An Invisible Man: In Dedication to Ralph Ellison

I too am an invisible man

And I’ve spent years

To make myself seen

But that’s proven problematic

Transitioning from invisible to enigmatic

Still unseen because my light blinds

As opposed to warming

And elucidating

Is there any resolution?

I close my eyes 

Accessing the light and warmth within

Feeling seen, heard, and loved

The cure to invisibility 

Is to be seen by the Unseen

One of Us Chapter 4

A short one

Orange and yellow banged at the window of the train as the hungry seeking bread. The scent of oranges and lemons filled the train, residue left behind as the train moved at bullet speed. A small smile crept upon the older brother’s face, as they entered the Third Circle. The train slowed its approach, as it levitated by the citrus scent of the Circle. Darius then turned to David, despite picking up the conversation they had in the world of the Second Circle, “She can teach you something. I said what I said.” David jabbed him in the shoulder, knowing that his brother’s cocoa marble skin didn’t even feel it. The beautiful thing about seeing Darius enter this circle is that it seemed as though he was back at a time where he could feel something. 

The train screeched to a stop, and opened its mouth to fresh passengers. Suffice to say the clientele of the train changed quite a bit. The seemingly indifferent dispelled the strong scent of citrus, the primary characteristic of the Third Circle. This merchant capital of the city brought about more diversity than other circles. David and Darius watched as folks from the Second Circle were joined by the bohemian in blazers, in pencil skirts, in aprons, in store-branded T-shirts, with baby carriages, and disdainful looks towards those from lower numbered circles. The suited looks’ broke upon David and Darius like water upon the shore. At times, David would maintain eye contact with the suits exchanging looks that communicated “fuck you” as elegantly as he could say it with his eyes. Darius had to reel him in at times for two reasons. One: you didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to yourself if you didn’t have to, especially if you were the two of them. Two: you never knew who was a police officer in plainclothes.

The police commissioner and the rank and file nestled their way into the Circle as well. Not only was the station in this Circle, but they would often burrow into the general populace looking for trouble.

Now Darius and David both had experience breaking against and being broken against law enforcement, but this was well before their time in being “civilians.” Now the most David could eke out against the uniformed was his occasional “try me” smirk. Any more than that (even that) could elicit deeper examination into their lives. And that’s all it would take. You’re in a bad situation if a police officer stops you for any reason. You’re damned if you are doing something illegal. Darius was 18, so they would find any reason to throw him in jail. Although David was 17, they had creative ways to punish juveniles like being sent to the military as penance, which is often worse than jail. What begins as a month of service becomes a life sentence “in the service. That’s almost assured once they find out you can use dimensional energy. They didn’t need that kind of energy in their lives. 

As passengers piled onto the train, most would find their place out the window to stare. After all, you didn’t want to maintain eye contact with those from the Second Circle too long. Apartheid would be strong to describe this societal structure. But it’s interesting observing the dynamic in this piled train car. Let’s start with those you would never find in a train car like this: Circle 5 Residents. The most affluent of the most affluent. The Fifth Circle had trains that ran on pure dimensional energy, and one required a resident’s pass to take the train. Fifth Circle residents very very rarely had to leave the comfort of their circle. It was pretty self-contained. You’d also never find a First Circle person here. Although you don’t need a resident’s pass to get there, you needed special permissions to enter, not that the general population would know this, but David and Darius knew.

Imagine a city where law and order was completely abandoned, and criminals became the ruling class. A land of outlaws where strength ruled and the geography constantly quaked by extreme climate events. Then, take that city and open up a major dimensional rift there twice in the last fifty years, where monsters like the one David fought the night before poured through like spiders through a decrepit faucet. That’s the First Circle in a nutshell.

You needed passage to get there. Those who tried often were killed before they could get in. The police. Hell, the military wouldn’t try to storm it, not that they wanted to. And it seemed that “those in charge” of the First Circle didn’t want to leave. That gave the ruling authorities the belief that dimensional creatures were in charge there or “dimens” as some might say. You needed passage. From someone on the inside. It’s difficult to know what’s more frightening. Entering the First Circle or the being that one would have to deal with to be granted passage. But they wouldn’t need to worry about that today.

Today, mostly people who lived in the Second and Third Circle filled the train. Who would have thought there could be such a large difference in one integer? Being directly exposed to a dimensional rift destroyed a good deal of civilization found in the Second Circle. It still functioned. The necessities were there, but many of the facilities were destroyed, never to be rebuilt. Pharmacies, doctor’s offices, banks, all victim to an act of God, or perhaps something more tyrannical. Remnants of these community staples could still be seen, as if to mock the residents of what once was. If you needed something extra, something more, you had to invest in a train pass to get to the Third Circle to reach anything… discretionary. Speaking of…

“I need to stop by the bank after school today,” Darius said to his brother, who was in the midst of mean mugging someone.

“Got it,” he replied without looking back. 

“Hey,” the elder smacked his brother’s arm to ensure he had his attention. “No gym for you today,” leveling a tone at him that would catch David’s attention, but no one else’s. The younger looked at him with pleading eyes for just a moment, then acquiesced with a nod. Without access to higher circles, economic mobility was impossible. Everything: grocery stores, daycares, bookstores, coffeeshops, and banks were found in Third Circle. 

The world outside the window took on a different nature, as they passed through a tunnel, as if all the fruit died and the sun with it within the half mile tunnel from Circle Three to Four. The sun also hid its face, as the train penetrated the entrance to the Circle, giving the Fourth Circle a distinct grey feel, as if the entire zip code was in a state of mourning. The faces of those in the train seemed to reflect this, as if all life in the train took a collective inhale and breathed its last upon entry.

The skyscrapers didn’t seem to mind the sighing of those entering this limbo. They stood proudly to the skies, roaring at the heavens as Nimrod before the tongues were divided. Their darkened glass eyes peered upon its new interlopers coming upon their metallic worm. David was one of the sighers as well, as they were a few stops from their school. He looked over at his brother and said, “You know, it’s not too late to go back home. All it would take are a few steps, and then…” 

The train stopped with the abruptness of a broken roller coaster ride. As the doors opened, more pencil necked suits entered the train. They never looked at anyone, only above and past you. The discontented wealthy. They had much, but wanted more. Take it like this. Imagine being able to see the Earthly Paradise, but the gates are locked to you. Even, what you have will never be enough when you know that the fruit of the Tree of Life, lay behind an angel with a flaming sword. That’s what the striving of those in the Fourth Circle to get to the Fifth was like. Being granted every type of fruit, except the one that would bring true immortality. 

David didn’t find it fun to play the “look game” with the pencil necks.They were never reciprocated, dismantling any semblance of power or agency David felt he might have had. It didn’t matter that he could down creatures that would likely make Fourth Circle residents wet themselves. It didn’t matter that his hands wrought destruction: flaying flesh, cracking concrete. Regardless of what he did, it would never live up to these people. He didn’t know why he wanted to, but he did. The first minute of the uncomfortable ten to get to school began, as the gliders entered the train ensuring not to trust anyone.

Silence rang out on the train in the next ten minutes as folks got on and off and on and off and on, and…

David and Darius held silent looks towards one another as their stop approached. As they rose and lifted their bags, a few Fourth Circlers looked at the boys from their newspapers or behind the disdain in their pupils, a pity rose in their eyes for only a split second, a Tiresias-like insight rose in their eyes to boys fated to destruction due to their poverty. The boys looked back.The doors hissed open as they entered the world of the Fourth Circle.

One of Us Chapter Three

Not as confident about this chapter, so very open to feedback.

His eyes stared into the abyss, one arm hanging from the twin mattress he was propped upon, fingers resting upon the floor awaiting the cold approach of morning. Whether he retired with the sun or descended into sleep at its rising, the engine of flesh and blood shifted into drive before his alarm clock sounded. The darkness stared at his cracked eyes powdered with fatigue. No matter how much he wanted to sleep in, years of unscheduled interruption would create new circadian rhythms, a souvenir he would carry with him from years ablaze.

The shower in the bathroom roared on. Darius is up. Now, if Darius is already up that means it’s four forty… two? David panned to the alarm clock slowly, with speed found only in horror movies with the monster’s reveal.

4:45.

Late start, huh Darius?

Come on Dave. Feet on the floor.  Darius would thrash him otherwise. Overcoming his body’s urge to sink into the bed, his feet rested upon the dark carpet. He touched his chest and core. Dally and Kid really did a good job. It doesn’t even feel like I fought last night. Standing into a stretch, he then fell into a push up, and began the ritual of doing reps until failure. Then he stood up and began to squat. The sound of water stopped from the bathroom, as David looked towards the door.

Darius had this interesting ability to take a five- minute blazing-hot shower. David could never understand it. If need be, Darius could get ready in ten minutes for anything, and yet when he stepped out of the shower, you knew he was clean. David needed to be ready to hop in the bathroom in 5 minutes. He got on his back using the creaking open of the door as a timer. Just as he lost count, the door opened and the word “Water” floated from the smoky bathroom as if a shaman were trying to summon a goddess.

David then looked over while crunching and said, “What?”

Darius stepped from the steam, “A soldier’s biggest enemy is dehydration. If you didn’t drink any before bed, please try to get some water in you when you’re in the bathroom.” David saw his older brother’s scar. He could never shake the sight of it.. It was quite ugly. Anyone drawn to the aesthetics of scars didn’t see the one in Darius’ chest. The person who created it was no artist, but a butcher, treating his flesh no better than a swine too small for the litter. Running from the top of his right shoulder to the bottom of his pec, his scarring resembled two thin brown sausages forming a pair of lips. Regardless of how long it had been, it still looked like the wound hurt. 

The other markings on his torso reflected his experience with combat, but the centerpiece on his chest reflected his trauma. Someone truly wanted to hurt him. Not kill him, but hurt him. Beneath the scarring, lay shiny brown marble, not easily cracked. People tried.

“Yeah, yeah,” David replied, choosing to ignore Darius’ paternalism this morning. He then rose from the floor, stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.

David and Darius were very different finished products as they completed their morning routines. David would wear anything to school. It was Darius’ guidance that often prevented David from putting on clothes he wore in fights the night before. However, today, the younger donned dark blue jeans with a faded comic book shirt, where the hero on the front of it long met their demise from washer erosion. The black sneakers were worn, but fashionable, dried blood blended into the soles. 

David made fun of Darius for the clothes he wore, making at least one joke a week about how Darius was “the only nigga that he knew that wore a uniform when it wasn’t required. Through David’s eyes, anything that had a collar or could be construed to be an outfit for a job interview would be categorized in such a way. Bringing his hands to has face as if he would pray, David spoke to his brother, “Once, just once Darius. We’ve got to switch outfits before the year is over.”

Without looking at his brother, he lifted a bag and threw it on his back. “Helllllll no. Bro, is that shirt even clean?”

“Yeah,” Darius heard from behind him. He then heard an audible sniff that made him smile. 

Looking back at his brother he said, “Come on, we’re going to miss the train.”

“You know, it’s never too late to go back to bed,” David exhaled, as they emerged from their shared room.

“What? And waste all the effort of getting ready,” Darius said with a smile. David looked on at his older brother with his own frown-formed smile. As much as he didn’t like waking up this early, seeing Darius’ excitement made the experience worth it. He wouldn’t say Darius was a happy person, but when they went to school, something came alive in him. So David would go, for no other reason than the fact that it did something for someone that did everything for everyone else.

“Come on, we’ve got fifteen minutes to get to the train.” David said, slinging his bag near the front door upon his back. They stepped out of the shadowy house into the fresh breath of morning.

The Second Circle arose as a different creature under a young sun. Images and shadows that aimed to swallow them just five hours ago became lovable and cordial. Glass-beaten concrete reflected the orange hue of the sun rising in its glory. Graffiti painted images of affiliation revealed the candor of community at all costs, but the young men weren’t taking in the scenery. Their gait slowly increased, as playful smiles grew on their faces. They held pace with one another, as David’s pace increased. He looked at Darius. Darius increased his own pace. David increased his pace once again. Darius followed suit, saying, “Not again.” Then David took off at full speed. The older followed with a chuckle saying,  “Come on nigga, look at what I’m wearing” as he blasted forward. David didn’t hear him.

To non-natives of the Second Circle, the pathways are treacherous. As an archaeologist carefully placing his footing in a ruin, would be the same approach someone would have who wasn’t familiar to the terrain. But when you grow up in a jungle, you learn how to use the vines. What started as a mere foot race became an exercise of threading the needle with one’s body. Attributes of the Second Circle blended together at the speed they were going. Every now and then, they would see a vendor opening up shop on the street who would shout “Hey Dar!” As Darius would flash a reserved smile, he’d double his pace to catch his brother. His vision blurred more as speed increased and hands and feet became points to pivot and traverse. They were approaching the finish line, as he was nearly neck and neck with his brother who flipped over the final fence to hear the winner’s fanfare.

HISSSSSSS! The trains of the station seemed to be unhappy with the result of their race. David held his arms up in the air, shuffling his feet and laughing. The world resolidified around them as the rapid screen scroller of the race ended. What appeared around them was a brick outdoor train station. Giant, metallic worms entered and left the station seeking to bear its inhabitants away from lands such as these. The continual hissing of the trains entering and leaving was loud, but Darius could heard what his younger brother shouted in the midst of his Chi-town step. “I’m streaking bro. Got the dub last night and the dub today!”

“It’s easy to win when you cheat,” Darius shot with the power of a body blow (David shook the comment off) checking himself for any sweat spots on his shirt. “Let’s just get to our platform.”

They passed by other giant metal behemoths to get to their platform.. Darius and David liked to get to the station early for good reason. The train schedule could be a little unpredictable. Better to get the first train than to get stranded for hours. Their school was always on the lookout for reasons to kick them out. Tardiness gave the administrators the excuse they needed. 

“You finish your homework?” Darius eyed David as their train hissed and reared towards them. 

“You know you asked me this yesterday before the fight, right? And you joke around about me having CTE.” David put both arms behind his head and swayed back and forth. “What’s the purpose of a two hour train ride if not to do homework on the ride there?”

“The ride is 80 minutes, and you still haven’t answered the question,” Darius said, eyeing the approaching train. 

“Relax. I got it done before we left on Friday. Easy-peasy,” looking at Darius, who’s eyes were upon the incredulous older sibling. He doubled-down on his attitude: “Did you want to check it as well Dad?” 

It felt wrong the moment the words came out of his mouth. Both David and Darius had much to answer for, they were never cruel to others much less to one another. The younger knew he needed to make amends regardless of how Darius reacted.

Darius turned and held David’s gaze for what felt like an eternity, even when the train stopped in front of them, responding “No,” with an iciness that could frost a lawn on a November morning. He then ascended the steps of the train to the higher level, David following him, mulling over how he would craft his apology for his “Dad” comment.

Being inside of the train considerably brightened Darius’ mood though. The lads stood alone in the dimly lit first car, the train rising from its own slumber, as it kicked forward. There was something about that crimson on the seats inside on the train, the warmth of the train’s internal heater that ran year-round, the soft smell of commerce and transport that made Darius feel new. The thought arose that maybe, just maybe, his life didn’t have to consist of training his younger brother to break his fists against the hide of something found only in bad dreams. 

The train ride, which others used simply as a means to reach the grocery store or their job, Darius found to be an escape from a life written for him before he was born. It reminded him of a time before. A time when his small feet would stand upon the feet and look out the window. He sunk into a chair, his eyes rolled into the back of his head. It reminded him of Mom and D…

“Dar. Hey, Dar man.” he practically felt the voice prod him from the state of catharsis. Well, it was good while it lasted. Darius opened his eyes to their halfway point, seeing David a seat away, with his hands pressed down on the cushions of the crimson seats.

“What’s up David?”

Usually not one who would mince his words, David sputtered a bit like a broken lawn mower. When he finally settled he said, “Look, when I called you “Dad” earlier, I was being stupid. I’m sorry.” With his “sorry,” he held Darius’ eyes for two seconds before he looked at his own lap. Within those two seconds, Darius recognized in David the child that also lost his parents. He saw David before his childhood needed to be squashed forever, before receiving punishment  from creatures was more comfortable than facing his own trauma, before bravado was more acceptable than vulnerability. He saw that little bit of dough before the training and the beating changed his body forever. Darius saw a bit of himself that he would never get back. He smiled a bit that he could still recognize it in his younger brother. For Darius, that part of him lodged too deep into the soil of poverty and misdeeds. Probably dead under that soil as well.

Darius inhaled and exhaled with the speed of a bullet coming out of the chamber. “Don’t worry about it man. You told me you did your homework on Friday. I shouldn’t have started the conversation at all. My bad.” He then placed his hand on David’s shoulder. “Let me close my eyes for five minutes. We said we’d talk about Kid this morning. I’d still like to do that. Cool?”

“Cool,” David who at this time had dropped his shoulders and lifted his head. A toothless smile came over the face of the younger, as if swallowing medicine trying to convince someone it was tasty.

Five minutes came and went, and Darius couldn’t access that place of rest he had when his eyelids first shut. Responsibility so rarely allows us to indulge. Not quire sure how to begin a conversation, David began, “So Kid…” and they began chatting about what they knew. Their conversation was admittedly intermittent as new stops began to welcome new riders on the train.

Everyone boarding in the Second Circle had a similar look. It’s not that folks were wearing the same clothes, but it was more the condition of their clothes. The conditions of their faces. Even the few professionals. Everyone had a “tell” of some kind. Whether it was wrinkles on the back of a shirt or uncared for wrinkles on the face. It could be a torn belt or tears upon bodies bordered by collars and ties. It could be worn clothes or a worn spirit, buttons that looked as they were about to burst from blouses bred from economic trauma bursting from bodies and homes. With every inhabitant of the Second Circle, there emerged a shared understanding. Shared burden of “That’s just how things are here.” A miserable solidarity, but solidarity is rarely found in times of plenty. If it really came right down to it, they would slide for one another without question from threats on this plane or any others.

As new inhabitants joined the ride, a nod stopped the lads’ conversation. There was nothing illegal about the ability to manipulate dimensional energy, but the moment that someone knew you could use it, you became a piece in someone’s game. Neither of the lads wanted that for Kid, so they cut their conversation short any time anyone got too close to them. Eventually, the train cleared again. The sun’s rays danced within the train car in its citrus taffeta dress through the windows, its orange warmth felt through the windows, as David started again. “So you really don’t think that Dally taught her that?

“I really don’t David. Why would he?” Darius replied. “What would be his motive in teaching a three year old how to use dimensional energy? I mean how would that even come up in conversation,” he whispered harshly.

“I don’t know. What would be Dally’s motive in weaponizing a child? I can’t think of a single instance where he even had an inkling towards doing something like that. That’s completely out of his character,” he chipped…”And out of his history.” David said with a saccharine smile.

“His past character and history aren’t lost on me David. “You act like he doesn’t have the capability to change,” the older exhaled.

“And you act like he’s incapable of ever turning back. You ever think that the stay at home dad life might just get a little boring for the former crime lord? Perhaps Kid is a way to get him back on the up and up,” he leaned back. And then looked at his older brother and asked, “I don’t get why you always take up for him.” Although the boys spoke in hushes, Darius felt the hurt. It wasn’t the first conversation where it shifted in this direction, but Darius thought that at some point the vitriol would cease from his younger brother towards Dally. However, things had improved from David and Dally not speaking to one another for a year when they first started living with one another. Thank God for small mercies, right?

“I’m sorry,” Darius spoke in an infomercial tone of voice, but who has been healing you for the past two years after your fights?”

“Well, last night it was Kid. But I suppose saving one life is a good start to bridging the gap of lives lost he was responsible for,” David finished. Darius could tell by the tone of his voice that the younger reached his limit in talking about it. Too much history there. Darius couldn’t blame him. One day, you’re unknowingly working for a mob boss, thinking you’re doing the right thing. The next day, you’re asked to accept that he’s changed, a dad, who has lost all ambition. That was the bitter part about them being enrolled in school. Both David and Darius were able to hear about the works of Dally and those like him through lectures and discussion groups and tests and quizzes and red marker and… it would take someone with serious psychosis to be able to forgive and forget. But then there was Darius. Perhaps, Darius felt there was some solidarity to be had with Dally. After all, there was blood on his hands as well. Although he would never tell his younger brother, when David attacked, he felt the sting of the blows, not simply from a capacity to empathize. Darius didn’t even know if he could do that anymore, but Darius didn’t even know if he was capable but out of the complicit nature Darius had with Dally. David didn’t know. He could never know. Silver laced sea beasts scudded beneath the surface of Darius forehead, all he could say was:

“Fair enough,” a statement with enough weight and pause to make them both want to change the topic from what happened in the past. He then continued, “Regardless of the source of the ability, what do you think we should do about it?”

David’s mind shifted to analytical mode as if the child was an intellectual conundrum to be solved. It always astonished the older how he could shift into this mode so easily. Looking up at the sign above David’s head, the cliche multicultural photo of teenagers in graduation garb, tossing their caps in the air made him smile. We made the right choice David.

“What nigga?” David asked, not knowing how to handle mystery in his mind.

“Nothing, what were you saying?”

Like a dog shaking away the stress, David hit him with a double-take then continued, “That was a high degree of control of dimensional energy. Even if Dally worked on me first, for her to patch me up with no pain, that should be impossible. I mean she has no knowledge of anatomy, cellular biology, dimensional energy. It’s like she was doing it from…”

“Reflex, right?” Darius spoke. “Shit, I wish we knew more about her folks. It was wildly irresponsible to pick her up the way we did.”

“Had we not, she would have died.” David shot back.

“That’s also correct,” Darius replied, deflecting some of the bleeding sun’s rays from his eyes.” It would be more irresponsible to do nothing. To let her die on that concrete, but maybe she’s best suited being with us. If anything, she has three people that can help her through this journey using her dimensional energy…” Darius knew the look his brother was giving him. It was peering over the glasses without the glasses. The: “You really heard nothing about what I just said about weaponizing children.”

Darius added in, “When I mean “use her dimensional energy,” I only meant that she is able to control it, so she won’t get caught using it in public.” He then eyed down his brother, “I know David. I know,” reassuring his brother. “Damn,” he chuckled a bit to himself.

“But what about now? We have a kid that is adept at using dimensional energy. Where do we reach out for help?”

“I think we are the help David. I really feel we should have done a better job in finding her parents,” he said, staring out of the window as the train lay on the outskirts of the Second Circle. We’re kind of out of our depth in getting information now. It took us a while to find a regular-ass pediatrician. Now, we need to find a dimensional energy expert as well. Right now, (and it’s not ideal), the best we can do is to support Kid. I know how uncomfortable you are with Dally dealing with anything that has to do with kids and dimensional energy, so why don’t we develop a schedule where in the evenings, we work with her to control it. Hell, she might be able to teach you something.”

“I guess that will have to work for now… Hey, don’t you mean that she’ll be able to teach “us” something?”  David’s question reflected back at him, as Darius was pierced anew by the citrus of the Third Circle.

Untitled #1

The tragedian aligns his face for the role

And his hand on the plow

His penance to dwell in a land without sound

Without warmth

To be surrounded by nouns with no substance

Heart ruptured, he never evolved his hands

To lay waste to the land

And feed from the faithless

Vacuous nature of his soul 

Aligned his inner with distance and spaces

Purported from the faceless

Unaligned with his greatness 

He joined the escapists

But even the great Danton

Couldn’t escape what was fated

One of Us Chapter 2

SSSSLURRRRRP.

David stepped into their yellowing apartment, rolling his eyes as he closed the door behind him. “This nigga over in the corner with these pineapple though.”

“This nigga,” being Dally, sitting upon the lime green, tattered arm chair. Holding a bright yellow book in one hand and a can of pineapple in the other, he seemed not to care that syrup was running down his mouth. Taking two lazy chews and focusing more on the can than the new entrants, he fished a spoon through the pineapple as if he was searching for a prize. He opened his dripping mouth, “You get your ass beat lil nigga?”

Dally’s question rang out a little louder than they expected. Must be the small quarters. Their place was something out of A Raisin in the Sun. Too small. Faded and cracked wallpaper. Furniture that looked like it was more in need of care than the care it could provide for others. Three doors lay before them. With two bedrooms and a closet style kitchen, it made one wonder how you could open the stove and be in the kitchen at the same time. They made it work.

“Well, Dally, I’ll have you know…” David began, dropping his keys on the scratched wooden stand next to the door.

“He did,” Darius puttered in, taking his coat from David’s shoulders, and putting it on the hook next to the entrance. “Defense was trash tonight boy.” David turned an eyed Darius, giving him a “What the hell?” expression.

“I don’t know why you’re giving me that look. You got lucky that you surprised that freak. If he caught on to you one second before, and I mean literally one second before, I would have had to vacuum you up.”

“I knew that nigga got his ass beat,” Dally chuckled still peering into his can of pineapples as he shoveled another scoop in his mouth.

“How could I get my ass beat when I won the fight?” David parried.

“Easy!” Dally shot back. “Let’s take a look at you.” He jumped up to his feet, still holding his can in one hand. You don’t really have a sense of how large Dally is until he stands. Certainly, the largest of the three men both in size, height, and width. Standing at 6’ 2, the black tank top he wore could barely contain the boulders that lay beneath his autumn leaf brown skin. He stood wearing a pair of sweats and some black house shoes with white socks. A black durag lay atop his head, tied with unnatural precision. He walked towards the youngest, dropping his face to his level. He looked him up and down and said, “How you gonna tell me you didn’t get your ass beat looking like this?”

This was honestly the first time David thought about how he looked since before the fight. He felt it all when waiting for Darius to collect, but there’s something about knowing in this line of work, your body becomes a canvas for someone else’s brushes. He was bleeding through his shirt, and there were large black bruises peeking through the crown of his shirt. He didn’t want to know what his face looked like.

“What do I always tell you Davy?,” placing one hand on his own thigh. “You always set yourself up to win the battle, and not the war.” He then took a step back, and placed one of his hands to his mouth, making a pseudo-loudspeaker, “Win the war, Davy.”

“You know,” David spat, looking Dally right in the eyes, “You think saying wise stuff like that makes you something, but it doesn’t really line up with how great your life is,” staring right in his eyes. 

Dally literally shrugged off what David said, but David could feel Darius staring right at the back of his head. He became the official de-escalator between all things David and Dally. David could be downright nasty to Dally, but maybe. Just maybe, Dally deserved it. Darius heard his own voice call out:

“So, what do you think, Dal? His injuries?” he asked, leaning against the wall.

“Yeah, it should be fine. Can’t do anything about his face though?”

“His face?”

“Yeah, some of us are just born pretty,” he then posed as if someone snapped a pic of him.

Darius let a laugh fly, David snorted, and Dally smiled wide.

SLAP! Dally went firmly across David’s face with his hand. Darius released an unexpected “Damn,” when he saw the blow. To not yelp out of the pain, David pressed his front teeth against his bottom lip and breathed through, making a strange “Ffffffp'' sound that bordered on a whistle.” He then opened his mouth and held his face, looking at Dally and said, “Can you give a guy a warning before you slap him? Also, why did it have to be a slap?”

“Would you prefer a closed fist?” Dally replied, placing his can on the defunct living room table.

“Point taken.” Just as he finished the word “taken,” the pain dissipated like snow in the spring sun. Dally looked up at  David with his usual half-engaged gaze, “Yeah, I’m really surprised you didn’t lose a tooth, but…” As Dally was speaking the flesh and bone that was out of place on David’s face began to come together in correct alignment. David then placed his hand on his jaw when he could feel the tissue moving around. 

“Don’t touch it.” Dally said without looking at him.

“I mean you’re pretty awful, Dally, but this is pretty dope. I can’t lie to you. If only you didn’t have to hit me to work your healing magic.”

“Well, it is “dope,” but your jaw isn’t done healing, and it wouldn’t be “dope” for your fingers to get fused to your cheek.” 

David, more relaxed, and releasing his grip on his face, “You know, it would be nice not to feel the initial pain of the strike through these hits. Can you work on that?”

Darius interjected. “Ah ah, hell no.” He lifted a finger, as if trying to shoo a gnat, “If you felt no pain, you wouldn't learn anything. Make it hurt, Dally.”

Dally, placing his hands in the pockets of his sweats said, “ You know it’s nothing personal Davey. I need to transmit healing energy through a strike. Haven’t figured out how to do it other ways. He placed his hand on his chin, and continued, “You must have taken a mean hit to the face though. Your jaw was broken,” looking up at Darius who had arms folded and was leaning against the door. “You didn’t tell him his jaw was broken?” Dally asked with a strange curiosity.

“Well, I didn’t know for sure. I mean it looked a little off, but I didn’t know if that was his regular ugly mug.” Darius spat.

David’s eyes then lifted to meet the durag-clad man, but Dally wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at Darius. They were doing it again, communicating with their eyes. David would catch them here and then doing it. Must have been due to the nature of their work before, Dally’s hand began to glow and hum, as it touched David’s face. “Seems like your face healed pretty nicely, but,” his hand drifted down until it firmly touched David’s chest, “You really got fucked up here, huh?” David flinched a bit, inadvertently taking a step back.

Dally breathed in and out deeply. “You know what’s coming. You have a broken rib. I don’t need to tell you this is going to hurt a lot.” David’s eyes glistened a little, but they froze holding Dally’s gaze. He then looked back at Darius, who nodded at him, passing him the belt he was wearing David grasped it and placed it between his teeth. He then nodded at Dally, whose fist was already covered in blazing, baby blue energy. The large man drew back and struck David squarely in the chest. 

The young pugilist thought he would bite through the belt, as a large grunt left his forced smile. As he dropped to his knees, tears streamed down his cheeks, the belt making a large jingle sound as it fell from his mouth.

An inadvertent, yet soft “ah,” left his mouth, as if his soul was leaving his body. That seemed enough for the three things that came next. The first was the dissipation of the pain and the second, the internal mending after Dally’s strike. The other was the emergence of a little pitter-patter on the ground, as he knelt upon the ground in front of the yellow door.

The door opened. A mess of red hair, wearing a large pink shirt and yellow sunshine pajamas stood before him with a big, yet mischievous smile. “Daddy, David?”

Interlude

WAAAAAAAA! A child’s cry ripped through the night, as the three…

I hesitate to find a noun to describe what these three were. Boys, certainly, in age. Oblong voices and bodies, yet to be perfected by puberty. Men, in the sense of the responsibilities they possessed. Men, in the hopes they deferred for tomorrow. Men, in the regrets they held for the wrongs they committed. And now those wrongs bubbled over into magma, as fire spewed from their family home. They stood outside of the large factory, hands laying hold on dirty cash. Their last five years of effort culminated in smoke, ash, and rubble, and…

WAAAAAAAA!!!

The cry broke the back of reflection shouting, “Look at me. I need you. I know your dreams and wicked imaginations have been brought to naught, but I need your help. I need you to pivot right now. Put your eyes on me and:

WAAAAAA!!!

“Fuck, shit!” one of the young ones sputtered, looking over at the source of the cry.

Another knelt down to look at the child, daring not to touch it, as if it were a poisonous herb. He spoke with a certain defiance, but not without detachment “I have no idea who this kid is. Never seen him before.”

“Her,” the third spoke.

“Don’t fucking think it,” the first one spat, placing both his hands on his head, still watching the soon to be ash heap.

“WAAAAAAAA!!!!” They all flinched at that cry. 

“Don’t think what?” the youngest said, lifting the small child in the blanket that held her. 

“First. Put the child down,” he spoke without looking at him. Second. We’re not taking her with us.”

“Are you kidding me, D?”

The first sucked his teeth in Olympic fashion, “Nigga, after a night like tonight, it’s you that’s gotta be kidding me? You think we can take care of that, her, whoever the fuck? We need to focus on figuring our own shit out.”

“What are you talking about?” the youngest replied. “We can’t just leave her here.”

For the next few minutes, bickering of the highest importance took place. The conversation ended with an exasperated and pitiful last defense, “She doesn’t even have a name.”

“We don’t have to figure that out now. Until she finds a permanent home, the kid can hang around us.”

The taciturn young one looked on with the only smile of the night, as he warned, “Understand, this decision you’re making affects all of us Da…”

“Vid. Daddy David!”

Quickly wiping the tears from his face, his laughter boomed as he donned the silliest voice he could. “KIIIIIIIIIEEED, Hyuk Hyuk!” She then ran towards him and wrapped her tiny hands around his neck. Always taken aback by her unbridled affection, he placed one hand on her back to return the hug.

“Ahp! Ahp!” Darius called out. “Daddy David worked late tonight, so he’s pretty stinky Kid, (David shot his older brother a look with that line), and you should be in bed.” With the words “in bed,” he eyed Dally, who somehow was munching on more pineapple.

Dally shrugged his shoulders, hands still in his pockets. “Bro, she was in deep sleep before y’all walked in, like comatose. Looking down at Kid, he said, “What is it we say Kid, when you point a finger at someone?” Both Kid and David were far too distracted playing for her to complete the statement. By this point, David had already lifted her in the air, making SHOOOM and CHUGGA CHUGGA noises.

Dally then turned to Darius, closing his eyes, “You point four fingers at yourself. That’s what we say to one another.” He then nodded as if he were reassuring himself of the validity of the expression. He then laughed and said, “Kid,” in a tone of voice that immediately got her attention, as she floated in the air. He then said, “Bedtime.”

As she drifted back down from David’s hands, he visibly winced. Dally’s healing work missed a spot. They tried not to bring work home in front of Kid. Of course, they didn’t tell Kid that David fought apparitions at night. They weren’t that irresponsible. The story was that Daddy David worked at a factory at night on the weekends. But tonight, Kid captured his pain-filled face for a split second and her own expression shifted from glee to horror. Recognizing the transition from glee to concern, David placed her on the ground and said, “Daddy’s fine, girlie.”

Her face then shifted from horror to something else, almost as if she looked past and within him simultaneously, so when she said, “You’re hurt,” David knew immediately she was telling the truth in ways that he may not have understood. She lifted her hand and placed her stubby finger on his chest. He looked up at her and smiled until her finger glowed the same hue of blue that Darius used. His entire torso lit up through his shirt, and disappeared almost as quickly as it began. “That should be better, Daddy,” she smiled, then yawned deeply. 

His mouth fully ajar, he looked up at Darius who held the same expression. She then said, “Daddy Dally, I’m ready for bedtime.” Dally's paternal instinct overcame his desire to ask questions. He scooped her up, entered the child’s room, and shut the door, not before exchanging wide eyes with the brothers in the living room.

David remained kneeling on the ground for a long time. He then rose and met Darius’ gaze and said, “What the fuck was that, Dar? Bro, she healed me. Bro, she healed me better than Darius ever did,” he rasped.

“How do you feel?” Darius asked, looking him up and down. 

“Great, but that’s not really the point right now is it? What’s going on?” David hissed.

Darius in his ordinary dispassionate tone replied, “You act like I know,” looking over his brother’s shoulder at the child’s closed door. He then looked back at his younger brother, “This was my first time seeing it just like you.”

“I mean… For a kid to use dimensional energy at this age. We began using it at what, “8, 9?”

“10.”

“Do you think Dally’s teaching her?” David whispered.

“No,” Darius said, with a certainty that was rare in conversations with such speculation. His thinking face then transmuted into that of a man who had been awake for the past 18 hours. “Well, we aren’t going to figure it all out tonight, David. Let’s chat about it tomorrow. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

“Bro, she just used some higher-level dimensional energy technique and she can’t even read yet,” David ended, looking around as if the spiders in the corners of the ceilings were listening to report to someone.

“To be fair, Dally’s been doing a pretty good job at preparing her for preschool, so she’s actually a very strong reader for her age, in the 80th percen…” Darius could see that this light-hearted divergence wasn’t appreciated, as his brother's face pinched itself in annoyance. The older sighed, “Look, this isn’t something we’re going to figure out without outside support. Neither of us studied pediatrics, and although we’re decent at using it, we don’t know enough about dimensional energy. And, we have an early morning tomorrow. It’s close to one in the morning, and you still haven’t showered yet.” Before David could say anything, Dally held his hand up, “Let’s approach this when we’re at our best, or at least when we’re both functional. We have a long train ride tomorrow. We can talk then.”

David’s bare toes shifted and flexed on the beige carpet on the living room floor, as if the digits would revolt based on Darius’ response. He bit his lip and nodded his head slowly. “You’re right.”

Darius would try a light-hearted response again. He was looking for that right reaction from his brother. “Yeah, when am I not right, Dave?”

David rolled his eyes. That’s the reaction Darius was looking for. “Wait, you mean, we really have to go tomorrow? Come on man. I just had a fight tonight,” David said, arms dropping to his sides.

“Good night, David,” Darius replied, standing his ground.

As the younger brother walked to their shared room and shut the door, Darius closed his eyes while standing. He then took a few steps backwards until he reached the front door. He tilted his head back until it rested on the cold wood. He then sunk to the floor and sat. He stared off in space for a while, then placed his fingertips tip to tip. He took deep breaths for a few minutes. He then heard the shower start up from their room. As he sat, he removed the wad of cash from his pocket and counted it again. He then went to their darkened kitchen, and walked over to a drawer next to their tiny stove. From the same drawer, he pulled out a small slip of paper and mouthed something. His eyes rolled up as his head tilted again. After about five seconds of silence, he laughed, “Hmm, that’s enough.”

He then turned off the lights in the living room, and entered his shared room with David. Laying down on his twin-sized bed, he drifted to sleep.

One of Us Chapter 1

Trying to get some feedback on a story I’m creating. Here's the first chapter:
What is that smell? 

There’s a certain salinity that surfaces when getting popped in the mouth. A dirty salt that has long lost its savor. Strange thoughts arise when everything is at stake at this time of night. He gained distance from his opponent after receiving the punishing strike. His smaller frame and quicker feet held the advantage in retreat, but little else. The dying street light shone on his cocoa face and bare torso. The sentry he faced off moved against him with the intensity of a sweat inducing nightmare. Arm drawn back, his adversary planned a premature stoppage to this seven round affair. A voice barked before he could fire it off.

“Alright! Round over!”

A guttural voice erupted from the adversary’s throat like magma, as frustration and rancid saliva rained over our protagonist’s bones. He received the baptism, and in response, he  blew a kiss towards his much larger opponent before sauntering toward his corner. He sat on the flimsy stool, shoulders dropping a bit more than he expected, when he heard from a voice in his right ear::

“PRO-TECT yourself. I know you think it’s cute to block with your face, but you won’t be laughing when someone has to scoop you off the ground.” There was a pause, as the strangely ethereal voice softened considerably. “Look, I see you take one more hit like that, I’m stopping it… got it?”

Without breaking his gaze from the opponent across the alley, “You won’t have to,” he spat. “I’ll end it this round. He then turned his head to the right, still not breaking eye contact with his opponent. “I’m going with the stinger strategy,” the pugilist commented, sweat running down his chin.

The voice coated with flesh, blood, and worry reemerged, “You do that, and you could be killed.”

“If I don’t, I’ll definitely lose.” Silence peppered him in that moment more than the accumulated blows of his opponent. He’d have to quip in order to stem the fountain of worry released earlier, but he didn’t have the chance to. Instead a very human voice emerged:

“Be sure your wrists and ankles are coated as well. You don’t want to pop your tendons if you make it out of this thing.”

“Good call… Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

“You had better,” the voice called out with more resolve.

David rose first, our protagonist, standing just shy of 5’9. His upright stature and combat crafted muscles made him seem taller. Young, but by no means immature. His unrelenting gaze was unwillingly quenched by wells of sorrow, but not sorrow that leads to despair. A sorrow that requires a transmutation of the will to survive at any cost. Black bandages covered brown knuckles ballooned and bruised through bashing the bare hide of his bullish opponent. He wore grey, grease-stained shorts that would be more appropriately incinerated than washed after an altercation like this. Beaten sneakers lay on his feet, leverage points that he would use to strike from.

He then jabbed the air a few times, fists lighter than Darius expected. Yes, our phantom voice has a home. Darius rested in the shadow of his younger brother waiting for him to “finish the fight.”

No guts no glory, huh David? He gripped his knife in case “the worst” (or “a worse” happened). He stared ahead at the behemoth rising.

The beast’s slow ascent in rising wasn’t fear or hesitation, but physical difficulty. There was just so much of him to get up. Minotaurs weren’t frequent visitors to these kinds of fights, but that was changing. However, we won’t dig into that now. A bare-knuckle interspecies brawl is no place to discuss the dimensional politics of immigration. It shouldn’t concern us at the moment. After all, it didn’t concern David. What did concern him, was the never-ending wall of muscle rising inch by inch in front of him. The beast’s hide and fur resembled the color of driftwood. It was a long way from home. Standing on powerful legs, the creature reached a height of greater than eight feet.

Neither of them could hear the drunken jeering of the manipulators and victims of the underworld. They could only hear their own heartbeat as they stood knee deep in their own River Styx, seeing who Charon would ferry away this round.

FIGHT!

Even unguarded, there’s a big difference from a hit that you see coming and one you don’t. The beast didn’t even see David’s approach. It was only when he heard his rib crack that he realized his opponent landed three blows on him. His mind snapped into action, placing both of his hands above his head to crush his opponent. 

Sloppy, he thought, as he missed wide. He felt an intense pain in his leg, as he toppled over. The rain-coated ground would have been a cool reprieve if he didn’t see a foot seeking to end him. With more agility than anyone (even he) expected, he rolled out of the way and back on his feet. His eyes then rested on the warrior ahead. I get it. Matterless blue energy emanated from David’s hands and feet. The human didn’t stay still for long, as the minotaur prepared himself for the rest of his barrage. He blocked the next three blows, which were significantly stronger than anything he felt in the earlier rounds.

He can’t keep this up for long. Just as that thought floated through the creature’s mind, the minotaur found his opening, putting his fist squarely into David’s gut, lifting him off his feet. An immense feeling of pleasure washed over his body, seeing the look of surprise-filtered pain on his opponent’s face. David’s muscles disengaged as he rode upon the minotaur’s fist, pupils going all the way in the back of his head. The minotaur lowered him, without letting him go, drawing back his other arm for a final blow. That is, until he looked at David’s corner, to see the impassive face of his opponent’s trainer looking on. Strange, I’d expect more of a reaction. What’s with that…

There was then an incredible pain that rose from his jaw. And then he couldn’t feel at all. Teeth exploded from his mouth, piercing the air like shrapnel after a grenade detonates. For a moment the minotaur levitated, all 500 pounds of him, as easily as a child playing with a large balloon. 

The minotaur didn’t know exactly what happened, but he realized that he lost. As he was on the downward trajectory to the ground, the last thing he saw was his opponent, with a smoking palm right in the center of his stomach. Oh, I see. 

Then darkness.

*

The worst part of the night. Collecting winnings. It’s not that David had some strange aversion to money. Foolish men would say that money wasn’t important. This didn’t have to do with the moral dilemma of putting his and other people’s bodies on the line for a dollar. After all, the laborer was worthy of his wage. It was the waiting. David stood underneath the wheezing fire of the street lamp, as he waited for Darius to “get them paid.”

The decrepit “ring” (if one could call it that) had transmuted back into an alley. David stood, regretting most of the decisions that led to that night. His entire body became an open sore, aggravated every time the Circle’s winds breathed upon him. April was the worst, strangely duplicitous. Warm in the afternoon sun and punishing when it took its reprieve.

Every passing moment and wind introduced him to a wound he didn’t know he had. Whimpering wasn’t an option. Though he had been a contender in sanctioned violence a moment earlier, any show of weakness drew the manipulators. He had already fought once today. No need for a second squabble. 

*

You get good at doing multiple things at once when you grow up in the Second Circle. That’s how Darius could kept a mental count of the money the fight promoter was planning to give him, while maintaining conversation with him, while assessing if he was trying anything funny, while keeping an eye on his younger brother all at once. Being exposed to the type of men in back alleys was a burden that Darius bore well for the sake of his family, but he took no pleasure in it. As he watched the maggot of a man count stained bills, he knew the currency could have been from anywhere, even places that would make a hardened street fighter avert their gaze. But the transgressions of currency are absolved once you spend it on something righteous. At least that’s what Darius held on to when he had to deal with people that would make his mother hold down her head in shame.

The promoter was spewing something about “David’s ability to pivot,” as he counted out bills. Darius simply nodded knowing he didn’t need to respond in the moment, hoping the counting would stop at some point.

“Oop,” Darius’ train of thought was interrupted by the sly counter. “Lost my spot.” There was a certain glint in his eye that seemed to illuminate the promoter’s entire face. He held a manufactured elegance. Wearing a black peacoat over a dark blue shirt and black slacks, he gripped the bills, his thumb rubbing the face of the president in the center. In spite of his moral deficiencies, one might even say there was something good-looking about him. His pale face had large, brown eyes that looked like they once possessed compassion. Gelled, black hair hung over his face, giving him the appearance of an adolescent alternative star. He couldn’t get away from the yellow teeth though, a classic sign of residence in the Second Circle. He smile practically glowed as he opened his mouth.

“Where was I? 760?”

“720, E,” Darius commented while peering around the corner to look at his brother.

“Pardon?” the counter turned drunkenly towards him.

“You were on 720, not 760.” Darius replied, still not looking him in the eye.

“Really? Well, it won’t harm anyone if I just start over…” his eyes drifted down, as he saw Darius’ rested hand on his blade turn into a grip. With eyes still on the blade, he smiled, and then peered up at Darius from the top of his eyelids. “You know, you’ve never cheated me before Darius. I don’t think you would start now, would you?” With the comment “cheated,” an unearthly rustle emerged from behind E, as though a creature of the deep rested in the opaque alley behind him.

Darius, with an unchanging expression, finally met the counter’s face. His gaze didn’t meet his eyes, but somewhere else on his face, as if sighting a leech that rested in the center of his forehead.

“HAHAHA! 720 it is!” He then counted out four more bills. And said, "there's your $800 dollars friend. You are so cold kid. I fucking love it.” Darius soured, then squeaked out a vanishing smirk. He then grasped the cash from the outstretched hand, and put it in his pocket.

“And for an entertaining fight, here’s 50 more!” slapping Darius’ hand with a bill feeling wrinklier than the others.”

Without looking at it, Darius handed it back to him, “And saying, “The $800 for the win is sufficient.” He then turned his back on the counter.

“What? You don’t like free money?” E called out. He chuckled a bit, and took the bill back, but something in his voice changed as he said, “Darius, wait.”

Gripping his blade more tightly he turned back to him, “Yeah.”

“Don’t you want to schedule the next fight? After your brother’s performance tonight, y’all could get a great payday next time. I mean tonight was good, but I’ve got some ringers coming up” he commented with hands in his pockets, gurgling sounds still coming from behind him.

“Not yet,” Darius stewed, “But I know where to find you, E.” He then turned and stepped from the shadows towards his brother, hearing a woman’s voice saying, “I can’t believe you were going to give him my fifty dollars.”

Whether he was supposed to hear the next part or not, he didn’t know, but without a doubt he heard E simply say, “Investment, my love. Investment.” 

H stepped into the light next to his brother, whose eyes had nearly fallen shut as he waited. “You ready, David?”

“Yup,” the younger replied, walking after his brother, starting their trek home.

State of Life

I traversed a long way to make it back where I started. The fire was trying, but necessary to be able to enter the Earthly Paradise, in order to easily buffet the serpent’s efforts to draw me in a self-serving pride. The worlds, the characters I created were simply reflections of what I thought as “good.” When life struck, the writing I was doing was suddenly incompatible with the person I had become. 

Additionally, I’m not accustomed to this Earthly Paradise, almost as if Life replied: “Struggle has been your portion, but what happens with success becomes your currency?” I’ve finally healed from the last of the afflictions in the previous conflict. Bones set in the right way. And I began to realize I’m not who I remember I was, but the hunch and the limp were derived from wounds long forgotten. 

When looking upon the road of the unknown, I understand there is only one way to proceed. And I begin to believe that whatever you encounter won’t be enough to hold you from accomplishing precisely what it is you’re called to.

Finding the Beautiful in the Broken?

Is there any love for this Black body of mine?

Or must it be cracked open as a shell to elicit compassion?

Must the earth be broken to perceive the gold beneath?

The Earth tones.

We speak of the goodness of people once they pass,

But what about now?

Vessels of Earth containing treasures hard-earned.

Earth tones, vessels of Earth, and Earth’s inheritors

Could such a people be called anything other than meek

The truest aristocrats.

The Weight of the Current

Rising and falling.

Another wave strikes.

A body trying to stand,

While peppered with bullets of salt and sea.

What is the reason to go beyond the shore?

When the weight of the current bear and bore

Into those that came before.

And they were crushed;

Crunched under curses, generational

Altercations where son opposed

Father and vice-versa

The terseness of the curses

Leave us expressionless,

Not delivering verses.

Perhaps, because I am, I’m free in ways,

My fathers could never be.

Perhaps their apothecary and remedy was melody.

Pressed Like Grapes: A Reflection on The Song of Songs

Our vines have tender grapes,

So take up the little foxes that would seek to spoil them.

The brothers of the Shulamite woman said this.

An odd contribution from them in a love poem.

One could understand their vested interest in someone courting their sister.

But why this request?

Were they insensitive to her love?

After all, they made her keeper of the vineyards.

Perhaps, they were reminding her of a normal duty

Like a checklist before the day of rest.

Or perhaps they were speaking to her in a way she could understand.

“Remember the foxes.

Despite their small stature and tiny fangs,

Enough can destroy the lifeblood of a vineyard.”

Be equally as vigilant as tiny threats in love.

I’d like to think that’s the case,

But I honestly don’t know.

Unshapen

Exit refinement from human standards

Be angry if you are. Be upset if you are.

Niceties has always been your defense mechanism.

But be true and tell no lies;

Especially to yourself.

Let God be the chisel to mold you and shape you.

Come as the raw unpainted marble.

What you’ll find is that the smiles you painted on rock

Are no different than the halos painted upon Christ in renditions of His crucifixion.

Depicting a reward during the burden,

And ultimately denying something very human. 

In the midst of the pilgrimage in this land.

Rejoicing Bones?

“That the bones You have broken might rejoice.” 

To be razed down only to be built upon a solid foundation. 

At some point, decisions were made that required utter demolition. 

Perhaps, they were of my own volition, 

An intentional departure from the good.

A hidden cove containing a half-measure of compromise.

Perhaps, it was an inherited burden from fathers that came before me. 

An adoption of “business as usual” that was actually unusual.

Where unrighteousness was written off as a “quirk” or even an asset.

Regardless of what it is, it’s mine now.

Or, it was.

A hardened will splintered by the torrents of life.

Leave me questioning my motives and trying to hold to right.

My bones do cry out,

But I don’t know if it’s rejoicing.

Perhaps, I’ll get there soon.

The Quiet

In the midst of the entropy of life, there is a quiet that lies in wait

That isn’t accessed by escaping the externals,

But by making peace with them.

It isn’t by avoiding the chaos,

But surrendering it to the One that promises tranquility.

It is in during this time,

And often, it occurs in a split second

Where we receive clarity not to all the answers in life

But to the one that really matters.

Ripples

Just when you begin to see,

Toss a pebble in and it ripples out.

What was once clear about your destiny,

Is now clouded over by energy

Kinetic, no longer able to rest in the aesthetics 

Of order. Battles to be fought you thought would be shorter,

But they’re longer, with foes more pernicious and stronger.

You experience dishonor more times than you can count,

Neglecting that it builds the fruit of humility.

Not knowing you were once watching your destiny,

But now you’re in the water.

Peacemaker’s Boon

Dialogue is the real key to relationship. Similar to how dialogue is essential to our relationship with God, dialogue is also essential for our relationships with one another. Often, we conflate two people talking to dialogue, but that’s not necessarily the case. More often than not, it’s two people monologuing in response to what the other has said. Sometimes, it’s two people monologuing just for the sake of it. 

In order to progress in listening, it requires empathy. The ability to sit in someone else’s experience. To use one’s voice to ask questions about that person’s experience. To truly feel what the other feels. I think there’s a belief that if we don’t use our voice for a length of time, it means that we don’t have one. To the contrary, it’s those that have security in their voice to know that it doesn’t have to be used at all times. And when it does need to be used, it’s utilized to effectively uproot the thorns and thistles of injustice, while planting seeds of life. 

Listening: the peacemaker’s chief weapon.

Split Second

I was sitting reading on my couch when a hand rested on my shoulder. There was no one else in my apartment, but I immediately recognized the touch, even though I had never felt it before. I gazed upward and saw Him.

It was a smile, a sad smile, but a smile regardless and He asked, “Do you mind if I have a seat?” I said “Of course,” quickly moving the books and the remote that lay next to me. He held his hand out, motioning that it wasn’t necessary, and opted to sit at the coffee table across from me. 

There were thousands of questions I wanted to ask Him, but it seemed that His presence brought about remarkable clarity. I knew why He was here. It’s hard to describe His love. His presence was radiant. It was like being six feet from the sun, while being filled with the warmth of a Spring day.

“So,” he spoke. A smile formed once again on His face. No one really knows what happens when one transitions from time to eternity, and for everyone, it’s a little different. But for you, I wanted to have a conversation.” 

Shyness washed over me for an instant as we both stared at one another. I was waiting for Him to speak, but He continued to look at me with these eyes of longing. Even in death, He was doing this for me. I could trivialize this moment with any number of things to say, but I said what was on my heart. 

“I um…. didn’t love my Dad well. You know, my earthly father. Perhaps, it’s too late to ask for forgiveness, but is it too late to apologize?”

“To Me, never. For him, past this second, yeah.”

The curtness of His response struck me like a blow, well-aimed. His lips opened a little as He continued, “In a split second, I’m going to take away all pain and sorrow and mourning. You will only know joy and peace and redemption. You experience contrition for the last time in this split second, but it’s important that we sit with this for the time being.”

I stared into His eyes, mulling over what He said and the finality of it all, but my thoughts were interrupted by His voice.  “Yeah. Do it right this time.” He stood up, opened my door and walked through, but before the door fully closed, His face peered back and finished, “Split second’s still going.”

He closed the door. On the other side, He waits, but remains present.

Velamen: Canto V

“Dr. Dubois,” stumbling over my words “W-w why are you here?”

I’m honored, but your presence fills me with fear.

The little man turned, as we trekked away from the hill

And dispassionately replied “You ask as though I journeyed here of my will.”

Your transgressions are as crimson as yet you ask me my position.

You were exposed to punishments that would leave you in derision

And yet the initial incision of your inquiry is what led you and I to this collision.

Could it be that forces beyond our comprehension

Demand us to answer questions of higher significance?

This isn’t all that there is, nor as low as things get

Ponder the path of thy feet young one, or you might miss it.

He sighed deeply, and I averted my eyes after his stinging scolding.

He continued, “Come, wash in the river, for time is always shortening.”

We descended the hill in silence

He then pointed the way to waters to cleanse my body’s violence.

I expected to hit the waters, and face the Father with open hands

But even after my immersion, I still arose a broken man.

My wounds had healed, my scars had faded.

Blood washed off, cloth regenerated.

But the stench of prison remained, recurrent trauma unabated.

I stood in the midst of the water, wondering if pain was fated.

That my seed and I would need to bear or would we be aided

And abetted in order to settle with one we’re in debt with? 

No revelation came to mind as I sat in the river 

Behind me stood the other, observing with a watchful eye,

As a parent watching a toddler bathe,

Attentive to its every cry.

He then cleared his voice, and said, “It’s time,

To darker paths we must go, to a lost conscious we’re seeking to find.”

Men of Good Stock

I come from men of good stock,

Whose heads were almost as hard as their hands.

Hands that pushed wheelbarrows of concrete hundreds of feet in the air.

Their tempers as narrow as the planks they trekked,

Yet their amiability could not be matched.

Men that needed no switch or belt to beat you

But could put the fear of God in you with a glance;

And yet could show the compassion of Christ in an instant 

When the poor cried out in need.

They gave money they didn’t have,

And somehow received back

Pressed down, shaken together and running over.

Blessed, but they knew the greatest things in life were often the simplest:

A loving family, a cold beer, laughter from the deepest bowels of one’s spirit

Where tears would run down the cheeks of beige, tawny skin

At incidents of pain that would break others in two,

Pain often hidden by hardened hands.

The same hands that would provide for families and raise sons

Rearing the innocence of a sun-kissed child,

As if the Creator Himself had favor upon the lad

And his brown skin indicated he was closer to Him during his creation.

These men of stock:

Commanded legions

Fixed televisions

Told stories

Owned companies

Begged nobody

Honored everybody

Lived on their feet

And before the Holy One, died on their knees

But all possessed a hidden pain,

Covered by hardened hands.

And that pain is in me too.

Velamen: Canto IV

The day darkened, as if the dust from the ground arose 

Saying, “LOOK, hearken he who escaped must return.

He sought reform that became collapse

Fruit of his toil: decimation, not simply relapse.”

So I stood as one in act two facing three beasts so terrible 

Not even a garrison of Marvin Harrisons could catch an L so inevitable

The threat was credible, fate indelible 

That I was transmuted from a man to something edible

Arraigned in fear, convicted in heart

I then perceived the voice I heard from the start

It spoke not my name, but something too wonderful for me

Emitted with such authority, my fearful bonds were struck free

The wolf stalked away, the bird took flight

The large cat turned retaining pride in each stride

It looked back, not with disinterest, but curiosity

As though, at another season, I would experience its ferocity

“You move too quickly, the philosophy’s not velocity

And mindful steps are often hindered by precocity.”

I turned slowly to address the steady presence 

Of whom was certain to be a ready warrior .

But, he was a small man, in a quiet suit, unassuming

Much different from the pugilist, whose presence would be looming.

But this was the one, brown skin, bald head, quiet, but his voice couldn’t be clearer.

We stood still staring at one another, motionless, as though in a mirror.

“Who are you?” I asked, forgetting, I owed him my freedom.

Without taking offense, he replied “Who I am pales in comparison to what is to come.

My time has passed already, and this is your race to run,

And run it you must if you ever hope to see the sun.

But if you must know In your world, I was known for enumerating our souls;

Elucidating the path, so more of us can reach the goal.

And obtaining righteousness for our people through mindful means

Being descended from the most righteous people you’d ever see.

Before, I could say his name: “Dr. Du…”

He put his hand on my shoulder, smiled weakly, and said:

“This story is about you.”

Names for later, maybe never, but you are compelled,

For the telling of what comes next and after

For this is a tragic business we’re about; and no light matter.

And from what I can gather,

Time is short to silence the adder

“What do you mean?” I replied. “What’s going on?” I cried.

His smile turned for the worse,

As he commanded me to get up and dry my eyes

My sobbing stopped, my face still sticky from tears;

He continued, “You will need to put on your courage today.”

You must face your fears. 

I only pray that you’ve been given eyes to see and ears to hear.

Before, I was here, I was at rest,

By one above, who would be considered exceedingly blessed.

She called me by name, though she had no form,

And said, “It’s time for him to arise, no time to conform

To the norms, that bring him comfort,

But only fuel the storm.

I am sending you to him to know both himself

And the plight of His people.

So he can reach the shores of eternity

He’s still malleable

But if he’s to walk a sticky road,

He needs to be infallible”

I looked back up at the hill.

He ceased without a sound.

It became abundantly clear,

We’d take the long way around.

Creating Leverage

What do you do when the very ground you’re standing on is ripped from under you?

The crowd bellows: “Swing for the fences lad!”

But my foundation is gone,

And without the leverage it provided, my force is diminished.

The pitcher still winds up.

My panicked breaths slow

Due to the fact I haven’t fallen yet.

Faith is enough to live on,

But is it enough to create the leverage I need?

A sinker makes its way towards me.

I suppose we’ll find the answer in a very real way.