The place where worlds collide.

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Some people say that words are cheap, that they mean nothing if not backed by action and that’s true- to some extent. Words alone are not enough. But they are a powerful, invisible entity. To say that they mean nothing is to strip the victims who have suffered under their duress of dignity. Words carry the power to kill, the power to heal. They contain in them the power to live.

I recall a day in elementary school when a girl in my class named Crystal told me that I don’t know how to dress- that I don’t have style. Those words hurt. They made me feel less. So I moped all day and went home and cried. For hours. Finally my mom took me to Marshalls and a hundred dollars later I felt accomplished enough to go back out into the world and face the ‘Crystals’ of life.

In all this, I was never hit. I was never bullied. I was never threatened. I had no reason to feel the pain I did but to this day, some 20 years later I can still recall the hollow pain in my chest from that day. Words. They matter! Words are the place where worlds collide. Why? Who instigated power-filled words?

It started in the beginning… the beginning of EVERYTHING.

“In the beginning God created… He said ‘let there be’…and there was.”( Genesis chapter 1.)

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God didn’t dance; he didn’t paint in blood; he didn’t sing…He spoke. His word created. We creatures of free will, created in His image, and endowed with power beyond our wildest comprehensions. We have the power to speak and be heard.

What we say matters. What we feel counts. What we make others feel with our words matters. Whether inadvertently or purposefully, we hold the place where worlds collide in our very mouths.

So use what you have carefully!

Speak hope. Speak truth. Speak life.

You matter, therefore your words matter.

“She would now and forevermore  be known as Vandara, the Valor of Valerian, the Chosen.”

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It was still dark when Vandara awoke, though dawn was near bloom. She tossed aside her covers and dressed. A deep longing was beginning in her chest, a draw to go into the wood and breath in its natural scents. It was as if she was being called into the wide wood, drawn by a force greater than herself.

Vandara dressed in layers, as the spring mornings were indeed still quite cool. She threw open the cabin door where she was staying and headed into the forest not a hundred feet from the little village.

The world was becoming lighter, less gray, and filled with writhing colors in every shade. She pressed on into the woods, not fearing. There was no danger for her here for she was the Chosen. She just did not yet know it.

The tall Cedarpencil trees made the day murky and mysterious but she continued on, careful not to trip over the monstrous tree roots braided into the earth.

After some time she reached a valley clearing and froze at the tree line. There he was. Vast and magnificent- the king of the wood, the Great White Lion. He sat perched on a large boulder watching the sun arise. His rich mane hung down in vast clumps about his thick muscular neck, white and colorless. He sat relaxed, as if without a care in the world, watching bees and gossamers flutter to and fro about him.

pexels-photo-68421Everything was coming alive in the meadow. Butterflies nested in clumps of 5 and 6, pretending as to be flowers soaking in the first rays. Some sweetly fluttered magically about, their wings buzzing mid-air. Bees were humming, their work song commencing with the dawn.

Sleepy-eyed squirrels were just arousing, their snouts salivating over a nutty morsel. They greedily rubbed their faces with tiny hands, greeting the day with squeals of delight.

Birds sang their morning song, in chorus, as they flew in twos around the treetops. They tweeted and whistled. They sang to and fro like chimes of different tones.

By now the sun had kissed the tops of the hills sounding the valley and light was abundantly streaming in, seeping through the forest and bathing life in it light.

With its arrival the mushrooms, some hanging mi-air off of tree branches began to uncoil and regain their shape. It was as if the world hid and changed in the night only to reaffirm its reality with the coming of the light as if light was some magical envoy.

Vandara was still at the tree line, gazing down upon all the life in bloom before her. She sighed in pleasure breathed in the magical beauty. And then it happened.

The Lion turned his gaze, as if knowing she was there and looked directly at her. He stared into her eyes as the breath left her lips. She froze, fear creeping in for the first time, but it was not so much a dread as it was a great awe, an expectation of what was about to unfold.

The Great Lion stood, but did not leave his place. He awaited her approach. She took courage and fell forward into step. It was as if a force outside herself was pulling her toward him. He awaited, tame and calm, still gazing at her as she came to him.

She was close enough, now that she cold see his eyes were a clear liquid blue. She came to a halt feet in front of him and awed at his beauty, the muscle in his limbs- the inhuman strength in his body.

He was strength, he was courage. He was the epitome of beauty, yet wild and untamed. She gazed still into his eyes and reached a gentle hand toward him. He bent his head slowly and she brushed her fingers through his fur. She took in a deep breath, realizing there may have never before been one her touch the Great White Cat.

His eyes were deep, silent gems aglow in the day’s light. He gazed at her intently, bearing a hole into her soul. He saw her, she knew. He saw every part of her, every cranny of her soul and relished it. He relished in who she was. Loved her purely for herself.

pexels-photo-29534He took a step back and she drew back her hand. He bowed his head, until his nose almost touched the ground. She froze. Panic began to set in. She did not understand what he was doing, but she knew it was a blessing of sorts. He was choosing her.

Though, she had been Chosen since the day of her birth without knowing it, it was another matter entirely for the Great Lion, the purest, most powerful creature in all the known lands, to bless her and make her Choosing public before all the creatures.

And nothing would ever again be the same. She would now and forevermore be known as Vandara, the Valor of Valerian, the Chosen.

 

Valor of the Chosen

Posted in Creative writing, Faith, Inspiration

The Tides all Change…

The tides all change. The seasons flow one into another to culminate another year. Summer runs into the Fall. Autumn dies into Winter. Winter awakens into Spring. Spring collides into Summer and back again. Nothing seems to change in the course of our lives when we arrive at the culminations of each year, each of these cycles. In reality, however, we are different.

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            We are not the same person who stood at the dawning of another cycle. We have not come into a new year completely intact. That is because we are fluid creatures, always in transition. We are not solitary beings who remain untouched, but we are fallible and subject to imperfections and changing tides. We grow. We learn. We become that which we never were but were always meant to be.

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I for one believe in destiny. I believe there is a “greater-ness” of who I am that I cannot imagine and the One who dictates the star’s rotations and keeps them anchored in their orbit is the One who has the destiny set before me. All I have to do is be brave and step into it. Are you brave enough?

I recently read this really amazing rendition of a moonlit beach experience by fellow blogger TheGhostWriter. It’s called The Dance of Salt and Glass and ascribes a moonlit beach to

“a rally between the sea salt beneath, and the ocean glass above, tangled in competition for whom attracted a brighter glow from the hovering orb of moonlight which unknowingly charmed the tides.”

It was a majestic and ethereal piece and it inspired this companion. No this is not an anti-piece campaign. It’s more of showing the other side of a coin. The marvels of a day lit beach. If you want to read the original the link is below.

https://adventuremanfiji.wordpress.com/2016/09/15/the-dance-of-salt-glass/

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Some say that the renditions of moonlight on a wide-open beach are like a dance between salt and glass, salt in the sand and water as liquid glass.

None can counterpoise the beauty of a moon lit beach. Nothing can be as mysterious and spiritually awakening as seeking the miracle of such a sight.

Yet, there is also a spectacular continence in the rage of the Sun’s face over the deep waters that sparkle and reflect its glory, and in the shadows of the Blazing Giant of the sky, there pure invisible force is made tangible wave by wave in the twinkling masses of liquid glass.

There is no color without light, hence the gradual gradient of blues exists only under the vast color spectrum concentrated in the sky’s Giant, the radiance of raw power, which is a fleeting idea under the tides. It flees with the pull and tug of the sky giants- Sun and Moon.

I for one, can’t seem to want to trade in the beauty of  warm sun infested shores for the cool moonlit one. There is too much beauty and wonder to miss.

The miracle of earth meeting the great deep, green meeting aquamarine; clear liquid force churning the grains underfoot to reveal treasures of conches and hermits alike; the blazing vastness of color-filled creatures running frantically to the rhythm of their life-their own life unattached to anyone else’s beat, to and fro in the various reefs they call home; each creature as different and unique as the next- these things all give rise to a beauty that night cannot offer. Knowledge that is lost in the darkness.

For when the dance of salt crystals and liquid glass commence that is when the vast beauties of color, of all activity ceases. Even if they never do cease, the blackness cannot reveal to us, the people of flesh and bone, the mysteries and intricacies of the aquamarine below.What we see even under the blazing giant is but a fraction of the greatness contained by the geosphere below.

It is a complex system of rhythm, an orchestra of genius proportions. One in which each and every color, every creature, every sound has a place, has a role, has a part of the song that is soundlessly sung into eternity. Every reflection, nuance, and note sings the greatness of the master who, by a wave of the wand he bears, creates all such intricacies -some that we as limited humans have not yet fathomed.

 

The Orchestra of Color, Liquid, and Light