Some Thoughts part 1

IT HAS BEEN TOLD ….

Seven to Eight million years ago men lived as dogs. We hunted in packs; we lived in packs and migrated in packs. In any pack there was only one fully developed Adult male who would have been the alpha male. The Alpha would lead the group with an Iron fist as words were not fully developed; most “humans” only used simple grunts to signify emotions more than direct words or objects.  When someone other than the Alpha touched the prime meat he or she was met with an angry grunt, and lighting fast retribution in the forms of gnarling teeth if not a violent jolt with a stick or random object found within reach.  The Pack would live in fear of the Alpha and the only law that existed it was do not anger the Alpha. One morning the pack would wake and the Alpha would lay still they would hunt and gather not rousing the Alpha when the hunters arrive they would take the choice meat and lay it in front of the alpha. Over time even without movement they would continue this tradition till the body began to rot they would bring items of value clay pots, animal pelts, blood offerings of animal and children. They would build temples around them simple earthen mounds, hence was born burial and over time as each generation passed down the oral tradition of the angry vengeful jealous Alpha and hence was born the God of Abraham the God of Jesus and the Allah of Muhammad. I like to call these people the Children of Abel. For in the Eyes of the Old Testament God these hunter and gathers were righteous.

 Then came the Children of Cain they were City dwellers as Cain is reported in the Old Testament as the inventor of cities.  These people were more than likely the Sumerians the oldest known culture dating back roughly 7000-5000 years ago which was the birth of Civilization at which time the Children of Cain killed off the Children of Abel as the hunter and gather cultures or “Sheppards” were massacred by their Agriculturally advanced or “Farmer” cousins represented in the story of Cain and Able, which is why “God” found the blood gifts of the Sheppard brother acceptable and the gifts of his Farmer brother unacceptable.  That of course the history of man or at least as I know it. I began this story with the words it has been told I will explain the meaning of this now. It has been told is the way the Buddha began each of his parables, to remind us these are not without fault and is by no means without question. This is as best of what I have understood to date, which could be incomplete or entirely wrong but as of now I see no flaw in the logic so it is a working thesis. 

This was the time of the Old Testament God was a vengeful angry God, as society advanced or evolved so did God. He became more human more forgiving as people themselves became less animalistic or more human so did God. Note of interest in the history of man this has been a mere chapter most of what we know dates back 10k years of the estimated 7 million year history of man.  Not to mention this is not the History of all men. This is just what we know from one source of information which I believe is muddled and perverse as any other source we have. Stephan Hawkins said in A brief History of time, it is science’s job to explain what happened post Big Bang it is Religions job to explain what happened pre.  Whatever religion or belief you choose is righteous if you follow the one universal truth found in all major religions and recognized by almost all being universally. ALL LIFE IS SACRIED. When you recognize this truth any path you choose to follow is noble and sacred, a life worth living. If you do not live by this belief no matter how hard to try you life will be without merit. To try to do well for the sake of one’s self is selfish in nature and will not be successful, just as doing right for the sake of doing good will fade when one realizes that the concept of moral good and bad are impossibilities, just as good or bad people are impossible to judge as people are fluid and their paths viewed from different perspectives could be good or bad or as in most cases a little of both. 

Sleepless Draft 2

She snored. 

Each night I would lay next to her tossing and turning trying to sleep, but all in vain. Nights of torment, laying awake, her cold body pushing up against mine. I could never get comfortable, never sleep. For years this is what I endured.  

Lack of sleep leads to poor decisions, acts of desperation. The world never seems right, your eyes burn as you stare into the day. The simplest of task mock you, as your head throbs, and your stomach turns queasily. Conversations are meaningless, Their mouths move, in blurry up and down motions. The words coming out are foreign quickly falling heavily to the ground. 

This is where I find myself, that is what lead me to my action. Others will question my motives. Wisely dictating what I should have done in a situation they are ill equipped to face. I myself am unsure of any motives, I just act as any would to ensure survival.

The night is soundless, an empty moon peeks from behind the clouds momentarily to shed light within this darkened world. 

Each grave reflects the light of the nocturnal goddess. They appear as well organized ghost waiting within a line that seemingly never ends.

Can this be what hell is an eternal wait in a cold motionless line devoid of all hope. 

This is a question I fear I shall soon answer. 

The shovel is wet from the dew lining the grass. It is late or early I should say, daybreak moves ever closer. No time to spare, some chores are better performed hidden within the night. To late now to change my mind, as if I ever had a choice. I have already come too far. 

I grip the shovel tightly and slowly begin walking up the side of the hill. I glancingly read each story of the stones as I pass.  They all seem the same, they were born, they lived and then they died. It is the natural order I guess, and who are we to question nature. Almost without conscious I repeat to myself.  

"Death is natural and within Death there is no sin. I am innocent, I have nothing to fear."

I see the mound of freshly moved earth, and know instantly this is my spot. The shovel seems heavy and defiant, as I move away the first load of dirt. My mind drifts back to that first day, her smile. 

"NO, I must not stop!"

The shovel grows heavy my chest begins to burn. My lungs turn against me, as though the act of breathing was to heavy for them. My strength fades, and I soon find myself upon my knees. 

A tear lands upon the ground. I knew this would come, everything suddenly becomes real, as though I am waking from a dream only to find a nightmare is reality.

She is gone; she will never light the world with her smile, her laughter again. My mind thinks of the countless things she will never be able to do, and pain stabs my heart with each. I think to myself is this Hell?

"NO, I don’t have time for this, there will be time later for mourning, but now I have to finish this, time is growing short." 

I will myself to stand, and force air into my lungs and begin to breath.

The earth grows harder with each shovel, pain courses through my muscles. I feel my soul grow weak. My mind returns to her laying there in the end weak, unable to fight off death’s grip. I have to be stronger, I cannot give in to the urge to lay down. So I lie to myself saying that each shovel will be the last. 

The hole slowly grows deeper, It's mouth grows hungry. It soon will be filled, but from it's seed nothing can grow except sorrow. 

The end is approaching. I can feel it, and so do my muscles as they begin to regain strength I push myself further. Further into this decent of desperation. I realize the sweat I am feeling on my face is tears as they begin to fall more and more freely. I am shocked at the realization the soulless can cry. 

All at once I hear a thump.

The sound scares me. I knew it was coming but for some things you just can't prepare. I stand back a moment. fear begins to grip me. I tell myself you have come too far. This is not the first time you have seen the dead.

I find soon that I was neither mentally or actually prepared for this task. I look around for something to pry open the coffin. My silent partner in tonights crime calls to me and I wedge him into the crack. I push down with my body and suddenly I am weightless. The seal breaks, I find myself laying in the dirt. The handle had snapped and threw me to the ground, as if to protest its part in tonight’s scheme, and ensuring it will nevermore be part of such dark times. 

"No I have to continue. If I don’t I will never find sleep again." 

I rush to the edge pushing my fingers into the opening, the skin burst and my hands feel sticky as blood covers them. No time for pain, no time for hesitation. I pull with all my remaining strength, and once again I find myself in the dirt as the door swings open.

I sit for a moment, I know I am not ready for what I am about to see. I look into the coffin. She is laying peacefully, with the sleep I am envious of. 

She is as beautiful in death, as she was in life. 

She is wearing her wedding dress. I apologize for not dressing more appropriate. 

I know she forgives me, she always did. 

Her face is kind and gentle something cancer never was able to rob from her. I wrap my arms around her. I long to feel her push, I feel nothing but her cold.
I cry harder at the realization that my angel is cold. 

"Don’t worry baby you will not be cold much longer I will hold you, I will warm you." 

I shut my eyes, and find the peace I had lost since that night. I listen closely and begin to hear her snore once again. I feel her cold body push next to mine. I lay patiently dreaming as sleep slowly comes upon me. 

I drift away as the birds begin to sing, the morning awakens. Peace comes to me. Never again shall I endure a sleepless night.

I sat listening through the walls; Mary next door was drunk again. A couple years back Mary and her apartment made the news when a prominent lawyer she was sleeping with at the time told her that he would not leave his wife. She took a butcher knife and held him hostage. I did not live here at the time , so I not completely clear on all the details, but I have heard talks in the halls about the incident, more I heard from Mary herself, as the walls were by no means sound proof. Usually around 7 when she began drinking I would hear her making nightly phone calls to her ex lover/victim  they always started sweet, "hey I haven't heard from you in a while I thought I would call and see what you were doing." From the fact she always seems to end the conversation with "call me back when you get this." I can't help but to assume he either stopped answering her calls or just never got her. I always wondered why he never changed his number, but in truth there is always a sadistic pleasure in knowing someone wants you even and in most cases especially if they are unwanted by you. Around 9 the calls would become more violent, most of what she says at this point is either to slurred or to vulgar to be able to properly portray here. Around 11 the knocks at her door would begin as customers slowly started showing up. The next sounds heard were always knocks against my living room wall, and the deep throated moans of old men. They would show up in their pinstriped custom tailored suits and leave with the little hair most had messed up and in a t shirt drenched in sweat, but Mary wouldn't make a sound for the next couple of hours never a moan from her as long as I have listened, no sounds from her except the rhythmic thumping of her body being thrust harder each time against my living room wall. This would always end with the climatic sound of one sudden hard thump one last grunt from her male partner and 3 minutes of silence before the sound of her front door opening. Mary wasn't in to cuddling.  Her moans would not start till around 4 when all the men were long gone. Her moans were not like the ones earlier in the night, there was no pleasure no lust, just pain. I have often imagined her next door soaked in tears legs sore from a long nights work, rocking her nude bruised body back in forth. I think of her young bare breast with the ever so fine bite marks but every bit as sexy as any 23 year old blonde's two tight plump tits would be. I wonder if she is shaved, for the sake of hygiene I hope she is, but to be honest the thought of her sweaty stuck together pubic hairs have got me through a boring night or two.  I think of her there rocking gently back and forth trying to find the comfort of unconsciousness. I have considered going next door and trying to comfort her, who knows I may have even got a freebie for my concerns, but as they say to the bold goes the spoils. I being the bold one that I am have never made the short trip across the hall, well not really. Not that Mary wasn't sexy, or as sexy as one can be considering her lifestyle choice, or the fact that I am too good of a person to take advantage of a woman like that. Hold no illusions I have no claim to any moral high ground, I think it is a matter of pride. I just don't think I can be on top of her frail body looking down into those vacant eyes realizing that she felt no pleasure, no emotion towards me. I need to feel that she needs me, that she cares, even if it is a lie, and from what I have seen of Mary she may have been a whore, but she was no liar. I take a long drag feeling the smoke deep within my lungs, and think to myself I need to get a TV. I feel myself beginning to get hard, on second thought Comcast doesn't even offer this much fun. My hand moves slowly towards the bulge.

I have forgotten many along the way, I was forgotten by more. Within each dying memory shall I remain till at last I become the shadows, and from within the darkness forget myself. While Rome was not built within a day it took a mere night's blaze for her to burn. Such is mortality such is man such is I.

***

The air is infected with the smell of mildew. The trees fight endlessly to strangle the light from the sky leaving the small snaking dirt path void of all color. Everything is masked within shades of grey as if to hide hope itself. Each step away from the light into this dark world is slow the air around you feels thick, mockingly it weighs down his body slowing his moments trapping him with the thick dense taste of death that only can be found within swamps. Each creature has its own song; they join together in a desolate sonata somber with the memory of the times before the dark. This is a place long lost to the world, home to no one. Each breath leaves a foul stench upon his tongue, slowly his lungs struggle in and out, breathing itself has now become a chore, he is not sure if it is from the thick air or if his body itself has turned against him. He tries to remember the light. The pounding of his heart drowns out all songs all sounds die away to quiet echoes. His body screams out for the touch of the sun to remember… to remember… to remember what? Hope drains from his eyes all is lost all is forgotten. He considers staying joining in the desolate choir adding his song to their pain.

"I must not stop this is not the ending, this is the beginning I must continue through."

His voice sounds strange, foreign, and the words ring hollow to his own ears. But yet he manages to keep moving forward each small step bringing him further within the darkness. The hope he once felt in the light is now dead as the entrance is now no longer in view.

Then all at once color explodes through the scenery, pushing back the blackness that seemingly bogs each of his steps down. Life is once again permitted to breath, and the first breath his soul takes is a deep one, as if to push the fear further down until it is all but a memory. Hope comes back into his step as he escapes the last clutch of the darkness and thick air. He walks a little faster, more content like a spoiled child after they have gotten their way, without a thought as to what it took to get it.

***

The world around him suddenly changes the smell of mildew is replaced by salt and sweet grass. The stagnate dead air has become a gentle breeze. The rhythmic beating of the tide against the bottom of the cliff can be heard far below, and comfort is quickly found within the ocean's pulse. Looking across the edge you can see nothing but blue at some far away point the ocean and sky kiss but the merger is not noticeable and they seem to continue on forever as one.  His steps move with more of an urgency as he sees the shack on the edge of the cliff, "yes, this is what I have came for." he quickly reminds himself.

"For what, have you so soon forgotten?" his mind responds mockingly. Forgotten? Forgotten what? He asks himself. The answer seems to hit him, and is just as fast forgotten. Slowly the look of urgency is replaced with acceptance as his eyes shut. He is momentarily lost within the world before him; he feels the gentle wind embrace his face. Within this world of light he soon finds a moment of complete peace, but like so many moments before it ends much too soon. As the sounds of shouts can be heard bellowing from the shack he is awakened from his moment and quickly remembers the importance of his task.

"I must witness I must see, or it all has been for nothing."

The shack looks out of place in this world of light; it would fit much better within the boundaries of the dark swamp. The boards do an adequate but incomplete job of protecting the possessions within. They curve each in their own way, and have long since turned black, with patches of green mold. He finishes his walk down the winding path and open what passes for a door. He enters now into a third world, not one of light, or darkness. This world was different it had a sorrow to it a pensive nature that was hard to explain. He quickly feels like he is intruding upon something that while being too personal to interrupt, is much too important to ignore without a sound he finds himself a seat and watches as the story begins.

***

His entrance goes unnoticed by the two figures deeply immersed within the battles before them. The two men sit across from each other at a table within a space clearly set aside for a kitchen, but not burden by walls. The first man can only be described as average a face easily lost within a crowd, nothing about him seems demand your attention. Nothing about him seems to stand out except the completely benign nature of his appearance. His brown hair is neither short nor long, as it is neither straight nor curly. Everything about this man, seems to be somewhere in between something else. You would not describe him as a particularly tall man, but he is not short, neither large nor small, attractive or repulsive. His movements are slow and strained as though the injuries of his past made each of his moves overly thought out as if to avoid pain. Within his grey eyes nothing, no emotion no movement a far away look as though something once lost may come again from any direction but close. Then that all changes as the words seem to heat up between the two men, a flicker of passion ignites in his eye, his face is animated. Only now does he appear to be human. His mediocre cheeks turn red as he shouts; spit flies from his mouth as he pleads.

The second figure seems to be without form he is sitting in shadowy corner, he makes no motions; he makes no sounds. Nothing escapes this man, even the light seems to die in his presence. As our first man rages on, no emotion is expressed within the second. The first man screams and shouts towards his companion but to no benefit as no reaction takes place within the second man. His arguments slow and become less sure until at length his voice stutters and his words fall to the floor heavy with emptiness. Just as quickly as his passion came to life they die. He slowly strains to take his seat, the red drains from his check and strength leaves his eyes. He bows his head, as his hands rise to hold it in place as though his thoughts have become too heavy, and his neck is no longer able to bare the burden.

The second figure watches the first; he allows the feeling of defeat to overwhelm  his companion before he makes any movements. Although only seconds pass to the first man it must seem like days. The silence cutting away at him, his face shows the wear of another wasted speech. He now understands, no matter how elegant his words may have been, or convincing his beliefs they feel upon deaf ears, or much worse, a hardened heart. The second figures leans forward the light seems to run in fear of his face. The heat from his breath can be felt on the neck of the first man, he slowly prowls forward coming within kissing distance of the first man's ear then stops and whisper but one word. "Forgive."

***

Time passes before either man moves; the first takes in a deep breath and after a long pause releases it. He stands and walks over to what could be considered a sink, and pulls a dirty glass from the strainer. The water is nothing like that crashing on the bottom of the cliff; it looks as though it is piped from the dark woods. It is yellow and has the smell of mildew to it, but he greedily guzzles it down. He stands a while looking toward the glass but it is apparent his mind is not there. His eyes from time to time flicker with life but mostly remain dark with pain, he thinks to himself, "How do you argue something you yourself do not believe? How can you explain emotions you have never felt? How can you show hope when yours died long ago?" He turns and looks toward his companion, he has not moved, he just sits and waits, as if he knew his friend was no longer able to continue. He thinks to himself "Why do I look he never leaves, he is always with me." His eyes begin to show anger but this quickly passes, his heart is not ready to plea yet, "I must pace myself." He reminds himself "there is always time that is the one thing I do have." He walks over to the window, he closes his eyes, and he feels the wind blow on his face from the moisture he can tell the rain will soon follow.

The fires began from the inside until they were all consuming. They burned till all that was left was black smoldering earth. The smoke choked out the sun all hope was lost. The songs of roman children were replaced with cries, and the touch of there mothers gave no comfort. Such is anger such is pain such is I.

***

He looks out the windows and sees the blacken clouds approach, this world feels right. With each crash of thunder the pain within burns. With each cry of pain the anger is stirred. His eyes grow wider, his heart more bold, nothing matters not love not hate, nothing matters except killing the hurt. It consumes him he fights it as he has done so often, it is easy to give in; it is hard to hold on. With each burst of hatred he loses a little more of his soul. He wins his battle this time, and with lose of anger, enters the pain. A sole tear falls from his eyes representing the millions that came before. He feels an emptiness that only comes when all hope is lost. He comes back to awareness; the usual sadness of the shack is multiplied as the remembrance of hope is still fresh upon his heart.

***

He turns from the window, sometimes it is better to look within he tells himself, and takes his seat. The figure is still waiting patiently. As though he knew how this was all going to play out, and saw no reason to rush things. The roof does a crude and fairly ineffective job of keeping either of the men dry, but neither seems to notice. As the wind picks up you can hear the boards on the side wall rattle against each other, opening and closing the gaps between them, Giving momentary glimpse at a world not so thick with pain. The air is now moist and cool with the rain, under different circumstances it might be considered a pleasant environment, but not with these. Neither man say anything they both sit, one thinking, the other waiting, always waiting. "How it got to this." the first asks himself. The voice within tells him "you know, you just don't want to see it, but you have always know." He picks at the loose grains on the old wooden table, lost in thought. Lost in a world of his own making.

***

Through honesty of himself others may have found a way to understand him and that was something he was unable to give. The thought of her always brought about feeling of anger no matter how deeply he tried to conceal it. He laughs out loud trying to hide the pain, but there is no one here to hid it from he knows this is a place of pain. He does not pretend, he knows his companion is a master of pain, and can taste it on the air. The dark figure stands and walks toward the wounded man, places his hand on his shoulder "Yes remember the anger, and with it the passion of life."
"There is nothing to remember, this is my life now. There is no anger here, only regret. This is where I belong this is where I choose to be." The words feel hollow even unto himself, they feel harsh and crude coming up through his throat, and even before the last sounds died off somewhere within the air above the cliff, he could feel the look of doubt upon his companion face. He feels no need to turn and see the all knowing face mocking him. Mocking him with his certainty, mocking him with his empty, and most of all mocking him with his patience. There is no argument here he knows this is a losing battle. A wind blows through the boards and the coolness brushes against his hot face. The candles in the room slowly dance, with the rhythm of the breeze. The regret is thick and pensive, his heart heavy with pain. With each moment he grows hollow, and retreats more into the shadows.  Becoming one with the world around him, until all that is left is smoldering black earth where his heart had once been, and the touch of no one will give him comfort.

***

 Upon the next morning when each rose to rebuild, they realized this was done by no enemy. Rome had burned herself. Such is man such is woman such is us all.