Sunday, March 26, 2006 It's over. Just like that. the pain is bearable, but worrying. what's the use of going out of your way to get something just to lose it as soon as you need it? i'm proud of you i want to thank you i don't like you standards are dropping.
Friday, March 17, 2006 The Story of Little Lotte There once was a young girl whose name was Charlotte but everyone called her Lotte. Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. A bird of summer was she, who soared through the rays of the sun as golden as her own blond curls, crowned in springtime. Her soul was as clear and as blue as her eyes. She loved her mother dearly, was faithful to her doll and took good care of her frock, her red shoes and her violin. But above all else, she loved to go to bed at night because in her dreams she heard the voice of the Angel of Music. At first, all she heard was the loveliest of music, not unlike the rustling of leaves in an autumn breeze, or the lonely cry of a marsh bird at twilight. The closer she listened, the further away and more indistinct it seemed until she learned not to pursue it but rather to open her mind and allow it to fill her. And when at last she'd mastered the art of hearing without listening, the angel was able to speak to her in a voice of such sweetness that her heart was filled with longing. "I can feel the change within you now," the voice said. "I know you can understand me and I rejoice. For I am the Angel of Music and have come because yours is a pure heart and good. I know that if I were to bestow the gift of music upon you, it would be used only for the benefit of others. With it, you could tame the fiercest heart. With it, you could bring back the lost to the light. But know also that the road to great music is hard and that I as your master would be strict and demanding. You need not respond now but think on it carefully. If, when next I come, you open your heart to me as you did this time, I'll know you have accepted my gift." Lotte didn't respond for fear of upsetting that fragile state of mind that allowed her to hear the angel. As his presence drew distant, she struggled to retain the tenuous link. Instead, her very struggles brought her wide awake. She sat up in bed, overwhelmed by what had just happened. An angel had come and offered her a gift! Now Lotte was a good girl and always said her prayers but she was also very humble and couldn't imagine why an angel would choose a little peasant girl like her. She thought about it very hard and came at last to the conclusion that the angel must have confused her with some other more deserving child. She imagined he'd soon realize his error and find the person for whom his gift was truly intended. It made her a little sad because she already loved the angel with all her heart. But she told herself she'd probably never hear his voice again and that this was as it should be. The following night, when Lotte once again hovered in that nowhere place between sleeping and waking, she was surprised to hear the voice of the angel once more. "Hello again, Lotte," he said and this time she heard sadness in his voice. "Why have you given no thought to my gift?" She gasped, realizing too late that she'd been worrying so much about the angel making a mistake that she'd never considered any other possibility. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I too am sorry, child," he said, "for I believed you to be worthy." "Oh, Angel, please forgive me," Lotte said. But the angel only replied, "Now I fear it will be necessary for you to prove yourself." Lotte felt her heart sinking. "I shall set for you, three tasks," the angel continued. "It will be necessary for you to use all your cunning to accomplish them. But you must also follow your heart. If you choose to undertake them and successfully complete all three, you will be worthy." His words chilled her, for she imagined she wasn't clever enough to complete the angel's task and that then, when she failed, he would leave her forever. But she was so upset with herself for not accepting the gift in the first place and so glad the angel was willing to give her a second chance that she said, "Very well, Angel. Please tell me what to do." His voice seemed to strengthen then. "Bring me the song of the wind in the willow trees out in the marsh by the clear flowing stream." Lotte didn't dare comment upon the nature of this task, so afraid was she of saying anything that might drive the angel away. And so, all she said was, "I shall try to do as you ask." A feeling of warmth and well-being enveloped her. It faded slowly and she faded with it into peaceful slumber. * * * In the morning, Lotte awoke rested and determined. She had no idea what she needed to do to bring back the song of the wind but was angry with herself for having disappointed the angel. She got up and dressed with a firm set to her jaw that had not been there before. After breakfast, she took the road that led toward the forest and came to a crossroads. Crossroads could be dangerous places. Lotte's parents had warned her that the spirits of the dead often lingered there but she herself saw nothing of the sort as she walked past. Just beyond was the forest and the path that led through it to the marsh. Once she entered the forest, Lotte walked for an hour before reaching a break in the trees. There, stretching out before her was the marsh, covered with a thin layer of fog. Lotte hesitated. She was uncertain how to proceed and decided to stand still for a time in case she could hear the music of which the angel had spoken. Without the sounds of her own footsteps, the quiet of the marshland closed in. Lotte was struck first by the loneliness of the place. She became aware next of the wind blowing around her. She focused upon the sound of it and tried to find the music. The wind did rise and fall in volume as music often did but the pitch seemed to vary only slightly. She closed her eyes and allowed her senses to extend outward like invisible fingers until she touched the more distant sound of a clear flowing stream. Her heart gave a bound but she forced her breathing to remain slow and her muscles to relax. She let her mind continue its questing journey until at last she heard it, the rustling of the wind in the leaves of the willow trees. Lotte headed toward the sound, impatient with the bogs and patches of quicksand that dotted her path, obliging her to take a circuitous and time-consuming route. She navigated with such single mindedness that it didn't occur to her that many people had been lost forever in that very swamp as the result of a single incautious step. Only much later did she realize that even then the angel must have been guiding her, making the camouflaged traps as obvious as if they'd been brightly illuminated. She arrived safely at the bank of the stream. Unlike the brackish pools through which she'd just come, this water ran swift and pure. She looked further downstream to see that it divided into two smaller rivulets, forming an island at the center. The island, unlike the surrounding swampland, was solid and supported a small grove of willows. Lotte crossed to the island, making use of stones that cleared the surface of the water in order to keep herself from getting wet. Even as she crossed, she was aware of the soughing of the wind in the trees and found herself anxious to get to dry land where she could stand still and absorb this sound. At last, she was able to close her eyes and slow her breathing. She focused her attention on the music. At first, it was as monotone as the wind in her ears. But as she opened herself to it and relaxed all thought and all judgment, she became aware of infinite variations in the apparent sameness. Each gust brought forth a slightly different timbre as different numbers of different leaves of different size and thickness were stirred at varying intensities. It was indeed a symphony of sound in infinite variation, each time newly created. Eventually, her body could no longer stand the intensity of deep concentration and began to return to a more normal state of awareness. Reluctantly, Lotte shook her head to dispel the remnants of her trance only to discover that she could still hear the music as clearly as before. All the time it had been only a matter of knowing what to listen for. Lotte wondered how many people lived their entire lives without ever noticing the music that surrounded them. She knew without any doubt that this was the music to which the angel had referred. The question then was how to transport it. How could she bring the music to him? She decided to concentrate on the way the sound was produced, the notion forming in the back of her mind that if she could learn what created it, she could reproduce it. After all, wasn't music usually played on some kind of instrument? Lotte watched the swaying of the branches and the rippling, almost wavelike motion of the leaves. She stepped closer to observe a low growing clump, noting the way the wind made each leaf flutter. It was the fluttering that created the sound, magnified thousands of times as all the leaves fluttered simultaneously. Added to this was the creaking of the branches and the click of smaller twigs coming into contact. In that moment of clarity, Lotte understood. All she needed was a goodsized branch to hold behind her as she ran. A branch she could raise and lower and perhaps even drag along the ground at times to create a special accent. It might be a little different from the music of the grove but then again what was the music of the grove if not forever changing? She clapped her hands with excitement. "I'm going to bring it to you, Angel," she shouted. She'd never before heard anything as wonderful as this music. And to be able to present it to him as a gift was the greatest of privileges. She thought of the happiness he'd feel when she played it for him and felt butterflies of excitement dancing inside her. She went to the trunk of a tree that had a thick, healthy shoot growing from its base. It was the perfect branch for what she had in mind and so she stooped to break it off. But with her hand firmly around it, she hesitated. There was life within that branch just as surely as there was life within her. She could feel it, somehow, radiating outward from the body of the shoot. It would doubtless make an admirable instrument but what then? What would happen after the performance was over and she no longer had any use for it? She pictured it drying up, the leaves curling and the color fading as it lay forgotten on some garbage heap. She was ashamed of herself and released the young branch as if stung. Still, her mind continued to work and a gnarled-looking tree at the very edge of the grove drew her attention. It was a poor, twisted thing that had been struck by lightning. Part of it was still alive and had survived the angry burn that split it down the middle. The other half was charred and dead, and upon this half were still some branches that bore the remnants of leaves. Lotte went to it. She stood before it and reached out to touch the ugly burn. She noticed that the left-hand side of the tree looked almost as though it were beginning to flow right over the scar whereas the right looked more like it was eroding away. When she touched the two sides, one with each hand, she could even feel the difference. The left side seemed somehow harder and fuller, the right, lighter and more brittle. As her hands explored, her vision became unfocused and without realizing it, her mind slipped into that agreeable state of awareness that allowed her to hear the angel's voice. Words began forming in her mind. "Take from the dead side. Removing those branches will do no harm." She nodded and her glazed eyes took on their accustomed brilliance. She turned her attention to the disfigured side. There was a wealth of dead branches to choose from. She made her selection without further compunction and snapped it off with ease. Then she faced the tree and said, "Thank you." She lingered, even then, wondering if there were anything more she should do. But the wind had died down and the grove was still. No answers came either from within or without and so she turned away, traveled back through the grove, across the stream and over the swampland to her home. For the remainder of that day, Lotte spent her time near and around her house, running about with the switch trailing behind her. Her mother was surprised for this was not Lotte's usual way. But since she was doing no harm her mother left her to experiment with her newfound music. In the evening, the angel came to Lotte as she'd known he would. His voice was even warmer than before and she noted within it, traces of the very windsong that had become so familiar. She responded with excitement. "Oh, Angel, I've brought you the music you wanted. Shall I play it for you now?" His laughter was rich and heartening. "Yes, child," he said. "Play it for me." So she felt under her bed where the branch was concealed and brought it out. Her window was easy to open and was close enough to the ground that she didn't hurt herself at all when she slipped out. Slowly she began the motions she'd practiced in the afternoon but awareness of the angel's presence inspired her to new heights. She began to improvise upon her own theme, creating something new and never before experienced, something that was unique and belonged only to Lotte. It was this she gave to the angel and she was able to sense how deeply he was pleased. Her own heart swelled with the knowledge. "Have I made you happy, my angel?" she whispered. His response would best be likened to a spiritual embrace, enveloping her with the essence of joy and the certainty of being loved. "You are my happiness," he said. "And you have pleased me beyond measure. But tell me, child, what have you learned?" Still basking in the warmth of his approval, Lotte said, "Music is everywhere and in all things but you must always be listening for it." "Yes," he said. "Perhaps knowing this, your next task will not be as difficult as the first." "I'm ready," she said, without having to feign the confidence she felt. "Tell me what I must do." "Bring me the song of the swans on the lake," he said. "I will," she answered, bounding toward the house in great exuberant leaps, scrambling back up to her room and diving into bed, happier than she'd ever been before in her life. * * * The next morning, after helping her mother with the breakfast dishes, Lotte set out to follow the stream that led to the lake. It was nestled amongst low rolling hills that were dotted with sheep. Lotte had been there one summer when her family brought a picnic lunch and she remembered the way the swans floated on the water like regal white boats. She didn't remember hearing them sing. But confident in her ability to sense the music everywhere, she felt certain her new task would be interesting and fun. She arrived at the edge of the lake and found a nice, flat stone, warmed by the sun. She sat on it and observed the swans without disturbing them. It was soothing to watching them drift from one part of the lake to the other and with simple pleasure Lotte allowed her senses to extend beyond her once more. To the lapping of the waves. To the ringing of a goat's bell. To the bleating of a lamb. To a folktune played on a flute. For some time, Lotte enjoyed the music of the valley. But slowly, a creeping doubt cast its shadow over her tranquillity. The angel had said he wanted the song of the swans. She redoubled her concentration but the swans remained mute. With rising uneasiness, she cast about for some clue as to what she was missing. The swans made a splashing sound when they dove. Could that have been what he'd meant? Perhaps the patterns in which they swam were like the steps to a dance. But no. She'd immediately recognized the music of the wind in the willows and knew in her heart she'd recognize the swansong as well. If only she were to hear it. She stayed until the sun dipped below the hills and then walked back to her house. When she went to bed that night, the angel didn't come. The next day, a much subdued Lotte returned to the lake. The swans were there as always. Silent as death. Lotte sat back on her stone but then she stood up again. She hadn't found the answer there yesterday. Wondering if perhaps there was some other place she should be looking, she wandered in the direction of the hill where she'd heard the flute. There, a shepherd was tending his flock. Lotte waved to him. He smiled a little and raised a hand in greeting. "Was that you playing the flute yesterday?" she asked. He nodded. "Could you play something now?" His smile broadened and he produced a hollow reed from his pocket. It was clearly a flute he'd made for himself. He raised it to his lips and played a merry tune. Lotte listened attentively and applauded when he was through. Encouraged, he played two more melodies but his flock had started to wander and he had to go gather them in. Lotte waited for him to return because she was a polite girl and wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. But she knew she had to go because the flute music, though lovely, was not the music the angel had sent her to look for. The shepherd returned, smiling when he saw Lotte was still there and started to reach into his pocket. "I liked your music very much," Lotte said. "But I can't stay. I made someone a promise and I must go if I'm to keep it." Instead of saying goodbye, though, the shepherd gestured for her to sit on the ground. He sat down next to her and produced from his satchel a checkered cloth, some crusty bread and a lump of goat cheese. He set it all out as if for a picnic. Lotte unwrapped the bundle her mother had given her that morning and added an apple, some grapes and several dainty sandwiches. They shared their meal without speaking though sometimes they looked at each other and smiled. When their meal was over, Lotte helped the shepherd gather everything up and put it back in his satchel. She thanked him. She complimented him again on his music. She even said goodbye. But as she was turning to walk away, she had a thought. "Shepherd?" she said, turning back around. "May I ask you a question?" He nodded. "I was here yesterday and sat by the lake watching the swans. Someone told me they could sing but they seem not to have any voice at all. Is there some other lake nearby? Could it be the swans there that he meant?" Thoughts of the night before when the angel didn't come flooded her memory. The fear of disappointing him again choked off her words. The shepherd watched her with concern but said nothing. "I'm sorry," she said. "I have to go now." She hurried away, realizing that in another moment she was going to cry and fearing the boy would laugh if he saw her. Instead, he ran after her. "Wait," he said. She looked back at him in surprise for she'd come to think he couldn't speak. "Uh," he said and the sound of his voice was distorted and forced. He turned his face away from her and began making other sounds accompanied by a great deal of spitting. At first Lotte was disgusted. But then, all at once, she realized he couldn't help it. He was answering her question. And that was the only way he could speak. Lotte concentrated as hard as she could. Her mind slipped again into that place where she met the angel and the shepherd's words came to her clearly. They can sing. But only when they're dying. A soft breeze tickled her ears. The shepherd had stopped speaking. Lotte looked up and saw him watching her. It was the first time he'd done so without smiling. "They can sing when they die," she said. "Yes." "Thank you." They both became aware of the rumble of hooves. A moment later the sheep began running in all directions as the prince and his followers crested the hill on their horses. With a cry, the boy ran after his scattering flock. Lotte barely had time to cower beside the trunk of a stunted tree before the riders thundered past. She watched as they galloped down the hillside and into the shallows. The swans took flight. The huntsmen fit arrows to bows and shot them down. The heavy white bodies fell from the sky and landed on the ground and in the water. Lotte watched in horror. But in the midst of the slaughter came a music she'd never known. A chorus of swansongs rose up all around her even as their blood turned the water crimson. Lotte was blinded by her own tears. She sobbed and she gasped but couldn't avoid hearing that terrible music. Not once did she pause to question whether or not this was the music she was meant to hear. She only hoped that at least some of the birds would survive it - that she would survive it. A few of the swans had escaped. Lotte could see them aloft in the distant sky. The noblemen jerked the reins of their foaming horses, dug in their spurs and turned with mighty scarlet splashing to gallop back the way they'd come. They trampled the dead and dying swans as they pounded up the hill and away. When the last of the hunters had gone, Lotte ventured from her hiding place. The swans, so graceful in life, now lay twisted and broken in the mud. Lotte flinched from the sight, looking instead toward the hill where she'd seen the shepherd running. He was there, a small figure in the distance, a group of sheep gathered closely around him. She thought to go up and help him with the strays but at that moment her attention was caught by a splashing amongst the reeds along the bank. Moving closer, Lotte saw what the hunters had missed. Tangled in the vegetation with an arrow through its wing was one lone swan that had survived. It redoubled its efforts to escape when she approached but it was so weak that she caught it easily. When she held it in her arms, one wing folded normally but the other remained extended. The wound dripped blood on her hand. Lotte carried the swan home. Her mother helped her bandage the broken wing. Lotte trembled as she worked. She couldn't get the memory of the hunt out of her mind. Only later, when she saw the swan waddling around the yard by itself was she sure it was going to live. Only then did she wonder how she was going to play the swansong for the angel. Without consciously willing it, Lotte found herself considering the unspeakable. Would she have to hurt the swan she'd just saved in order to get it to sing? Ashamed, she pushed away the thought. The angel would never approve such an action. And that meant there had to be another way. Remembering the windsong she'd played on the branch, she realized it had been similar to the music in the willow grove but not exactly the same. What she'd played had been an interpretation. And she could interpret the swansong as well. Unlike the first music she'd learned, Lotte couldn't practice the swan's music out in the open. Someone might hear and this music was too private for anyone but the Angel of Music himself. The best she could do was replay it in her mind, tears rolling down her face each time she remembered. When at last she went to bed that night, Lotte had no doubt that the angel would come. She'd become so adept at quieting her mind that she made out his voice just moments after her mother kissed her good night and blew out the candle. "I missed you last night," the angel said. His voice was perfectly clear in her mind and she had no trouble making out every word. The timbre too seemed clearer and the melancholy tone seemed reminiscent of the music she'd so recently discovered. "I missed you too, Angel," Lotte said. "Are you ready now, child?" Lotte climbed out of bed. Once again she slipped out the window and walked far enough away from the house so no one would be disturbed by the music she'd make. She began a little self-consciously, for the instrument now was her own voice. As faithfully as memory allowed, she reproduced the song she'd heard. She could sense the angel's presence all around her and knew he listened. Encouraged, she dared to sing louder, filling her lungs, opening her throat and giving voice to music so compelling that tears began forming in her eyes once again at the memory it evoked. She tried yet again for she felt something lacking. Hers was a song of loss while that of the swans had embodied a different quality. All at once she understood. Her last attempt, though different from the melody produced in the throat of a swan was, if anything, even sweeter as it gave voice to a yearning that came straight from Lotte's soul - a yearning that could never hope to find relief while on this Earth. Lotte stopped abruptly, unable to sing more. She was exhausted for she'd used all her strength to bring forth secrets she hadn't even guessed were inside her. She sat down, right where she was in the grass. "I'll never be able to do that again," she said. "No," the angel responded. His voice sounded wistful. "There is some music so glorious that the human soul has only the strength to create it once in a lifetime. Thank you Lotte, for bestowing such a gift upon me." She sensed the angel's gratitude and was humbled. But then he spoke again. "I know you've learned a great deal about the swans and about yourself. But tell me, child, what have you learned about music?" "It's everywhere," Lotte said. "Even in death." "Yes." "But Angel," she said, "how can there be beauty in something so horrible?" "Was it the horror that created the music?" "The swans were in pain. They were dying. And so they sang." "Everything you say is true, and yet you've missed the point," he said. "The good, as they die sometimes catch a glimpse of the paradise to come. The swans who are mute all their lives, find their voice only at that final moment, for the greater glory of God." Lotte nodded. She did understand and felt the angel's love, starting as a balm of contentment in her troubled heart and radiating outward. She'd thought the killing horrible. But when viewed in terms of eternity and spiritual bliss, what was death, really, except a gateway to a better place? She relaxed and felt her doubts dissipate like morning fog on a warm summer's day. Only then did the angel speak again. "You have but one task remaining." "I'm ready, Angel," Lotte said. Her voice was quiet but her heart was certain. "Your third task will be both harder and easier than the two that came before it," he said. "What you have learned will help you. But never forget to listen to your heart. Do as it tells you even when it contradicts your mind." "I wish only to please you," Lotte said. "Then bring me the music of the spring in the forest." Lotte had no doubt she'd find the answer to this riddle as she had the other two. But her joy was tempered with the knowledge that answers could be painful. The swansong had tired her past any exhaustion she'd ever known. She got to her feet wearily and plodded back toward the house. The only reason she bothered to climb back through the window was to keep from upsetting her mother if she were to check on her in the night and find her missing. * * * The next morning, Lotte didn't rise early as was her custom. She stayed in bed, thrashing fitfully until she realized it was already late in the morning. Reluctantly she got up, reassured her mother and had a late breakfast. She knew she must go into the forest but found herself drawn elsewhere. Heeding her intuition, she climbed down into the cellar which wasn't dank and creepy the way many cellars are but dry and comfortable, smelling faintly of apples. There were windows all around the upper walls so that the light was able to find its way in. Lotte walked amongst the shelves neatly stacked with jars of preserves. She remembered her father stored his odds and ends on one of the shelves in the corner, beyond the barrels of apples. So she poked amongst the forgotten items, finally choosing an old water skin, a rope and a length of sail cloth from the neat stacks by the far wall. With the items she'd taken from the cellar, Lotte took the road to the forest. Again she passed the crossroads without seeing anything unusual. Again she entered the forest. This time, she chose the path that ran parallel to a stream that gurgled cheerfully as it tripped over pebbles in its bed. Lotte, with her newly awakened senses couldn't help smiling at the sound. At last she arrived at a small waterfall. Just above it was the spring where water bubbled up from under the ground. Lotte sat down and quieted her mind. She listened to the sounds with eyes closed and a smile of contentment on her face. She couldn't help being happy because the music of the little waterfall was the music of laughter. For some moments, Lotte just allowed herself to enjoy it. Without permitting any of her cares or apprehensions to interrupt her serenity, she began to focus on each different aspect of the music. There was the sound of water falling from different heights, landing upon different stones of different sizes all at the same time. This she recognized at once, as it had elements in it of the windsong. But it didn't rise and fall as the windsong did. It created a specific pattern. For a time, Lotte thought it just repeated over and over. She was even able to memorize the sequence so she could replay it whenever she wished in her mind. Just as she was thinking how easy this had been compared to her other tasks, Lotte heard a different splash. Curious, she opened her eyes and watched the progress of the water. The pattern was not just something she heard. She could see it. Water built up slowly in a crevice from splashes caused elsewhere. When it was full, it overflowed, causing another small pool to overflow and then another, creating at odd intervals that other splashing sound she'd heard. She saw another pool filling with the runoff and knew that it too would eventually spill. When it did, the whole secondary sequence began once again with the filling of the smaller pools. She realized that what she was actually witnessing was a music of patterns within patterns. The more she observed, the more she found until she wondered if there really were any pattern at all or only the semblance of one. Lotte was uncertain she'd grasped the concept but it occurred to her that she might be able to recreate the music even without understanding it. She spread out the sailcloth on the ground beside the cascade and began piling some of the river rocks on top of it. When she'd made a stack, she filled up the skin with water. This very act, she noticed, slightly altered the pattern of sound she'd observed and she couldn't help wondering what other disturbances such as a fish rising up to catch an insect or a deer coming to drink might cause. The skin full, she poured the water over her stone pile. The sound it made was similar to the stream flowing next to it but Lotte wasn't satisfied. She adjusted some of the stones and tried again. The second time was better but the water in the skin ran out much too soon. There was no possibility of creating the patterns within patterns that were so essential. Still, Lotte knew she'd made a good start. She decided to take the rocks home and some of the water too, restack the stones and experiment some more. She refilled the skin and wrapped the stones securely in the sailcloth, tying the mouth of her makeshift sack with the rope. Only then did she discover that the stones were much heavier than she'd thought. She was able to drag the sack short distances but then she had to rest. It was clear she wouldn't make it home by nightfall. Still, she tried. She dragged it a little, stopped, rested and dragged it a little bit more. By early evening she'd barely made it to the edge of the woods. Tired, exhausted and dirtier than she'd ever been in her life, Lotte realized that if she were going to get home before dark, she'd have to abandon the stones. She hid the bag under some bushes and walked the rest of the way home. That night, she could sense the angel hovering. She'd begun to recognize his mere presence even when he didn't speak. She was comforted by the thought that he was near and silently promised him that she'd soon have the music he requested. There was the faintest echo of response in her mind. Soon. Lotte was up again before dawn. When her mother came to the kitchen, she was surprised to find that Lotte had already made breakfast. As soon as she was allowed, Lotte raced back to the forest. She gathered some more water from the stream, having saved the water from the night before in a bucket. She had the vague notion that she might, over time, collect sufficient water to complete at least one pattern cycle. Her mind that morning was filled with ideas of ropes and pulleys and pipes and spouts that would have done credit to an engineer. But she was still concerned that she hadn't captured the essence of the music she was to play. Doubtful, but with a full water skin strapped over one shoulder, Lotte returned to the sack of stones and began struggling with it once more. Oddly, she seemed to sense the angel even then. It was strange. She'd never before sensed him during daylight hours. She decided her mind was playing tricks on her because she was so tired, and continued the process of dragging and resting. What would happen, she wondered, if she piled the stones beneath the outdoor pump? Perhaps she could bring forth a steady enough stream to produce the desired effect. She remembered the patterns within patterns and wondered if she'd have the strength to pump the water that long. A whisper in her mind brought her back to the present. That must have been the angel. She couldn't understand why she was sensing him. She sat down, trying to calm herself enough to hear him if he had something to say but instead of becoming clearer the feeling of closeness receded. Her mind returned to the problem of the water. She wondered if she could get other people to take turns pumping when she got tired. She wondered who she could get to do it at night. And it would have to be done at night as well as during the day if she were to capture the greater cycles as well as the lesser. How long would it have to go on? Would there even be enough water in the well? "There will never be enough." She'd spoken out loud without realizing it. A moment later she felt the presence of the angel. "I'm trying," she cried. She was much too agitated to have heard any response. But he was there and his presence was more palpable than it had ever been before. She began to fear that she'd soon be able to hear him without quieting her mind. And though such a thing would have normally been welcome, she was terrified because she wasn't ready. She'd been on the brink of discovering that to accurately produce the music by way of water and stone would be beyond the means of any mortal. That meant there must be another way. She just needed to find it. "Oh, please," she cried. "I'll figure it out if you just give me time." Lotte dragged her bag as far as the crossroads and could feel the angel all around her. She knew that at any moment he'd speak and when he did, she'd be required to perform. But how? Hurriedly she thought of opening the sack with the stones and pouring the water that she had over them, trickling it slowly enough so that she could complete at least one minor cycle. Suddenly, a voice broke into her thoughts. It was not the voice of the angel but the cracked and broken voice of a very old man. "Help me." She turned toward the sound and found that someone was lying in the ditch beside the road. She was annoyed by the distraction for she could sense the angel as strongly as if he were standing beside her. But Lotte was a good girl and she had a kind heart. With a sigh, she dropped the rope and approached the ditch. Peering over the edge, she saw the filthiest person in the world. He'd worn his clothing for so long that it looked like it had grown into his skin. His face had a grayish pallor beneath a thick layer of dirt. His eyes were sunk deep into his skull. His sparse hair reminded Lotte of a partially plucked chicken and she remembered what her mother had once told her about dirty hair breeding lice. Worst of all, she was downwind of him so when a sudden gust blew her way she caught the sickening odor of filth and disease. With an effort she controlled the urge to gag and squatted down by the side of the ditch. "What should I do?" she asked. "Water," he moaned. Lotte couldn't answer because of the lump in her throat. If she gave the man water, she'd never complete her third task. Somehow she knew the angel would speak the moment the water was gone. How could she possibly play the music for him then? She looked back down at the man in the ditch and knew that without water he'd die. Someone must have treated him very badly for him to end up where he was. What he needed was a nice long drink. What he needed was for Lotte to bathe his poor face with cool water, to revive him and to support him as he walked the rest of the way to her house. Her eyes filled with tears as she unslung the skin from her shoulder. "I love you, Angel," she whispered. "Please forgive me." She uncorked the skin and reached down with it into the ditch. The man's eyes were closed and he didn't take it. "I have some water for you," Lotte said. Still he didn't respond. She poured a few drops to wet his lips but the water only dribbled down his cheek. With some misgivings, Lotte climbed into the ditch with the man and put her hand beneath his head, carefully lifting it so that he'd be in the proper position to drink. Her hand had only been there a moment when she felt a tingling sensation that started in her fingers and moved up her arm. She had to control the urge to snatch her hand away, forcing herself to stay as she was and to offer him water again. He reached up and took the pouch from her. She stood and took a fearful step backward as he moved to sit up but she was kept from fleeing by the curious look of tenderness in his eyes. "Don't you know me, Lotte?" he asked. As she watched he parted his garments, revealing a blinding white light that burst from his core. With a cry, she turned away and covered her eyes but the sweet, musical voice soothed and consoled her. "Have no fear, my beloved. Don't you know your Angel of Music?" "Is it really you?" she asked, though she dared not uncover her eyes. Musical laughter like that from the forest stream, rose up and enveloped her. "I can't look at you," she said. "No, child. An angel can't be seen by mortal eyes. Even so, I am with you. And I will always be with you." "But how can that be?" Lotte asked, uncovering her eyes but keeping her back to the radiance. "I didn't bring you the music you wanted." "You carry it within you, Lotte," the angel said. "The music of the stream is the music of eternity. The patterns within patterns that go on forever. Don't you remember? A whole mortal lifetime wouldn't be enough to recreate it but recreation is unnecessary. Your soul is the music and it is eternal. Search within yourself and you will find what you seek." Lotte turned her focus inward, becoming aware of a brilliant spark inside her - a small thing, really, compared to the angel but every bit as bright. His voice returned as a whisper in her mind. "One day you will see me, Lotte, but not until that spark has grown, long after it has left its earthly home. For now, rejoice in the music you can reach and have faith in me. I will show you the way." "You will teach me then?" she asked, new hope dawning in her heart. "Of course, child," he responded. "Have I not been teaching you all along?" Lotte stopped to consider and realized it was true. "How can that be?" she asked. "I thought I had to prove myself worthy." "Did you complete the tasks?" "Yes." "Are you worthy, then?" She considered. "You knew even before I began that I'd succeed." "The windsong. The swansong. The dance of the waters. All of that and more lies within you. You succeeded before you started simply by coming to me." "Then why did you make me think I was being tested?" "Make no mistake," he said. "You were being tested. Your thoughts and actions were being judged by a very critical and unforgiving observer." Lotte felt herself pale. "Who was judging me?" "You," he replied. "Right from the beginning you lacked faith in yourself. You needed proof of your own worth before you could accept me. Do you understand why?" "I thought you'd made a mistake in coming to me," she said. "What do you think now?" Lotte reflected upon all she'd learned since the angel first revealed himself and upon all the things she had, in truth, taught herself. She remembered too, the spark that was inside of her, itself like a tiny angel. And knew it to be beautiful. "There was no mistake," she said, realizing the truth of it as she spoke. And then with a sudden burst of joy and gratitude, she clasped her hands together. "Oh, Angel," she cried. "I do understand. Thank you so much for all you've shown me."
Yet in his eyes all the sadness of the world . . . Those pleading eyes, that both threaten and adore . 我 我 我 只有一种容貌 我就是永远不会倒 我就算逆境环绕 我面对也要带着笑 我只有一种咆哮 我要让他们都知道 我生命再怎么粗糙 我都要活得很骄傲 我说自尊啊 看起来或许可笑 但它至少 撑着我 试着不让我跌倒 活着 如果只是不甘寂寞的喧嚣 那就咆哮吧 让每个人都能听得到 hah. randomness. RAWR. i tore it into pieces and threw it away. they never noticed.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006 Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again You were once my one companion . . . you were all that mattered . . . You were once a friend and father - then my world was shattered . . . Wishing you were somehow here again . . . wishing you were somehow near . . . Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here . . . Wishing I could hear your voice again . . . knowing that I never would . . . Dreaming of you won't help me to do all that you dreamed I could . . . Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental, seem, for you, the wrong companions - you were warm and gentle . . . Too many years fighting back tears . . . Why can't the past just die . . .? Wishing you were somehow here again . . . knowing we must say goodbye . . . Try to forgive . . . teach me to live . . . give me the strength to try . . . No more memories, no more silent tears . . . No more gazing across the wasted years . . . Help me say goodbye I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright. I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more. I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive. I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger. I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting. I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess. I wish you enough "Hello's" to get you through the final "Good-bye". I wish you enough.
Sunday, March 05, 2006 Learn to be Lonely Child of the wilderness Born into emptiness Learn to be lonely Learn to find your way in darkness Who will be there for you Comfort and care for you Learn to be lonely Learn to be your one companion Never dreamed out in the world There are arms to hold you You've always known Your heart was on its own So laugh in your loneliness Child of the wilderness Learn to be lonely Learn how to love life that is lived alone Learn to be lonely Life can be lived Life can be loved Alone. so there. and i'm off to OBS!!!
Wednesday, March 01, 2006 I loathe the lack of empathy and the way people can be as narrow-minded as to think they're the only one suffering and spare no thought for the feelings of others. and much,much more about people. don't even try to get me started. "One cannot deny one's feelings; but the best one can do is to cast away these feelings and focus on the task at hand." |
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