The Beginning

(Aka Idle Thoughts)



Twice rang the bells, for death, for birth,


Twice the shining flare of light,

Twice read the story of all the world,

And the lightened soul burst into flight.



I have here a tome. Black as night, bound with silver, with hints of red. It is only so tall, and so wide, as you can see, and just so thick. It is not very large, indeed, for a volume of its destiny…


For it is the fate of the world.


The silver key enters the lock, and turns. Slowly the dark, dark cover lifts and the pages begin to fly, faster and faster, until they stop abruptly. The single cream page grows larger and larger, and the flowing script and misty drawings consume everything…



The candle sputtered, and the small pool of light it spread across the loose pages of the notes wavered slowly. It was almost dawn, and gray light filtered through the windows of the small room. Still, Cairon checked it nervously, fearful of its extinguishment but worrying about notice.

His fine pen skated across the page, recording his thoughts and observations. It had been a fine night for it. Cool, dim, quiet, without the noises he’d heard from the other day. The Lords must have done something to suppress them. They often had to nowadays, but they always did. It was one of the unchangeable facts of the world.

Except, then, what was he doing here at this time of night with only the light of a candle? At the least he should have a glowlamp, but he had been afraid of being…well, discovered. The light would have attracted a Watcher, who would have intruded and asked him what he was doing at 6 after Blacknight…and he would have been questioned. In this place of unchangeable, unquestionable things, what was Cairon Elarind doing here tonight doing a very questionable thing?

It had started not long ago. An urge, a whispering, to go outside when there was no one and no task to be done, to find out what things were like that he’d never been able to see. It was an honest feeling, and an excusable one. In the daylight there were always tasks, but at night there was no one, as everyone was lawful. Everyone except Cairon Elarind.

What would his parents have thought? He had never known them, being orphaned at a young age. According to custom he had been fostered and sent immediately to a school to find out his strengths. At 15 years, he was hard on the track to being a talented architect, or so his Masters told him. His aptitude for design and aesthetics had combined to create a wonderful mind for it, one that would help the community, they always said on his portfolios. It was what was expected.

He stacked his pages, finished for the night, and extinguished the candle, using the gray dawn-light to make his way back to his quarters. He stretched out on his bed, exhausted, trying to catch an hour of sleep before morning Calling.

They came for him that day.

I am

I am


sunlight

glowing in the west

just beyond the far edge

of

Everything.



I am

starlight

glimm’ring on the sea

So close, so real, yet untouchable

The measure of

Eternity.



I am

summer rain

cooling, gentle, clean

Breathing life into the stillness

with whispers of love.



I am

snowfall

purity, and silence

Reflection, and grace

rebirth.



I am

music

symphonies of sound,

Truth that’s held in

understanding

Beyond sight, far in thought.



I am

the story

of everything I love,

Everything I’ve seen,

Everything I’ve touched.

I am the wind in the trees,

The laugh of cool waters,

Sweet morning dewdrops,

The smiles of the world.



I am life.

I am…

me.

 
Note: This really should be in a different, centered format, but I can't do tabs here, so this is what you get. ^^

We are intriguing things, us human beings. We are who we are because of what we've seen and done, because of what's touched us beyond all. Somewhere we retain a memory and a thought and it changes what we do and how we act. By the time we die, we're a collection of scenes from many places, the good and the bad, the sweet and the sad, the dark and the light. We become something more than just us--we're also what's shaped us, created us, everything that's ever mattered to us in our lives. We become our friends and our families and our teachers, keeping a little part of them locked inside us forever. We become everything that nature has to give and we have to receive. We are like written books, books of everything and anything we may have encountered. If we could open others up and read their stories, perhaps there wouldn't be so much pain and darkness in the world--perhaps we could understand each other, by seeing the wheres and hows and whys of each other.

I want to say thank you, I think, to everyone that's done something that I held onto, everything I remember. Without others, we are nothing, in several ways. People who touch others' lives give them the greatest gifts of all--themselves. When you touch someone else's life, no matter what way, you teach them something about themself, and help them to find their way and place in our crazy world. No matter if it's positive or negative, people need them both, need them all, in order to really learn who they really are. In every year of their lives, there is something important, no matter how young or how old. Remember that, well, everything you do influences the ones involved. We are the greatest gifts we can give to each other--the lessons we can teach, the things we can help with, the love we can give, and the knowledge of oneself and each other. It is a priceless thing, to be able to know our place. We give it to each other.

Author's End Note

Author’s End Note

Dear readers. I have not written “The End” here, nor will I ever in any tale of mine. For, you see, stories never have an ending. Our part in them may come to a close, but the mantle is always there for another to take up and bring to new light. It is part of the world, part of creation, part of the endless cycle. We are all part of the same story that has gone on since the beginning of time.

In a way, reader, everything you do is part of a story, whether you think it or not. And stories are powerful. I hope that you have found something of yourself and the world reflected back at you in this one of mine. Words are precious things; they can give wings to thought and make it fly, open your eyes, show you things you’ve never seen or even dreamed of imagining. The world of thought and story is full of infinite possibilities. It is limited only by the walls you yourself have created in your mind. If you let go, why, who knows what you may discover? It is not all about creation; story is a journey of discovery. You may surprise yourself.

I hope this child of the journeys of my thought has given you some hope, some happiness, some understanding, and some laughter as you have perused it. It was all I ever wanted, to make something to leave behind and bring joys and lessons to those who come after. Everyone yearns to leave a legacy, some mark on the world. This is mine, the child of my imagination and what I believe I have learned.

Take what you will from it. To every face it is a different lesson, a different feeling, the same words with different meaning. Find what it is to yourself, whether a lesson, or an amusement, or something to turn to in a dark hour or a light one. I will never forget what stories brought to me through all the times of my life, and still do. I hope I have returned some of that to the next generation of those to come. I hope you will find some starlight pushing through the cracks of velvet night in it.

Until next time.

 
 
 
 
That is what I would like to see at the end of my work, to motivate me to continue and create. This is why I continue. That's what I want to accomplish--to create something that can mean something to others like the books I love meant to me. There is nothing like what story can do, where it can take you, and what it can teach, barring the limited actual experiences we can receive. Somehow, in the dark of the night, it is story that returns and brings messages to me. So this, I guess, is what I want to achieve for myself and for the future, to leave behind something worthwhile to all.

Dust in the Wind

“All we are is dust in the wind.”

In the grand scheme of things, we really are just tiny specks swirling in the great wind of time and space. We live, love, laugh, cry, and then, well, we die. In the long run, you’re just one of many.
So why does it matter? Why do you try?
It all comes down to two things, really. Do you try for yourself, or do you try for others? People who try and gain power, money, recognition, they do it to…be remembered. Somewhere in the back of our minds, we recognize that the only people they talk about in history are those who did something memorable. The people who ruled for a long time, who conquered, or who created. Is that what you seek, though? Just to be remembered by people who won’t care who you were, what you were inside, only hate you or love you for what they thought you did? History is a fickle thing.
Or you can make the other choice. Live for yourself and the people who care who you are and what you are. What you do doesn’t matter to everyone else. Ten years will go past and they won’t even remember what gave you such embarrassment or pride on that one day. It won’t matter if you bombed that math test or if you won the mile. What matters is how you helped people, how you made life better, how you made the best of something bad. How you rescued a friend, how you prevented a depression, how you pulled through yourself despite everything against you, how you made a difference… and what you did for the secret self inside of you that’s begging to be heard.
Do we care about what others think too much? How much of what you do is to please other people, to fit in? How has this become such a large thing for us? Why is it our nature to care what other people want and be what others want of us? Is it so different to want to be who we are for ourselves.

Of course, they say that without a listener, words are nothing. But don’t do everything to be heard; or all you do is build up a mask around you. Keep to your inner truth, because otherwise you’ll never find the inner peace we search for.
What kind of a legacy will you leave? One of hope and peace and joy and caring for the people who loved you and cared about you and those who come after? Or one you left so that you would be remembered to the whole world, who won’t care? It’s your choice: to the few who it will matter to or to try for the greater. Because we live such fleeting lives, the difference is for yourself.