Missing Brother

From my goblin story available on Amazon

Zyx sighed, and body still burning and aching, he sat on his rear, legs folded and calmed his spirit. He tried to find peace but the image of his brother being knocked out haunted him. He could feel his brother’s pain though he was now too far away to reach. His face clenched and his body tensed as he imagined what they were doing to him. His stomach ached even worse when he remembered how his brother, Nyx, had shielded him from cruel whippings and carried him to the throne room. Had it not been for him, perhaps he would not have made it. When would he see his brother again? He wondered. Ever?

His heart was heavy, but his body and spirit were too drained to weep or sob, so he fell to the ground in the blood-stained straw and fell asleep. It was a haunting sleep filled with cracks of whips, screams of agony and images of blood.

He awoke suddenly and looked about but it was not a bad dream. He was back in Trickyfoot clan, a prisoner of the Temple to Dreaddeath.

The door to his cell had a small opening in it but Zyx could not see or hear anyone through the slit. He sat back down on the straw and this time was able to quiet his spirit. He floated away from his body and began to explore the area of the temple. He moved within his spirit to the other rooms near his and in one he found another whelp just like him.

Fuel for the Body

Energy cold, pure and full of potential,

Is in this world deathly essential.

Energy makes our fast moving cars go,

Our tractors for our fields sow,

Our powerful planes soar through the heavens,

Our ships sail through the seas of seven.

Still the most important fuel comes from the heart.

Strong legs can take a man a long distance,

Skilled hands build things for assistance,

Brilliant minds create new things for existence,

But without blood they are all completely useless.

So beware not to damage any hearts,

For they are the most important of parts.

The White Man’s Burden

I am teaching 19th century imperialism and we broke down this poem. As I read it though it was almost like reading about 21st century America rather than 1899 America. It appears we really did embrace this “burden” with all of its consequences.

My favorite lines are “the savage wars of peace.” What a fantastic oxymoron. And “to seek another’s profit and work another’s gain” how true that still is today.

Take up the White Man’s burden—
Send forth the best ye breed—
Go send your sons to exile
To serve your captives’ need
To wait in heavy harness
On fluttered folk and wild—
Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child
Take up the White Man’s burden
In patience to abide
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple
An hundred times made plain
To seek another’s profit
And work another’s gain
Take up the White Man’s burden—
And reap his old reward:
The blame of those ye better
The hate of those ye guard—
The cry of hosts ye humour
(Ah slowly) to the light:
“Why brought ye us from bondage,
“Our loved Egyptian night?”
Take up the White Man’s burden-
Have done with childish days-
The lightly proffered laurel,
The easy, ungrudged praise.
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years,
Cold-edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers!

Pardon

The French monarchy was a shining beacon of tranny. King Louis XIV was called “the Sun King,” and built the greatest monument to aristocracy ever; the Palace of Versailles. Many were born and died under the feet of the ruling class who feasted on the blood and spirit of the peasantry. Life, under their rule, was suffering.

Eventually the tyranny was too much and the King who wielded it too weak to cling to its blade. It was torn from King Louis XVI who was far too inept to defend his kingdom from his own, enlightened, people.

But in doing so, oppressed turned tyrant. Centuries of pain was unleashed on the aristocracy and when they had no more blood to bleed, it was unleashed each other. The guillotine lopped off heads as if preparing a chicken dinner for a celebration of the new republic.

King Louis was not spared, of course. His blood was demanded to seal, once and for all, the tomb of the French monarchy. But his was not enough.

The Queen may have been even more reviled than her husband. Pretty, wealthy, elite, aloof she was hated deeply by virtually all of the citizens of the new Republic and therefor they thirsted for her blood above all other’s.

She was broken and destroyed emotionally and mentally. Her husband, the king, was killed. Her children were taken from her. Her young boy tortured. She was dead inside; a shell of a woman. Put on trial, she was found guilty and sentenced to death. The anger of the nation was heaped on her. And in the final moment, something moving happened.

Legend has it that as Marie Antoinette was making her way up the steps of the guillotine she stepped on the foot of the executioner and muttered a single word, “pardon.” it was the last word she ever spoke. “I’m sorry.”

While she likely simply meant she was sorry for stepping on his foot, her manners still deeply imbedded in her heart, in that moment the words carried far more weight.

Was she sorry for looking down on those she felt were not her equal (everyone)? Was she sorry for not caring for her fellow human? Was she sorry for her elitism and gluttony and hedonism?

I like to think, in that moment, she was sorry for the life she lived. I like to think, in that moment, she repented to humankind for being such an awful, tyrannical, monster.

If that is true, if she truly was sorry in that moment, I for one, forgive her.

In Other News…

I know I haven’t been posting much. Honestly I’ve been crazy busy with work. I’m a teacher and obviously we are back in school but besides that I also have 6 children with their various sports or activities and I also started announcing some of the sporting events. There are many days I leave the house at 6:30 and don’t return until 7:30 or 8:00. I know there are many other people working as hard or harder so I’m not complaining, just explaining.

I actually wanted to share something that happened in my class because I found it inspiring and touching. I teach 10th grade world history, among other things, and as part of the curriculum I taught a lesson about independence movements across Latin America. To front load the lesson I taught about how there were three distinct group of people with very different wants and needs all across the Americas, mainly: Natives, Colonists and West African slaves. We had a discussion about how there were many communities of people who had distinct languages, cultures and religions and they maintain much of that today.

Part of the lesson was about the grito de Dolores, which was in part, a call for independence for Mexico. Some of my students knew exactly what that was and were excited to share more about what they know and how they mark the anniversary of the event. They also shared their unique cultural experiences and how it differs from the dominant culture at times. Some of them were engaged in the lesson like never before.

The point is this: we all want to be validated. Whether it’s our race, religion, culture sexuality or anything else that makes us who we are, we want to be validated. There is much value in celebrating the achievements of ones people. There is value in learning about and embracing positive aspects of ones ancestors. For some reason, it makes us feel much more connected when others know us and accept us.

It’s part of the reason I love history so much. The study of the past helps us appreciate the present. It’s why I love story telling. We all want to identify with a hero and those stories inspire us.

I hope to get back to producing more writing very soon. Perhaps even something that explores the idea of validating ones identity. I have so many stories to tell still. I must find time for them.

All you need is love

To not have to worry about money or wealth,

To never have problems with sickness or health,

If food was free, and there was plenty for me,

If the world was at peace, and there was oil in the East,

It would be nice.

But everything is literally uncontrollable.

It is a nice dream, and an immense goal.

It’s not something that will change overnight.

Hopefully someday we can live in an utopia,

But until then we must survive,

And keep our hopes alive.

So to walk down the long and winding road,

All you need is love.

Everything else is lace on the tapestry of life.

Brother vs Brother

From The Sureshot Rises book 1 of my Sureshot trilogy all available on Amazon!

The horn sounded and the flurry of steel continued. Again, Rothan was content to defend. Warren still attacked with fury, hoping to slip by his brother’s guard again. Rothan brilliantly fought off Warren, always keeping his distance and shifting his weight around to dodge the attacks. He was slowly moving further away from Warren and caused him to stretch even more to try to land a shot. Soon Warren was stretching too far, and Rothan slipped to one side as his brother lunged forward and slapped his brother on the back with his sword. The people cheered loudly again as the match was proving to be worth the wait.