The Procession

She was lonely, bitter and alone yet very well off as a widow of a multi-millionaire husband. He had always left her widowed even while he was with her. She lived the life of extreme appearance. People envied the money with no clue of the heartbreak it financed. Her nights were spent in the rainbow reflections of crystal chandeliers, drinking dark rum and smoking clove cigarettes with ease. No children were conceived and no animals wandered the halls of the mansion. She gave to no one and asked nothing above exceptionally grand service from her staff. Her worldly needs were met and she was too hardened to feel the rest.

A long night on a silk pillow yielded a dream. This was a harsh reminder to her future if she did not change her ways of bitter retorts and angry rampages. She had perished there alone. There was a hearse and one car with a parishioner in her funeral procession. No tears or words of recognition were spoken. There was only an elaborately detailed coffin and dirt. The only acknowledgment came from a stranger who uttered the words “change now” with bland conveyance as he dropped a single white rose on cue. The sound of the rose hitting the coffin jarred her awake.

The next day she gave her first donation to charity. The week after she dressed and stood unassumingly behind a food line dishing green beans to dirty faces and looking straight in the eyes of financial despair.

She went and read to children on the bad side of town. She walked the dogs at the shelter laughing at the mud on her outrageously priced shoes she had never had occasion to wear before. She gave her time and love to things she had never considered worthy before.

That night the procession in her dream grew by ten cars. The rose count was up to five.

A month later she heard talk of a single mother with a daycare issue. Her son aged 3 was autistic and she did not have the money to get him into proper care. He kept getting kicked out of establishments because of his anger issues. His mother was very close to losing her job and had no options for care available. She knew it sounded absurd but possibly she could take care of him, at least for a while until proper care was located.

That night her procession grew to 30 cars. The rose count was 45.

When she met him she was fearful. The mother shaking and tearing up led her to believe this was going to be a battle she may not win. What place does an elderly lady with no children have taking a toddler in, especially with noted behavior issues? But his eyes read pain, and now that she had felt the gift that being charitable affords, she had no hesitation.

He was a messy boy with crystal blue eyes and a loss of contact. She started her days researching things that may help her with him. She became obsessed with giving this child every opportunity to be turned around and succeed, even with his disabilities. She began stumbling on different therapies and new learning techniques. Information about little known food reactions haunted her. She ascertained that common chemicals in food could cause certain children to show developmental issues. She was able to provide the finest in dietary management and doctor care for the boy she had since fallen in love with. He improved daily and to every one's amazement went on to excel scholastically and socially.

In her time left she fostered 8 more children just as this one. All with varied success but each one was a valued relationship and adopted grandson or daughter to her. She was adored by each of the children's family members and raved about in the small town for her heart of gold. She had found her real net worth.

As her health continued to fail she still gave freely of herself. She was visited often for her wisdom and charm and was known for trying to donate anonymously to her community, even though they all knew she was the benefactor.

At her funeral there were 100 cars in lighted procession. The flower number was too vast to count.

But more importantly, she had found her own happiness and died loving and being loved.

The Cycle

His skin was soft and warm. Maybe I felt it was a safe haven from the rest of the bitter cold. Is that why I tried so hard to nourish it? I touched him and he responded coldly. Not at first but as the time went on he stayed lost in himself. The heat from his breath still awakened me from my sensual slumber and left me wanting. I ran my fingers through his hair and whispered to him of a safe place in my heart. He could let go and be lost there enveloped in rapture. He chose anger. He chose words of abrasion. His eyes were empty and I chose to flee. My heart stumbling in my chest, running, dark hair flowing like kite tails on a windy summer day.

She lay there holding onto the wall she had built. Dark hair caressing my skin. I touched her and I could visibly see the fear travel her arm. She glowed with sensuality but I would not show the prowess to enter that world fully. We lingered on the outside of heaven for so long. I tried to break her through with me as I held shields in place as well. Her scars were too deep. I gave of my self for as long as I could. Her eyes were empty and I chose to leave. Holding my pride and tears back. Long legs barely touching the ground as I ran.

His long limbs lay motionless on a layer of black silk. His eyes testing me as I dug into his core. I held strong but compassionately as I felt the life come back to his chest. Beating strongly, rhythmically in unison with mine. Who had hurt him so bad that he hid from himself. Would I ever break through to him more than just this physical manifestation? His eyes glowed of hope so I stayed. Lost in him, lost in hope, just lost. The beginning of rapture and release was on the horizon. We two souls were protected from the pain found in yearning for love and safety.

The cycle had been broken.

But the original players search on coldly. They master the art, restarting the sequence and fostering the spoils.

It is important to recognize which part of the puzzle you are.

Are you stifling the progress of the heart? Scared of your own past and future. Held captive.

Let go.

Are you next to start the game once again? Killing the hope of the innocent beneath you.

Let go.

Are you the one trying to break through? Building a strong foundation, stopping the motion.

Hold on.

You are the answer to a question that is asked each moment.

Who will break the cycle?

The Maze

When I was a rat in a maze I always felt comfort in knowing that at least I was being watched from above. Someone was monitoring my movements and tracking my path. They could possibly leave clues of direction or even take me out of the maze to "time out" if they so desired. This was an invasion of privacy but yet it still felt desirable next to the option of being alone and not in the spotlight of acceptable actions. I was guided well until I could guide myself.

I am the maze keeper now. Age and determination have brought that to me. I watch my own captive desires run in and out of warrens and well lit passageways. Always meandering closer to entrapment or rapture. They are fed well with material things and stimulated just enough to be interesting in nature. Everyday is the same for them as they act in accordance to the laws and regulations set forth for them. You need not be conscience of thought or planning when all is laid out before you. You will be thankful for the bounty and relish the thought of NO thought.

Lately there has been a turn around of events. I have had to free some of the captive before they tarnish the rest with their rogue actions. They were climbing over the maze to retrieve their worth instead of laboring through. One would demonstrate and three would follow suit. Celebrating at the end and disrespectful of the plotted course. Yet I was released from the maze for just such actions. Free thought and a willingness to face consequences. But I was not aware of the transition at the time. It was just a natural course of direction that we all come across at one time or another.

I was given this position and now am leader of my command. Accepting my fate and praying for a better outcome. This is much more intensive in position. Shall I give a hand to those views demonstrating the strength of will and desire. Shall I put them back into the cage of society blinded and alone for their defiance of the charted path. Bury the very essence of who we need to become.

I am not a God. I am not a president or great headstrong military leader. I rule my own territory. I am the master of my own desires and actions. I control them in each minute. I will not hold back the progress of my dreams and visions. I will allow those thoughts to jump the walls and see what transpires. I will destroy the maze and let the open area communicate it's will.

Remain in the maze holding the keys or restore your freedom with them. The fear of using the power keeps it safely hidden away from us.