The Beautiful Difference By Rinda Ki

Being told that your child is autistic is rough. A little over a year from when I heard the blunt announcement—now I can sit back and think. When you get it, it feels as though you are being taken and roughly thrown into the heart of what it’s like to live in the world.

All the books you pick up seem to suffer from the same theme. Are you hurt? We know. . . now get over it! Your child needs help! Rush! Rush! Never give them a bare moment. Never let them just stare off into space. New treatments. New experiments. Have you heard about immunizations? Try changing their diet—but you have to be perfect! But don’t get stressed, because that won’t help anyone. Organize yourself, get your programs together. Hire a lawyer for the IEP. It’s best if you can hire a local college student to help you out for the hour a day you need a break from being an interactive, treatment-providing, entertainment device for your autistic child. Oh, and did we mention that the success rate for all the treatments are actually fairly low? Did we mention that your child will always be autistic? Did we mention that this disorder is completely unpredictable, and some will respond better than others? Hey! We told you getting stressed wouldn’t help!

A few deep breaths.

It’s a mad house. It’s like having all the problems of the American culture slapped across your face with the tag, “if you love your child . . .” attached. You have to rush, you have to spend lots of money, even though you aren’t really sure why, and you are pretty sure it won’t do much good.

I would look at my little boy in one of our calm moments (I had calm moments? Why wasn’t he in treatment?!? ) and he would be staring out at the world, seeing things in a way I will never be able to see them. I tried anyways. I wanted to know this little boy beside me.

Did you know that leaves twitching in the wind make a lovely skirmish of movement that you can stare at for hours? Did you know that neon lights seen through glass bricks flex and move when you turn your head? It’s true. My little boy showed me.

Did you know that the whole world loves a child, and that there are beautiful people everywhere you go? You walk a different path when you have a child with special needs, and you begin to see things differently.

It was during some of those calm moments that I also began to think about where God and I fit into my son’s life, and if there was a better way to help him live his life.

From my books I learned about the nature of the disorder. Then I could tell what advice was valuable, and what wasn’t. From the calm moments, I understood that my little boy was God’s little boy first. Then I knew I had an all-powerful, all-knowing ally who is providence. Nothing is outside His plan, or His care.

Not even my little boy.

This matters more than you realize. Because, you see, he isn’t normal. He doesn’t fit in charts, or easy check-lists. He is outside the normal plans, and we have to write new ones just for him, and often those plans don’t work out either. But he does fit it in God’s plan. He was written in from the beginning, he belongs there. He is anticipated, and there won’t be any re-writes on this one.

So I could let go of all the fretting and rushing, and painful panic. For all the treatments out there, I was never in control. God is. For all the well meaning advice, they don’t always know what’s going on. God does. God knew my son before he was, and God is more his Father than I know.

Now when I need help, I go to God and ask for it. He’s the perfect parent; all-knowing, and utterly loving. He cares about how I raise the beautiful little boy He created. So I can trust he will help me raise my son right, and I know that for all my imperfections God’s plans won’t be frustrated. I have freedom to let my little boy be who he is. If I am doing my best, and my child isn’t fitting in the newly-constructed, state-of-the-art, cutting-edge-research, neatly designed plans . . . then that is just what he’s going to do. I can’t change that. And he still fits in God’s plans.

But this is really true for all of us. All that panic and rushing about for so little return, doesn’t have to be our way of life. We can trust in our loving and provident God. I look around at the tables bracing up people with strained faces, and I wonder how many have realized it yet. Maybe I could let them borrow my child, teeming with possible insights, until they get it? Then I look out at the twitching leaves.

And I still let my son stare out into space, and play with his fingers, and line up all his Hot Wheels. The world is a wider place when I try to see it from eyes that will never be like mine. It’s God’s world in a new context. There is more here than any of us suspect.

A Better Way to War by: Jonathan Morrison

I don’t know how much you pay attention to national news, but I like to read articles on BBCnews.com. I like to know what is going on in other countries it helps me feel apart of the world rather than just apart of America. The reason I ask though is because of what is going on in Jamaica right now, with Christopher “Dudus” Coke, the Jamaican government, and the people of Jamaica.

Christopher Coke is one of the worlds most wanted drug lords, and the Jamaican prime minister recently agreed to extradite him to America on drug/weapon trafficking and murder charges. When Jamaican police tried to apprehend Mr. Coke however the people of Jamaica began to fight against the government to protect him.

Seriously? The people are protecting a wanted drug lord who is linked to hundreds of deaths and kidnappings in Jamaica and around the world, the innocent and criminal alike are protecting him. Why? In one of the articles by BBC news Jamaican people were asked the same question, they replied by saying that Mr. Coke was there when they needed him unlike the government. One woman said that if your mom dies Coke buries her, the government taxes her. Another person said that if you need Mr. Coke you can find him, everyone knows how to get hold of him and he will listen to the people, but very few have ever even seen the Prime minister in flesh. The general consensus was that Mr. “Dudus’ Coke was doing what the government officials were not and that’s why the people protect him.

Despite who this man is and how he makes all the money he is giving away the people love him and are actively fighting the Jamaican government in order to protect him. Aristotle says that effective leaders are defined by their ability to show that they are for the people. If a leader can demonstrate actively that he cares for his people and that their interest matter to him, he will have the love and loyalty of his people. Obviously Mr. Coke has done this incredibly well.

Reading the articles about Coke and Jamaica got me thinking about America and our war on terrorism. America represents around 5% of the global population but accounts for nearly 49% of the military spending. Right now we are waging war in two places and pouring billions of dollars into the operation, we all know we don’t have the money and we all know we will continue spending what we don’t have. We also know that since we have been in Iraq one million citizens have perished, and I can’t imagine their families are happy about that.

What I am trying to get at is that maybe there is a better way to wage a war on terrorism. What if America had instead of invading Iraq in force invaded in generosity? What if we had gone in and spent money on schools, hospitals, and scholarships? Maybe if we had first invaded in a way that would better the country and help the people the Iraqi people would begin to think that America was for them in a way that Sodom was not. And maybe just maybe Sodom would have lost power as the peoples state improved and their view of America became favorable (in doing this we would probably spend less also).

Abraham Lincoln once said that if we befriend our enemies we also destroy them, why don’t we apply that philosophy to our foreign policy a little more often. Its just a thought, but its effective in Jamaica and that isn’t the first time a criminal has won the loyalty of a people he was using.

More than a forgotten Element by Jonathan Morrison

If you are at all connected with the modern church and the rhetoric surrounding it you are most likely aware of the discussions concerning what is missing from our present body. Men and women inside the church have spouted many reasons things are not right, a lack of social justice, lack of community, too seeker sensitive. You have probably felt the same thing about the church at one point or another, and maybe you felt that one of the reasons already listed is the missing factor in the modern church. You are probably right the church is missing community, some churches are too seeker sensitive, and even social justice is sometimes neglected; but I am not sure that is truly the heart of the issue. I think if we look into the churches in the New Testament will we see community and social justice, but I think if we look deeper and compare our present church to the original body we will see that what we are missing is much more grave and tragic.

All of us have probably had the feeling something is missing but could we ever imagine the magnitude of what we are truly feeling? I don’t think we have, otherwise what is missing wouldn’t be. I believe (I am not the first to hold this opinion) that what the modern church is missing is the Holy Spirit. I think as Francis Chan calls Him, He is the forgotten God. Can you image that, forgetting the Holy Spirit? If we are just thinking about it, it seems impossible that we have forgotten God, but it seems true. How often do we think of the Holy Spirit as God? How often do we think of Him as a distinct person? How often do we think of Him as a member of the trinity? How often do we meditate on the concept that the Holy Spirit is living inside of us, God in us? How often do we think of Jesus words in John 14:7 when he says that it is for our good that He goes away so that the Holy Spirit might come?

Jesus called the Holy Spirit the comforter and counselor, imagine that! Jesus is saying that it is good that He leaves us so the Holy Spirit can be our counselor and comforter. If I were to ask if you would like to have Jesus standing by your side to comfort you and counsel you, you would respond with a resounding yes! Do we think of our relationship with the Holy Spirit in the same way? If we don’t it is time that we do, because Jesus said we could, and we should.

I always knew the facts about the Holy Spirit but when you truly meditate on Him and all He desires to do, it is mind blowing. I encourage you to spend some time meditating on the Holy Spirit and the role He desires to play in your life.

I believe that if the we were to recognize our need for the Holy Spirit and submit to Him than all the other things we feel are missing would show up in greater supply. The Holy Spirit deepens our love for the lost and for each other, He increases our understanding of God, and because of Him we can have a more intimate relationship with God. All things the modern church is missing.



Read these Bible passages and just ponder Him.

John 14,15,16
I Corinthians 2:9-11
Romans 8:16
Romans 8:26-27

Writer in Question by Jonathan Morrison

I take a smoke break, the slow burn on a steady inhale and ash emerges gradually, I can hear the light sizzle of paper and tobacco. I am alone for a moment before the deck overlooking Salt Lake City fills up with others taking a moment to drag. I sip my coffee; inhale once more through my nose the smoke fills my nostrils, I flick the cigarette, take another sip of coffee and step inside to return to my computer.
Writing isn’t an easy job, sometimes words flow with ease each one more perfect than the other building the story right. In these moments its is a beautiful job. When I press save, close my computer, and gather up my belongings I feel accomplished and fulfilled. However these days are rare, most the time I force myself to my computer, I explore the internet distracting myself from my endless rat tat tat on the keyboard where I produce a few empty words that seem to only take the story into a world entirely opposite where I hope it to go. I press save shut my computer gather up my belongings step outside and smoke and wonder why I bother to spend so much time in this futility. Half of writing seems to be simply showing up at my computer, sometimes words flow sometimes I drag them out. I never know, that’s why I show up.
There isn’t really a better place to write however than Salt Lake City in the winter, everything is caped in white and the mountains and snow capture pollution and lay it to rest in the valley. Inversions cast a grey screen over the city and everything becomes introspective. Sometimes the sun sneaks out of the grip of the clouds and lets out its rays and all the inversion reflects it back, but when you get a chance to look out at the valley from above everything is on introspective fire. The trees and buildings are all encased in a thick grey red. It makes you feel bad for smoking, but it makes being honest easier.
I was told once to be a writer it’s necessary to go beyond you and be more than honest. To be a writer you have to be honest, each character or essay is intertwining with a piece of who you are, it is impossible to separate the two. Writers however have a threshold of what they are willing to explore with a reader, it seems like so much honesty but its not. When really digging you reach a wall that is hard for writers to cross, behind that lies the major insecurities all the things that writers are not in contact with. To grow as a writer it’s necessary to give that up though. It’s a pilgrimage, and its hard and long to traverse this road. For it to be a worthwhile voyage it must be this way, an exploration into the deep and dark. Readers, characters, and writers must go places they do not want to go, they must travel through the dim to come out a new and changed hero. It’s the writer’s job to make this happen, to except the heavy burden, to go where they of all the rest are most afraid to go. Only than will the characters grow, and only than will the readers be able to except their responsibility to follow where the writer has gone.
Who knows though, I am not even sure if I am a writer. When do you become a writer? Do you need to have written a book before you can be called a “writer” or can someone like me who sits at my computer day after day slaying the dragon be called a writer? I sure hope so, I told my girlfriend I was a writer, that’s why I think she went out with me the first time.

********
I take another smoke break, inhale slowly and listen for the crackle of burning paper and tobacco. It puts my mind at ease, trying to decide if I am a writer or not has put strange questions in my mind, most that have nothing to do with being a writer. Like if that joke about me being flabby wasn’t just a way for my girlfriend to trick me into going to the gym more often. I may never know, I did go to the gym today though.
I’m not just thinking about my girlfriend insinuating that I should go to the gym more, I’m also thinking about Fredrick Buechner, well not really Fredrick Buechner but something that he wrote once. I can’t remember the quote exactly, but it says something about not knowing what a self-authenticating religious experience is because without God somehow how destroying him how would doubt also be destroyed.
I think I understand what Fredrick is saying, but it makes me think of writers going places they don’t want to go in order to grow. I don’t want to be destroyed I want to grow but I am not sure I can pay the price of self-destruction.

********
That’s the thing though isn’t it, going where you don’t want to go, enduring what you don’t think you can handle. Taking the step from honesty to insecurity and simply praying that your vulnerability was not in vain.

********
I think that is what God wants, our vulnerability not our threshold honesty. How else could God reveal Himself to us in a way that would be real and without doubt? It seems He wants us to take that step; He will be our guide on this pilgrimage, and He will lead us where we don’t want to go, but in the end we will have grown. We will be the changed characters, the heroes we were meant to be.

God in Literature

The stories we tell have a special place in who we are as a people. Stories have been around since we were started and will endure until we are done. We can't do without them, and they are everywhere. It has a lot to do with how we are wired--how our brains work.

You see--we remember stories. Most people find it infinitely easier to remember a story--with all its characters, and plots and heroes--than a simple list of rules or expectations. I don't know why this is true. I have my suspicions it might have something to do with how we are more emotionally involved with stories and our deep relationship to other people and characters. But for whatever reason it's true, it is undoubtedly why we've been teaching by stories for as long as history records. And may be why God's Word is largely composed of stories.

From Aesop's Fables and the tales of Gilgamesh all the way to our modern science fiction novels, we have been using stories to get our messages across. Sometimes it's the circumstance that teaches us about what we should do in certain situations, or what is right and wrong. Sometimes it's the people; heroes shows us how we should be, and anti-heroes show us what we shouldn't be.

Characters (even fictitious ones), are wonderful teachers because they teach by example. Example is highly memorable because it is always bonded to a story--it has to be, or it would be a lecture, not an example. As stated before, this makes it more meaningful to us. Heroes are also useful because they are so imitable. It's not as easy to obey the rule, "be brave," as it is to puff out your chest and give a courageous call, just like they hero did in your story. Kindness is easier to act out when how to be kind is shown you through a story.

The other advantage to teaching through example is that it by-passes pride and self-defense. A person often feels attacked and fights back when they are being told what to do or how to be--they'll defend their behavior. But when a hero teaches by example, a person convicts himself. There is nothing to fight against, and no way to defend against the fact they now see the better way.

Much of this analysis applies to both fiction and non-fiction. In another post, I'll cover what makes non-fiction different from the other stories. But for now I want to talk about what makes our fiction stories so unique.

It hadn't even occurred to me until I was talking to Jon (yes, this Jon) about what makes Shakespeare so great, and he brought up the metaphor. Most people are familiar with the small metaphors of literature where one thing is blatantly compared to another thing without any kind of bridge; "the moon was spill of milk", or "she's a raging volcano." But literature also has major metaphors that can often go unseen because they are so subtle. The story of a hero's struggle in battle might be a minor reflection of how every man relates to the idea of war. Or a thread of words found through-out a book is actually trying to drawing attention to a passage in the Bible which adds meaning to the story.

Now consider. . .

Humans learn by living life. Our circumstances, how we relate to others, how such a situation worked out--all of life is one big lesson. It's a pile of threads that we tie and weave together to help us understand the meaning of life. God gives us these circumstances, and helps us to draw the connections. So we learn patience by being put to the test, or we learn about the nature of fallen man when we first realize that our heroes are imperfect. We take what is happening, and we take what we know and we tie them together to learn and grow.

And how does this relate to major-metaphor in literature?

A story reflects real life, because real life is meaningful. But it is also carefully composed by the author. It is a limit structure created by a limited being who molds it to carry the message and the metaphor within it's boundaries. Because of the nature of a story it has all the elements of real life, but in a more contained, organized and easy to understand format. In other words--it's a mini-lab. We learn from our stories, just like we learn from real life--by drawing connections and learning from people or grasping the higher meaning--but it's made easier for us.

In fact, the more we practice learning from our literature, the better equipped we are for the introspection which makes everyday life a lesson which can draw us closer to God. We practice the art of weaving relationship and meaning with our stories, until we are skilled enough to pick up the far more numerous threads of our real lives and weave them from an unseen pattern created by an Infinite Being.

This ability to create the organized and simple metaphor can be found in non-fiction stories, but it's different. Non-fiction is like listening to the complicated sounds of the natural world and learning to appreciate the beauty of it--while fiction is the power to build, note by note, a musical piece that was meant to sound a very certain way to the listener. And that is why fiction is unique.

Art and the Artist By Rinda Ki Goff

Art differs from natural beauty in a rather obvious, but significant respect; God created the natural beauty, but humans created art. Of course, that means all created art, and that’s a broad field—music, dance, all forms of writing, and all forms of visual art. For this post I’m going to be referring to art as the visual arts; everything from sculpture or photographs to paintings and drawings. Still a huge well to draw from, but at least I’ve taken it down a little.

Art being created by man means that it can be (and often is) riddled with problems and imperfections, ranging from the motivation of the artist, to poor execution of technique. The former is by far the more troubling issue. I admit here that there are artists who don’t create beauty, who are selfish egotists, whose art drags people down, or who corrupt themselves and others—and these can occasionally cause major problems because they become part of powerful and dubious social movements. Some art is just down-right blasphemous—insulting to God.

But honestly, I don’t think that such art represents anything close to a majority of the art being created, or enjoyed, today. Once upon a time, when an artist was only really seen when they were featured by the art community—often a more liberal and atheistic community—this was more of a problem. There was a time when the most influential art was what shocked the most people. However, I think we’ve passed that stage. We’ve proven we can “rebel against the man,” and do what we want—and that individualism in art has come back around to those who want to explore more classical themes and modes. Not to mention that websites such as etsy.com or deviantart.com have given everyone a chance to show off their work. The featured artist is anyone willing to put their work out there, and it’s easier to click around the web than to take a trip to a museum, so it might even get a broader (if more shallow) audience.

In fact, diviantArt is a good showing for how Americans are relating to art now. There is some crude and base work being done, and sometimes it becomes popular. But much of the art is just superficial work done because the artist enjoyed creating, or is pandering to commercialization, or the artist is simply practicing. There is nothing wrong with such work—not by a long shot—but it isn’t really greatness either. But every now and then, you run across someone whose work is awesome. It takes your breath away. And when it’s surrounded by all the other, more casual pieces, it stands head and shoulders above the crowd. Every time I see something like that I get shivers from my head to my feet, my heart swells, and one phrase echoes in my head; “Now that’s art.” I hurry to click it into my collection of favorites, and lo and behold! It already has over 200 other fans. Not surprising, considering the reason I found it was because it was in one of the many “most popular” sections I browse.

But what does this all mean? It means that there are artists out there who are creating things that are lovely, praise-worthy, and of good report. Talent is still alive and making beautiful things. It also means that no matter how jaded or fallen we are, many of us (even the most uneducated in art) have an instinctual love for good art, and we know it when we see it. This says good things about artists, about the audience, but mostly, it says interesting things about art.

Because many of those outstanding pieces of art—and now I’m throwing in the rest of history’s masterpieces—fall into three general patterns; those that directly reference God, those which have a meaningful messages, and those which are just beautiful or share joy.

There is a large swath of history where art directly relating to God was the rule for western culture. The Catholic Church had immense control, and almost all art was commissioned. From this time period we have the dazzling alter pieces, or painted churches. What wasn’t a portrait was often a dedicated religious piece. As the power of religion waned during the “period of Enlightenment,” art became more secular, but religious works never stopped. It’s still around today, and I dare say it always will be there.

Art is powerful. It moves us. We don’t just see art, we also feel it. When we look at a religious piece, we not only see the artist’s work, but we can feel what was behind the brush strokes or chisel strike. It’s natural that those who know the gospel would want to share it in such a powerful medium. By putting the story of God into art we share the impact of it, and add another dimension of understanding. They’re illustrations for the most incredible story ever told.

One of my personal favorites is Michelangelo’s Pieta. Mary’s face is so calm and so sad. The broken body of Christ in her arms . . . and I can really sense what the story means, and they become more real for me.



Art is also a great medium for saying something important. When an artist speaks with his talent, it can feel just like a punch in the gut. Now some messages are nice; a praise of virtue, or an expression of love. But some great pieces are when the artist has something to say that isn’t so pleasant to hear—something about injustice, or poverty, or man’s indifference. These art pieces aren’t very pleasant to look at, and I wouldn’t go hanging them in my home, but they are masterpieces, and they matter.

Guernica by Pablo Picasso is a great example. It was first introduced to me by description and then sight. It’s a massive blue, black and white oil mural that spans 11 feet tall and 25 feet wide. As I looked on the deformed figures and tried to image them across a huge wall, all I could think was “that’s hideous.” Then the instructor casually mentioned that it was Picasso’s attempt to draw attention to the bombing of the Basque town Guernica. Then I saw it as what Picasso had to say, something a little beyond words. I wouldn’t trade one drop of that ugly, because it’s exactly what it’s supposed to be. I will never forget it.



And I believe that God wants these messages given. I believe that he has something to say about virtue and love, and the value of human connection. I also believe he has something to say about a fallen world, and what we’re doing with it.

The final category is simple beauty. Of course, those of you who’ve read my post on beauty know that I don’t see anything really simple about beauty—well. . . I do, and I don’t. It’s complicated. But what I mean here are the significant art pieces which have no meaning above or beyond their beauty—no story to tell, and no message to communicate (at least, not a direct one).

And I’ve connected simple beauty with the act of sharing joy. Creating an art piece is an act of sharing, and joy and beauty may be nebulously joined, but I sure can’t manage to tell them apart.

For a more complete ramble on the significance of beauty and why it matters to the human soul, go ahead and read the post God and Beauty. I can wait. It’s preferable to re-typing it all.

But I will add stuff about beauty more specific to Art. There is something very meaningful going on when an artist creates something beautiful. It’s an echo of creation. A human will spend hours developing skill and talents in a very real form of work, which can be dirty, imperfect, and unpleasant. But the slow refinement changes the nature of the person who creates beauty. They begin to see the world differently. They look at it in parts—as a creator—and they look at it as a whole, to learn its nature. Seeing things in such a complex and comprehensive way can sometimes draw them closer to God, through both humility and a greater understanding of the encompassing majesty required for God to be God. What kind of a Being can create the perfect system of veins on a leaf, and spreads a forest across a mountain? Artists, because of how they look at the world, are more likely to see the full range of work, and how it fits together.

(On a total side note: scientist are also prone to this sense of impending-awe when they can see how awesome a cell is, and then sweep their arms out to look at the moving Universe and they know the unaccountable laws that govern it all.)

And, while it’s rather cliché, it should be mentioned that we become what we obsess about. An artist who dedicates their life to beauty, will, by default, draw more beauty into their world, into the lives of those around them, and will become more beautiful themselves.

Now for some examples of beautiful art. These are some of my favorites. All of them are done by modern living artists. All of the pictures link back to artist and the piece either by their deviantArt account or their Flickr account.









(Alright. The last one is probably more about "sharing joy," but I still think that laughing that hard is just beautiful)

Now, the sad truth is that some artists whose work I would cite as awesome might not be pleased that I tied their work to God. There are quite a few atheists who are wonderful artists. But when I affirm the reality of my Lord, I affirm it past the objections of those who don’t believe. And just because they don’t believe doesn’t mean that their work is any less to do with God.

God is the God of atheists too, and we can never escape him or the implications of his nature. He was the original Artist. He created, and his work was good. We are only here because he created us, and we can only create because he shared with us such an intimate and special aspect of his nature. When we create we are tapping into a bit of our god-nature. Because we are God’s work, our work will always be tied to him. The work of the creation is a reflection of the Creator. Our worst work is to his shame, and our best work is to his praise and glory—even if we don’t know him.

Narative Expression part 1 by Jonathan Morrison

A new relationship, that’s what it always seems to be about, some form of new relationship. Not the kind where a new person is met and a new relationship created but the kind where old relationships are made new. Everyone wants a chance to form a new one, all the ugly words, backstabbing and betrayal made right and new.

I dated this girl once, who I was totally in love with and she was my half world. I can’t say she was my world because in the end we ended and that’s not the signature of someone whose world revolves around someone else. I want a chance to say something, to go back and take back the arguing the fighting, but it wont happen. I mean I can go and apologize for the things I had said and done and she can do likewise but that does not recreate the relationship its kind of a whiteout that covers the bad words and ugly actions of the story, but if you were to pick at the whiteout then there underneath would be the ugly rhetoric of the story, a story cloned from another story cloned from another story.

And that’s the thing, the truth remains the same, and the relationship will never be the same it will always be compromised, changed, and mutated. No rewriting whiteout exists not for a page or reality.

The past regret is a fire, its overtaken everything engulfed the forest of existence and charred everything. It’s like Yellowstone, when Yellowstone was aflame everything was destroyed, and now people go back and act like it was never there. But it was. And its obvious, rocks and mountains are charred and maybe the greenery grew back but the consequences are still evident flames touched the mountains and their mark will never be removed. The fire of the past is the same, relationships are charred, but the difference between us and Yellowstone is that we melt and mutate. We aren’t gold or diamonds that are refined in fire we are flesh and blood even in our mind and where fire hits and flames arise flesh melts it mutates, and now from the fire emerges not a phoenix but a monster of sorts, a charred mutated you and I that when looked at through the mirror of our eyes will never look the same.

We have all come to live with the monsters though, because no one has ever escaped the flames of the past and all of us now live burned and charred. And we look out over the living corpses in the earth we see people; rude, naïve, compassionate, angry people whatever we see, we see something that looks like us and that’s what we live with. We have never seen anything else, charred mutation is what we know its what we accept its what we like, but is there more? How would we know? Would we see someone not charred as charred because of the perfection of their emotional flesh? Someone who has never regretted or needed the rewriting whiteout, would it be like seeing an alien?

All of this began long ago though; our own ugly stories are just filled verbatim with the same old rhetoric of a past relationship. It all began when someone flicked the cigarette into the brush or got drunk and lit off a bunch of fireworks in the emotional national park of our beginning, then the flames came. The park was burnt and sealed for remodeling and the drunks, who set the thing aflame kicked out, removed, and banned from entering ever again. But in this instance the drunks didn’t just escape with a mass of fines for burning down the original national park, they themselves were caught in the fire, pulled out and bandaged by a rescue crew but never the same the fire was to intense. Now they live with the original insecurities of the burns, they haven’t always been mutated but now when seeing themselves in each others eyes it is evident something changed. The beauty and perfection that defined their relationships in the beginning is gone burnt to a crisp back in the park.

“Adam,” she says “do you still love me?” Tears rolling down the grimacing face overwhelmed by the experience of this mutation.

We all wait hoping the characters will overcome the conflict now thrust into their lives, the fact they were drunk lighting off fireworks in a national parks means nothing now, all we hope is that these two can overcome. The story doesn’t end though it keeps being written and now unfolds in our lives; those of us born mutated and forever charred never knowing perfect, living with the consequence everyday.

The effects are devastating and inescapable. Its evident if your watching, you don’t need to be vigilant just human. We fight a war whether for freedom, nuclear weapons, or oil its all consequence of mutation. Humanity has fallen, has burnt up all the truth and what we experience today is the aftermath.