My Fear Landscape

"I hold the syringe up to the light and notice the contents of the serum glow a golden-orange in the dying light. I press down on the plunger making sure there are no air bubbles in the liquid before I insert it into my neck. The liquid squirts out in drops, I then dab some antiseptic solution onto the spot where the needle will enter. You will have to face your fears and conquer them I hear, it's FOUR's voice. Be brave. I am brave I say to myself, before inserting the needle into my neck. The prick of the needle stings me, but then it numbs down and I can feel the serum working it's way through my body.

I close my eyes and let my body succumb to the sedative, I look around and notice my reflection in one of the panes in the control room. The tattoo on my spine is visible from the collar of my vest and it shimmers jet-black in the sun, a flame burning in the palms of a pair of outstretched hands, the child of my old faction, and my new. And beneath those hands, the words Courage. Compassion. Connection. 

I turn on my heal and head toward the reclined seat in the middle of the room, and there shut my eyes slowly. My back and my arms and my legs go numb as they sink into the leather of the seat and I drift off listlessly. When I finally open my eyes, I am engulfed in a blanket of black. The fear of the dark I say to myself. My heart races a bit, but then I remember how I dealt with the dark when I was a child. I reach out my arm and feel my way through it. "Embrace the darkness" my grandmother once told me, and that's exactly what I do. I shuffle into the abyss with my fingers acting as receptors and my ears as radars. In no time my eyes adjust to the darkness and they make out the silhouette of a neighborhood at twilight. As I walk, I notice a street form before me and a row of grey houses take shape on my left and on my right. It looks familiar. It is familiar! I'm in the Abnegation section of the city ,and I am walking down the street where my old house is. The street is deadly quiet, save for the distant noise of dogs barking which echo off the chalky walls.

I walk down the street with certainty, I know that I am here for a reason, I need to find something. I turn left down into an avenue, and there I hear the screech of a gate swinging open. The sound is followed by a plethora of low growls, and as I turn back I notice a pack of rabid dogs charging toward me with their mouths foaming. I run, even though my legs turn to jelly. The fear of dogs I hear myself say . I can't get far with my baggy grey pants which weigh me down, so I stop, turn and face the onslaught. The first dog that reaches me dives for my leg, and tears away at the hem of my pants, the second one leaps up and goes for my throat, but I stick my forearm out and let it grab a hold of that. An act of sacrifice I suppose. I wrestle with the hell-hounds until I remember what FOUR told me in the cafeteria: stay calm and breathe, the mind knows what to do. The body will follow. So I count to four, ironically, and swing a kick into the ribs of the dog tearing away at my leg, and it lets go if my pants in a painful cry. As for the dog that is dragging me down by arm, I grab a hold of its hind leg with my free hand and fling it upward, sending it hurling into the air. It lands on its neck painfully and the landscape changes. I was in the Abnegation section for a reason, and that reason was to find my courage.

The world changes once more and now I am in The Pit, and it is crowded with the faces and the bodies of the Dauntless. They laugh boisterously, and I smile too as notice their smiles, but as I approach them their faces turn to stone and they turn their backs on me in disgust, sneering as they do. "What's happening?" I ask a girl in a leather jacket to my right, who doesn't respond but who instead yanks her shoulder from my outstretched hand. "Why are you even here?" she spits "You don't belong here Stiff!" she finishes, before her friend beside her who has a large nose ring adds: "Go away! We need people who will support us and help us grow!". I feel the pang in my chest where my heart is at those words, and I begin to crumble from within. I want to curl up and shrink, but I clench my fists, stifling my shaking hands instead. I know this fear, but I don't announce it and I choose rather to lift my head up and walk through the crowd of faces. My worth is inherent, and is not dependent on factors without I whisper to myself.

The crowd of Dauntless evaporate into a cloud of grey smoke, which gets darker and thicker until I find myself sitting prostrate in a dingy room that has a faint fecal smell to it. The floor is ice cold and the walls around me stand ominous like a barrier separating me from my freedom. It is dark in here, I can't even make out the outline of my hand. I hear something growling to my left, that sound is followed by another growl to my right, and finally as I turn to look ahead I see a pair of great yellow eyes staring straight at me. The three beasts approach, cloaked in fur and fury. The fear of being ambushed. I shake, but then I recall what FOUR expressly instructed us to remember during training: Adapt. And so I do. I wait for the first attacker who dives at me, trying to grapple my arms. I duck and launch a well-time kick into the things mi-drift, the wretched thing heaves as I parry a blow from the creature to my left with my arm, and punch it in the face. The monster recoils in pain as it falls defeated to the floor. I stand waiting for the final attacker to launch at me, but it simply looks at me with it's treacherous eyes, and I notice it's countenance change into that of a docile, defeated thing. It then shrinks away into the darkness in a whimper. When you have the courage to face your fears, they have no power over you

I slouch down against the wall and lay my head against the stony barrier thinking of a way to escape this imaginary prison. I close my eyes and allow my thoughts to carry me off into the blissful paradise that is my happiest memories. I smile as I recall the smell of the closely cropped grass on the lawn before my house. I chuckle silently as I draw from my mind the sound of my mother's laughter on the bright summer mornings as our family broke our fast over plain bread and unsweetened oatmeal. Memories are the scribe of the soul I read somewhere, and never has it been more true than in this moment. The memories linger for a time until I hear the sweet sound of a bird chirping above. I open my eyes and notice a red robin perched between the bars of the window. The bird then floats down into the cell and circles there as if it were looking for a place to land. I smile and stick out my hand, and the bird picks up the Que and places it's feet delicately on my fingers. The bird of paradise alights itself on the hand that does not grasp, I say to myself. The red robin prances about my palm and I laugh as it bobs its head as it slowly creeps up my arm until it finds it's way to my shoulder, and then finally to my ear where it whispers: The Brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all! The beautiful bird then floats away as the walls around me crumble and fall into an ocean that has become wild beneath a stormy sky.

I now stand upon a jagged rock in the ocean, the storm above me rages and the water from above pours down upon my naked body in droves. I squint my eyes against the storm and notice before me a great wave that is making its way toward the tiny rock I'm standing on. The wave looks like a black curtain topped with a crown of white foam, it descends, my whole body tenses, and I can't make sense of what to do. I close my eyes, spread out my arms and welcome the wave as I would an old friend. In that moment I recall what the red robin told me. "Be Brave" I announce, as the water comes crashing down on me.

I wake up in the chair in a cold sweat with my heart is racing. I wipe my brow as I look about, still dazed, until it dawns on me that I have just faced my fears. I am Dauntless! 

"I'll say it one last time: Be Brave"- Veronica Roth

T.B

Crystal

"Adversity is the diamond dust with which heaven polishes its jewels"

 It takes an extremely brave person to look their challenges dead in the face and say try me! This is the particular attitude that a good friend-no-sister of mine has adopted when the pressures of the world both within and without, alight themselves on her heart. Crystal stands stoic amidst great storms, and like an eagle, rises above them every single time! She has this divine ability to tap into what seems to be boundless wisdom, and from it, retrieves the truth, and bestows it on someone without hurting them. It's and oddity since in most cases the truth feels like a piercing dagger.

 It has never been more apparent to me that her wisdom stems from a place deep within her heart where she has weathered the blows of life with celestial grace like a Queen. She reminds of one of my favorite heroines, Eowyn, a Shield Maiden whose courage and fortitude in the midst of war was second to none. I intend on keeping this short as I feel words can't describe enough the admiration and adoration I have for this particular sage, so I'll end this by saying that the wings of an angel are found on the backs of the least like people, and you are on of those people to me, Crystal! Thank you for your constant guidance. And I hope that you are blessed perpetually, and that you find it within yourself to always see eternity in an hour, and heaven in a wild flower

Your distant brother
Tshepo.

A Letter To The Count

To Monsieur Le Comte de Monte Cristo

Dear Edmond, you may be the figment of the boundless imagination of a singular gentleman named Alexandre Dumas, but you have made a particular impression on me so much so that I felt quite obliged to write to you in tribute. When I first made your acquaintance you impressed upon me the seemingly endless elation of a child in spring. Your diligent and determined love for the seas made want to explore that endless lake that Poseidon calls an abode. Your love for your master monsieur Morrel, showed me that when a young person seeks to follow before they lead, all barriers to industrial progression can crumble and that great things can be accomplished!

My dear Edmond you demonstrated to me the true meaning of love, which would be later tested, but a test which you doubtlessly weathered. Your love for your father and for your betrothed, Mercedes, demonstrated to me in crystal clear sight that a man is truly happiest when he is surrounded by those he loves. Your subsequent arrest and detaining left a rather bad taste in my mouth as reading on seemed to me as being forced to enter a dark cave with you, and I felt that there would be no light nor any way out. You were but a lad then, and your countenance, although radiating with happiness, made no impression upon the procurer de roi, so on you went Edmond, into your damnation, but you saw fit to make it your salvation.

Your struggle and strife within that abyss called the Chatteua d'ff made me cringe and shudder! The doubts which you wrestled constantly, made me pity you, but I stayed that pity for I knew that your will was stronger than the walls that ensnared you. Your battle with that spectre that rises in the hearts and minds of the disturbed soul cast a light on something that I dare not mention, and your fateful encounter with a man that I have previously described as a fallen star rising from his temporary abode, to show you the way toward the light, solidified my admiration for you. I'm sure your appreciation for this man goes without saying, but your diligence surfaced once more, and like the Abbe, you managed to concentrate the faculties of your mind into a singular cause that would alter your life forever. You showed great ingenuity and strength in the way in which you handled both the Abbe' s death and your escape, and because of it, you have seen fit to bestow upon your conspirators the fate which you thought they deserved.

Your sojourn across the Mediterranean after your escape from the cemetery of the Chatteua d'iff, was carried out with the poise of a man who was in complete control of his destiny.You stood stoic upon that rock in the sea amidst the storm, and providence rewarded you for your faith. The sailor within you, mingled with the words which you described as burning like fire before your eyes, gave you a keen sense of direction, and guided you toward a man who would later prove to be a trusted companion; and to an Island that held upon it's rugged terrain the treasures and trinkets that unlocked the endless possibilities known and unknown to man. Upon your return to Marseilles you scrupulously plotted against your conspirators, naming them and weaving your deadly thread in and out of their accursed lives with a piercing needle like a maestro.

Rome and Paris became your home, Edmond, and within those ancient cities you showed me a side to chivalry that has never before been exposed to human behavior. your elusiveness became a mask which you wore constantly, thrilling and seducing Parisian high society like a spider when it draws in it's prey. The details of your ingenious plot and the characters within it are many, and naming them would be unbecoming. But, your manner and wisdom and divinity have scarred me as you have left me speechless and numb. You have bestowed upon me the high art of nobility, erudition, and impeccable taste. I hope that in time that I can come to emulate your countenance dear Edmond, for it is otherworldly, and as you said in your letter to Maximilian; it stems from a world called grief. I shall wait and hope monsieur le Comte, for as you said; all human wisdom is contained within these two words.

Your faithful student.
Tshepo.  

Abnegation

"Selflessness and bravery aren't all that different"~Tobias Eaton. This post is dedicated to the suffering empath who literally can feel the world within their hearts and to the person who can hear the calls of help from everyone around them. It takes a real sense of courage to put oneself last when our world is so geared around the concept of self indulgence and apathy. Now, I am writing this in a most sincerer manner as I too am guilty of both as we probably all are, we are human after all. But selflessness is a trait I would definitely like to understand and emulate in more depth.

To the brave mother who would sacrifice her time for her crying child who needs and craves her attention. You are giving the world a precious gift that cannot be replaced. To the girl who can walk into a room and sense the aurora of those around her, and endeavors to ensure that everyone is included. You are inadvertently healing everyone around you. To the introvert who has a myriad of thoughts flooding his mind but who is brave enough to come of out his shell and lend a hand to an elderly person who is struggling along as they walk. To you I say, carry on! Keep being brave. The world needs you!

The inherent phenomenon of selfless can have it's drawbacks however. I say it is inherent because every single human being has this "S" gene within them, and it reveals itself in the most desperate of times. In times of great emergency or distress, I believe the human mind seems to trigger and awaken this "S" gene and causes us to commit acts of extreme bravery and strength that in hindsight seem impossible, but in the moment seem as simple as blinking. That "S" gene to me can only be described as love, as only love can trigger such reactions within the human heart and mind. It's perhaps the love for humankind, and I wonder what would happen if we could access and call upon this "S" gene at will in everything we do? I think that would be quite remarkable to witness. Now as for the drawbacks, the most obvious would be a sense of suffering and internal conflict. Now please bare with me as I use this term, as I am aware of the fact that there people out there who are truly suffering and struggling and I am cognizant of that, I am using the term because I see the selfless person as one who is willing to engage in self-denial by considering others before they consider themselves, or to lift someone up when they themselves are quite low, and that is quite courageous and shouldn't go unnoticed!

I sat one afternoon finishing up Insurgent by Veronica Roth and when I read that most Divergent initiates or transfers originated from the Abnegation faction, it all clicked! It takes an immense sense of dauntlessness to give oneself to another to a person or to a cause that one can derive little from. It takes a highly intelligent person to be able to pick up on a persons energy and empathize with their joy or sadness, and to accurately understand how to tap into that and act accordingly. And lastly, it takes a deep desire to create peace, to put oneself on the line because to an empath, a person in need is not at peace, so the selfless person seeks to restore this peace with kindness as only an honest person can.

Now as I mentioned before, I would really like to understand selflessness on a deeper level and tap into it with a balanced perspective. Like Tris and Tobias, I would like to understand why and how my mirror neurons (the tiny nerve cells located in the front of the brain, responsible for observing and imitating behavior) work they way they do, in order to use them to become more considerate, empathetic, and aware of people around me. I want to be able to access my "S" gene at will, and use it to become a better person. All is a process I've been told and so I will endeavor to hone these skills and use both in conjunction.

T.B

As If On The Wings Of An Angel

I sat on the balcony looking up at the sky which was painted a deep orange as the sun set, and I thought about Icarus and his failed attempt at reaching the heavens which he so earnestly strove for. I then thought to myself, what if he survived his burning plummet toward the Earth? What then? What if we're all like Icarus, striving ceaselessly toward our own personal Sun? Should we then all burn in a plume of flames when we fail to reach beyond the superhuman regions beyond the firmament? Of course not! We are of the stars, and it is our divine right to stretch for the that Sun, and if, and probably when we fall helplessly, we should dare to rise once more! So here is a story about an angel who has fallen from grace, which is a tribute to that unfathomable will of the human heart which pushes beyond the apparent and leans into the celestial.

The lad's wings were drenched and clung to his back in a mass of feathers, his bruised and battered knees ran pink beneath the pouring rain. "Tis but a scratch!" the young angel declared, looking to the heavens from which he fell so unceremoniously. The plummet had seen him fall through a thicket of dark clouds, where he finally clambered into the jagged branches of a great elm, which left him sprawled in a pool of mud. Rising the angel unfurled his sodden wings and whispered to himself: "We fall so that we can rise!". With his eyes set upon the Sun, unperturbed by the apparent muster of clouds that hid it from view, he leapt into the air and took flight. His splendid wings flapped incessantly against the pouring rain that seemed to cut at him in tiny blades of water. He squinted against the deluge, rising and rising. Reaching for that oft times elusive phantom called destiny.

 The clouds became darker and darker as he rose, and in his periphery, he beheld the flash of lightning that illumined the sky in a streak of light, bruising it, and leaving it purple for a time. Many of his fallen brother's and sister's had warned him of the thunder during an ascent. "When the sky turns white" they said "The Great one is warning you not to return" they finished, but the young angel paid no heed to their words of caution. His will was set in stone. The thunder cracked once more, lighting the sky, but the lad kept soaring, his wings now floating beneath the wind and the wisps of vapor that gave him speed. At length he rose above the dark muster of clouds as eagles do, and saw before him that fire in sky that he so longed for. With his eyes wide, he pulled his wings tight and gave a final flap of hope. But, to his great disappointment, as he gave his body one last jerk of speed, he was met by a flash lightning that set his beautiful wings afire. He smelt his wings burn at first, then he saw his left one ablaze before realizing the harsh truth. The senses are odd in that way, they trick you into thinking you're perfectly alright before it finally dawns on you that something is terribly wrong. The young angel then let out a cry of anguish as he fell toward that orb we call Earth yet again.

The lad now lay upon a bed of rocks, dazed and confused. He looked up and saw that the storm had given way, as the clouds seemed to rescind, leaving a beautiful ray of iridescent color that slashed across the now peach colored sky. "An omen" the angel declared "Rainbows only appear after a great storm." he finished, as he rose groggily, nursing his burned wings behind his back. "The fire from the storm may have singed my wings, but I am not burnt! The flames have simply burnt away the unnecessary feathers required for me to reach the Sun!". With that the lad endeavored to leap once more into his destiny, but he stumbled and fell into the ocean before him. After great effort he crawled ashore with his wings damp and his spirits as low as he had fallen. "The water has soothed my burns, and left me more adept at flying once they have dried!" He whispered to himself. Now dry and with faith burning fiercely in his heart he leapt once more into the sky.

His wings now cropped short seemed to carry him with greater speed than the ones heaven had seen fit to bestow upon him at his birth. He now flapped against the wind with a renewed purpose, the wind of destiny seemed carry him higher and higher as if the Sun was calling out to him. again he rose above the clouds and there saw that oft times unreachable light that burned with a never ending flame. He jerked his body once more, rendering it erect before he heard something sound in the wind: "Go on" the voice seemed to say. The boy heeded the call, because unlike the voice of his brother's and sister's below, this voice could only be heard in complete silence and only whilst in pursuit of that ever elusive phantom called destiny. Higher the young angel rose, feeling the heat of the Sun burning him slightly. The Sun's scorching rays increased in temperature the closer the angel got until he cried out in pain. The lad wanted to turn back. To return to the Earth where he felt he would be safe from the fire, but something or someone spoke to him in that moment. "Come into the fire dear boy. This fire will not burn you, it will only burn what you are not!". The angel, still writhing in pain, heeded the call of eternal wisdom, and looked dead ahead into the flames of the Sun that twisted and turned like red and orange tongues. "I shall come" Replied he "And I shall come as I was meant to come. As If On The Wings Of An Angel!"

"You're stronger than you think"

T.B.

Even when your hand shakes

Her hands began shaking again, and she could feel the anxiety creeping in like the waves on the beach she so loved to visit. Each wave of thought crept closer and closer, engulfing her in doubt, robbing her of the present moment. "Breathe" she whispered to herself, as she brought in a tray of poppies from the greenhouse. The bright sunlight that shone on her back cast iridescent rays of light on her hair which shimmered like beaten gold, causing Grace, her manager to squint against it, as she entered the shop floor. "What's the matter?" The old lady asked in the most concerned accent. "Nothing" Mary lied. "I'm just tired" she finished. Another lie. "Take those and put them on the counter" Grace replied doubtfully "There are sure to be some customers looking for these this week" she finished.

Mary obliged and made her way onto the shop floor where flowers of almost every kind filled the stands. To her left she beheld the beautiful violets and white roses that scented the isle with a concoction of sweet perfume. To her right, her eyes drank in a collage of  rich red and pink that marked the roses that were freshly delivered a week since. Presently she walked down this corridor of color until she came upon the counter where she arrayed the red poppies before the till. She then busied herself with the tulips in one corner before the bell above the door chimed, admitting a young man clothed in military attire, who strode strong and handsome within the scented shop. "Excuse me Ms." the lad said in a gentle voice. Mary looked up, dropping the tulips in her hand. She felt her heart beat a little faster and noticed the room become just a little brighter. "I'm looking for-" The young man noticed the fallen tulips before he could finish, and walked pristine toward the fumbling girl.

"Let me help you with those" the young man said flashing a smile which exposed a row of  pearl white teeth. The young girl pushed back a lock of curls behind her ear and blushed inconsolably. "Thank you" she croaked, as the young man picked the flowers from the floor still smiling. "My name is Henry" announced the young man, reaching out his hand. "I- I'm M- Mary" she stuttered as she too stretched out her trembling hand. The lad noticed her hand shake as it approached his. He clasped it with his left hand and engulfed what was left of it with his right before, looking into her hazel eyes. "Be at ease, nothing matters but this room! This very moment!" He said reassuringly. Mary's eyes began to well up before the young man said in a whisper "Sometimes we need someone to hold our hands even their shake"

In that moment Mary smiled like she hadn't  for a good while. She felt her skin tingle and she was overcome by a profound sense of clarity much  like the sun when it chases the shadows of dusk into the corners of a room. She was freed from the dark clutches of her anxiety by a kind word and a firm hand. "Even when my hand shakes" she whispered to herself, and the young man, bound by his errand procured his poppies, and left her with the gift of hope.

T.B

Andy

Picture: Onnys Aho

The dining hall was empty save for a single occupant who sat snoring peacefully before the large windows which let in the mellow autumn afternoon sunshine, that streamed down upon the old man in golden streaks. Dust particles played around in that resplendent light and alighted upon the old man's face, but he did not stir. His slumber seamed so peaceful that even an earthquake could not wake him. "Is that him over there?" inquired the young man of the matron at the entrance to the dining hall. "Yes sir" replied she "Shall I wake him for you?" she finished "Don't bother, ma'am" came the young man's voice so coolly that it seemed to melt in the air as it left his lips.

The youth then turned on his heels and made his way toward the elderly man who slept by the window. His footfalls so soft upon the freshly polished wooden floor that they sounded like light rain falling upon a pane of glass like a whisper. His stride so graceful, that it resembled the elegance of a swan upon the water streaming across the hall toward the man that had altered his young life. His crisp linen dress shirt rustled softly as he approached the old man where he beheld the back of his head. The shape of which they both shared.

 The young man's pulse quickened as he crept ever closer to this man who had been the cause of so much of his anguish, that the youth felt his blood boiling beneath his skin. He took a deep breath, calming his beating heart, and turned to face the old man. The latter hadn't noticed the visitor, and kept at his slumber with his chest rising and falling like the mild ebb and flow of a current. The youth's eyes washed over the old man's face with such intensity that if his pupils were books, one could easily discern within those deep pools of brown, the scars and hurt that swam beneath their surface. A moment passed thus, before these two wells overflowed and spillt  thin streaks of  tears that chased each other down his youthful cheeks. Biting his lip to keep the tears at bay, the youth whispered: "Bevan". The elderly man stirred as he recognized the voice of a child that he hadn't heard for close to two decades. Blinking, he opened his wrinkled eyelids and beheld before him a boy, no, man, that resembled himself so much, that it shook him from his daze.

"Andrew?!" said the old man, his cloudy eyes moving frantically over the youth's face. "My name is Andy!" replied the young man, his voice turning to ice. "Oh my dear boy!" said the old man, sitting up in his wheelchair, lifting his hand up to his boy's face in an attempt to caress it. Andy swatted it away gently and replied:"Don't call me that!" Andy felt a sudden surge of anger rush through his body that caused him to shudder as one would on a cold winter's morning. He gathered himself and announced: "I came to say goodbye father" He said, straightening his body. His skin glowing like gold, with his bushy hair glistening in the afternoon sun that fell on his erect back. 

"And to thank you!" Andy finished, as his eyes danced over this creatures visage. The old man, slightly taken aback, looked up at his son stunned and replied: "Thank me for what?". Andy shut his eyes for a moment, and beheld behind his beautiful eyelids and long lashes, every memory of every lash of the cane that once fell upon his bare skin, every word of ridicule, and every tear shed in his lonely moments that were stored in the deep recesses of his mind. And with a heaving  breast he said: "I came to thank you for putting me through the flame, as I have risen from it to cast sparks of light to those who need it most!" The old man remained shell-shocked, his lower lip quivering, as cowards do when exposed. Andy knelt before him, and alighted a soft kiss upon the liver-spotted forehead of the old man before saying: "I thank you and I forgive you Bevan." Rising, Andy walked around the wheelchair and made his exit with tears welling up in his eyes. He stopped at the entrance, and looked back at this man who had altered his young life. Looking up to the heavens, he announced in a croaking whisper: "Thank you!"

"You are more than a fading scar"

T.B

A Learned Italian

"A Learned Italian" was the name given to the sixteenth chapter in the novel The Count of Monte Cristo, and within that chapter, I was graced by the presence of a singular old man named Faria. "Le Abbe", as poor Edmond Dantes referred to him touched my heart, mind and soul in ways which led me to believe it possible that Providence, the Higher Power, the Divine or whatever term you wish to attribute to the supernatural, exists within the pages of a book.
Deep in the confines of the abyss known as the Chateau d'Iff, i was introduced  by quite miraculous chance, to an imprisoned clergy-man. He made himself known to me by his response to  Edmond's heartfelt lament: "Who talks of God and despair at he same time?" The Abbe cried, and in that moment, that small moment, a tiny ray of light seemed to me to issue from the heavens, pierce through the stark stone walls of the chateau d'Iff, and illumed the dark cloud that hovered over Edmond Dantes for so many years. The young sailor's prayers had been answered!

Using an incredible amount of stealth and planning, the duo then plotted a way to meet.
The Abbe, having dug a tunnel through his own cell, intending to painstakingly chip away at the slabs of stone of the prison, by chance, or as we have seen, fate; found himself adjacent to the sailors cell where they began their most remarkable interview. I paused a moment as i read how Faria had alighted in Edmond's cell, like a star that had descended to the earth, which would then  subsequently rise from its temporary abode, into cell number 34. Dumas painted this sage thus:"his stature was small, with hair that was blanched and withered with sorrow, and a countenance that announced a man who was more accustomed to exercise his moral faculties than physical exercise"

Dantes, naturally was overwhelmed with a queer concoction of emotion when he laid his eyes on this poor, rugged creature, which rendered him paradoxically warmed by emotion and chilled to the touch. "Let us see" The Abbe then said as the pair scrutinized the old man's miscalculations. Dantes, still in a state of wonder, then inquired about the old man's length and manner of imprisonment, which the Abbe, then replied with a lengthy recollection of deception, and a long-concealed parchment containing the whereabouts of a lost treasure.

The new friends then swore to meet in the Abbe's cell where they would proceed with their strategy of escape in more detail. Now as I delved into the low tunnel that formed the portal to Edmond's long lost hope., I, like Edmond, expected to find a chamber, strewn with books and charts of geometry and astronomy, but to my disappointment, i was met by a dingy cell which boasted the most basic furnishings that were permitted to the residents of the dungeons in the Chaetuea d'Iff. "Come! Show me the wonderful inventions you told me of-I am all impatience to behold them" Begged the young sailor, and at that, the Abbe asked Edmond which he would fancy seeing first. Faria, then proceeded in showing Edmond his collection of  literary works on the state of affairs in the Italian monarchy, the works of Thucydides, Xenophon, Shakespeare, Machiavel and the scripts of languages which the Abbe had scrupulously drawn from his memory, which i felt, captured in a brief moment, the sheer brilliance and tenacity of this old man.

Faria had written his work upon thin sheets of linen and old shirts collected from his previous incarceration with such adroit skill and precision, that Edmond marveled at how legible and organised each volume was. He asked the Abbe with what tools he had used to write it all, to which the Abbe then held up an ingeniously shaped pen-knife which had been fashioned out of an old candlestick, that bore a sharp point with a tiny nib with which he could dip into an inkwell, and scribble out his work. "As for the ink" continued Faria "There was a fireplace in my dungeon, but it was closed up long before I became an occupant of this prison. Still it must have been many years in use, for it was thickly covered with a coating of soot. This soot i dissolved in a portion of the wine brought to me every Sunday, and i assure you a better ink cannot be desired."

At this explanation, Edmond found himself in deep reverie as to how this old man, so forlorn, so frail, could muster the devices of his imagination, and use them as crafts for his emancipation. Edmond wrestled with his mind looking for a flaw to attribute to a man who had such vast knowledge in language, politics and life, but to his disappointment, found no imperfection. I believe in that moment of thought, the young sailor discovered the true power that human beings can exert upon their minds. "What are you thinking of?" asked the Abbe of Edmond in his moment of meditation "I was reflecting in the first place" Replied Edmond "Upon the enormous degree of intelligence and ability you must have employed to reach the high perfection to which you have attained;- if you thus surpass all mankind while but a prisoner, what would you not have accomplished free?" The sailor finished.

The Abbe's response to this question left me teary, as he seemed to shatter over million year's worth of human limitation in one simple answer. The Abbe replied thus: "Probably nothing at all;-the overflow of my brain would probably, in a state of freedom, have evaporated in a thousand follies; it needs trouble and difficulty and danger to hollow out various mysterious and hidden mines of human intelligence. Pressure is required, you know, to ignite powder: captivity has collected into one single focus all the floating faculties of my mind; they have come into close contact in the narrow space in which they have been wedged, and you are well aware that from the collision of clouds electricity is produced-from electricity comes lightning, from whose flash we have light amid our greatest darkness!"

Awe-struck I paused yet again for a moment, and reflected on this eloquently worded reply which seemed to be spoken so nonchalantly by the old man. His words brought back memories of heroes and heroines who have applied this very same philosophy within their lives. Men and women who saw fit to ward off the oft times crushing wave of dire circumstance .These words seemed to echo in my mind, and the sound led me to think about how the greats who came before us had suffered so dearly, and yet they endured. The Abbe showed me in a moment, the indescribable truth that in great turmoil, the human mind seems to unlock itself to reveal a hidden genius that is buried there like the very same treasure that the Abbe so brilliantly found by deciphering the burned parchment in his library. The will to live, that flame that burns with a bright hue in our hearts cannot be extinguished by an external wind, it is everlasting, and it will burn on for an eternity if we can only find it within our hearts and minds to not shy away from the darkness, but to rather walk into it, in order to find ourselves.

I will not delve into the details of the young sailor and his assisted escape, or the manner of the Abbe's death as that would spoil the magic of The Count Of Monte Cristo, so I will end my eulogy, if you will, by saying that I undoubtedly believe that divine  messages come to us in ways in which we least expect, and I was privy to this truth by listening and hanging onto every word spoken by the Abbe Faria. As I read each word, and turned each leaf of the pages within this book, I heard him, and his voice lingered in my ears and echoed in my heart like the voice of God in disguise.

T.B

 

The Custodians Of Arboria

This is one of a number of short stories I'm working on and I think this would made a great prologue. Enjoy! 

 

The forest was in the heavens, leagues and leagues above the clouds and the sky. An island of ancient trees; tall and majestic, hovering amidst a sea of stars! A magnificent thicket of Birches, Beeches, Cedars, Maples, Oaks and Pines all surrounded by a lush carpet of green grass, tipped with florets. It was an ever green place of course; where winter was non-existent, where fruits hung heavy off the branches of their trees, and where flowers of every color known, and unknown to man, dotted the forest floor as far as the eye can see. A labyrinth of perpetual spring! Where the branches of the trees with their many leaves, as green as ever, lay over the forest floor creating a green canopy over the ground. A place where every seed, flower, shrub, and tree grows and grows, undisturbed, oblivious to harsh winter winds or the bitter bite of the frost! A forest where all manner of game and birds and insects and reptiles roam freely among the brush. A Playground for the beasts of the Earth who are no longer a part of the living World below! A woodland where abundance is a norm.

Its inhabitants call it: “Arboria” the realm of the trees! And its wardens, who number four, were chosen by “The Creator”, who had first walked upon the Island when it once was a barren expanse of dust and sand… He had carried with him four seeds in his satchel, and planted them in an open plain, and they gradually grew over many centuries into the trees we speak of today… They were the first seeds to be planted on the Island, when the Universe was still young and when the Sun was but a fledgling star! They were the soil upon which Arboria grew, and they are now tasked with the governance and the well-being of the realm. First there was Adan, the largest of the trees in the realm and the eldest among the four, and he chose to grow into a Baobab. He was followed by Quercus, the strong and silent Oak. The third was Betula; the tall Birch , lithe and sturdy in his demeanor. And lastly, the youngest and the most beautiful of the four, Ulma the Elm, with her slender trunk and long branches. The four Trees soon became known as “The Custodians” for they had grown tall in an open grove, and all the other plants and creatures grew around them, as the forest expanded and stretched out across the island

The custodians stood facing each other, bark to bark, looming large over the opening in the field, brooding in still silence for thousands of years… And then it came; a soft breeze from the West that blew across the Island awakening its inhabitants. Each creature either pricked its ears up, opened up its petals or turned its head toward the East in anticipation, as if summoned by some great call. The beats and birds of Arboria then made their way, following the lead of the current… The breeze made its way slowly through the wood, swirling through the branches and leaves of the innumerable trees. It skimmed over the many lakes and streams that shimmered brilliantly in the light, and it swam through the tall grass, all the while leaving a sweet song of wood and rock and stone and stream in its wake. It was destined for the grove of course, where the gathering would be held. Once there; the breeze picked up and started to swirl within the grove, blowing the branches of the four trees from left to right making, a loud rustling sound as it harassed the leaves… And so woke the Custodians from their long slumber.

The first to heed the call was the aged Baobab, Adan! And as the breeze blew over his branches and leaves, a whisper was faintly heard upon the wind… “A thousand years our slumber has lasted my brothers and sisters of the Wood, and we now receive notice from the Great One that the time has come for us to hold council!” The voice of Adan was heard on the wind throughout the grove, it boomed deeply and echoed off the trees encircling the opening. “Ours is a watchful silence” he continued “a cautious vigil in which we perceive the activity of man and beast in this realm and the realm below...  Our watch these past thousand years has been a rather disturbing one! And it pains me to declare to you all here in attendance, that the slaughter and harassment of brother and sister, the wars great and small, and the plunder of our children below, has reached a point which I cannot bear any longer!” At this, the wind howled, as it bent the stiff Baobab branches. It blew across the grove and gave voice to the large Oak facing Adan; “Your concern is warranted dear brother, however, I am of the opinion that these ‘humans’ are, and were of no use to the realm below, and should be removed forthwith!” The voice of Quercus beamed upon the wind, as he stood proud…. A whisper was then heard from the east where Ulma stood outstretched, her branches hanging low as her green leaves brushed the forest floor; swaying this way and that in the breeze; “Have you no hope Quercus? These ‘humans’ have shown on countless occasion that a good heart can bring forth a light, which even the darkest night cannot dim!”. The wind then turned to the left, and Betula the bold Birch spoke up; “You have a soft heart dear sister, but we cannot keep order with sentiment! And in this matter, I will strongly lend my voice to our brother and call for the immediate removal of this race and replace it with one which is competent in the protection and governance of both the fauna and flora of the world, as well as to their own affairs…” The gust then turned back toward the Elm and it rustled in Ulma’s leaves, as it cut off Betula; “Your faith in our plans, and the plans of the Great One, speaks volumes Betula! And I for one remember how you strongly opposed the birth of this race from the beginning!” Ulma argued.

The wind changed direction once more to give Quercus another say in the matter; “I say we give these creatures a century to get their affairs in order, if they fail us, then of course we will have no choice but to remove them…” Adan stood in silence watching his younger siblings going back and forth, all the while giving silent thought to his own internal affairs, weighing up the options and forming a thousand solutions to this great conundrum. He bent all his thought to history, to all the ways in which man below had turned great turmoil into triumph, and to how the human race had found within them, a great spirit to endure and emerge victorious in the face of adversity. For hours on end he pondered deeply how over the years countless men and women have gone on to achieve great feats.He looked to the great leaders of the past, to the great authors, poets and scribes of history. He delved into the remarkable musicians of time; trying to find a common thread … and then it dawned on him and the great stars above seemed to shine the brighter for it.

The gust then moved swiftly toward the looming Baobab and Adan’s great voice was heard; “Your rash suggestion, Betula, would surely turn the realm below asunder! And you Quercus, your council is laced with a queer dislike to these humans, and as for you; sweet Ulma, no matter how destructive these humans may or may not become, you would turn a blind eye to their folly, for you love them blindly!… I have, or at least hope I have, found a suitable compromise to our current woes, dear siblings”. At that the beasts gathered in the grove seemed to sit still in intense concentration, as they too had an interest in the words of the great Baobab, for the children whom they had left behind below, would be affected by this suggestion. “I would have us return to the realm below dear siblings, and each select one person, who we deem fit to guide this race out of ensuing doom….” Adan bellowed. “I will do no such thing!” Protested Quercus as the wind passed over his Oak leaves. “You will and you must, for the fate of our world is intertwined with that of Earth, lest you have forgotten Quercus!” Replied Adan. He continued with his solution; “ As I was I saying. I would have us all return to Earth under a guise, in the hopes of locating four beings whom we can bestow the teachings of the Ancient Art of Song. We will guide them and cast light upon the path which we would like them to tread, each of us here will be a tutor to our chosen human, and we will be responsible for ensuring that their paths collide. For only a cacophony, played in synchronicity, can spark a flame within the souls of Men."

"And how do you suppose we’re to achieve this, Adan?” replied Quercus condescendingly. “A single branch dear Quercus.” said Adan. “A single branch??” replied Betula, confused. “Yes!” said Adan “I would have us sacrifice a single branch from our bodies. This branch will be inscribed with the runes of the First Virtuoso; Orpheus himself, it will be molded into an apparatus of your choosing, and bestowed upon your chosen human. It will be their life, their armament, and the instrument with which they will shake the foundations of the Earth!"
At that, the wind swirled around the grove and gave voice to Betula once more. “How exactly will a single branch achieve all of this, might I ask?” Ulma then spoke up as the wind turned toward her and rippled through her jade leaves. “Adan would have us sculpt a weapon of our choosing for our novice, weapon that does no harm, but inspires. A weapon that moves mountains without any real strength. A dirk that pierces the hearts of men without drawing any blood! And only one such weapon exists on Earth, dear brother” A chuckle was heard on the wind, and it came from the withered leaves of Adan. “Bright you are younger sister, for that is my exact plan! We will descend on the fifth Moon of the Earth and begin our errand.”

The wind then gave one last charge through the grove and leapt into the starry sky, the doubtful voices of Betula and Quercus were left unheard, as they chose to keep their opinions to themselves out of either scorn or perhaps a glimmer of hope. The gust then checked it pace and slowed down into a warm summery breeze, it waned in the leaves of the trees, and finally died down silently in the grove where the creatures of Arboria made common knowledge of the great errand of their Custodians, and all was well.

 

 

 

 

 

The Master And The student

She sat by the open window playing the piano she so dearly loved. Her hair blew in the soft breeze as she drew a sweet sound from each key that she pressed. she would play for hours on end, as if playing the piano was breathing. she had always been talented at this and so she became a pianist. She would tutor aspiring novices, and she had won so much renown among her students that they now referred to her as "Master"! She was expecting a student at three that afternoon and she had spent the last hour readying herself. A knock came from the door, and it opened to reveal a slender young man who wore converse sneakers, denim jeans and a white T-shirt. "May I have a seat?" the young man asked politely. "Yes you may" replied the Master as she looked him up and down. The young man proceeded to sit next to the woman at the piano. the sexual tension in the air was almost palpable! "This key right here is D and the one above it is D-minor" she said, pressing the respective keys, her eyes shining like the sun's reflection on open water. "You mean this one?" the young man asked as he placed his finger on the same key.

Their fingers met upon the key and a spark of electrifying energy surged through each of their bodies, sending ripples through their bones, chilling their skin, hardening her nipple and bulging his sex! They sat for a moment, staring into one another's eyes, wondering what had just happened and what WAS about to happen. finally the young man mustered up the courage and dove in for the kiss! The master, taken aback, obliged and welcomed the young man's advance. their tongues swam in each other's mouths and their fingers caressed the other's face, neglecting the piano keys.

They got up, still locked in an embrace as the young man walked the Master backward toward the wall, all the while sucking her face and moving his hands gently down her hips, then around her rump until he finally squeezed! The prospect of love-making had well and truly engulfed them by now and they proceeded to strip each others clothes off. The young man's shirt was off and the Master's undergarments were scattered on the wooden floor like the unwanted wrappings of candy. the two bodies now slid down the wall and lay on the floor in one big untidy heap. The young man covered every inch of The Master's body with his hands and the Master, yet again, obliged! Driven now by some madness or lust, the boy then entered the Master and slowly and rhythmically wove his way into her, all the while breathing softly upon her neck and throat. "Yes! Yes!" moaned the Master, succumbing to his tempo. The Master found herself lost in this overwhelming pleasure, as the young man's thrusts picked up tempo insistently! the numbness overcame him and he finally melted gently into the Master, and at that moment the young man whispered softly into her ear and said: "I am your Master now!"