Short Fiction
Due Time
You and I are one. We came from the same source and will return to the same reservoir. I am not ready to move away from who I used to be. In a past life, I was someone I cannot remember. I learned that I can be much more. The disconnection between the sacred and the profane never existed.
We built temples high in the mountains. We created schools. We locked the doors. We trapped the knowledge in books, and we claimed it as ours. We created keys and hid them. We changed the game and killed the opponent. How can I be saved if you die by my steps every day? Poisoning your land and withdrawing your olives murdered my soul. When will I learn we are different expressions of the same soil? The one that cries lavas, laughs waterfalls, blooms sharks, grows condors, sprouts rhinos, and dawns the love from a mother, a partner, and a friend. I fooled myself into believing there would be places in heaven for the saints. I fooled myself into thinking that killing my body would save my soul. In the quotidian of my emotions and the mundanity of my feelings, I longed for a lost shared identity of what it is to be alive. A shared consciousness. Foolish I was when I created all those rites and burned all these offerings to purify myself from my desires. The same desires that once allowed me to freely love without returning.
The other day, I had a dream. I was not myself. Instead, a proclamation:
My brother showed me the cosmos. He told me about supernovas and their power. The stars that create elements and the elements that make new life. Not from a “therefore” but from a “nonetheless.” Above seas, above our heads, we witnessed the creation lady rising. She looked at us. I kept dreaming about how my feelings just are what they happen to be. In the same way the oceans are. The waves crash on the shore just as your hair bounces on your face. The pines from the north resist the winter in the same way you grieve the ones you lost. Like the mycelium and the lichen, you yearn for community. The way you bow to pray reminds me of the rainforest samambaia reaching for the sunlight. The flock of birds imitates your courage to occupy new places. The ants and you share the same desire to build new homes. I was there looking for the sweetest fruit, the clear weather, the shiniest mineral. And all I could find was you. Lost in the clouds, looking for a path to be crossed.
When I think of you, I think of love. And the ease in emptying oneself to give space for another manifestation to become. That is the first evidence of love: the freedom of choosing not to be. I give up the space that was entitled mine so that you have a chance to breathe. Sometimes freedom is a sunny day by the pool. A feast around laughs. The mobile of the year. The ought-to-be is greater than the availability of choices.
How could I understand my brother if I gave him morals and philosophies? I baptized him and named him after my senses. I created a language only I could speak, and depleted him of grammars and alphabets. Hoping to free him, I caged him. I did not allow him to experience the turtle island, the sweetgrass, and the wild flowers. But my brother understood me. He emptied himself before I held notice, and I could see I was leaking from a space full of me. In locking my brother, I locked myself. I built myself a tower with no windows. I could only see the shadows of the external world. Silhouette of a man, and the smell of fresh bread.
Now I understand it is time to break the doorknobs. To open the locks. It is due time to free myself, and to walk outside. To experience the flocks. To support the folks. To reach the skies. To ask for mercy. To learn a new language. To say “I love you” when I mean it. To cook for my mom. To invite my friends over. To throw them a party. It is due time to celebrate. To welcome my brother, who has walked a long journey and whose feet are tired. To care for him. It is due time.
We built temples high in the mountains. We created schools. We locked the doors. We trapped the knowledge in books, and we claimed it as ours. We created keys and hid them. We changed the game and killed the opponent. How can I be saved if you die by my steps every day? Poisoning your land and withdrawing your olives murdered my soul. When will I learn we are different expressions of the same soil? The one that cries lavas, laughs waterfalls, blooms sharks, grows condors, sprouts rhinos, and dawns the love from a mother, a partner, and a friend. I fooled myself into believing there would be places in heaven for the saints. I fooled myself into thinking that killing my body would save my soul. In the quotidian of my emotions and the mundanity of my feelings, I longed for a lost shared identity of what it is to be alive. A shared consciousness. Foolish I was when I created all those rites and burned all these offerings to purify myself from my desires. The same desires that once allowed me to freely love without returning.
The other day, I had a dream. I was not myself. Instead, a proclamation:
The word had become flesh.
My brother showed me the cosmos. He told me about supernovas and their power. The stars that create elements and the elements that make new life. Not from a “therefore” but from a “nonetheless.” Above seas, above our heads, we witnessed the creation lady rising. She looked at us. I kept dreaming about how my feelings just are what they happen to be. In the same way the oceans are. The waves crash on the shore just as your hair bounces on your face. The pines from the north resist the winter in the same way you grieve the ones you lost. Like the mycelium and the lichen, you yearn for community. The way you bow to pray reminds me of the rainforest samambaia reaching for the sunlight. The flock of birds imitates your courage to occupy new places. The ants and you share the same desire to build new homes. I was there looking for the sweetest fruit, the clear weather, the shiniest mineral. And all I could find was you. Lost in the clouds, looking for a path to be crossed.
When I think of you, I think of love. And the ease in emptying oneself to give space for another manifestation to become. That is the first evidence of love: the freedom of choosing not to be. I give up the space that was entitled mine so that you have a chance to breathe. Sometimes freedom is a sunny day by the pool. A feast around laughs. The mobile of the year. The ought-to-be is greater than the availability of choices.
How could I understand my brother if I gave him morals and philosophies? I baptized him and named him after my senses. I created a language only I could speak, and depleted him of grammars and alphabets. Hoping to free him, I caged him. I did not allow him to experience the turtle island, the sweetgrass, and the wild flowers. But my brother understood me. He emptied himself before I held notice, and I could see I was leaking from a space full of me. In locking my brother, I locked myself. I built myself a tower with no windows. I could only see the shadows of the external world. Silhouette of a man, and the smell of fresh bread.
Now I understand it is time to break the doorknobs. To open the locks. It is due time to free myself, and to walk outside. To experience the flocks. To support the folks. To reach the skies. To ask for mercy. To learn a new language. To say “I love you” when I mean it. To cook for my mom. To invite my friends over. To throw them a party. It is due time to celebrate. To welcome my brother, who has walked a long journey and whose feet are tired. To care for him. It is due time.