A short story from Jean ...

"So, you're a carpenter and a wood-carver?" she asked.
He smiled. "And anything else I need to be at the moment."

She caught a movement in the trees to her left.
Felt herself drawn to the movement and in less than a blink she was in the trees, in the mist.

"Are you frightened?" the mist asked.
"No. Should I be?"
It said "Darlin', you've never been safer."

She watched as features took soft shape; dark hair, even darker eyes that smiled. The faint form of a strong, healthy body.

She wrinkled her brow. "I can't see your clothes but you aren't naked, either. Oh, shit. Are you a ghost?
Why does it feel like I know you?"

"Because you do. In a way. You know me even though we've never met. I'm not a ghost. You're seeing my soul.
And, it's your soul that I'm talking to right now."

With a gasp of recognition she said "I didn't know you were gone! I was coming here to meet you."

"I told everyone it was happening. Turned out to be sooner than I thought. No tears, babe.
This is a better way."

"We were friends." she whispered.

"That hasn't changed. Except it's even better now. Listen to me... there is no human way to imagine this. It is perfection here. Accept that. You'll feel better. I was wrong about a lot of it. Or, at least the way I wrote about it."

"You were wrong? Imagine that." she smiled.

"Don't be a smart-ass. I tried the best I could. Just like you. People make a struggle out of it and it doesn't need to be. Actually, we don't get a choice. This is the way it is. This is, I am, nothing is anything like anyone has ever been able to imagine. It is unknown until you get here."

She tried to glance back over her shoulder, where she had been. How long ago?

"Don't worry about your friend." The mist knew what she was thinking. "No one can see you here. When you go back, he won't know you've been gone. There is no 'time' here. It's all 'now', and now is forever. Now and forever are one in perfection. This is not the end, there is no stopping."

"What about the end times?"

"They've come and gone many times and will continue. They are never-ending, too."

She hesitated. "What about the Son?"

"Same as us. He lived. He tried. He died. He's fine."

"And the Bad Ones?"

"They're here, too. Just not here here. Another part of the perfection of the perfect balance. Another unimaginable."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because you need it the most and you doubt it the most and you want it the most. Now go back to the party."

"Will I see you again?"

"Of course. You'll see everyone, all the time, at the same time. Always. Go for now. Let life bring your stories and remember you are loved."
.
.
The carpenter was staring at her. "You're looking a bit pale. Am I boring you?"

"Oh, no. It must be jet lag. Something like a dozen time zones and I get here three hours before I took off. Or, something like that." She blushed.

"Well, how about I walk you back to your hotel and you try to get a good night's sleep? Would you let me take you to breakfast tomorrow and show you around a bit?"

She took out her notebook. He offered a pen. She looked at his face, dark hair, darker eyes and said,
"Well, my plans have changed a bit. So, yes. I'd like that."

She wrote her number on a corner of the page, tore it off and gave it to him. Then she wrote:
'his eyes matched the sky, both wonder and thunder.'

Feeling a soft breath on her neck, she glanced at the trees, saw the mist fade away.

Not a ghost. Not a dream.

A memory.

(originally posted 7-28-08. Reposted 11-12-2011
The internet is forever ...

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Sunday morning I headed west to meet a friend at an outdoor art festival.

Around here, it's a good idea to stay alert for critters that might wander from the woods to the edge of the road. Deer, gators, bears and such.

The only deer I saw was a small white-tail lying dead in the weeds. Poor thing.

The deep ditch was about half full of water but I saw no signs of gators. This time.

I did see a wild turkey strutting his stuff but he was heading back to the woods, so no worries there.

About a quarter mile past the turkey I spotted something.
It was an upside-down turtle, about the size of a big salad bowl, and his stubby legs were spinning like propellers.
He was trying to right himself but he had nothing to brace against and all he was succeeding in doing was miring himself deeper into the sand. He couldn't even get a good rocking motion going to roll over.

That turtle was going to be stuck there, upside down forever, unless someone flipped him over.

I hit my turn signal, eased off the pavement and stopped.

I'd had no prior dealings with big turtles. Well, except for the time one dug under the fence and made a hole about three feet deep in the front yard…but, that's another story for another time, perhaps.

So… I got out of the car and walked slowly toward the panicky reptilian critter… while keeping alert for snakes.
I hate snakes.

The turtle's head was pointed toward the edge of the road, so I'm thinking that I should spin him around before I roll him over so he doesn't trot onto the asphalt and get splattered by the traffic zipping by at 60 mph.

That would suck. Especially for him.

How did I know the turtle was a him?

I was about six feet away when I saw his head and all four feet disappear……ssshhhhwoooooppp.
Sucked 'em right into his shell. Gone.
And then, I saw it.

His skinny, pink penis was protruding from, well, where most pink penises are expected to be protruding from. (Looka dat. Did I manage to get a dangling participle and a preposition on the end of that sentence? Whatever. Could it be I just invented the 'dangling penis-ciple' ?)

Now I am in a bit of a conundrum you see, because I have nothing to touch him with. How am I going to move him?

I'm not going to put my foot where his head can pop out and clamp on my toe. That leaves the other end.
The dangling penis-ciple end.
OK, I think to myself, do it quickly.
Boomp! Spin. Dammit. Not enough.
Again. Boomp! Spin. Success!

Only now, the little pink penis is flapping back and forth like a metronome. Flap Flap Flap Flap.
The bugger is waving at me.

I put my foot on the side of his shell and push to get him rocking a bit. He's surprisingly heavy.
Rock Rock Rock, Push! Foomppp. It's done. Yay.
He just lays there on his belly. No head, no legs.
I wait.
I back up.
I back up farther.

Finally, the head and appendages begin to protrude.
He stands up, looks around a bit, and I cannot help but notice… the penis-ciple is still dangling.
Dragging in the sand. He stops.
He stretches his hind legs to raise his back end and the skinny pink penis slowwwwwwwly returns to its hiding place. Then he ambles so very casually toward the ditch.

That's it, fella. You are on your own.

I get back in my car and make my way to the art show.
It was a great art show.
Not one penis on display, however.

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Whether it be like this or in letters to yourself,
as in a journal, or a diary.
Write everything about you so that others
may know. How you lived.
What you thought. When you cried.
Loved and laughed. Did you dream?
It may be found some day, and those who
knew you. Might cry. Might laugh.
Might gasp, "That's why!"
"That's when!" "That's where!"
Then again, a stranger might find you
in your words. And know you better than
all those others. Take you home.
Live with you another life.
See in you another way. Love their life again.
Find the path. Forgive their pain.
See the stars.
You are a book. A poem. A song.
Write your life.

******************************************************************************

originally posted on my blog Pondering....... 7-3-2007

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