow night?”
“Is it safe for me?”
“I’ll call the hotel and meet you in the lobby.”
He saw my nervousness,” I don’t know how to put this...”
“How can a black man get into your hotel if he isn’t an employee?”
“Are you psychic?”
Lefty laughed. “Believe it or not, I’m not black.”
I think Lefty was the blackest person I have ever met, “What?”
“You see, I have two white great grandmothers. That makes me colored.”
Anya, the promoter, Lefty and his girlfriend were all laughing at my confusion.
His girlfriend tried to explain, “Indians and coloreds have rights Africans don’t. Lefty and I can travel if we are willing to wait.”
Lefty entered, “Hospitals and schools are much better for coloreds than for Africans.”
“Do I even want to know how people know the difference?”
“Being American you won’t like it,” Lefty explained, “It’s on your birth certificate and identity papers. It follows you all your life and you can’t change it. People try to buy colored birth certificates. It also lets you live in better places.”
I was shaking my head. “Aren’t there about ten times as many blacks as whites in South Africa?”
Lefty laughed, “Now you are making yourself a target. They have all the guns and we can’t vote…yet. So, would you like to join me and see how the other part of South Africa lives?”
The promoter wasn’t happy about this turn of events, but I had to do it. If it were very dangerous or if I could get into trouble, wouldn’t the promoter or Anya jump in to stop me?
“I’d like to do that Lefty.”
Lefty nodded respectfully to me. That made my night.
The steak was wonderful, and the music continued to be great. Several other people sat in and a wonderful black lady sang. It was an incredible night.
As it got later, Anya’s hands found several parts of me. One under the table, the other had her fingers running through my hair. Normally, I’d be loving it knowing what was inevitably about to happen. I didn’t know how to stop it short of faking being sick.
Was I really falling for Katie? How could I explain this to her tomorrow? Katie saw what was going on with Anya and seemed to try to understand. But would she understand me coming back to the hotel the next morning or Anya leaving when Katie was working? It’s one thing to talk about something like this in the abstract. Even a great person would have significant challenges to be accepting of activities like the ones that were about to happen if they would see them up close.
Was the good part of me finding its way through the fear and despair? Could I break through the fog that was enveloping me?
I can’t make any excuses for spending the night with Anya. I did it. That’s what happened. She had to be at work early and dropped me off at the hotel before Katie got to work. I went to my room, took a shower and went to sleep. A few hours later I woke up and called Greg’s room. He wasn’t there. I had to go through the lobby on the way to the pool to find him. As I got there, Katie was going on a break. She motioned for me to meet her outside.
We met on the street on the street a couple of doors down. Her smile was brilliant. I had trouble looking her in the eye. She leaned over and held my hand.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. It’s scary down here. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do.”
I held her hand tighter and laughed, “Would going to Soweto tonight with a black guy fall into that category?”
“Please be careful. But you want to see it for yourself, don’t you?”
“I’ve got to get back to work. Please be careful.” She leaned over and we kissed sweetly and briefly.
Chapter 13 – Seeing The Real South Africa
“You aren’t actually dumb enough to go to Soweto are you?” Greg asked.
“Yes, Lefty is coming by in a couple of minutes.”
“My uncle can’t protect you there.”
“You don’t think we have protection down here.”
“I’m not sure. This isn’t like California or New York or even Europe.”
This was the first time I had seen Greg off his game. I kept thinking about how odd it was. Greg took off.
Within a couple of minutes, Lefty came into the lobby to get me.
“Are you sure you want to join me tonight?”
“I won’t think any less of you if you don’t.”
“I gave you my word.”
“You don’t have to be macho. You will hear things and see things you’ve never seen. You’ve got a good heart. Some of this will hurt you. I’m here if you need me.”
That frightened and soothed me. What was I about to see and hear? There was a three-year-old top-of-the-line BMW out front.
“Is that yours?”
“One of mine.” Lefty said chuckling.
“I went to Harvard,” he said slapping me on the back.
We got into the car and started our drive.
“You like her, don’t you?”
Thinking he was talking about, Anya I responded, “Not really. I can’t figure out how not to be involved with her.”
“Not the girl from last night; the one who works at the hotel.”
“How the hell did you know that?”
“It was in her eyes as you left. I understand your dilemma. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Remind me never to play poker with you.”
“Get ready. We are about to enter our hell. Remember hell is a location, not the people who are forced to be in that location.”
He was being very serious. He truly loved the people of Soweto. It’s the only explanation of why he stays when he doesn’t have to. Within less than a mile we went from world-class freeway to potholed streets and ending on an uneven gravel and dirt road. How could this happen so quickly? If this were the overt face of the community, what could be lurking out of sight?
There were burned out cars and junk on the street. We went past hovels. I felt myself getting ill. Lefty saw my face and body language. He patted me on the back.
“It will get better, but there is worse.”
“Worse than this?”
“Much worse. You couldn’t handle it. The world knows but doesn't want to tell the whole truth.”
He cut me off, “There are evil people. Like it or not, there are many of them in this country.”
We turned off onto a semi-paved road. Soon there were small but basically clean yards. Clean in comparison to the hell we had just seen. These people tried.
Lefty turned into a driveway. There were lots of people in the yard. I heard laughter and music. Getting out of the car, I saw a lady sitting at a card table with a cigarette box taking money.
“The government won’t allow us to have bars in our own townships. This is what we call a shebeen. It’s like a moving club or party. The person whose home we use charges a small fee to pay for the food and liquor. Hopefully, they will make a small profit. Every penny is huge here.”
“The government won’t even let you have your own bars?”
“They are doing everything they can to keep us from building an African middle class. The government understands how dangerous that could be.”
Lefty paid our fee. We went into the living room. People were eating, drinking and having fun. My presence startled a lot of them. Lefty laughed.
“This is my friend from America. His name is Rick. He bravely wanted to see our township for himself rather than listening to the Dutch tell him how phenomenal it is.”
There were cheers, which made me very self-conscious. An older man brought me a drink and welcomed me to his son’s house.
A man about thirty approached, “Are you the American from the paper?”
“What are you talking about, sir?”
A lady said, “You were on the front page of the Joburg newspaper with your comments about your flight. It’s was very funny.”
Lefty was laughing, “I didn’t know I was bringing a star. What did you say?”
“Given the fact it took three days to fly from Brussels to Joburg, I asked if Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck happened to be running the airline.”
Lefty was laughing loudly, “You may have to watch your back. The Dutch don’t like people talking to them the way you did.”
A couple of other people clapped. Others stopped by to welcome me and tell me they would look after me. I was really touched. Some of these people clearly had little to nothing but they were willing to help a stranger.
“It’s not a game, young man,” an elegantly mannered old man said to me. “You don’t understand. You couldn’t possibly understand.”
“Understand what, sir?”
“For instance, calling me “sir” would make you a target to any white who heard you.”
Lefty looked over. He was quite serious, “Jambo is right. Forget compassion, forget manners, and for your own safety you must think more like they do. We will understand.”
“You can do more quietly listening and taking our stories home with you. Tell them to all who will listen.”
“But I’m a nobody back home.”
“We are nobodies here. Who better to tell our story?” A very old lady said quietly.
Soon the party was breaking up. I received lots of hugs and wishes of good luck. Lefty and I got into the car to head back to the hotel.
“You can’t let anyone see you like this ever while you are here.”
“It won’t be safe. Your story while in South Africa is that you went with me to my cousin’s house for dinner and a few drinks.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You have to do this. You can’t even tell the kid you brought with you. The reality is I’d bet at least one person in the shebeen was a paid Security Police informant.”
“You are talking crazy.”
Lefty pulled the over to the side of the road. “Not listening to me is crazy. You may have been active in all sorts of protests in college in the US. If you did one here, you could end up dead. Please Rick, listen to me. I know asking you to do this is wrong. But you are my friend. Please let me look out for you while you are in my country.”
This scared me more than anything I had ever heard. I was trembling. “I went to your cousin’s house. We had dinner and drinks.”
It was still early when we got back to the hotel. I followed the company line at breakfast the next morning with Greg, Betty, the promoter and Anya. It was difficult, but I did it.
A little while later Greg and I decided to walk the few blocks to downtown. All of a sudden, I heard the screeching of tires and brakes. Then there was the unmistakable thud of a car hitting a person, then another person, then a light pole. I looked up to see a minivan wrapped around a pole. Two white people were on the ground. Several cops appeared out of nowhere. They helped those two victims. A black lady was on the ground bleeding. Three cops surrounded her. They didn’t help her. Ambulances helped the white people and the driver. The black lady was bleeding and crying.
“Aren’t you going to help her? She might die. Make a tourniquet at least.”
“Move along, kaffir lover. You don’t expect me to touch that, do you?”
I was on the verge of attacking the cops. Greg grabbed me and pulled me as hard as he could. I was sick. I was trembling. I pushed him away and ran. I just ran.
I had seen the pure evil all those people told me about last night. They told me so matter-of-factly that it seemed surreal. We were living in the last quarter of the twentieth century. This couldn’t be happening.
To this day, I still cannot fathom the level of their indoctrinated madness and evil. It was incomprehensible to anyone with a soul.
I had to be perfect. My first test was upon me. Katie was working. I tried to hide my pain and revulsion.
“Hi.” She was beaming. Then she looked at me, ran from behind the counter and dragged me into an office. “What happened?”
I couldn’t say anything. I tried, but nothing came out of my mouth.
“You saw the accident.”
She hugged me. I could feel her tears on my neck.
I remember my body giving way as we hugged. To this day, I break into a cold sweat thinking about that morning. I still can’t comprehend the level of inhumanity I saw that morning.
Better Late Than Never
Reality, memoir ties in with with another fiction title
Trident represents many true life stories that show the world to readers and include famous people in them.
The hook is life is truly stranger than fiction – another hook is you can get another book that is naturally paired with this one that is about a very hot topic in the world that is 100% opposite of this book. We can pair an outrageously humorous book with this terrifying true story.
A Story Almost Told tells of my real life odyssey trying to get a movie made. It starts out innocently and has many famous people innocently involved. Included in the story are stories that are individually amazing, but taken, in toto, defy any logic or rationality. From the beginning, it is amazing. The IRS and FBI use my dream as bait in a sting. We get to see the true horrors of apartheid in South Africa and immediately thereafter the opulence of Monte Carlo and even being arrested in New Orleans. There is much more.
The Target audience is anyone who enjoys excitement, seeing different places and real life.
I’d say the age group is 21+.
I have had an interesting life. I have done writing, music producing and international marketing. I even started a website to help new/undiscovered authors that has had over 6,000,000 page views.
As a platform, I have about 1700 Twitter followers, an email list of about 8000. I am an amazing interview. With Trident’s access and the publisher’s web, we’ll make both books major hits and likely get movie deals.
I have a degree in communications from Wake Forest University.
My style is conversational. I draw people into the story and make them think they are there. I’ve been told my personality is a bigger than life.
I love sports, movies, comedy, reading, music and being with people.
I live in Huntington Beach, CA.
It didn’t occur to me at the time that it was unusual to communicate without words. I used words with Mum and Dad, but when I was with Nan and Granddad, we thought with one another.
They were deep country folk. They lived way out in the bush, raising cattle and carving away a humble living. A land near forgotten, their farm appeared on no map, and it was hours from the nearest town. Such is the way in outback Australia. It wasn’t until I was much older that I considered that they were this far away from civilisation on purpose.
Few words passed between them when I came to stay. I would watch Granddad repair the wire fences, and Nan while she cooked and maintained the house and garden. They could be kilometres apart but still hear one another, though they were still laconic, even in their minds.
My Granddad was a tall man, with large rough hands, and he always wore a checked shirt and a wide brimmed hat. His skin was dark from years in the harsh sun, and deep wrinkles like the cracks in the red earth he strode upon. Yet despite his age, he possessed the strength of two men, easily lifting great wooden posts and hammering them into the hard soil.
Nan could speak to the animals and they would come and tell her things. The Kookaburras would sing to her in the morning, and the Kangaroos would jump and dance and show off their barrel chests and thick tails. Even flies which would normally swarm and hold your sweaty form in shadow, were repelled as if by some invisible force field. I asked once what the animals talk to her about. She held me close and responded in thought “The coming of day, the passing in to night, and little secrets, my darling.”
I was five when I received my first invitation. It was like a gentle hum that wisped down from the clouds and carried on the wind. It was melodic, peaceful and it sent ticklish prickles down the back of my neck. I looked out at Nan and Granddad, one in the paddock and the other in the garden, and saw them look to the sky where the clouds had rippled into waves, and slowly begin to clear. I could sense an agreement between the two of them, and then they went back to work.
After dinner that night, I didn’t sit next to the fire which was my ritual. Instead, Nan put my jacket on, Granddad fastened his wide brimmed hat, and I walked between the two, a hand for each of them, through the paddock towards the setting sun.
We walked for a long time. The last of the rich golden light danced on the sunburnt earth intensifying the deep orange rust shattered sparely with green. Even as the sun dipped into slumber, we continued to walk.
The sky was splattered with stars when I heard the low deep throbbing hum of the didgeridoos and clapping sticks. “Almost there, my darling” Nan thought. I trudged my way up a dirt mound and peered over and below to see dozens of dark men and women covered in paint. Their faces, their hair, their entire bodies painted in rich yellows, earth reds and starlight white. Guided only by the luminous moon, they danced in circles, dust clouds hovering like mist where they kicked up dirt.
An old woman approached us with a wooden bowl in hand. No words were exchanged. She stood in front of Granddad, dipped her hand in the bowl, and caressed his forehead with white paint. Then his cheeks, and his nose. He took off his wide brimmed hat, and the old woman ran her hands through his hair. She stepped over to Nan and performed the same ritual, painting with precision and purpose.
The old woman then looked to me, her face placid and wise. She knelt down in front of me, and lifted my chin, observing my face critically. She spoke for the first time in a language I didn’t understand. To my surprise, Nan responded in the same language. Though I didn’t understand what was said, I sensed the feeling. Confirmation. The old lady looked deep into my eyes, seeing past me, through me, to what was behind my eyes. She found what she was looking for. The corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk. She dipped her hand in the bowl and anointed my hair and face with white paint. It felt cool and sticky on my skin.
The three of us entered into the circle that enclosed the group. Their dancing mesmerised me. They swayed and stamped and clapped their hands. They shifted on their heels and toes, dragging themselves across the dirt and sand, arms outstretched above, below or to the side. As I watched them contort their bodies to the rhythm of the music, I briefly caught a flash of the essence of the animals they imitated break free and pierce reality. The graceful emu, the unstoppable kangaroo, the fearsome snake. But something else caught my eye. A glimpse of something I’d never seen before. As tall as two men, its skin almost see through…
One of the dancing men stopped and pointed to the sky. In the second it took me to look up and back, the thing was gone. I held on to Nan and Granddad a bit tighter. The music ceased and one by one, they found a spot on the ground, laid on their backs and looked to the sky. Nan and Grandad moved in with the group and laid me down between them. I looked at the ocean in the sky taking in the infinity of glistening stars.
One star in particular caught my attention. It shimmered in such a way that it appeared to be moving. And then it dropped, as if caught by gravity’s grip. A moment later, another star plummeted toward Earth. And then another. Dozens more cascaded from the depths of space lighting the way for the hundreds of stars that followed, unplucking themselves from the sky, evicted like fruit from the celestial tree that holds the universe together.
My heart pounded but I couldn’t move. I was trapped in my body. I tried to move my arms, my legs, even blink my eyes. I tried to scream, to cry out, but all attempts failed. I could do nothing but stare as the stars came tumbling down to earth.
As they came closer, I noticed they were different colours. Some glowing bright and sharp, and others soft pastel, in blues and turquoise, pinks, yellows, oranges and mauves. These couldn’t be stars, they were something else entirely.
And then they stopped above us. Some so close that if I could only stand, I could jump up and touch them. I could feel the warmth it exuded, and the sound they made was a familiar deep bone vibrating throb. These orbs sounded like didgeridoo’s. They droned in waves, each at different frequencies, blasting through me in to the depths of the earth.
Then slowly, they lifted higher and began to twirl and chase each other around in ellipses, hypnotising me with their shapes and colours. They swirled and swayed expanding larger and larger pulling at me to follow. I could feel myself leaving my body, lifting higher into the air, weightless and free. I could hear speaking, in a rich language that rang deep and true like the sound of the didgeridoo. I felt like I was held within the palm of a hand. The inner cogs and switches that guided my existence were being adjusted and re-worked. The language I was hearing began to make sense.
‘….should be able to understand’ said a voice.
I strained desperately to hear, but my mind was fogging quickly.
‘That will do for now. Too much at a time and he might…’ was all I heard before I drifted to sleep.
When I next came to, I was looking down on the ground, over the shoulder of my grandfather, who held me close in his powerful hands. The stars were returned home and the painted people were gone. Nan followed closely behind, watching the ground as she walked. She looked different than before. She walked with deftness, as if she had the energy of her youth returned to her. The rhythm of Granddad’s walking rocked me gently back into rest. As my eyes became heavy and I succumbed softly into sleep, Nan sang tenderly in the odd language I heard in the sky.
We’re in the air that you breathe
The stars in the night
The whispers in wind
Elusive to sight
But you’re the invited
One of a few
There’s work to be done
And we’ve chosen you
Never let your beginnings...
My ex left me 7 mos preg. And with 3 little boys under 6. He beat me so bad that I now have Epilepsy.
I have a 9grade education, and I was going to start a training program. But this story isn't about me, it's about a miracle.
My baby got spinal meningitis at 4 months old and almost died. I went through all of that alone! No support, no one from church, nothing!
My baby had to have brain surgery as a result. Again no support from anyone! No one from church to sit with me during the surgery, no one to hold my hand! No one!
I was 22 yrs old and I had to handle all of this on my own! After the surgery they put my sweet boy in my arms for me to hold him, he had all of these tubes hanging out of him and his head was doubled in size and wrapped up with a tube and bottle hanging off of it. He was so tiny and still, then all of a sudden he went into convulsions and they took him away from me.
His temperature had jumped and he wasn't
stabilizing after the surgery very well.
Finally after another hour or so, they brought him back and I could tell something was different. His body went into shock from such a traumatic surgery.
There I sat, tiny baby boy in my lap, and no one to lean on. I prayed hard. The kind of prayers that only a Creator would understand. The kind of prayers that only one who is loving and values life would understand.
No holy man from church, no church elders,
Not one Christian there who believes in what Christ has to say or any of the Holy scriptures came to support a poor young mother of a very sick four month old who was so close to death.
The Dr.'s said they didn't know if he would walk or talk or if he would be stuck in a bed the rest of his life.
Never let a Dr. determine what your full potential is going to be, because my sweet baby boy has blown them all out of the water!
Prayers were answered, my son did learn to walk, although it took him until the age of 4 to talk. I found out later that he has high functioning Asperger's syndrome.
In the end my son had struggles with school, but we worked through all that and he is 27 years old, 6'4" and currently managing a business. He still has his bad days, but he has coping skills now and a dog, a blue heeler that is his constant companion and emotional support service dog. My son has come a long way from the tiny baby in the hospital.
He's proven all the textbooks wrong, and I've learned that you can have a spiritual connection and relationship with the creator without needing all the extra baggage of what Religion wants you to think.
Never let your beginnings determine your outcome in life.
In another world we could have fallen in love.
Noticed each other in a crowded room, eyes catching sight and refusing to let go.
Shy expressions and soft touches of the flesh.
Kisses on the body. Lips and tongues.
Souls sharing souls.
Two becomes one.
Nothing else matters, because there's such thing as love.
Or at least we could have fucked really good.