It's time.
It's go time.
See that man walking past you in the grocery store? No, he doesn't look up. Trudging around in concentric circles, jumping from one path to another and yet still orbiting the same central mirage that doesn't actually exist. His path will lead him on into nowhere until the timer-bell rings and he is ultimately lost. All it would take is a nudge and a whisper. A whisper of hope and SURPRISE! because who walks around in grocery stores waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting tragedy? A tragedy no more, I would think, but rather a turnaround. People are communal. WE like eachother. I won't say I like him because I don't know him, but I don't. I love him, so what
is
my
problem?
Stop staring, Drew. Start gazing and subsequently reaching, for this life is more than it seems and your time is waning. The stars are closer than they appear: a trick of light. They are within your grasp because you ride on the shoulders of the Almighty. No distance is too great, no opportunity too unfertile. Be salt and be light. Forget yourself because you don't matter, at least not to yourself. At least you shouldn't. But at least you do to a million other people who've already got this stuff figured out. And most of all, to the one to whom it matters most (who happens to be the one/three who thought it all up in the first place). Yeah, we'll change the world. But let's start with that guy...when the timing is right. No need to worry! He'll let you and I know when
it's go time.
it's God time.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Paws
A young wolf meanders back to his den after sweeping the cold forest for anything resembling food…meat…life. His walk-trot is a somber one, for his hunt has proved once again to be fruitless, like it was yesterday and the day before. He is starving; the present winter is a harsh one. A sharp wind nips at his ears while the frozen earth beneath him stings his footpads. How much longer will he last this way before pain becomes irrelevant and his body simply cannot function?
Just as he begins to enter back into the relative warmth of his deep home, he senses movement to his right. One step and a pounce! Whatever it was, he had pinned it on an icy stump. A squirrel? No, a mouse! But it was not stirring…had he killed it already?
Silence.
Out of sheer curiosity, he peeks beneath his paws and examines his prey: a run-of-the-mill field mouse. Alive, but remaining perfectly still and looking directly into his eyes. Its lips seemed to curl upwards, almost as though it were smiling. Who had ever heard of such a mouse? So close to certain death and yet so unmovingly silent.
A great chill shook the wolf right down his spine, causing him to lose his grip on the field mouse for the shortest of moments. It quickly scurried under the roots of the stump, well out of reach.
Completely distraught, the wolf decided to scourge the graying forest once more in hopes that some other morsel of food…of life…would cross his path. Yes, his path of muddy pawprints tracking through the snow.
How had the mouse gotten away? What a silly question; of course it was he who had let it go. But what unseen force had caused him to hesitate? All his life he’d hunted and never, ever let loose captured prey. And now, in his greatest moment of desperation for food, for life, that mouse triggered something inside of him that was very strange indeed.
A weak, but distinct smell began to enter his well-trained nostrils…blood! The pungent scent of fresh blood led him onwards into the very heart of the forest. A mile further, after dodging between the ever-looming snowcapped pine trees and over many fallen ones, a small clearing came into sight.
A mass of torn flesh lay sprawled within: the corpse of a deer, half-eaten, abandoned by some unnamable beast. Its face was serenely tilted to the side and its cold, dead eyes were permanently held wide open. What gruesome reflection had encompassed their pupils a short time earlier, the wolf would never know. He quickly scanned the clearing’s perimeter for a few minutes to discern whether he was the fallen deer’s only pursuer. He was.
What a feast lay ahead! His immediate carnal instinct was to finally satisfy the hunger that had built up inside of him for so long, but he knew that he needed to take his great treasure back to the den before all else. He took hold of the deer’s neck with his formidable teeth and journeyed back in the direction he ventured from, hoping that his strength would not fail him. One particularly rough set of logs he had to cross gave him much trouble—he emerged with each paw full of splinters. Nevertheless, he triumphantly limped back into his den with the corpse, much to the delight of his mate. She licked his face and immediately tore into the deer. She was pregnant.
After eating, the wolf obsessively licked his bloody paws, which only seemed to make things worse. Sharp pangs ran between his footpads. Despite his wounds, he fell asleep quite soundly, having eaten his first substantial meal in weeks.
He began to dream. What a brilliant, marvelous dream it was! He was his former self: a reckless pup, playing and jumping with his mother and siblings. The soft earth tickled his footpads like a thousand warm tongues as he pranced about. The luminous sky above glowed with the Northern Lights and a myriad of stars that licked across the sky like migrating geese.
He awoke to find his four paws splinterless and clean! Was he still dreaming? His mate lay asleep in the exact same position as when she had dozed off the night before, her underside concealing imminent life…the dead deer was ravaged as ever…but a mysterious collection of mouse droppings littered the cave’s interior. The young wolf’s lips began to curl slightly upward, almost as though he were smiling. Peering out of his den once more, he found the ground a little warmer and the snow a small shade brighter, and so he went.
Just as he begins to enter back into the relative warmth of his deep home, he senses movement to his right. One step and a pounce! Whatever it was, he had pinned it on an icy stump. A squirrel? No, a mouse! But it was not stirring…had he killed it already?
Silence.
Out of sheer curiosity, he peeks beneath his paws and examines his prey: a run-of-the-mill field mouse. Alive, but remaining perfectly still and looking directly into his eyes. Its lips seemed to curl upwards, almost as though it were smiling. Who had ever heard of such a mouse? So close to certain death and yet so unmovingly silent.
A great chill shook the wolf right down his spine, causing him to lose his grip on the field mouse for the shortest of moments. It quickly scurried under the roots of the stump, well out of reach.
Completely distraught, the wolf decided to scourge the graying forest once more in hopes that some other morsel of food…of life…would cross his path. Yes, his path of muddy pawprints tracking through the snow.
How had the mouse gotten away? What a silly question; of course it was he who had let it go. But what unseen force had caused him to hesitate? All his life he’d hunted and never, ever let loose captured prey. And now, in his greatest moment of desperation for food, for life, that mouse triggered something inside of him that was very strange indeed.
A weak, but distinct smell began to enter his well-trained nostrils…blood! The pungent scent of fresh blood led him onwards into the very heart of the forest. A mile further, after dodging between the ever-looming snowcapped pine trees and over many fallen ones, a small clearing came into sight.
A mass of torn flesh lay sprawled within: the corpse of a deer, half-eaten, abandoned by some unnamable beast. Its face was serenely tilted to the side and its cold, dead eyes were permanently held wide open. What gruesome reflection had encompassed their pupils a short time earlier, the wolf would never know. He quickly scanned the clearing’s perimeter for a few minutes to discern whether he was the fallen deer’s only pursuer. He was.
What a feast lay ahead! His immediate carnal instinct was to finally satisfy the hunger that had built up inside of him for so long, but he knew that he needed to take his great treasure back to the den before all else. He took hold of the deer’s neck with his formidable teeth and journeyed back in the direction he ventured from, hoping that his strength would not fail him. One particularly rough set of logs he had to cross gave him much trouble—he emerged with each paw full of splinters. Nevertheless, he triumphantly limped back into his den with the corpse, much to the delight of his mate. She licked his face and immediately tore into the deer. She was pregnant.
After eating, the wolf obsessively licked his bloody paws, which only seemed to make things worse. Sharp pangs ran between his footpads. Despite his wounds, he fell asleep quite soundly, having eaten his first substantial meal in weeks.
He began to dream. What a brilliant, marvelous dream it was! He was his former self: a reckless pup, playing and jumping with his mother and siblings. The soft earth tickled his footpads like a thousand warm tongues as he pranced about. The luminous sky above glowed with the Northern Lights and a myriad of stars that licked across the sky like migrating geese.
He awoke to find his four paws splinterless and clean! Was he still dreaming? His mate lay asleep in the exact same position as when she had dozed off the night before, her underside concealing imminent life…the dead deer was ravaged as ever…but a mysterious collection of mouse droppings littered the cave’s interior. The young wolf’s lips began to curl slightly upward, almost as though he were smiling. Peering out of his den once more, he found the ground a little warmer and the snow a small shade brighter, and so he went.
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