Forever forgotten, smitten by the desire to repeat the past, she participates in an act of conditional surrender. As if time was over, smashed into piles of temporary accuracy. So little is known about the motivations of a motivational speaker that I am suspicious of her intent. She stares blankly at a signal of submission, I cannot think it might be time for lunch.

The nuances conflate into a moment of rhetorical passion. A lobby filled with grey suits and naked ambition seems lit by an inner conviction to remain immobile. So I sit there waiting to be invited to a reception at 11 in the inner recesses of productivity and all that goes with that.

Lastly, she hastens to remind us of tendencies to react negatively to new ideas. How can she be so misguided? I am convinced that all folly begins with the intent to make radical use of metaphors and insidious attitudes concerning the role of adolescent ardor. Can it be more obvious?

Dear reader, simply let go of your grip on whatever you are holding on to. I will catch you, not to worry.

She ran up the hill seeking solace from a relentless dawn. Turning around grateful that he is no longer running in the opposite direction forever distant.

Many creatures retreat to their viewing stations to wait out the drama expected to occur. Like always, like clockwork, the argument, the retreat to defensive positions...........

Below ground sets the stage for insect size humans to create a new universe devoid of confrontation. "How did we get so small?" Orion says as she descends to level 2 to find her parent.
She will attempt this without memories as one of the few chastised by leaders of the tribe.

Beneath the woman in the field the ground beneath her is occupied by millions of these small humans with tiny needles filled with compassion fluid. All at once they strike upwards with their weapons of compassion breaking gently the skin of her big tow as she lets out a small sigh............

A breeze creeps across wandering towards the sun, passes our heroine just as the chemical reaches her brain. Suddenly filled with joy, all memories of this mornings confrontation are dispelled. Once again she can contemplate the vast and the miniature, and remembers the tiny people beneath the earth.

"I will not forget this time!", she says. Placing a deliberate hand against the ground, feeling the soft grasses, she thanks the earth for bringing her back to balance.

blues

I am governed by an aristocratic disposition, having no sense of remorse. Yet this decision I am about to act upon fails to prevent a certain amount of reflection. As you can see, nobility is equated with resolve, having come about as a result of necessity.

Simplicity of pattern interests me with her subtle attack on convention. She turns back, laughs, and runs smack into layers of a soft fabric which breaks her fall.........she is OK. When I return to the light I see shadowy figures dancing and pretending to respond to each others desire. I cannot forget where I am and how I got here.

When the day ends, I will return to the comfort of friends and family. They will not remember why I seemed so introspective, but will think of spring, warmth, hopeful change.

Rising from the ground, I need to find a way home. Evening is approaching, filled with expectation of rebirth. I begin to walk towards the town, I see the gaslamps being tended to, the horses seeking shelter.

As I think about the last few years, I cannot ignore the feeling of innocence a child might remember from a dream about the moment when innocence is restructured into a form unrecognizable to that child.........as if memory is an illusion created upon a screen where the past gets all smashed up into a single moment where all things that happened are merged into a single moment of joy.

Finding a stone on the ground which is sand and very wet and there are living creatures here on this beach and the sun is going down and it is getting a bit cold and I have to walk back to the car now.

There are other people here, their shadows are long and they are speaking quietly and thinking about dinner and the day and if they can remember their childhoods as if all the moments are smashed into a single thought of a cool summer evening and everything was perfect.

First to complete their assignment, the terror of middle school runs out into the field and makes circles with extended arms.

Suddenly, and of course without warning, a bell rings in the distance. Solitary chants portending an event worth seeing draws a sketch of a comedy with a happy ending, strolling merrily down a sunlit lane.

Manifestations of creatures yet to be created enter the young scientists imagination. Restructuring the environment to complete this vision will take hard work, but doesn't seem to be a very complicated problem.

Lastly the other children run out of the classroom and join our hero. Prince Igor is the last to emerge, shrouded in secrecy and doubt. Is the sun truly out this day, or is this but an illusion created by the demons which rule the world and are waiting to smash his hopes and dreams?

Still waiting for a sign, the monk lowers his gaze from the beauty of a simple gesture. How can one live with such beauty?

Slow to enter the fast pace of modernity, the desert people of an unknown origin seek solace in a bus shelter covered with images of mythical warriors angelic and strong.

Each wave seems stronger than the next as the small village is battered, relocation seems inevitable, and the matriarch defends the oracles vision to remain.

She of course will have to leave with the others in a migration which will cross many villages. The television predicts that casual contact with outsiders will create a great new culture. Yet there is sorrow as the ancient lands are reclaimed by the great gods of the sea. Perhaps we have taken too much, she thinks

Meanwhile the harsh sands flow and ebb into tide pools of emptyness. Cities fill their hearts with the misjudgements of the past.

This friend says the last days are the hardest. I pull out a book of relevant historical references to confirm this diagnosis.

As the minutes pass, a sudden thought travels from my gut to a memory. We dance by the light of a thought traveling so fast as to feel like wind around a temple of contemplation.

At first I may seem to be gentle, but only on the surface. She waits for the next line. Something in her face tells me that she is concerned, but will react in the proper manner no matter what I say.

I turn to the audience holding my breath, Covered in the colors of knowledge and apprehension, I seek an apparition in the audience of my elders.

Suddenly a sigh as the cellist, who's name I cannot remember at this moment. seeks solace in memories of his mothers embrace when he fell to the ground as a reckless six year old. All this and I remember my line, the actress is relieved and the play continues...........