Signposts

I have this constant battle going on in my mind.  I fight it all the time. Fear likes to ride me like a prize pony. That makes me angry. When I'm angry I rebel. Hard. I have been angry with fear for a long time.
Now, when fear comes calling I invite it in for a chat. I interrogate it. Why? Because fear is FULL of useful information. Fear is like a big, vegas bright, neon sign. It's an arrow at the crossroads saying "Go This Way!"
I've been afraid before and I know how paralyzing it can be. But when you're so scared of making a mistake that you make nothing at all then that is a problem.
When God said be fruitful and replenish the earth I don't think he was just talking about making babies. I believe the God of creation was talking about CREATING! I think he was talking about taking whatever gift you have and planting it, wherever the soil is most fertile. Whether you're a scientist working to unravel the mysteries of the universe, or a teacher striving to mold young minds. Or even if you're a regular everyday person faced with deciding how to reveal your feelings to your crush. You just can't let fear take you over. Living in fear is not living at all, because you die every time you back down. Every. Single. Time.
So, if you're scared, follow that signpost. Life is too short to wonder what's at the end of the road. Travel it and find out!

Is It Me???

AAAAAAAAARRRRRGGHHHH!!!!!!!!

Why does this keep happening to me?  Hollywood is inside my head.  They've micro-chipped me and are listening to my ideas....and I'm not getting PAID!!!!

I have a problem with this!  OK, a bit of background information is in order.

I was in the ninth grade when America went to war.  I found out about Operation Desert Storm in my English class.  Ms. Kimble, my English teacher, made the announcement halfway through class.  It took a moment for the information to settle in.  For a while all you could hear was the ticking of her clock.  This was the perhaps the loudest clock in the history of timepieces!  I would always tell my friends that it sounded like a time bomb waiting to explode.  It was the cause of much anxiety during test time.  After hearing the news of military upheaval, every tick was like a doom bell ringing.  Adding to this anxiety was the fact that my father was in Guam on business.  His return home was delayed because of the kick-off of the Gulf War.

To sum up: the country is at war, daddy isn't coming home, and there's a clock that sounds like a bomb in my English class.  How do I cope?  Well, OBVIOUSLY, I write a story about terrorists taking over our school and the student body having to fight free!  DUH!!!

So, I'm feeling pretty good about how my story is turning out.  Then, in 1991 two things happen: The Gulf war ends and the movie Toy Soldiers comes out.  The only reason I even remember this movie is because of its premise.  Can you guess what the premise was?  That's right.  Terrorists attack a school and students fight their way to freedom.

Sigh.

I took it all in stride and joked about Hollywood stealing my idea but, of course, I was outraged.  How could this have happened?  It is impossible that anyone can have the same idea!  (Yes, I'm laughing at myself.)  However, this did give me hope that I may have the right mind to one day tell stories on a grand scale!

A pattern began to form with me.  I would watch movies and just KNOW what was going to happen. I choose to believe this is because I am something of a "savant" when it comes to movies and NOT because the movies were predictable! I will not be dissuaded of this notion and I'll thank you to allow me to continue on in my delusions.  This isn't just with movies, though.

If you know the Harry Potter story, then you'll understand what I'm about to tell you.  And if you don't know the Harry Potter story, SPOILER ALERT and remind me to rethink our relationship because I'm not sure why we're friends.

Here is a list of things I knew would happen before they happened because this is the way I would have written it (in no particular order):
1.  Severus Snape was in love with Lily.
2.  Severus Snape was a hero.
3.  Dumbledore planned his own death.
4.  Harry was a horcrux....THEREFORE
5.  Harry Potter Had. To. Die.  (Although, I would have left him dead, I still loved the way it ended.)

I called each of these things and they ALL happened.  It is as if the world bends to my will!  If only I could get PAID FOR IT!

Alas, it is happening all over again.

Allow me the arrogance to think that you have been reading my blog and remember my short story "Boy Meets...?"  If you haven't you should give it a read.  It's short, I'll wait here..................................

Great, so now you've read it.  A neat little idea, right?  By no means original, (Pygmalion anyone?) but still a neat little nugget of an idea that has great potential.

Enter Ruby Sparks: A Movie.  This is the preview:

AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Am I doomed to repeat this pattern?  Am I tuned to some specific movie-makers frequency?  Is there no end to this theft and humiliation? And, perhaps most importantly, HOW can a sister get paid!?!!!???  As GOD IS MY WITNESS I will get credit for my ideas!!  I SWEAR I will beat Hollywood to the punch ONE DAY!

Zombies!

I'm resurrecting some things
Once dead things
Turning them, making them living
Living things
Inside my head
Want out
So they bang
And they beat on the walls
Make the floors shake
Make my head ache
Beg me to reincarnate them
From the gray matter grave
They're rotting in.
Let the apocalypse begin.

Writing Challenge for Speculative Faith!

This was incredibly fun!  I don't usually do writing challenges (probably some perverse fear that I'll need prayer and therapy for in the future!) but I couldn't resist this one.

I came across it on www.speculativefaith.com, a website dedicated specifically to Christian Science Fiction and Fantasy.  They gave the first sentence and you had 100 - 200 words to come up with a short story.  There were some really intriguing submissions!  Below is mine. Enjoy!

No matter how Amos tilted his head or scrunched his eyes, he couldn’t see past the growing shadow that obscured the distant mountains and the road that led to them.

“You’re going to ride into that?”

“Directly.”  Valentin leaned forward in his saddle, almost reaching for the gloom.

“Are you mad,” Amos asked.

“A little, yes.  But that’s beside the point.”  Amos shook his head.

“Why in the name of Ori are we doing this?”

“I’m the Beacon, Amos.  Stepping into the scary dark place is my job.  No one needs a torch in the daylight.  Although…,” he paused.  “I can’t for the life of me figure out why you’re going in there.”  His eyes twinkled and the corners of his mouth quirked.

“Right. Like I’m going to let you come back with all the heroic tales. No sir, not after the last time!”

“Is it my fault that you hid in a tree the whole time?”

“There were snakes! EVERYWHERE!”

“Well come on then!”  Valentin spurred his horse forward.  “Do try to keep up,” he called over his shoulder.

“Sometimes I really hate you,” Amos yelled and urged his horse to catch up to Valentin.  So this was his life now, riding with the Beacon into darkness again and again.  Still, it could be worse. There could be darkness AND snakes.  “Please, Ori. Let it just be darkness this time?”

Hide and Seek

I found myself
Between the lines of your song
Never met me
But knew the truth of me
All along
And told it in each word of your song
I am an honest mistake
A malicious blessing
The truth wearing a lie
Trying to hide
I learned that from you
You sang me
Just like one of your tunes
I wasn't real
Until the music you made
Made me.

Untitled.

I don't really have anyone to talk to. That makes for a lonely existence.

Boy Meets....?

"A Short Story." ~This is what I hope to achieve with all stories I tell.

Tom was writing the “Great American Novel”.  He hunched over the well-worn journal, sitting in an empty park as the morning sun warmed the page on which he wrote.  His hero had, so far, come of age and was about to meet the Girl.  His one true love would be the girl next door, of course.  She would be the girl who helped him up after the playground bully pushed him off the swing in elementary school.  The girl who always smiled and waved in high school, even though he was a hopeless, awkward, bespectacled goof.  She was the girl who would meet him by purest chance after he became a confident young man, and she would admit to always having liked him, but never being brave enough to speak up.  Yes.  He was well on his way to capturing the hearts of his readers.  He was certain of it, and quite lost in that thought when he heard a laugh.

She had a laugh that was like the laugh of many children.  You could almost hear gleeful 5 year olds giggling without control.  He loved her laugh.  He had never heard her or met her before.  But he loved her laugh.  She seemed so familiar to him. Everything about her evoked a memory he held dear and treasured inside him.  Her hand was like the bedroom in the house where he grew up.  Like the lake where his father took he and his brother fishing.

The curve of her neck, so like the sun-dappled path through the woods behind his house.  The path where he would ride his bike to his secret hiding place among the trees.  Her hair was very like the dark that descended when he had seen his first movie and sat quivering with excitement at the wonders on the screen.  Her eyes gave him the comfort and jolt of his first morning cup of coffee.  The one drug he could never learn to do without.

She had simply appeared in front of him.  One moment he was madly scribbling the latest addition to his story, lost in his created world.  The next he was looking up at her and feeling the most acute sense of déjà vu he had ever experienced.  He was gob smacked.  His lips moved, but no words came.  She laughed again.  This time it was more mature.  It was more like ocean waves washing up onto the shore and over his feet as he walked towards the setting sun.

He should know her, he thought, as she sat down, leaving only a whisper of space between them.  He breathed in the scent of her and was reminded of summer days in the backyard spent sipping honeysuckles the way Clara had shown him.  Clever Clara, who always knew the best way to waste a day.

“Hello,” she said.  He heard birdsong when she spoke.

“Hello,” he managed to say through the nostalgic haze he was in.  He tried desperately to pin her face to a specific place in his memory, tried and failed.  “I’m Tom.”  He held out his hand.  She looked down at it the same small smile on her face.

For a while she just looked at the offered hand, then took it and turned it over.  She examined his palm, pressing her fingertips to the little ink stains that always seemed to find their way onto his hand when writing.  When she touched him a strange feeling crept over him.  It began as wonder, and as the contact continued, became anticipation; a sort of maddening tension.  Just before she let go the feeling stole around his heart with soft gentle arms and squeezed.  He gave a slight gasp.  When she let go the feeling lessened but did not disappear.

“Who are you?” he blurted.  He was befuddled by her, even more by his reaction to her.  Not attraction, really, but definitely connection.

“I don’t have a title yet,” she said.  Tom didn’t understand what she meant.  But right now he didn’t understand anything.  She was like no one and nothing he had ever experienced.  And yet she was altogether comfortable and familiar to him.  Where had they met?  How had they interacted?  That he couldn’t remember was driving him crazy.  Yet, she seemed wholly content to sit with him in silence.

“Where did you come from?”  The question was rhetorical of course, more for him than anything else.  But as she gazed at him with dark eyes, now seemingly filled with a galaxy of stars, he knew she would answer him.

“You,” she said simply, and tapped the journal in his lap.  She looked around, surveying the park.  “What should we do next?”

Tom looked at the book in his lap.  As he tried to make sense of what she said his eyes fell on the last sentence he had written.

It said: “What should we do next?”

Arrival

I've done it. I've gotten to that point in my life where I finally speak up. Without humor, without apology, I will open my mouth and say I will not be treated this way.

I will not be abused and dismissed. I will not let you use me up. I've reached the point where I dig in my heels and say I will not move another inch. I give no more ground to the likes of you. I give you no more peace, no more peace of mind. I give you no more. Never again.

I have arrived.

Motherhood and The Terminator

Sometimes motherhood hurts. I don't usually open up about this, but sometimes it just... it sucks. I joke about it all the time, but like most comedy, my jokes are born from pain. Make no mistake, I love my child fiercely and would kill anyone who threatened her without pity or remose.
However, raising a child is by far the hardest job in the world. It is even more difficult when you know your child is destined for greatness.

I'm not talking about the mundane vanities every parent has regarding their child. I get that. Every parent has that right, but what I'm talking about goes deeper than that. There is a greatness of purpose that just hovers over some children. A burden of purpose that means your child doesn't belong to you but to the world at large.

The burden of that responsibility can wear a person down after a while. The parent must always be on guard and watchful that the purpose is not polluted.  The parents job becomes twofold.  You must, not only raise your child, but now you must groom them as well.

You have to become Sarah Connor.

Yeah, I pretty much relate most of my life's learning to something I've seen in a movie. I'm a geek like that. But bear with me. I have a point.

Sarah knew from the very beginning what her son's purpose was. She knew what he was meant to do: Be a leader, save the world. She knew and acted accordingly.

She is the embodiment of "train up a child". She prepared him for the coming war. So much so, that she was deemed crazy and institutionalized because of it. I feel myself going down this same crazed path!

Don't worry, I'm not teaching her how to build sniper rifles...yet.

Yet, I do feel this weight of purpose. I believe in her greatness so much so that it seems to become a barrier between she and I.  She doesn't believe like I believe. And you know what? It's okay. Because I believe enough for the both of us.

It is very hard and it is often painful. I've never heard a parent say this but I'm going to be truthful here: sometimes your kids can really hurt you.

My daughter is going through a phase of questioning and contradicting every single word that comes out of my mouth. I don't know why or when it will end, but there it is. My ten year old does not trust that I have the intelligence that God gave a gnat. Which is kind of hurtful because I've always prided myself on my acquisition of useful information.

Yes. I can already hear most of you saying that this is a phase all children go through. Yet, I have never seen any child take to it with as much...DETERMINATION.

I am trying my best to cultivate the seed God planted. I am trying to groom her for the destiny I see in her, but everything, including my child, is fighting against it. Herein lies my struggle.

John Connor hated his mother. But eventually he understood her methods and her mania and her training saved him and saved the world.  At least in fiction anyway.

Halfway There

It's been a while since I posted anything here.  But I needed to take a moment and celebrate a milestone.  I've been working on my book for a few years now.  Last night I reached a milestone.  I've made it to the halfway point in the completion of my first book.

I learned that this is a marathon not a sprint.  I know because I tried sprinting and I never found a finish line.  I tried to force it, finagle it, flim flam it and rush it.  Nothing doing.  The magic won't be rushed.  The magic won't be bullied.  I've found that magic happens when you show up, when you bring your brain to the party and give it over to the dilemma.  The magic is hidden in the puzzle.  The magic is at the center of the labyrinth.  You will make wrong turns.  You will double back. You will get lost, then found, then lost again on this journey.  Whatever you do, don't stop.  Please.  Don't. Stop.

My Favorite Number!

Plastic Nameplates

Hiya folks!  So I'd like to get this free gift and get something for Lindsay, so I posted this link on my blog for FREE STUFF!

Free is my favorite number!

STOP IT!!!

"Here, here now. Don't Cry. You raised your hand for the assignment." ~Mother by Tori Amos

"I am the Lord, your God. There's majesty and splendor 'round about Me. It's very sad, but true, that very often your faith fails you and you doubt Me." ~The Job Experience by Mali Music

Confession time: I HATE COMPLAINERS!
Confession pt. 2: I complain BITTERLY and Constantly.

Yeah, I know it's hypocritical. Me and God are dealing with me. 
I've noticed something among my peers.  We have a very "children of Israel" mentality.  We piss and moan about our current state, we beg and plead with God for change.  When change comes we PISS AND MOAN About that TOO!!!!! 

STOP THAT CRAP!!!!

How is it that we can get EXACTLY what we ask for and NEVER EVER be satisfied???  Are we that empty?  Are we that CHILDISH?  God has blessed us with abundance, He's called down plagues on our oppressors, He led us to freedom and promise, sustaining us all the while.  WHAT MORE DO WE NEED???????? 

We have it all, yet STILL the complaints come.  You want guidance but you don't like where you're led. You want money, but you don't like the job.  You raise your hand and say "Here I am, Lord!  SEND ME!" but you throw a tantrum when you get your walking papers.  What gives you the right to dictate how God does ANYTHING????  Who do you think you are???  Seriously?

Just....please....just stop.

Fatness and Food

I have come to the conclusion that if you put Brie cheese on anything....ANYTHING I will consume it without remorse.  Lady Gaga better NEVER wear a brie dress in my presence. That'll be the LAST you hear of her. TRUST.  (This statement is also true of Bacon.)

I've noticed that average (thin) people sometimes speak to overweight people as if the larger person didn't KNOW they were fat!!!  Like, WHY are you whispering to me about food and heart attacks???? Ooooohh wait...I'm FAT????!!!??  OH MY GOD!!!  CALL AN AMBULANCE!!!!!  DO MY PARENTS KNOW???

Let me explain something to my thinner brethren: sometimes a cupcake is the only thing standing between me and outright HOMICIDE.  Trust me. I'm performing a public service.

soooo...um...yeah.  that's all for today!

Trying to Live Ferrari Dreams on a Pinto Budget

Ok. I admit it. I have a problem. I hate hate HATE being poor. I hate not having the time or money to do whatever my heart desires. I've had this problem for a long time. On the low....I've always been about the money.  This makes me sad. But it's also reality.  We need cash to survive in this life.  We need cash to play the games we want to play.  Without cash I feel very LEFT OUT!  I feel like I can't participate in life, in the living and ENJOYING of life the way I really want to.  Why? Because I don't have the money to go to the movies, or out to dinner, or to buy a pair of shoes (although I FIND a way for shoes!), or a cute dress, or even a FREAKING BOOK!  sheesh.  We need money in this life.  We need it to grease the wheels and sometimes make our dreams reality.  I feel like this lack is just another link in the chain that's holding me down. I have BIG dreams and BIG ideas but my pockets don't line up!  It's one of those "laugh to keep from crying" situations.

Sigh. Ok.  That was my rant.  I'll get back to living now. Thanks for listening.

What if...?

This is a bit racy.  Just forewarning, because it's out of the norm of things I usually post.

 

We meet, and what ifs fill my head.  What if I were not me, unencumbered, free. But I am none of these things. I see the question cross in your eyes and it dances in my mind. What if….  I could touch you, hold you, have you?  What if…you could have me?

If simply wanting made things so, then I have held you and had you a thousand times, a million ways, a trillion days.  You have been mine, if wanting you was having you.  But desire and yearning, I am learning, do not always lead to possessing.  So, as the question of carnality dances in your eyes and across my skin, I feel my answer rise to the top of my mind.

I would think.  I would think long and hard about you.  About touching you, feeling you feel me.  I would enjoy the idea of lips and tongue and playful teeth tangled together; of fingers twisted into hair, passionately pulling.  Of weak, shaking legs filled with a lover’s waist, and the taste of sweat salted skin.  I would.  

I would think about you having me, and me having you.  I would think about you for as long as it took for the thought of you to send me star bound.  Then, when I spiraled down and came back to myself, back to my senses, I would walk away from you.  I’d keep the thought and leave the man behind.

You are beautiful and exquisite, brilliant and lovely.  You burned so brightly I was almost blinded.  But you are incredibly expensive.  You exist in a museum; a display of magnificence and artistic achievement.  You belong to everyone, and no one.  

I would gladly look at you, and look, and look, and look my fill, for you are generous with your display.  But I cannot afford the price I’d have to pay to obtain you, maintain you, and keep you, no matter how badly my fingers itch to trace the contours of your skin.  So you will have to stay where you are; safely beyond my arm's reach.  And I will have the what ifs to keep me company.

Something Rediscovered

I wrote this a while ago back in my hitRECord phase...or CRAZE is perhaps a better word. I hope you enjoy it.

Blows fall, raining from the canopy of hands above his head.  They want to kill him because his beauty frightens them.  They want to fill him with so much pain that he never bothers to smile again.  They hate him.

Bruises bloom across his skin, and even they are beautiful.  His skin swells, blazing red then deeper.  It is the purple black of a starless sky.  The moisture in his eyes brings the promise of rain to  drought depleted souls. 

Still the blows fall, like rock slides from mountainsides because he will not give them his voice.  He will not satiate the fires that feed the flames of their hate. 

They give him pain because pain is all they have to give, it is all they know.  And in trying to forget they forge another furrow into his skin.  They watch the bruises deepen and wait eagerly for the blood pour to begin.

Life spills from him and he smiles.  Words, pregnant, promising and rich pour from bruises that became cuts.  Words they had been wishing to hear all their lives, but their ears were deafened by their pain and rage.

As the words seeped into the ground life sprang from them, Verdant, vibrant, free, uncontrolled.  Life took hold, took root in the ground, took root in all of them and chased the hate away from poisoned minds.  Yet still, he gave until all his words were given away. 

All his words were drained away to become part of the whole.  They in he, he in they all his words were given away.  Freely, sweetly.  And even their share in the shame of taking this life was beautiful and sweet.  Brutal, Painful, Necessary.  Complete.

 Have you ever done this? Created something and then forgot about it? Or planned something, written something, set something in motion and it just drifted from your memory?  When you found it again what did you do with it?

Know This

Know this.

If you have been sent there, there is room enough.  If there isn't, room will be made.

Doubt is the harbinger of disbelief and the defeater of faith.

When you walk, walk in all confidence. Know that where ever your foot lands, that place belongs to you, regardless of the current occupants.

Know this.

Follow Your Path

The purpose of this post is two-fold.  I want to talk about something I'm experiencing and I want to give a little peek at what I'm working on these days.
 

I don't know if this is a case of life imitating art or the other way around.  All I know is right now my life is mirroring a situation I've written about in my book.  I believe everyone in life has a purpose, or path, as it were. Once you find that path, it is your ultimate purpose to stay on that path.  For some the path burns so brightly that they have no trouble finding it and following it.  For others (like me) it can be shrouded; a step by step discovery of yourself and your potential.  I can honestly say that right now, today, I know my path and it's burning brightly.  Anything standing in my way will be eliminated, up to and including people who can't or won't believe in my purpose along with me.  I have enough fears and doubts of my own to waste my time battling yours!

Below is an unedited excerpt from my book.  It's pretty straight forward. Read away and please comment!  I thrive on feedback!

Old Mamma and the Path

            “Come closer child.  Eyes not what they were.”  She held out her hands and Casha came forward to take them.  They were warm and strong, her grip firm as she pulled Casha down to sit in front of her.  Her eyes were a clouded blue and set in a wizened face.  Her gray locks piled high atop her head were so long that they trailed down her back and pooled on the floor around her.

            Casha sat quietly through the physical perusal.  Old Mamma’s hands touched hers, feeling the palms, squeezing her fingers, patting her arms, testing the muscle.

            “You have some skill with a blade?” 

            “Yes Ma’am.”  She had the same melodic accent as Marcus, she noticed.  Something about her reminded Casha of Delphine, she missed her terribly.  Old Mamma’s touch lingered for a moment on Casha’s wrist, resting lightly on the hidden mark.  Then she was beckoning Casha to lean forward.  Mamma hummed low in her throat, her hands smooth and gentle as they traced her brow, touched her hair, her cheeks, the contours of her nose and mouth and finally came to rest over her eyes, then she sat back.

            “Good strong arms.  A fine warrior, but such a heavy heart for one so young,” she clucked her tongue.  “What troubles you child?”  It was a simple question, but there were so many possible answers Casha didn’t know where to begin.  She wasn’t sure she wanted to reveal everything to a complete stranger.

            “Your secret too heavy to bear alone.  Share it out and lighten you load.”  Casha gasped and clutched her wrist.  The old woman smiled.

            “Mamma not all blind you know,” she tapped her brow.  “Ori show things the eye can’t see.  But I thinking you know this already.”  Casha’s mind was whirling.  Could she do it too?

            “You can see it?”

            “I can feel it.  It’s a dangerous thing.  How you come by it?”  As Casha recounted her adventure at the equinox fair she felt the familiar pang in her heart when she thought of Aizzaku and the parents she had never known.  Mamma listened, humming the same low melodic tune.  From the folds of her robe she pulled a square framed mirror, she handed it to Casha.

            “Look you, and tell me what you see,” her voice was filled with gentle warmth; it seemed to still the air around them.  Casha did as she was told.

            “It’s just my reflection.”

            “Closer child.  Look deeper.”  Casha’s breathing slowed as she pulled the mirror closer to her face.  She gazed into her own golden eyes and somehow saw beyond them.  Past her reflected face a larger hidden scene appeared. 

            “I see a wood,” she whispered, squinting to make it out.  “There’s a road cutting through it.”

            “This is your way.  You must follow it.”  Mamma’s voice was far away and above her.  The road now stretched beneath her feet, winding far into the thick of the trees.  Casha looked around at the forest, bewildered.  Twilight was dimming the sky and a thick mist rolled in and hovered over everything but the space beneath her feet.

            “Keep to the path,” Mamma’s voice was faint now.

            “But I can barely see it.”

            “Just walk child.”  The voice faded to a whisper.  Casha took a tentative step.  The mist parted before her and the pathway pulsed with a soft light.  Her apprehension subsided as the way became clear.  With each step she took she shed her uncertainty.

            The path soon began to climb steadily upwards.  She could feel it in her legs, her breathing became more labored.  It may have been hours or just minutes, there was no way to mark the passing of time.  Casha didn’t know how long she had traveled before she reached the plateau.  The plain stretched out before her into the distance, shrouded in the thick swirling mist.  Shapes seemed to rise and fall beneath it, indistinct masses never quite surfacing from beneath the veil.    The mist at her feet churned as a dark shape rose before her, solidifying into a black cloaked figure blocking the path.

            “Let me pass.”

            “This road is closed,” said a strangely familiar feminine voice.  Behind it the path glowed softly beneath the mist and stretched to the horizon.  Casha moved to step around her, eager to finish her journey.  A pale hand grabbed her and forced her back.

            “Did you not hear me?”  Casha ignored her and rushed forward.  The cloaked girl pushed with such force that Casha lost her balance and fell.

            “You must find another way.”  Casha took in the vast expanse of space around them, nothing but mist and sky with only the illuminated path to break the monotony.

            “There is no other way.”

            “You are mistaken,” came the voice from the hood.  As she said it the mist rolled away, revealing a ground littered with paths and roadways all crossing and intersecting each other, stretching into the darkness, yet hers was the only one possessed of the Light.

            “Choose another way.”  It would be easier to go around her, Casha thought, just take another route and pick up the path beyond her, but the idea of it filled her with unease.  Mamma had sent her here somehow, instructed her to keep to the path, and she intended to, wanted to follow her instruction, if only for the fact that she was tired of being lost.

            “This is my path,” she said as she stood.  “I will keep to it.”

            “So be it.”  The girl drew a long blade from her cloak; Casha’s heart sank.  She was unarmed.  The girl came at her with force and relentless speed, keeping Casha dancing and dodging.  The length of steel between them made it impossible for her to get close enough to strike.  She was being pushed back, closer to the edge of the path.  Casha dove under a high blow, rolling to reach the center of the path.  The girl was on her before she could get to her feet.  From her advantaged position she could take Casha down with one well placed blow.  I need a blade NOW!

            Casha saw the blow coming.  She knew there was nothing she could do.  Instinct brought her arm up in useless defense and she braced herself for the pain.  What she felt was the body jarring clash of steel meeting steel.  The sound of it rang out across the landscape and rattled inside her head.  In her once empty hand she held a sword.  It was simply made but to Casha it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

            She took only seconds to overcome her shock.  Months of Warrick’s hard training and muscle memory took over the fight for her.  Casha regained her ground with ease; the blade was perfectly weighted and balanced to become an extension of her arm.  Casha took advantage of an opening and struck the figure down.  When the blade made contact the figure dissipated into vapor, but where the one was cut down two others rose up in its place.  Each fighter she defeated yielded more and more opponents.  They pressed in around her, overwhelming her with sheer numbers until she was pushed off the path.

            Her feet sank deep in thick mud, throwing off her balance and nullifying her attacks.  It closed around her ankles and held her fast.  Each step had to be wrenched from the squelching mess.  Worse yet, she could no longer see the Light of her path; she was outnumbered and fighting blind with no idea which way to go to get back to the path.  She needed help.

            Strong hands pulled her from behind and dragged her backwards out of the midst of the shadow fighters.  She was placed back on her path which was still illuminated softly, but now it was intersected with another path, brightly lit and occupied by her rescuer.  From behind Casha could see the shadows falling quickly before the newcomer’s weapon, a staff ablaze with white fire, and they were not replicating.  Casha made a move to aid in the fight.

            “Keep to the Path,” Old Mamma yelled over her shoulder.  The woman before her could not be the same one she met just moments ago.  She moved with the speed and grace of a youth she did not possess. 

“GO!”  Mamma fought back the shades, her staff a vicious blur of light.  Casha ran along the path, it was brighter now that Old Mamma’s light gave it strength. 

Dreams, Revelations, and A New Philosphy on Fear

“A person needs new experiences. They jar something deep inside, allowing him to grow. Without change something sleeps inside us, and seldom awakens. The sleeper must awaken.” ~Duke Leto Atreides, DUNE~

Wow. SO much has happened in just two days that I’m at a loss to explain it all!  An amazing opportunity has presented itself to my family and we are jumping FULL FORCE towards it! 

Saturday we went to the Baltimore Convention Center to audition for Actors, Models, and Talent for Christ.  Initially when I heard the radio spot about the auditions I was only thinking of Kylaa.  She has expressed an interest in acting so I figured why not?  My husband also heard the ad and decided to audition as well as bring a family friend along.  I was more than happy to be the chauffeur for the day! Look, I’m just happy to be out of the house on any given occasion!  Oh, but children always have different ideas.

 Kylaa asked me, just once, to audition as well.  Now, that request by itself tugged at me a little.  I suppose it nudged something that had been sleeping inside me for a while.  But that request alone didn’t spur me to my choice.  She just happened to ask me in front of my parents, the sneaky little minor.  It was like blood in the water.  My mother immediately put in her two cents, as only a mother can.  Use it or lose it, I think that was the gist of her argument.  The sleeper inside me turned over and stretched.  My father just asked why not, with an indiscernible look that said “I know something you don’t”.  The sleeper inside me blinked sleep out of its eyes.  I started mulling it over.  No. That’s a lie.  I made my decision right then to audition for acting.  I think I just needed their approval…or better yet, their endorsement of the idea.  Knowing they believed gave me strength to overcome my apprehension.  So the sleeper was now fully awake.  Not only was it awake it was dreaming OUT LOUD, going on and on about all it wanted to do.  The dreamer wanted to sing.  I wanted to sing.

I’ve never made any claim to vocal ability…EVER, but I love to sing.  I adore it!  I’ve never made it through ONE day of my adult life without singing.  I sing to make it through my mind numbing day job.  I make up my own songs, sing them, then write them down and call them poems.  I sing all the time and when people take notice I laugh it off, as if I were only playing around.  Singing isn’t a hobby.  It is a way of life.  It is a coping mechanism.  It is a survival tactic.  But I’ve never told anyone this.  Why?  Because I was afraid.  Afraid and ashamed and intimidated.  I have been crippled by self-doubt and constantly comparing myself to others.  I would constantly whisper to myself and say to others, I can’t blow like Beyonce or Jennifer Hudson.  I can’t sing like Will Lindsay. (yeah. I compared myself to my husband too.)  Years of this kind of reasoning stole my voice, just snuffed it out.

I’m not sure how the conversation with my parents turned towards the audition.  But the Monday before the audition I was talking to them and one of them brought up singing…AGAIN.  I cringed, but the dreamer was GIDDY with anticipation.  My mother is a very vocal person.  When she has an opinion you WILL know.  And boy did she EVER have an opinion about me auditioning!  But that just made me want to curl into a ball and hide somewhere.  My dad is the exact opposite.  He got on the phone and in his calm, observant way told me that he listens to me sing all the time.  He knows I joke about it and laugh it off but He REALLY listens.  He told me he heard my talent.  He wanted the rest of the world to hear it too.  I cried.  I think when a singer or any artist really, a “need it to survive” artist, goes unheard or unnoticed it’s like being mute, invisible, and on fire in a crowded room.  It’s like you’re dying but no one knows.  My father saved my life with that conversation.

That Saturday we auditioned as a family.  For the record, Kylaa NAILED it!  She auditioned for acting and modeling and blew that guy away!  She was so nervous she started to cry, but she got herself together, got over it and did her thing! I am SO INCREDIBLY proud of her!  Lindsay did his thing too, but I never doubted for a moment he would be anything other than awesome!  Our adopted sister Maya was also incredible!  She and Lindsay performed a skit that they co-wrote.  PHENOMENAL!

When my turn came I chose to do the acting first.  I read some commercial copy for finishline athletic footwear. (good thing I wore my chucks!)  Then came the singing.  The dreamer in me was so excited I thought I was going to be sick!  I chose “Amado Mio” by Pink Martini.  I took a deep breath closed my eyes and everything went away.  It came right back, though.  Dave (the man who auditioned us) stopped me after “Mio”, the second word in the song.  “Yeah.  That’s all I need to hear!”  Then he laughed.  Honestly, at that point I didn’t even care what he thought!  I had just sung FULL OUT with everything in me in front of a stranger whose only job was to JUDGE me!  I WIN!

His feedback was positive for all of us.  I was so elated I was light-headed.  My dramatic fainting in the hallway was only half in jest!  Regardless of the outcome I was euphoric!  I had just conquered one of the biggest fears in my life.  Instead of letting fear be my obstacle, I used it to spur me onward.  I was freaking out internally all day Friday and all of Saturday morning!  When I’m nervous or afraid like that I get very spastic.  What others may think is excitement is my way of NOT screaming in sheer terror.

Anyway, we all left the convention center on cloud nine.  We were told that we would get a phone call by 4pm Sunday.  By 3:30pm I was getting antsy!  The phone rang at 3:45.  We were in!  We all made it for our top choices!! EVERY LAST ONE OF US!  We got a glowing recommendation from Dave!  Not only that, he recommended me for something I didn’t even audition for! (Commercial Modeling)  So we have a standing invitation to perform at the AMTC SHINE event in Florida next year!  VERY EXCITING! 

There is a substantial cost involved, of course.  This is something else I’m afraid of, the high cost of dreaming.  It is sobering to say the least.  But the cost of NOT chasing it is so much higher.  I don’t want that for my daughter.  I don’t want her to have to bear the weight of regret.  I don’t want her to experience the heart-hardening of a dream deferred.  I don’t want that for my husband, who has been chasing his dream for more than 20 years.  I want them to know there is a reason, a point, and a purpose for their existence.

If you’re reading this, if you have a dream sleeping inside you, I hope it wakes you up and inspires you.  Don’t let your dream stay comatose.  Also, if you’re reading this we would be so grateful if you were moved to help in any way.  We welcome all your prayers and well wishes, they make our heart glad, SERIOUSLY!  But even more than that, we welcome your donations.  NO AMOUNT is too small to give!  We will even take your pennies!  That is the cost of changing a life…changing three lives!  If we've touched your life in any way please help us reach even more people.  You can contact me via email: Cherece.lindsay@gmail.com

If you know of anyone who would be willing to help please link them to this blog. Retweet us! (@RECeBear) Follow us on Tumblr (Write This Down)  Spread the word PLEASE!  THANK YOU SO MUCH!