Out of the Darkness|Episode 9

A Series of Vignettes

On the Soul’s Journey to Freedom


Create

It was like there was a little bug in her ear, wigglin’ around, whisperin’ things. Like she never really had a chance to know what she really thought about stuff. Just listenin’ to the little bug, chattin’ away about this or that.

She didn’t know how she got him. Seemed he’d been with her for as long as she could remember. She knew there were some times when she was a kid when he hadn’t been there. Time when she had been drawing or blissfully swinging. She’d used to love swinging. She loved it now in fact, just never remembered to do it. Or, she was plagued by little ones wanting her to push them on their respective swings whenever she did. And, something about the feet… There wasn’t enough room for her feet. Each pump she had to bring back the little bug and think about her feet or they would scrape the ground unpleasantly.

That was pretty much the story of her life: never enough room for her.  The trouble had started when she was five. She and her brother had been sent to kindergarten together. He was older, she quite young, for kindergarten that is, but her mother thought she was bright and would be able to keep up. She did. She kept up wonderfully. That was the trouble.

Her older brother DIDN’T keep up. His genius was different. He needed to run and play and express all the energy of the massive divinity that created the wild and vast outdoors we so enjoy the edges of. His was to run and jump and feel. His was to touch and kick and roll around in the pleasantness of all of creation. His was not to sit in a room listening at one person, verbally muzzled, painfully tied to six inches of pencil, required to create on a measly 8 inches of man made paper. His palette was the earth and his tools were hung from the sky. He knew the world was his playground and he deeply resented this new life of constraints. They had taken his expression, they had taken his joy, and they squeezed him each day into this box of a room called kindergarten, conscripted to a lack of activity that pressed the very breath from his body.

He would not suffer it, though. He was a powerful little man in the making and he would not let them crush him. He fought. He tossed the leash of a pencil away. He longed for his tools hanging free in the sky. Now he could now only catch glimpses of them through the bars of windows. His hands dropped the pencil angrily and moved to take up the tools of his earth. His eyes flashed their lightening so brightly that the room could no longer hold him.

And he was sent home from kindergarten.

No one told him he was bigger than that room. No one told him the world was his school. No one told him that a man in front of a class wouldn’t drive his success; that his heart was too big to be reined in with the masses. No one told him of his kingly crown that burst him out of those cold dark walls, or of the beauty of the art that would come from his freedom. No one told him.

There was only what was said, leaving deep ruts in his heart in spite of being spoken only in whispered tones: “He CAN’T sit still, he ISN’T ready, he WON’T follow, he’s NOT ABLE to conform.” All of these grand shows of the great divinity within him, were not celebrated but were negated and the negative words expressing the lies were let to rain down upon his spirit and slowly crush it inside of that horrible room. The wafts of conversations drifted to where he put his creativity to work and lighted upon his soul… “Can’t,” “not ready,” “isn’t able to”… And it seeped in.

The pain of his pressing was as a slow dying.  The creative life of divinity is hard to press out. It takes years, and at first, there is much protest. The earliest of his protests began with her. Her divinity expressed neatly through a pen and paper. Hers was calm and demure. Hers did not seek to create massive structure through the glory of the bigness of the world.  No, hers went inward, it looked at the heart. It took what was and wanted to see the smallest parts of it. Hers was heightened to get smaller and smaller and smaller. Just as the quantum scientist hardly moves seeing the tiny and the astronaut hardly stops as he readies for his expansion, so vastly different were he and she in the expression of their divinity. Kindergarten provided a way for her to go deeper, to study, to dive, to put together the pieces of her paintings in new ways, to capture the world she loved in brilliant new colors, it opened a vibrant door to expressing all that her heart loved.

And so, she was his first battleground. Why had his brush and palette been taken away while hers been expanded?  Why was he left without tools and she given more than she could imagine?

The power of his creation went straight to work. He would prove to the world that this was not right. He would show everyone that HIS tools were of value. And so began the perpetual demeaning. The loss of friendship that had been so dear to her heart. As he fought to show that he was of value his words so often struck out against Her. His life breath being pressed slowly out of him shouted out his own value by cutting down hers.

He was a child. He did not know that there was divine creation within both of them. He only knew what he could feel and that was the hard weight of “can’ts” and “won’ts” being relegated to his corner whilst she was showered with beauty and expression in her corner. And he cried out, “That isn’t everything! That isn’t value!”  His cries were for his own preservation but he was young. He didn’t know to say that both of them were valued. He only knew to fight to define that what her value was not HIS. They pressed him and pressed him. Trying to get him to dress in the clothing of her dearest expression. And he fought and screamed that her expression was nothing. And it was. Nothing to him. Nothing but a trap, a painful iron cage for a beautiful roaming king of the plain.   He was meant for the sun, he was meant for the land. He would find his power in the open freedom of fresh air. And he cried out for it by condemning the tools she was given. His strained gasps for the air of his life seemed to spew out acid and burn her in their struggle. And so they were broken.  The sweet fellowship of what had been dissipated into his desperate struggle to communicate his value. He was deeply misunderstood. And she was deeply hurt.

From a five year old’s perspective the constant shouting that her newly treasured tools were a failure, that her success was not of value, that the beauty of the paintings she now created with these tools were not all there was in the world seared her heart with a hot iron. She was rejected, as she was the banner that was held up for him to show that these tools were a success. With all his power and will he rejected that banner. The tools they gave her were not enough for him and he translated that to just: not enough. There was not enough room for her in his world. There was not enough of how she expressed, of how she created. And as he rightly rejected the not enough-ness of her tools, he also rejected HER.

Suddenly, there was no room for the person that she was in the heart of the one who had even so dear to her. Suddenly she was pushed away with every struggling breath trying to save itself. Suddenly the treasures that she was given were shamed and seemed to now hold the power, not only to create beauty but also to destroy relationships. Suddenly it was crushed. Her own genius had the effect of lashes of a whip struck upon the tender heart of the one she cared most. And there was not enough room for her. Every joy in which she basked, in the expansion afforded her with the new tools; each was an added weight to his burden. Every success pressed harder on the very lies that were sucking his breath away. And he lashed back, he screamed, he jabbed and poked. “This is not important!” He would cry out, for it was killing his own expression to be boxed into her same box. But she did not know he needed no box. She only knew that what she was no longer of value. When she expanded it pushed away the dearest heart she had known.

Her feet not fitting between the swing and the earth then seemed somehow comfortable now. There hadn’t been room for her expression for a long, long time. The way her own heart expanded had not been life giving to those around her since she was very little, hardly able to process much of anything. But she had been processing. Processing, processing, processing.

And now when there was not enough room for her expansion she yielded to it. She had lost what was most precious to her, her dear sweet childhood playmate, her sibling, her pal. She would lose nothing more. When she looked longingly at new tools for her own expansion she would shy away. Perhaps reach out and touch them, perhaps create a luscious stroke or two, but when that old feeling of delight wells up in her soul she would recoil in fear. Would this beauty of expression too take the life away from those she cared about most?  She would quickly put the new brushes down and shuffle away seeking to protect those around her even as she now felt the weight of creation pressing down upon her.

They had both lost.  His tools were taken by force as he was caged into the iron locks of “normal. ”  And hers had been yielded willingly, hidden or given up quietly in order to preserve anything that might have been left of the sweetness of fellowship. Their pain was perpetual. Neither creating. Neither breathing easy. Neither expressing the glory they were made for.

And so she listened. She listened to the bug she had in her ear. “You can’t do that.” “You never have been able to.” “You aren’t enough.” “It never works out, does it.” “It’s just a fail.” “Never enough.” “It may look good but it will bite you.” “Just leave it.” “Abandon it.” “Don’t try to do that.”  “It’s a fail anyway.”

She was tired of the bug. She wanted it out. She wanted her power back. She wanted to create.

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Out of the Darkness|Episode 8

A Series of Vignettes

On the Soul’s Journey to Freedom


Jeana loved it here.  It always brought the best out in her.  The singing, the dancing, the colors twirling around.  Her phone buzzed in her picket.  She sighed.  how could she think of going back home just when things were picking up so well here.

She played with the idea of not picking up.
“Hello?”  The phone sputtered and spat and released the call back into the abyss of the space that is the heavens.  It was gone.
“Whew!”
“That was a close one.”
She sighed another big sigh.  This time with relief.
Joe meant well.  He cared for her.  He did genuinely miss her.  A third sigh.  How, she wondered, could she feel so happily disconnected to such a wonderful person?  She had everything she needed handed to her, practically upon a silver platter.  And here, the provider of that silver platter calls and she hopes she’ll be disconnected.  Man, she was in a weird place.
**                  **                  **
The phone buzzed and no one’s beloved voice came on.  Disconnected again.  It was as if she was purposely hiding in a thick cement bunker to avoid him.  Oh ya- that’s how he had felt while she was standing right in front of him.
How had he thought this Belgium trip would be any different?  He let out a long sigh of relief.  Maybe now she’d realize it.  Maybe now she would see that all her demands were just poppycock – made up in her head – crazy talking.  Maybe she would finally let him take her to get checked.  He sighed again.
Oh, the journey.

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Out of the Darkness|Episode 7

A Series of Vignettes

On the Soul’s Journey to Freedom


 

She enjoyed the feeling of the leather on the steering wheel as she cruised to a stop in front of her mailbox.  The children were anxious to get back into the outdoors after the long car ride and she turned to confirm their wish to escape their boosters and suck up the sunshine could be fulfilled.  The twin girls laughed and giggled at each other as the boys jostled their way out onto the driveway.  She leaned out and pulled open the mailbox.

Ah! Just what she loved to get.  This looked like no less than three checks… and… what could be in that fourth official looking letter?  Her lips turned up in a smile in anticipation and she joined the girls in a happy giggle.
And then there was that wonderful idea Danny had had to put that little trash bin beside the mailbox.  What joy her heart felt as she tossed out the weekly flyers of junk which never ceased.  “Goodbye”, her heart sang to each piece with the fling.  It was minuscule but it changed her life never having to bring a piece of mailed trash into her home.  She felt lighter with each flick of her wrist into the trash bin.
Her last flick yielded a pile of letters on the passenger seat and she eased what remained of the family down the driveway in front of the house. How she loved the sight of her dear blue house.
She tucked the mail under her arm and piled out to unload the twins.  They seemed oblivious to her as she toted them inside. The soft breeze brushed her bangs back as she walked up the covered path to the front door.  Her heart was home.
“Macie!” she called out as soon as she had set the girls down, “We’re home.”  Though she knew dear Macie was certainly aware of their arrival.  The boys had let the whole neighborhood know as soon as they had bailed from the car.  Apparently, the whoops of cowboys and Indians were still fresh on their brains from the living history day they’d just been entrenched in.  She hoped Macie had enjoyed her 1/2 day off.  She would certainly make up for it tonight.  So lucky the food was almost completely prepared already.  Now, just to lay it out and put on the finishing touches.
Guests would arrive in a few hours so they had plenty of time.  Macie’s soft french accent called from her bedroom, “did you find everything?”  “Oh yes…”  Sarah joyfully relayed along with all the instructions of where what was supposed to go as Macie made her way to the door to fetch the all those what’s for the where’s.
While Macie was gone, Sarah picked up Chloe to feed her.  She never tired of feeding these little girls.  Which was good since breastfeeding twin girls without any supplementing was quite an event.  She relished every moment though.  Even now, little Chloe nuzzled in for her early dinner and she could not take her eyes off her.  What a treasure to her mothering instincts to be able to feed these loves.  Such troubles she’d had with the boys.
Oh, but this was so different.  Her heart was so soft now.  Nothing could have swayed her from sharing all this love.  Even if she’d not been able to produce all the liquid gold their chubby little fingers needed to maintain their marshmallow effect… she would have been happy.  She could not be enticed these days to sink into those depths that had persuaded her to lose herself then.  No, she was happy… “Oh!” that reminded her of those letters she had dropped in the entry when she came in.
“Macie, dear, could you toss me those letters please?”  Macie had the ability to somehow make even the throwing of a bunch of letters toward a nursing mom nestled in a queen size bean bag seem somehow like a ballet.  They all landed neatly within arms reach and their allure played it’s music upon Sarah’s fingers as she eagerly opened them.
Check.  Check.  Check.  Golly!  She loved this.  And, what would this official one be… She gently tore it open, her fingers plying the strangely folded envelope.  It was one of those tear-open types, where the perforation is on the outside…  She unfolded it and searched for the identifying words.  A gasp escaped her lips and the baby jumped just a little with her excitement.
“What!?”  She was a winner!  Was this for real?  Is this just one of those sweepstakes things… no, wait… here was the ticket number… yes, she HAD entered that raffle last month… What???  Golly a trip to Scotland!  Yep, that HAD been one of the prizes.  Wow!  She couldn’t wait to tell Danny.  Wasn’t this just her luck.  Oh what fun!  She had always wanted to visit Scotland…and now… Wow.
She nuzzled in to Chloe’s soft hair and felt the wonder that her life always left her with.
Ahhhhh… Love.

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Out of the Darkness|Episode 6

A Series of Vignettes

On the Soul’s Journey to Freedom


 

Her hand trembled slightly though she knew there was nothing wrong. She grasped around in her head looking for something to calm this flutter that would not silence. Darkness.  All she saw was nothingness surrounded by an easily all powerful purple light. It shone its glory over everything.
Wait… That was it, the darkness was only light shining so brightly that nothing could be seen. She didn’t need to find the reason. She just needed to feel it. Why should her hands stop shaking? Why should she calm the flutter?  Was it wrong to be so completely engulfed in love that it shook your extremities as though you had run a marathon?
Just because it was unfamiliar didn’t mean it had to stop. It felt like heaven to shake like an aspen tree when her heart remembered his touch. The warm flow of purple light which flooded her every waking moment washed over her with so much power it was almost uncomfortable.
It had been so long. She had stopped even hoping for this feeling. She had stopped dreaming that someday she would be overcome with passion again. She had given up hope that he would possess her soul again.  She had given up hope that her other half would live once again.
Her brain searched her head again. The trembling. The purple glow seemed to shiver down the length of her body like a serpent wrapping tightly. No part of her escaped. The tenderest of parts were most affected. She quaked with desire. Within the serpent of illumined love the fire of desire burned hot within her.
Nothing gave. Nothing eased up. Nothing made sense.
She.
Was in love.

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Out of the Darkness|Episode 5

A Series of Vignettes

On the Soul’s Journey to Freedom


There it was again!  A knock.  Gosh, her heart jumped.  Who could it be?  Why were they here in the middle of the night?  Her arm subconsciously reached over to see if he was beside her.

Her heart sank.  Damn it!  Well, maybe it was just him coming home.  But then, he did always bang on the door when he was too drunk to open it.  And it was always accompanied by the familiar slurred words mashing together into the nothingness that was so close to what she felt her life was.

No, this was not him.  The knocks were clear and precise, with a pause in between that would only come from an entirely sober being waiting patiently for some reply.

Again.  Knock, knock, knock.  Maybe if she pretended she hadn’t woken …they would go away.  Maybe it would all just be a bad dream and she would wake up from it.

The baby cried in the other room.  Now there was no escape.  She couldn’t leave him, he wasn’t a go-back-to-sleep baby.  No, Little Andrew was Joe’s son from head to toe.  The knockers would soon know everyone in this house was wide awake.

Her heart sank.  She got up and trudged to the baby’s room.  She stopped by the bathroom to pull her robe off the hook as the knock sounded again.

“I’m coming.”  She called out with no sense of urgency at all.  Yes, she was coming.  She always came.

“Creeeeak.”  The door spoke after the grind of the deadbolt took its turn.

“Mrs. Joseph Hinlight?”

“Yes…” She felt her heart slump down with the news she half desired, always expected and never wanted to hear.

“There’s been an accident, Mrs. Hinlight.  Could you come with us?  It’s your husband.”

A tiny ray of light seemed to catch the corner of something.  Was this hope?  Did she seriously just hope that they indeed would say the worst news of all?  Was she truly so out of control of her life that she was tingling with excitement that another human being may be dead?  She cringed and hoped at the same time.  It felt so good to think that perhaps, he would never slur his madness at her again, and, so bad to think that she was actually hoping the one she’d pledged her life to, had made his transition off the planet.

The hope turned to something else.  Hope…yes, that was continued within it, but this something else was different.  This was hope tinged with control.  This was hope not in another, but in the possibility that perhaps… just maybe, things could be different.  Not because Joe was gone, but maybe because she could do something.

Was this HER?  Feeling like there was a way?

The baby smiled up at her and she absently stepped behind the officers.  It didn’t matter.  She would be okay.

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