You are old, Father William,' the young man said, `And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head-- Do you think, at your age, it is right?'
`In my youth,' Father William replied to his son, `I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again.'
...
The light grows dim on the horizon... it's only four o'clock, a bit early for a sunset. But, I never could complain about such a show when it is presented to me. The star sol sears golden on the dark line of cityscape. The gold fire breaks into hues of red and purple as it reaches up into the deep blue of the dusk sky. I stare up towards the east; the first stars are beginning to show.
Moving the silver blade back and forth over the blue natural gas flame, the silent hiss. I can just see the edge of it growing red, I can picture the molecules moving faster, excited with energy of convection. As I move the blade closer to my flesh I can feel the heat vibrating off of the metal. The pain courses through me like a bolt, a nerve communicating with other nerves sending signals to my brain telling me my arm is burning. My brain screeches with waves of dizziness, my nerves are seared from the hot knife. Push the knife deeper, a smell I have never encountered before fills my small apartment, the smell of burning flesh. Slice deeper, the wound is toughening, cauterizing because of the heat. Finally, I break through the layers of skin and the thick red liquid slowly makes its way to the surface. The blood flows down the side of my arm like a serpent, drip by drip onto the ring I have set in the center of a symbol. The symbol is a baphomet: a five pointed star, drawn so that two points are facing up. A crude visage of a goats face adorns the inner workings of the star and around it is a circle, five symbols drawn at each point. Chanting words, so alien and familiar because of repetition. I hold the book aloft and read the passages, calling forth beings from another plane, another existence, within myself. The drips of blood on the ring are my sacrifice; the spirits feed on my will to carry out my requests. The blood on the ring quickly dries, it was once a brilliant silver, hand crafted by Native Americans in North Dakota. Now it is a golden color, speckled with patches of brown and red.
I sometimes wonder, that old child's tale, "... I wish I may...". It said if you wish upon the first star you see, "...I wish I might..." some god somewhere would grant your wish. Or maybe even the star itself held some mystical power to grant wishes from small children," ... have this wish..." full of hope and belief and wonder. Yeah, there still is a Santa Claus, a giant rabbit really comes around on Easter leaving eggs, oh, and there really are pixies in the bottom of a wishing well. We all grow up; leave our childhood fantasies of toys and super heroes behind.
Start thinking, how could the Easter bunny exist? It's impossible... and the drawing of a boa constrictor that swallowed an elephant begins to look more and more like just a hat. As you get older the line between good and evil is slowly blurred, there no longer is any bad guy in a black coat with a sinister grin. The muscle bound hero all dressed in white, with a cleft chin and goofy sidekick vanishes into the wash of the mind's legend. Eventually, we learn there is no true good and evil, life is what we make of it and our only good is what pleases us. The evil villain in the black coat and malicious grin becomes a neighbor that dumps his garbage on our lawn, a co-worker that gets the promotion before us, our wife or our kids. I have quickly learned that I am the only hero in my life and I don't always have to wear white.
.........
And yet you incessantly stand on your head-- Do you think, at your age, it is right?'
`In my youth,' Father William replied to his son, `I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again.'
...
The light grows dim on the horizon... it's only four o'clock, a bit early for a sunset. But, I never could complain about such a show when it is presented to me. The star sol sears golden on the dark line of cityscape. The gold fire breaks into hues of red and purple as it reaches up into the deep blue of the dusk sky. I stare up towards the east; the first stars are beginning to show.
Moving the silver blade back and forth over the blue natural gas flame, the silent hiss. I can just see the edge of it growing red, I can picture the molecules moving faster, excited with energy of convection. As I move the blade closer to my flesh I can feel the heat vibrating off of the metal. The pain courses through me like a bolt, a nerve communicating with other nerves sending signals to my brain telling me my arm is burning. My brain screeches with waves of dizziness, my nerves are seared from the hot knife. Push the knife deeper, a smell I have never encountered before fills my small apartment, the smell of burning flesh. Slice deeper, the wound is toughening, cauterizing because of the heat. Finally, I break through the layers of skin and the thick red liquid slowly makes its way to the surface. The blood flows down the side of my arm like a serpent, drip by drip onto the ring I have set in the center of a symbol. The symbol is a baphomet: a five pointed star, drawn so that two points are facing up. A crude visage of a goats face adorns the inner workings of the star and around it is a circle, five symbols drawn at each point. Chanting words, so alien and familiar because of repetition. I hold the book aloft and read the passages, calling forth beings from another plane, another existence, within myself. The drips of blood on the ring are my sacrifice; the spirits feed on my will to carry out my requests. The blood on the ring quickly dries, it was once a brilliant silver, hand crafted by Native Americans in North Dakota. Now it is a golden color, speckled with patches of brown and red.
I sometimes wonder, that old child's tale, "... I wish I may...". It said if you wish upon the first star you see, "...I wish I might..." some god somewhere would grant your wish. Or maybe even the star itself held some mystical power to grant wishes from small children," ... have this wish..." full of hope and belief and wonder. Yeah, there still is a Santa Claus, a giant rabbit really comes around on Easter leaving eggs, oh, and there really are pixies in the bottom of a wishing well. We all grow up; leave our childhood fantasies of toys and super heroes behind.
Start thinking, how could the Easter bunny exist? It's impossible... and the drawing of a boa constrictor that swallowed an elephant begins to look more and more like just a hat. As you get older the line between good and evil is slowly blurred, there no longer is any bad guy in a black coat with a sinister grin. The muscle bound hero all dressed in white, with a cleft chin and goofy sidekick vanishes into the wash of the mind's legend. Eventually, we learn there is no true good and evil, life is what we make of it and our only good is what pleases us. The evil villain in the black coat and malicious grin becomes a neighbor that dumps his garbage on our lawn, a co-worker that gets the promotion before us, our wife or our kids. I have quickly learned that I am the only hero in my life and I don't always have to wear white.
.........