--------------------------------
Wager whispered into the carpet just inside his office door.
“Paramatman, all that is, I rejoice in unending service to your name.”
Reluctantly he stood. Prostration felt like the only time his purpose was clear and his mind at ease.
His spirits were high; this day was a good one for him. Nolie was a known familial and her conversion seemed very close. Generally one on one conversion wasn’t the business of Elders of Wager’s stature, but he had a special interest in seeing this through. Working with Nolie through the rites would be seen by the Board as a selfless act of service.
Service was the basis of a good Uniccord member. And Wager had always done more than was required, and moved steadily higher in his sect. He was accepted to the Board at the relatively early age of 37 and now four short years later he was actually a valid candidate for the Trifecta.
The Uniccord Trifecta was the highest office and was shared by three equally powerful Elders. Wager didn’t like to think about what would be happening to Elder Veers in the near future, but taking over her place in the Trifecta was constantly on his mind.
The antiquated method of retiring Uniccord members was clearly outlined in the scriptures, but remained one of the things that Wager was wont to question in the quiet places of his heart.
Euthanasia seemed to Wager to go against everything else that Uniccord stood for. But then again the quiet acceptance of death when one’s time had expired was very much a civilized idea. It had always confused him, but never, since his rites, had he admitted this confusion to anyone. He was an Elder and a leader. His reports counted on him and in essence all members of all of their flocks counted on him too. He was a role model.
He had found himself in supplication much of the last few days, being that upon acceptance into the Trifecta he would be obligated to perform the deed himself.
--------------------------------
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
2am text with No Destination
When I was 13 I met a boy, Andrew. We were boyfriends for maybe a whole five minutes, then friends after that. A few months later, he says to me something like this: You're so cool Becca. But it’s weird, You're just not As cool as I thought you were when I first met you... and he said it with a frankness that to me indicated the only reason it left his mouth was that he was so truly mystified and needed to express it on the (extremely) off chance that I had some explanation to give him. I didn't know what to say and was surprised to find myself still standing there largely unharmed by the pronouncement but floundering none the less for some response to give. I don't recall what I said nor do I know what I should have said.
I find myself wondering at this point if there was some defining moment, in which my words or actions irrevocably changed your view of me. Or was it more subtle. The elongating shadow that grows with the sunset until it seems to reach forever, but is abruptly and replace by the nearly nonexistent streetlight version. Is there a way to get back to the place that kept you waiting to wake up so we could talk to each other again. Once I was lying in your arms weeping at the possibility of a time when I would not be welcome there. you said to me the only reason for me not being there would be if I didn't want to be. At the time it was hard to believe, but could feel that you believed it and that gave me comfort. Between that moment and this one...
I find myself wondering at this point if there was some defining moment, in which my words or actions irrevocably changed your view of me. Or was it more subtle. The elongating shadow that grows with the sunset until it seems to reach forever, but is abruptly and replace by the nearly nonexistent streetlight version. Is there a way to get back to the place that kept you waiting to wake up so we could talk to each other again. Once I was lying in your arms weeping at the possibility of a time when I would not be welcome there. you said to me the only reason for me not being there would be if I didn't want to be. At the time it was hard to believe, but could feel that you believed it and that gave me comfort. Between that moment and this one...
Friday, August 28, 2009
Paramatman (parama-ātman) means "Super Soul".
"Do you proclaim unending service to Paramatman?"
Knowing this job was the only way to feed the children, but not believing it zhe uttered
"of course I do"
"And are you married?"
"No but I hope to be soon." another lie.
"Well good, you look like the type we could really use, so Welcome to the Uniccord family Nolie."
Nolie breathed a sigh of relief as zhe rose from the kneeling position customary for non Uniccord members. Shaking hands with Elder Wager sent a shutter from head to toe that was hard to conceal, luckily Wager mistook the tremor for excitement and smiled.
"Well Good day" and with that the Elder left and Nolie was alone when the silent tears came.
---------------------------------
But I WANT to go to kinder- Ameni said, or thought. It was hard to tell sometimes. Usually after speaking someone would make some reply, but just lately Ameni found more and more that they just seemed sad and didn't talk. Zhe had originally thought it was some sort of game they were all playing, but now it had been days. They weren't always quiet, sometimes they looked right into Ameni's eyes and said nice things, but never answered any questions and never seemed to hear or understand anything zhe said. It was ok overall but Ameni had been counting down to kinder for two whole cycles now and the calendar said that it was four days past due. Ameni didn't know what had changed but was starting to feel very lonely.
----------------------------------
Knowing this job was the only way to feed the children, but not believing it zhe uttered
"of course I do"
"And are you married?"
"No but I hope to be soon." another lie.
"Well good, you look like the type we could really use, so Welcome to the Uniccord family Nolie."
Nolie breathed a sigh of relief as zhe rose from the kneeling position customary for non Uniccord members. Shaking hands with Elder Wager sent a shutter from head to toe that was hard to conceal, luckily Wager mistook the tremor for excitement and smiled.
"Well Good day" and with that the Elder left and Nolie was alone when the silent tears came.
---------------------------------
But I WANT to go to kinder- Ameni said, or thought. It was hard to tell sometimes. Usually after speaking someone would make some reply, but just lately Ameni found more and more that they just seemed sad and didn't talk. Zhe had originally thought it was some sort of game they were all playing, but now it had been days. They weren't always quiet, sometimes they looked right into Ameni's eyes and said nice things, but never answered any questions and never seemed to hear or understand anything zhe said. It was ok overall but Ameni had been counting down to kinder for two whole cycles now and the calendar said that it was four days past due. Ameni didn't know what had changed but was starting to feel very lonely.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Movement
Its rushing at me so fast I can barely see, blowing my mind back.
But it’s not the wind. I’m moving, flying really, so fast through space but hardly crawling through time.
Sometimes my eyes withstand a brutal assault that pushes me into new awareness.
An awareness of myself that previously couldn't be reached
Forces inside fight the movement and fight the stagnancy of stillness.
Growing pains threaten to end all progress with emergent finality
Budding hope of prosperity, while adding to the declination of peace, springs out insisting on continuance, continuance of danger, continuance of superstition, continuance of a trek into utterly known lands of possibly devastating dejection and possibly edifying truth
It's never safe. Fine. It's never easy. Fine. There is always an option. Fine.
But it’s not the wind. I’m moving, flying really, so fast through space but hardly crawling through time.
Sometimes my eyes withstand a brutal assault that pushes me into new awareness.
An awareness of myself that previously couldn't be reached
Forces inside fight the movement and fight the stagnancy of stillness.
Growing pains threaten to end all progress with emergent finality
Budding hope of prosperity, while adding to the declination of peace, springs out insisting on continuance, continuance of danger, continuance of superstition, continuance of a trek into utterly known lands of possibly devastating dejection and possibly edifying truth
It's never safe. Fine. It's never easy. Fine. There is always an option. Fine.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Running
Trees looked tropical there. It was like traversing a lush rain forest. That is what I thought anyways. The walk to school included about 3 magical minutes of Peruvian jungle. I didn't tell anyone about it, I didn't tell anyone anything. My wilderness escape was so stealthy and so complete that my real life as an adventurer was utterly and totally invisible.
There was life in the trees. All manner of creatures that buzz. Creepy things. Slimy things. Flying animals that made strange noises. I had previously been unaware of how one could be so pleasantly affected by other living beings.
Sometimes after school I would go back to the trees alone to get a closer look at the residents of the woodland. Salamanders were so unbelievable to me that I just had to swallow my fear and get one in my hands. I would catch them and look into their tiny eyes. Then painstakingly find the exact spot with wood and water and leafy greenness, to set them back to their freedom.
Never before in life had I had anyplace to get away from the fuming and festering poison that inundated my pretend life. The life that was out of control and getting worse by the minute.
I used to have some time to myself and then wherever I went I could be the real me, the adventurer, but that was before I started school. So by 2nd grade solitude seemed like an ill conceived dream formed in the fearful half sleep one might gain the fetid hovels of home.
But there were these trees. Not too far from the yelling that meant doom if not answered immediately, but dense enough to not be seen and therefore not surprised. If any of my siblings was nearby I could enter this jungle at any point and disappear into it's safety. And there I could sit and any time of day or night and not be disrupted or found. I could practice counting and recounting, or sing songs to myself, or rhyme away all of the darkness the threatened to break in to my mind and undo all of my hard work. There certainly were times the fear or frustration would reach a boiling point far outside of my capacity to cope, and the trees were always there to swallow me whole and negate all that seemed to infringe on what I've come to realize was my very sanity. I soon found out that running was the only answer, the only thing to save me from the monsters. So I would. Down the stairs, out the door, across the parking lot, across the street, into the trees. But they were just trees, so I had to keep running. The only way was to run until your chest tightened, until you weren't so much holding your breath, but unable to breath. If they were still trees, then you had to keep going until your legs started to stumble, until your hands kept you from crashing to the ground, until you could go no further, breathe no longer, until you were unable to stand. Then the blackness came. And when it was gone the sun would shine through the branches of the beautiful jungle and the magic would erase everything but the dirt and the trees and the air and the rain. If you were lucky it would rain.
There was life in the trees. All manner of creatures that buzz. Creepy things. Slimy things. Flying animals that made strange noises. I had previously been unaware of how one could be so pleasantly affected by other living beings.
Sometimes after school I would go back to the trees alone to get a closer look at the residents of the woodland. Salamanders were so unbelievable to me that I just had to swallow my fear and get one in my hands. I would catch them and look into their tiny eyes. Then painstakingly find the exact spot with wood and water and leafy greenness, to set them back to their freedom.
Never before in life had I had anyplace to get away from the fuming and festering poison that inundated my pretend life. The life that was out of control and getting worse by the minute.
I used to have some time to myself and then wherever I went I could be the real me, the adventurer, but that was before I started school. So by 2nd grade solitude seemed like an ill conceived dream formed in the fearful half sleep one might gain the fetid hovels of home.
But there were these trees. Not too far from the yelling that meant doom if not answered immediately, but dense enough to not be seen and therefore not surprised. If any of my siblings was nearby I could enter this jungle at any point and disappear into it's safety. And there I could sit and any time of day or night and not be disrupted or found. I could practice counting and recounting, or sing songs to myself, or rhyme away all of the darkness the threatened to break in to my mind and undo all of my hard work. There certainly were times the fear or frustration would reach a boiling point far outside of my capacity to cope, and the trees were always there to swallow me whole and negate all that seemed to infringe on what I've come to realize was my very sanity. I soon found out that running was the only answer, the only thing to save me from the monsters. So I would. Down the stairs, out the door, across the parking lot, across the street, into the trees. But they were just trees, so I had to keep running. The only way was to run until your chest tightened, until you weren't so much holding your breath, but unable to breath. If they were still trees, then you had to keep going until your legs started to stumble, until your hands kept you from crashing to the ground, until you could go no further, breathe no longer, until you were unable to stand. Then the blackness came. And when it was gone the sun would shine through the branches of the beautiful jungle and the magic would erase everything but the dirt and the trees and the air and the rain. If you were lucky it would rain.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Window out winds down
Wronged. That would be the perfect solitary descriptor for my youth. My tiny mind was over used with various points of view, each one crafted specifically to save the whole from complete and total self destruction.
Suicide, I learned when I was seven, is a sin. My cousin heard me praying to god, apologizing for the sins I knew I would commit and she corrected me. “you can’t really be sorry if you haven’t done the thing yet.”
I was taken aback…how many sins had I committed that had only been mentioned to the almighty BEFORE they took place. I might be going straight to hell. “That is why Suicide is the unforgivable sin.” She lectured. …unforgivable? What about the blood of Jesus, can’t that cover it? Wait,
“What’s Suicide?”
She didn’t say; Suicide is a lurking specter that will haunt you for the rest of your life. Even when you are a grown woman and have a happy life, and no one can hurt you, Suicide will be there. At that point you will politely thank Suicide for its concern and point out various coping mechanisms that put Suicide into perspective, and pinpoint it as the drastic overkill it has become. But before then it will be worse, you’ll miss the bus and Suicide will present itself. You will get mugged and Suicide will comfort you. Sometimes in the middle of your dreary junior high school day Suicide will ask you to meet in the bathroom for eternal relief.
She said “It’s when someone kills themself , like on Dead Poets Society.” I don’t think that she perceived my intense reaction to this idea. The excitement I felt at the only plausible end of pain that had ever stumbled into my conscious realities. But the excitement was quelled instantly as she continued
“It’s very selfish. Those people don’t even THINK about the family and friends that they are hurting. Don’t you think their family is sad? But they don’t even care."
Crestfallen I realized my family already was heartbroken. And I had caused such turmoil before now. Like when I was bad and had to be punished, mama always cried. I tried to comfort her but that just made the sadness and the punishments worse.
No. Suicide, no matter how alluring, could not be the answer for me. I know they would all suffer more for my dying than they already did by my living. So I tried to forget about it.
Forgetting things isn’t as simple as it seems. With enough concentration pain can be reduced to a simmering droplet of consciousness and stored in a compartment to be studied later, or in some instances never to be seen or heard from again. The fear that disappears from the map is the one you have to look out for. Be alert. Search your consciousness for any and all signs of its existence. Even a modicum of recognition can be the end of the precise balance needed for each delicate sidestep around what has been forgotten.
So I forgot about Suicide. I forgot about it so completely that I ceased to be vigilant against its infiltration of my fractal mind.
That is how it happened that a few years later at age 11 Suicide sneaked up on me.
I was minding my own business exploring the out buildings of the old farm we lived at. It was a dilapidated rental, plumbed for running water that we couldn’t afford.
It was the ugliest house around, but there were ten acres of weeds and asparagus. This afforded the alone-time a girl needs when her only sibling is a brooding and scornful older brother. So I hung around in the field or the out buildings. There were some interesting things in the old sheds. And I spent a considerable portion of my days perusing the sundry items left behind by whatever old farmer used to work in there. There was a couple of bottles of Indian ink in one of them, the moment I learned what it was, how I longed for a tattoo.
Out of the blue one day I found an old coil of rope that I hadn’t noticed before, lying in a corner. And Suicide spoke up. Not really knowing why, but having no inclination to the contrary I climbed up on a small but elevated worktable.
I didn’t know anything about noose tying, being an 11 year old child that absolutely did NOT think about Suicide. But I understood the basic idea of a slip knot. I also considered how I always double knotted my shoelaces to avoiding them coming untied if the bow should come under duress. So I worked out a mix of the two and slipped the rope over my head, subconsciously pulling my braid through the loop like I did every time I got dressed.
Just then with the rope around my neck, looking at my shoes (which on the rough surface of the worktable seemed somehow unreal, or at least very very far away) I had a flicker of a question enter my stream of consciousness.
Isn’t this a bad idea?
No, Suicide crooned, there are no more bad ideas just quiet after this. No more mistakes. No more hurts. No more forgetting. And no more remembering. Just quiet.
I rocked from side to side disrupting the balance of my precarious perch. Two strong pushes to each side and the table was on two legs. One more hard shift of balance and it fell. and I fell. I remember not having considered the falling before it happened. Then abruptly I stopped. My head stopped, but my body seemed to keep falling. My body seemed to stretch. But it did not go too far. It had worked my knot held and my world went black.
When vision returned I was lying on the dirt floor.
A rope round my neck.
I sat up, loosened the knot, and glanced at the frayed end of the rope in my hands. Then I righted the work table and untied the rope from the rafters. I hid the rope again in the corner where I found it and left the shed.
I was dazed. I was not disappointed or relieved. Just alive, so I decided not to mention it. I figured I’d probably better just forget it. So it’s been a little secret, just between me and Suicide.
Suicide, I learned when I was seven, is a sin. My cousin heard me praying to god, apologizing for the sins I knew I would commit and she corrected me. “you can’t really be sorry if you haven’t done the thing yet.”
I was taken aback…how many sins had I committed that had only been mentioned to the almighty BEFORE they took place. I might be going straight to hell. “That is why Suicide is the unforgivable sin.” She lectured. …unforgivable? What about the blood of Jesus, can’t that cover it? Wait,
“What’s Suicide?”
She didn’t say; Suicide is a lurking specter that will haunt you for the rest of your life. Even when you are a grown woman and have a happy life, and no one can hurt you, Suicide will be there. At that point you will politely thank Suicide for its concern and point out various coping mechanisms that put Suicide into perspective, and pinpoint it as the drastic overkill it has become. But before then it will be worse, you’ll miss the bus and Suicide will present itself. You will get mugged and Suicide will comfort you. Sometimes in the middle of your dreary junior high school day Suicide will ask you to meet in the bathroom for eternal relief.
She said “It’s when someone kills themself , like on Dead Poets Society.” I don’t think that she perceived my intense reaction to this idea. The excitement I felt at the only plausible end of pain that had ever stumbled into my conscious realities. But the excitement was quelled instantly as she continued
“It’s very selfish. Those people don’t even THINK about the family and friends that they are hurting. Don’t you think their family is sad? But they don’t even care."
Crestfallen I realized my family already was heartbroken. And I had caused such turmoil before now. Like when I was bad and had to be punished, mama always cried. I tried to comfort her but that just made the sadness and the punishments worse.
No. Suicide, no matter how alluring, could not be the answer for me. I know they would all suffer more for my dying than they already did by my living. So I tried to forget about it.
Forgetting things isn’t as simple as it seems. With enough concentration pain can be reduced to a simmering droplet of consciousness and stored in a compartment to be studied later, or in some instances never to be seen or heard from again. The fear that disappears from the map is the one you have to look out for. Be alert. Search your consciousness for any and all signs of its existence. Even a modicum of recognition can be the end of the precise balance needed for each delicate sidestep around what has been forgotten.
So I forgot about Suicide. I forgot about it so completely that I ceased to be vigilant against its infiltration of my fractal mind.
That is how it happened that a few years later at age 11 Suicide sneaked up on me.
I was minding my own business exploring the out buildings of the old farm we lived at. It was a dilapidated rental, plumbed for running water that we couldn’t afford.
It was the ugliest house around, but there were ten acres of weeds and asparagus. This afforded the alone-time a girl needs when her only sibling is a brooding and scornful older brother. So I hung around in the field or the out buildings. There were some interesting things in the old sheds. And I spent a considerable portion of my days perusing the sundry items left behind by whatever old farmer used to work in there. There was a couple of bottles of Indian ink in one of them, the moment I learned what it was, how I longed for a tattoo.
Out of the blue one day I found an old coil of rope that I hadn’t noticed before, lying in a corner. And Suicide spoke up. Not really knowing why, but having no inclination to the contrary I climbed up on a small but elevated worktable.
I didn’t know anything about noose tying, being an 11 year old child that absolutely did NOT think about Suicide. But I understood the basic idea of a slip knot. I also considered how I always double knotted my shoelaces to avoiding them coming untied if the bow should come under duress. So I worked out a mix of the two and slipped the rope over my head, subconsciously pulling my braid through the loop like I did every time I got dressed.
Just then with the rope around my neck, looking at my shoes (which on the rough surface of the worktable seemed somehow unreal, or at least very very far away) I had a flicker of a question enter my stream of consciousness.
Isn’t this a bad idea?
No, Suicide crooned, there are no more bad ideas just quiet after this. No more mistakes. No more hurts. No more forgetting. And no more remembering. Just quiet.
I rocked from side to side disrupting the balance of my precarious perch. Two strong pushes to each side and the table was on two legs. One more hard shift of balance and it fell. and I fell. I remember not having considered the falling before it happened. Then abruptly I stopped. My head stopped, but my body seemed to keep falling. My body seemed to stretch. But it did not go too far. It had worked my knot held and my world went black.
When vision returned I was lying on the dirt floor.
A rope round my neck.
I sat up, loosened the knot, and glanced at the frayed end of the rope in my hands. Then I righted the work table and untied the rope from the rafters. I hid the rope again in the corner where I found it and left the shed.
I was dazed. I was not disappointed or relieved. Just alive, so I decided not to mention it. I figured I’d probably better just forget it. So it’s been a little secret, just between me and Suicide.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
This one is a cheater 02/27/08
There was a knock at the door. Everyone in the room turned expectantly, "Boise Police." I could feel the tension in the room heighten to that fever pitch that is almost audible. No time to think about that. They were in the room.
One of the officers said to her "We found a truck."
Everyone was silent.
"There is a body in the truck. The body has not been officially identified yet. It does match the description of your son."
The silence was broken with her scream.
One of the officers said to her "We found a truck."
Everyone was silent.
"There is a body in the truck. The body has not been officially identified yet. It does match the description of your son."
The silence was broken with her scream.
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