Vultures can be always quite, never really unpleasant. However, they tend to have so much time in between scavenging that they make excellent philosophers.
“Men and their rules of fishing are truly odd, wouldn’t you say? They act so righteous on their morals of leaving the large ones to populate the ponds and the small ones to give them chances, when truly, they can’t catch the big ones and the small ones aren’t enough to feed them.
“Manipulation can be a confusing thing, wouldn’t you say? Some of us wear our feathers proudly. Others try to make their feathers the prettiest.”
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
The Sacrifice
The aloewood is burning. The woman at the Chinese supermarket told me it was amazing. “There’s only one box left and they don’t get more in for like... six months”. She doesn’t look like the ordinary person on the street I would believe. It wasn’t necessarily her broad stature, or her forceful interjection in my otherwise fluid thought; nor was it the unwieldily black hair that nevertheless was glistening under the market’s fluorescent lighting. But under the circumstances, at that very moment, everything she said was a truth.
And so the aloewood is burning. It’s amazing. It sits on the altar along side the confused tapered candles. They love being so tall, reaching for the heavens, and yet cry out to be burned. “Make me beautiful! So I can one day burn for the gods”. Through their burning comes their own recognition and understanding, and with each light, they in fact, become more grounded and peaceful. Then the day comes when their beauty is but a remnant on their own altar, and it is only their light that continues to be embraced and remembered.
But for now, they are enjoying their contribution to the greater altar with the aloewood, which is still burning. The smoke is dancing across perhaps the most important piece, the sacrifice. I’m not sure what people mean when they say it was “meant to be”, but sometimes Tiger tells me it is so. They could be speaking directly to their spirits who are letting them know of the truths, or maybe they are just trusting that whatever happens, happens for a reason. More often then not, I think people are referring to the fact that that one action, has lead to something else that is better and so it was meant to be. I’d hate to think that Tiger was a sacrifice “meant to be” for that reason, but perhaps I’m wrong. I like to believe that it was meant to be, because everything was meant to be.
And so Tiger sits, adorned, loved, and comfortable on his altar. After a long conversation on the bed (where he used to rest) with the Dog, he ran into a brutal accident that left his beautiful maine (Tiger is a Lion) cut short, and the back of his neck slightly torn open. Some of his stuffing still remains missing, but we try not to hold onto the past and materialistic things like that. So now Tiger gets the honor of resting in a safe and sacred spot. Sometimes he likes to flicker his tail in happiness, other times he rather enjoys the light and views from the altar. He never really took himself as one for introspection or long and silent thought, like some of his other friends; but now that the time and space has come to him, he is taking it into consideration. And just perhaps, it was meant to be.
And so the aloewood burns, alongside the glowing candles, as Tiger sits and thinks about nothing.
And so the aloewood is burning. It’s amazing. It sits on the altar along side the confused tapered candles. They love being so tall, reaching for the heavens, and yet cry out to be burned. “Make me beautiful! So I can one day burn for the gods”. Through their burning comes their own recognition and understanding, and with each light, they in fact, become more grounded and peaceful. Then the day comes when their beauty is but a remnant on their own altar, and it is only their light that continues to be embraced and remembered.
But for now, they are enjoying their contribution to the greater altar with the aloewood, which is still burning. The smoke is dancing across perhaps the most important piece, the sacrifice. I’m not sure what people mean when they say it was “meant to be”, but sometimes Tiger tells me it is so. They could be speaking directly to their spirits who are letting them know of the truths, or maybe they are just trusting that whatever happens, happens for a reason. More often then not, I think people are referring to the fact that that one action, has lead to something else that is better and so it was meant to be. I’d hate to think that Tiger was a sacrifice “meant to be” for that reason, but perhaps I’m wrong. I like to believe that it was meant to be, because everything was meant to be.
And so Tiger sits, adorned, loved, and comfortable on his altar. After a long conversation on the bed (where he used to rest) with the Dog, he ran into a brutal accident that left his beautiful maine (Tiger is a Lion) cut short, and the back of his neck slightly torn open. Some of his stuffing still remains missing, but we try not to hold onto the past and materialistic things like that. So now Tiger gets the honor of resting in a safe and sacred spot. Sometimes he likes to flicker his tail in happiness, other times he rather enjoys the light and views from the altar. He never really took himself as one for introspection or long and silent thought, like some of his other friends; but now that the time and space has come to him, he is taking it into consideration. And just perhaps, it was meant to be.
And so the aloewood burns, alongside the glowing candles, as Tiger sits and thinks about nothing.
Friday, July 2, 2010
The Introduction of Monkey
Monkey sits up with the crystals. Other people can sit with them too, but they all agree that Monkey likes sitting up with them the most. He would argue, if he had to, that his arms were longer than the rest, and thus he offers the best protection for them. But that isn’t really necessary. He’s allowed to sit up there are he pleases.
The crystals come from a magical place that is often depicted on beer bottles and used as templates for murals on town walls that promise adventure. It’s an ever changing landscape that melts through thickets of treachery, winding into burlesque trees with deep roots of consciousness, always giving way to a small summit of light. Or so Monkey was told.
Some would miss it. Most do. Those that have come to achieve see the summit as it’s own reward. Never did they think it would lead the way to something much more magical. For magic to them is nonsense; an immaterial goal told in folk lore that kept children happy and monsters at bay. Of course, they still believe in the monsters. Everyone does. That’s why Monkey serves as protector.
But as for the crystals, they can only be found by following the light at the summit.
Crystals are always found long before they could ever be recognized. Monkey doesn’t know this. So he protects the lasting material essence of what once was, and basks in his glory of today. And we all love Monkey for that.
The crystals come from a magical place that is often depicted on beer bottles and used as templates for murals on town walls that promise adventure. It’s an ever changing landscape that melts through thickets of treachery, winding into burlesque trees with deep roots of consciousness, always giving way to a small summit of light. Or so Monkey was told.
Some would miss it. Most do. Those that have come to achieve see the summit as it’s own reward. Never did they think it would lead the way to something much more magical. For magic to them is nonsense; an immaterial goal told in folk lore that kept children happy and monsters at bay. Of course, they still believe in the monsters. Everyone does. That’s why Monkey serves as protector.
But as for the crystals, they can only be found by following the light at the summit.
Crystals are always found long before they could ever be recognized. Monkey doesn’t know this. So he protects the lasting material essence of what once was, and basks in his glory of today. And we all love Monkey for that.
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