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After his Image

~ Mostly philosophical musings after religion and politics

After his Image

Monthly Archives: May 2012

One Less Traveled — Windows

29 Tuesday May 2012

Posted by myrthryn in One Less Traveled, Poetry, Short Stories

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

flowers, love, Poem, Poetry, self expression, short fiction, short story, Sonnet

“People say that the eyes are windows to the soul. What then are the things that the eyes find glorious? Are not these delightful things mirrored expressions of the soul?”

It was a hot day. It was the kind of heat that pressed Ern’s clothes against his skin in a perpetual sweat. It was a good thing that it caused him to walk slower than usual, for that limited the amount of dust that was kicked up adhering to his clothes. It didn’t stop the layer on layer he collected with each passing vehicle. Everytime he’d stop to drink some water, he would do a quick pat down in the effort of not growing an exoskeleton.

This time, he had stopped before a house, an older one in need of fresh paint. There were a few potted flowers on the porch. Behind the side gate, it appeared the backyard was unusually shaded with surprise patches of color. He gathered a handful of pale-blue chicory and Queen Anne’s Lace flowers from the the opposite side of the road, got out some paper and pen, wrote a quick note, and left it and the flowers on the porch with a knock.

The note read:
Dear Miss, I was just walking by and noticed your flowers hiding in your backyard. I would very much like to look at them; however, since I am a stranger, if you don’t mind my looking, you can leave your gate open. I’ll be back in an hour, and if your gate is open, I’ll look about. If not, I’ll continue on my way.

Respectfully,
Ern M.

Alexandra, a lover of all things green, caught a glimpse of Ern as he disappeared around the bend. “Such an odd looking man,” she thought. He looked like he was homeless, but he didn’t carry himself as such. After about ten minutes, she went outside and swung the gate open wide. He seemed harmless enough.

Ern did return. He saw the flowers were gone, and the gate open. He went in to see her garden, stooping momentarily to stroke a handless cat. He was gray and not well disguised for the hunt until colors fade to black.

Her backyard was as near a woods as could be without losing the human touch of hand planted trees. Through the thick trees, little patches of color jumped, crying for the same attention as a cigarette lit in the darkness. Ern enjoyed the idea of little piles of jewels nestled in the bosom of green. He’d almost skip about going to each display to admire them. Then, he’d randomly pick another grouping to explore.

Alexandra watched Ern from her second story window as he danced among her flowers like a drunken spider weaving in wet grass. Often, she’d see him lift a flower in his hands to smell them. He seemed particularly fond of the dark red roses, almost as if they held a special meaning to him. He slowed momentarily as he rounded the pink yard toys. He paused thoughtfully, then gazed back up to the house. She was certain he had seen her pull back from the curtains. When she had summoned the courage to look again, he was gone. No, wait. He had sat down on her garden bench next to the house.

He seemed exhausted. He had reached into his pack and drank near a quart of water. Then, he replaced the empty bottle with what she thought was a book. It was, however, a notebook and he proceeded to write.

He finished with the first page, then began another, which took much longer. He crossed some things out, and wrote in other things. He took a third sheet, and wrote it out quickly. He placed the first and third on the bench next to him, and the rest went back to his pack. After another quick drink, he got up, stretched, looked her way again, and then left through the gate.

After he was gone, Alexandra went down to see what he had written. It was another letter. She sat on the bench to read the pages. As she read, she wept.

The first page read :

Dear Miss,

I wanted to thank you for allowing me to take the pleasure of your garden. I hope that I didn’t worry you overmuch. My feet are often tired of travel; yet, walking among your flowers has brought pleasure to my weary day. Please take this letter and what lies on the next page as token of my gratitude for my slight intrusion into your life.

Respectfully,
Ern M.

The second page contained :

Stained Glass
by Ernest M.

Behind this painted house with cat abide
Does lie a garden laid extraordinaire!
The trees agreed to cast their shades aside,
To make some room for flower’s sunny air.
These flowers shine as windows in the wood
Which channel golden sun into bouquets
Soul’s treasures echoed out in flower-hood
Displayed as scattered love — inside a blaze.
And yet, with all this beauty cast outside,
The flowers loved the most are kept close by,
Those children loved by mother true and tried
Will grow up well with roost of butterfly.
So many people judge by what they see.
The wealth inside — the best reality!

How to Dishonor a Hero

29 Tuesday May 2012

Posted by myrthryn in Letters to the Editor

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

American Revolution, Christianity, Common Sense, deism, freedom, Religion, Revolutionary War, The Age of Reason, Thomas Paine


People love to observe birthdays, and it is understandable. The birthday is a celebration of life. Too often people fail to acknowledge the death of a man; for the death of a man contains his accomplished deeds. This is partly why people remember the deaths of mighty men like Lincoln, King, Lennon, and Kennedy.

It is past time that we remember the death of another great man who died on June 8th, 1809. What makes him great? In the words of former President John Adams, “Without the pen of the author of ‘Common Sense’, the sword of Washington would have been raised in vain.” ‘Common Sense’, written by Thomas Paine was the best seller in his day. The first three months, a hundred thousand had been printed and sold. Through the course of the Revolutionary War, it is estimated that half a million were produced (some of which were bootleg copies). This is out of an estimated free population of two million.

So why is it that a man who is considered in the running as THE father of the American Revolution plays such a small role in the school history books? Paine also wrote ‘The Age of Reason’. It advocated the use of reason and freethinking, and also promoted the case for Deism. When he argued for Deism, he was making a case against organized religion, specifically the doctrines of Christianity.

After the Revolution, he continued to promote freedom in ways that became unsettling to the fledgling nation of the United States. He spoke up for things that went ignored by those ‘in power’. The nation ignored him and his love for freedom in the worst possible of ways. When he died, one obituary read, “He lived long, did some good, and much harm.” No church would bury him, so he was buried underneath a walnut tree on his farm.

Real heroes not only belong to the their own times, but like artists or prophets, are all too often ahead of their times. This would be the reason that only six, only SIX, people were present at Paine’s funeral. In the words of orator, Roger Ingersoll :

Thomas Paine had passed the legendary limit of life. One by one most of his old friends and acquaintances had deserted him. Maligned on every side, execrated, shunned and abhorred – his virtues denounced as vices – his services forgotten – his character blackened, he preserved the poise and balance of his soul. He was a victim of the people, but his convictions remained unshaken. He was still a soldier in the army of freedom, and still tried to enlighten and civilize those who were impatiently waiting for his death. Even those who loved their enemies hated him, their friend – the friend of the whole world – with all their hearts.

Freedom, once obtained, can not be freely maintained. As the hands of tyranny abroad have handed the reins to tyrants here, I will quote Paine, with one alteration :

These are the times that try men’s souls: The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of freedom [orig. their country]; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value.

The Stand

26 Saturday May 2012

Posted by myrthryn in Atheism, Poetry, Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

atheism, defiance, Poem, Poetry, Religion, self discovery, self-improvement

I have a broken need
to drag bruised and bloody feet
over molten glass and boiling pavement,
to dance in a cool patch of green meridian.

I have a broken need
to dash my head into the meadow
on the smooth rock of afternoon,
perchance to dream of other meadows.

I have a broken need
to bind my eyes against the night
gaze at clothed stars, grab the rod,
and drink the hammer of an anvil cloud.

I have a broken need
to call demons down
to surf a solar tide
and to be ground by the billions
waiting on terra firma’s shore.

I have a broken need
to cast out the angels
to bind them with ink,
self-imprisoning words
and finally bring
reprieve to men.

I have a broken need
to thrust my hands into the fires of reason,
so I may coldly ward off
the shades of fear, faith, and death.

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