Jack & Jill

Jill came home late that night. It had been the best of days for her. Jack's smile kept a giddy feeling in her heart as she sang while washing up. She'd never met such an amusing boy. His character was truly that of someone filled with joy.
After all her troubles and woes, she never knew she could smile so much being so near the graves.
Unknown to Jill, Jack went home where his mother blamed him for the missing firewood. She blamed him for the unswept floors and blamed him for his sister's cold. She threatened him with all sorts of punishments while he tirelessly worked through the night to catch up on his chores.
The following day began much as the previous, but by noon he went up the hill again, and sure enough, Jill was sitting there, parchment in hand, scribbling away furiously.
Jack was amazed that she could write.
Jill would tell him stories and he'd offer helpful adventures for her characters, and together they would laugh, and her laugh filled a place in him, and his laugh set her free.
Months went on like this and soon the nights grew cooler and the chill in the air made sitting on the hill hard to do, so Jack suggested they go down to the field and light a small fire.
Jill was elated at such an idea, for she wanted very much to sit with Jack by the fire. She wanted to warm her chilled hands and watch the flames dance for them. She wanted the feeling to seep all the way through into her soul.
Jack busied himself with making a small and efficient fire, for he was good at such things, and he and Jill sat around the flames and warmed their hands and feet.
She laughed often at his riddles and she shared stories of phantoms and boggarts and will o'the wisps.
That night, when Jill arrived home, she had the happiest of feelings in her breast. Her body could scarcely contain her glee. However, Jack got a good beating, no dinner, and another sleepless night. He'd been silently suffering for months, but didn't want to see the happiness fade from Jill's eyes. Poor Jill had lost her mother and siblings, and her father was away often hunting, so for her, there was little joy in her life aside from what he could provide for her. He loved her smile.
On the day of the first big snow, Jack took a long sliver of bark to the top of the hill and set it down with a look of mischief, "Want to ride this down the hill with me, Jill?"
     "Oh Jack, that looks dangerous!"
     "No, it will be fine. I have rope here, we can tie it on and hold on this way." He instructed her on what to do and she smiled with joy.
     Jill grabbed a small pointed piece of bark that's shape reminded her of a crown and held it up to his forehead, "Look Jack, you shall be the King, and I your Queen. We are the Winter King and Queen, and this shall be our sleigh. We shall ride off to feed the poor children and save the elderly from frost!"
     Jack laughed and agreed and with one hand held onto the ropes, and with the other held to his crown, and together he and Jill gave a push off, and down, down, down they went until the bark slid from beneath them. Their laughter followed them down the hill as they rolled into each other in a fit of giggles.
     "Oh Jack, your crown is broken! What shall we do, King Jack?" She asked.
     Jack rolled over and grabbed her hand, "I've no need of a crown as long as I have my Queen."
Many months would pass as these two played and learned and grew, but as they grew, Jill's stories called to her more and more, and her need to write them became overwhelming.
Jack often found her in the woods now, hidden near the rocks, writing away on any scrap of parchment she could find, until at length she began writing on the rocks themselves.
Jack became strong and many a girl fancied his attentions, and on Harvest Day the year he turned fifteen, he met Mary by the bales of hay. Her sunny eyes and alluring glances drew him closer. She taunted him in ways no one had ever done, and soon he learned the ways of love amongst the hay and her honey hair.
Mary went with Jack everywhere, and soon told all the town how she would marry him. Jack was still shy, but he sure did enjoy Mary.
The forest became the only solace for Jill when her father took ill. Her trees, her rocks, her words; this became her home. She came out for a town feast just before the weather turned dreadfully cold and saw Jack with his honey haired shadow. Miss Mary seemed rather pleased with her attentions and Jill looked down at her drab skirts and felt homely.
She turned to leave, but Billy stopped her with his hand on her shoulder, "Jill, I hear you're writing stories in the forest. Think you could show me sometime? My aunt is teaching me to read, see she's been in London, and wants me to learn such things. May I come and try?"
     Jill only nodded and quickly ran away from Billy and his kindness, but her running would only be for the night, for soon Billy would be coming every day to her woods, and soon every day would turn into all winter and spring, and by summer his kisses had filled her stories, too, and he read them back to her and would blush.
Together they made for a shy couple, but she no longer only spent her days in the forest, for now she spent them with him and his family, too.
On the Eve of the Festival of Fires, Jill came early to the fields to make hers and struggled with starting it. She sat dejectedly by the sad little pile of unlit sticks until a shadow appeared above her. She glanced up to find Jack, "Oh....Jack."
     "Jill, you're doing it wrong, here, let me show you." Jack helped her start a small efficient fire, and showed her the best way to place the logs.
     "Thank you, Jack."
     "Good to see you, Jill."
Soon, the field was full of couples lighting fires, and Mary called Jack away and Billy called Jill away, and the little fire burned still.
Jack and Mary made a large fire as Mary threw lovers herbs upon the flames and flowers and dried bushes and a whole barrel of things she had set aside to use for homage to the Goddess. Their fire burned scorching and tall and smoke rose clear up to the moon.
Billy made a brilliant fire and set the sticks standing tall so the flames would curl upward. Jill placed a few things here and there on the flames and Billy added hay and logs and all manner of things he'd been saving, until their fire burned bright and hot.
By dawn, the fires had burned themselves out, and Jill was tired, and wished to leave. Billy wished to make love in the forest to finish their celebrations, and Jill declined, wishing to save such things for their nuptial night. Billy was angry and hurt and stormed away kicking the remnants of their fire. He left Jill feeling worthless and unwanted and she knelt in the cold grass missing her mother.
Mary and Jack had long since escaped to the woods where Mary used her wiles and left him breathless, only to announce as the first rays of the sun were seen that she could not love him nor marry him after all. She told him she was to marry a merchant's son in a town closer to the coast, and therefore must leave him now. Jack's heart broke and he begged her to stay, but Mary left him where he cried bitterly until anger overcame him and he marched back to the field to throw dirt over their fire.
Then, he saw Jill.
She was hunched over near a small bit of smoke still rising steadily upward. He came closer and sat down and instinctively put his arm around her shoulders, "What happened, Jill?"
     She wiped her eyes, "Billy left. Said he wanted to have me, but I want to save myself, and he just left....left."
     "Don't cry, Jill. Mary left me, too. After she had me, that is. Left for another man."
     "Oh Jack, poor dear!" She threw her arms about his neck and his encircled her frame, and they stayed that way until she sat back and looked at him with a long look he didn't understand.
     "Jack, you see how everyone's fires have burnt out?"
     Jack looked around, "All but this one."
     "Do you know who's fire this is?"
     "Yours and Billy's?"
     Jill shook her head and warmed her hands by the warmth as she responded, "This is our fire. It's still burning."
     "That's because I know how to build a good fire, Jill."
     Jill just smiled, "That's right, Jack, you do. Would you like to learn how to read?"
     Jack smiled, "I'd like that a lot, you can teach me?"
     "I'm a good teacher."
     Jack gave a mischievous grin, "I can teach you a few things, too, Jill."
     She laughed, "Only if," she reached down and grabbed a blade of grass she began weaving with other blades, until at last, she had a wreath she placed on his head, "you wear this. We shan't teach each other anything unless we are King and Queen."
     He smiled and stood up, "OK, off to the woods then, my Queen. Oh, should we put the fire out?"
     "Of course not. It's burnt this long, why put it out?" She grabbed his hand and they ran towards the forest.

By Elizabeth Azpurua

We Walk For Love a Road Called Hope

When we love people we give them the ability to hurt us. To come crashing over top us, burying us in them and what they are to us. We drop our shields and let down our walls and leave ourselves damageable. We can be broken, bruised, crushed and scarred. Our existence is as if we are a butterfly in their hands; frail, delicate, content to remain in the palm of that which can smother us. When we love we walk a road called Hope that may lead to nowhere and hold onto a lamp called Faith that barely lights our way. We struggle without any road signs, a map, or a sense of direction. We cry to the heavens for help, but sometimes what we love is not for us and so we curse the One who loves us most and stubbornly fight ourselves into the ground, where we lay in a ditch by this road called Hope. We wallow in the rotten leaves and nurse our wounded hearts and curse He who wishes for us to be happy. Then, we hate the road and it's winding ways and barren ground; we break the lamp and wish to remain in darkness and we feel we are undeserving of love. If we could only see the threads of our lives maybe we would trust the One who does see and wants for us the best that we can have. Maybe He wants more for us than a road of false hope and a dead end. Maybe He has a new path, new mode of travel and something truly worth the fight. If we're willing to be weak, to allow ourselves to understand the emotion of frail, then perhaps He wants hands that will understand this and hold us gently, safely and securely. If we are willing to tear our walls down and come out from our shells, maybe He wishes for us to be treasured. Yet, here we are in rotten leaves, choking in agony, fists raised to the sky, and swearing we will never walk a road called hope for love again.

 

Bound and Besotted by Nothing

 I am like a wounded albatross and you were the sky; you mocked my folly, mocked my fall and embraced the sun. I sit here amongst the rocks wishing for the ability to soar again and prove to you that you have no power to belittle me. Your sun will set each night, but me, if I could fly, am not held to any time of the day; I will soar beneath the moon and stars. This metaphor is a poor example of truth; sadness, broken, wounded - my soul is in error. It is faulted. It is hindered by the ability to see beyond what is in front of me. I feel bound and besotted by nothing. I am cut off from the freedoms I knew once upon a time. I am forced to adhere to this new sphere of broken hopes and wounded wings. I do not exist here as I did before and when you came, you changed it all. I yearn for you like none other. I need you. So, go ahead and mock me now and chase your setting sun - follow the edge of the horizon in vain. When you reach the edge of your lungs, gasping for air, feeling defeated, then turn to me and see my broken wings and know which of us is the fool. I will not be mocked by you. I may have been bound and besotted by nothing, but I'll be damned if you have the last laugh. I will rise above this. I will reclaim this metaphorical sky and when I do, I will be unstoppable. There is nothing left for you to do to me; once so broken, there is only repair. What else can you do? Your sun is gone now, fool. Try to reclaim the warmth from the moon and realize it will never come. I'll be fine. I'm no longer bound, or besotted, but simply recovering.

Do...?

Do we hold onto people because we fear what they will do if we let them go? Do we love because we need? Do we hate because we see in them what we dislike in ourselves? Do we lie because the truth burns our tongues? Do we preach because we cannot take our own advice? Do we sing because our soul knows no other way to speak? Do we hope because without it we would perish? Do we cry because there are no words to explain? Do we ache because we are falling apart in slow portions? Do we laugh because our hearts crave joy?

Be True

If you want others to take you at your word, make your words match the actions you take; if you want them to believe in your craft, craft for yourself something they believe. If you fear they will see through the mask that you wear, wear only your face and leave it all bare. Don't show me with words what you claim that is true, show me in all that you accomplish and do and above all if you wish to say other than you feel you might as well match your proclaiming to what is real. If truth is what you preach, then only preach truth and act upon all that is leaving your mouth. If you can't muster up the ability to be what you say then say what it is that you are. If you wish to be pink but your color is grey, don't come to me saying you're some other way. If all that is in you is something named 'false' then don't speak to me of how things supposedly are. All that we are is the deeds that we do and all that we're not is what shall never be true; if you think in your costumes you are hiding behind that you'll gain a following, you're out of your mind. Actions speak louder than words and words carry weights; they carry confusions and they suddenly break. Become what you preach and be who you are for nothing is better than someone who knows who they're not. Inside all our doings we show what we mean, we show our true colors, whether yellow, or green, our words mean quite nothing to those listening ears if we parade about in false colors and cry out fake tears. There is nothing more lovely than someone who embodies truth in all that they say and all that they do.

Karma

Karma.
Do people really get what they deserve?
I try to be a nice person, but sometimes, sometimes you just wish people will go through exactly what you did; sometimes you wish someone will do to them what they did to you; sometimes you wish they will receive their "just desserts" and get a good kick in the arse.
Does this make you a bad person?
I don't know, and frankly, don't care. I'm entitled to hoping that there is some great karmic leveler that comes to play in the backyards of those who have caused me pain, stress or heartache. I hope there is a rude awakening for those who have hurt my family and friends.
It's frustrating to give and give and give and wish that somewhere, somehow, you can actually feel better instead of feeling those familiar boot impressions of those walking all over you.
Maybe we're all a bit too nice. Make people stand on their own legs; make people be accountable for their own faults; if someone upsets you, TELL THEM...and move on.
If they have a problem with your words, so be it. If they still want to be horrible to you, just let it go...someday, I hope anyway, they will understand.
It's like people who cut down trees for no reason....I eenvision Mother Earth letting loose on them- huge roots and branches of trees swinging and swatting and whacking and thrashing...and somehow, it makes me feel better.
I suppose I'm not a very nice person.
I make no apologies.

My Hope, My Faith, My Trust in God

There are times when no matter how hard we try, we just can't make things right. We can't right wrongs for others or wave magic wands; we can't change outcomes or the past, nor can we predict the future. We can't sway people's opinions or change their minds, we can't change their hearts or erase their beliefs; no matter how much we might want to make things different in our lives, we will never be able to control these things. It is through God that we are able to keep standing. It is to His music that we continue dancing. It is through His grace that we are able to feel at peace and it is with His love that our hope takes wing. No matter the advice the world gives, no matter the inspirational quotes you read, no matter the road maps or the helping hands, it is through Him and only Him that you can get through all things; without Him, you are nothing. I see too much destruction and sorrow; I see too many dashed hopes. I see too much heartache and failed dreams and broken homes. I want to help so badly, but I had to learn over and over these past few months that I cannot control ANYTHING. No matter what I may want or may think I need, no matter what I want for others or what I think they deserve, it is not in my hands and it never will be. It's in my Heavenly Father's hands, in His time according to His will. Faith is way more than just a verb. It is the essence of what surviving becomes. It is soil that hope will bloom from. Some days, all you have is faith. All you have is the hope that hope will come. All you have is a prayer. When that is ALL you have, and all you can muster and all that is left, then, and only then, do you understand what it means to be humble and then, and only then, do you suddenly realize what you really want.

One Tree Alone in a Forest, Does Not a Forest Make

I realized today we all have these massive trials. We all battle against our weaknesses. It's not enough to pretend we're strong and keep going; sometimes, we have to let someone know we just aren't handling things. We can't withdraw. We can't pull away from those we should stay connected to.
Our connections make us stronger.
One tree alone in a forest, does not a forest make.
We have to learn to ask for help, to lean on each other, to seek after one another. If not, when our battles are raging, and we fear we are losing, there is no one to aid us, and when we fall, we fall alone.
So many of us lately have faced the trials hardest on us.
Oh, to face normal trials, but alas, I get the difficult ones. The heart wrenching, spine bowing, blood pounding, never ending ones. Pain. Loss. Confusion. And worst of all, this state of limbo.
Am I on or off?
Have I a home or not?
Is it love or never to be?
Is there hope or foolish wishing?
Will this work or not?
I get stuck in-between the questions.
I falter around and then find myself needing to seek out solace within my own thoughts and further I get until I'm a lone tree in a forgotten place and no longer do I stand strong.
We should intertwine our roots together. We should learn to face our trials knowing those who love us are aware of what we are facing and have our backs.
Some trials are made to bring us together. Some are made to make us feel alone and we must try even harder to hold to those who know and love us most. Those who appreciate the state we are in now not the state we were in before the trial.
Find those who no matter what, will be there; no matter what you say, no matter what you do, no matter who you are; they are the ones who will be your forest.
They are the ones buffering the wind. They are the ones seeking out the sun. They are the ones enriching your soil. They are they who won't leave you alone.

~Elizabeth

Time and Love and Summers Passed

It hit me today like a freight train. Love. They say, time heals all wounds...but I think, often, the people we loved change until we don't recognize them, so it isn't "time" that changed, but "them". It wasn't time offering the healing in length, but simply, the person changed from what the love was orginally founded upon.
I don't recognize someone I loved.
I don't recognize his smile anymore. His eyes, his face, his style.
We never speak anymore.
I have no inkling of an idea what is going on with him right now.
It wasn't time healing the broken heart, but the realization that he has changed. I don't know him.
I wonder, how could I ever have loved someone so different contained within the same body?
Then, I think back, and back, and back. It's always been the same, hasn't it? People change and evolve and then one day you suddenly "see" them as they currently are. When you do, you realize you loved who they used to be, not who they are. Then, you just long for who they were, but that doesn't come back.
People keep evolving and adapting and changing. A year from now, who he was, the innocence he had, it will all be gone. The laid back country boy will be swallowed in the big city life. My sunny summer boy will truly be but a memory. The positive outlook I confided in will be even more silence, and day and month and year will blend in until he is just a memory of a summer of dashed hopes.
He'll be like those before him.
Love. I loved him. I loved who he was. I still love who he was. I just don't like who he is anymore. I can't blame time for that. It's simply part of life.

Doors to Happiness

They say whenever one door of happiness closes, another opens, and Helen Keller said that we are often too busy looking at the door that is closed to see the new one that is opened for us. I think life is often about actually turning your head around and watching where you're going. You can't move ahead while you're craning your neck around to see what you just left. We usually remember moments of the past better than they were and we view the present as worse than it is. Luckily, for some of us, we see our present as a much better situation than some of them from our past, however, there are those of us who look back and seem to view events, people and opportunities as better than they were. We long to live in the past. We need to just move forward and stay focused and pay attention. I'm learning little things can bring happiness, and the little things keep us going. If I dwell in the negative, everything begins to look hopeless. If I concentrate on small things that make me smile, then my day is a bit brighter because of it. It's a good day when you manage to not hit an animal while driving the back roads. It's a good day when you can help someone. It's a good day when you find a deal on an item you need and save a few dollars. It's a good day when you wake up before your alarm and can remember what you dreamed about. Little things console us. I think the "doors to happiness" are doors leading to doors leading to doors. You keep going through doors. Happiness is what you feel along the journey, it should be the vehicle you ride in, not the destination you seek after. So, open the door that's there in front of you and walk away from the closed one. Right "goodbye" on it and turn around and keep going.

~Elizabeth