by Ryan M. Parr
Sometime ago, a mounded crevice upon Capital Hill was shown with freeman farmers living within bountiful harvest. Summer smoldered in the heavens conveying a steadfast girl walking down Capital Hill, stocked with red of barren plainness, and her blond hair sought the sun through her curls in a discriminating palette of azure. So plain was her layout that that the golden locks of hair gave her discernment with the appointed name of Goldilocks.
To the right side stood Farmer Live-With-Passion, and down the road to the left stood Farmer Live-Without-Worries. A short walk from there stood a cottage of pride, a cottage of foundation and support for young Farmer Fill-ye-Plenty. Making constant prosperity through tumultuous hardships due to struggling roots, the farmer has lived idly with few struggles to come about. He had recently become a magistrate to his people by controlling the vitality of the rest of his town with the markets of distribution throughout the connected roads from the hillsides of Capital Hill. In his plotted farmland sheds row upon row of acres in growth arranged in straight parallel lines from the point of lookout shrouded by a magnificent brick fence, practically impenetrable by perception with its solid concealment of the abundant sloping landscape. Honey-Jars-of-Balance had been stacked up high one by one, never seizing to fall no matter how high they ascended upon one another. This honey spilled into the Jars-of-turmoil strewn across the field, in which the viscosity of the golden wealth was stocked at dispense of the work ethics surrounding orbits opon trinity branches.
Through a knocked down portion of the fence visibly shows the dilapidation of a small cottage still within the boundaries of the land. It provoked a matter that called forth on a sign in the front, “malevolence residence”, positioned over a drop-off of a stolid stream of stagnant water connected to the cottage set aside in muck of trepidation. It was a slow start as Goldilocks walked through the isthmus and pulled out into the forested region, for what reason she made as judgment in dire need of shelter.
A degrading serpent bust half cracked with sinister fangs. Neither to the perception to life did Goldilocks desire to bring forth into the cottages isolation. However the frame of time brought remedy to her confirmation, to stride past the serpents gaze of animosity, past the door and into a plethora of ailing sights of discretion. Reality splurged from her sockets in wondrous confirmation of her doubt of refuge in this barren confine, despite the rigid walls left tainted to the enumerable spans of time in this place.
A kitchen stockpiled with concoctions remedying the conformation of Honey-Jars-of-Balance in with the Jars-of-Turmoil, forming a singular concoction for remedial discretions ailing for disgruntled issues. Three singular seats sat juxtapose across the table in a way for classifying each singular size and matter. The largest chair had the words, “Mr. Mind-Your-Worries Malevolence”, the second largest said, “Mrs. Persecution Malevolence”, and the smallest said, “Little Making Malevolence”. Each table setting consisted of different sized portions of the kitchen concoction, and each seat derived for different specifications upon Capital Hill.
Goldilocks then sat down at the table, sample testing the matter of each concoction. First starting from the largest one, with this being too hot she did not approve of the matter. The second one she tries, that being too cold was just as opposing as the first. The third bowl she tries and she was comprehensible of the situation. For one being that it was neither too hot, nor too cold, and yet in between in equal proportions.
Being the proportions had equal sides to the matter, it brought exhausting values to her life in ways that were ex-honorable beyond the acceptance for alertness. She couldn’t begin to compromise with it, and hither she succumbed to a remedial rest in place of remedial concurrence with what was dispensing from within the kitchen. The rest of the house stood unnerved by the fallen down jars, yet comprised the existence of a size of proportion for each candidate in participation inside the household. In the bedroom consisted of three beds, each one of ascending order from largest to smallest, and like the small bowl Goldilocks preferred the small bed. For one, it gave neither too much rigidity, and yet comprised the necessary values of softness. From these equal premises, Goldilocks had equal obstructions to falter her path of rest, and hence she was provoked into a blissful sleep withal the reserve of unnecessary compliments.
Alas, the premise in existence of the house was fallen upon Goldilocks’ in temperance by the conductors of such affairs of household. The prospect of the demeanor without reasonable atrocities, as much as to oblige with act against her in anger, instead to ignore as fallen victim residing within the household. The Owners, each of stalky brows, act in prowess of seen ability to conjecture a fatal blow, yet each holds a paw of destruction at there own handicap. It was uttered from a bellow of Mr. Mind-Your-Worries Malevolence escaped into the bedroom with a riot at Goldilocks’ intrusion of the household. Mr. Mind-Your-Worries Malevolence then takes to leave Mrs. Persecution Malevolence into the house. Little Making Malevolence takes to refrain from both sides of the argument against Goldilocks and then decides to rebuttal from the forefront to take affect in the matter.
Goldilocks awakes to find the intrusions of the three Malevolence’s, merely to remain in confounded thought, to etch her way from the dispute by staying awry of the fight. With ado, she tiptoed to escape from the argument and races away from the forest and back up to Capital Hill.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
some things
by Karyn Huntting Peters
some things too profound
to be clothed in silken words—
some things too simple
some things too profound
to be clothed in silken words—
some things too simple
Saturday, August 26, 2006
one minute in autumn
by Karyn Huntting Peters
so late, so dark out. cold of autumn is
coming. i ache, oh god how i ache inside. my throat
hurts from choking back what must be tears,
though why, why would i cry? eternity
courses through the veins of my thoughts.
heat and light and fire and ice. they live
within. they call out to that within you. just one
minute, one minute more. let me feel
the abandon, let me fade into you. let me
lose the borders of the world as we know it and
feel nothing but you and me and the impending
implosion. let me see again, and now brighter still, the
white light of a thousand stars. let me touch you,
reach through you, feel your essence again.
so late, so dark out. cold of autumn is
coming. i ache, oh god how i ache inside. my throat
hurts from choking back what must be tears,
though why, why would i cry? eternity
courses through the veins of my thoughts.
heat and light and fire and ice. they live
within. they call out to that within you. just one
minute, one minute more. let me feel
the abandon, let me fade into you. let me
lose the borders of the world as we know it and
feel nothing but you and me and the impending
implosion. let me see again, and now brighter still, the
white light of a thousand stars. let me touch you,
reach through you, feel your essence again.
Friday, August 25, 2006
shipwrecked
by Karyn Huntting Peters
Marooned these long years
food, water, and some sort of insanity
A shadow distorted in the waves
my only friend and confidante
So long I’ve circled this island
searching for shipwreck treasure
The Holy Grail of a madman
a mirror to gaze into
Marooned these long years
food, water, and some sort of insanity
A shadow distorted in the waves
my only friend and confidante
So long I’ve circled this island
searching for shipwreck treasure
The Holy Grail of a madman
a mirror to gaze into
Monday, August 21, 2006
Friday, August 18, 2006
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
when he is gone
by Karyn Huntting Peters
when he is gone
I feel his touch
in the summer breeze
and see his face
in all things
when he is gone
I feel his touch
in the summer breeze
and see his face
in all things
Monday, August 14, 2006
Saturday, August 12, 2006
timekeeper
by Karyn Huntting Peters
ignorance of human fools
looking down to read hands
on dial of some senseless watch
while omnipresent timekeeper
nods in quiet melancholy
shedding one tear for these fools
living ignorant on watchless wrist
ignorance of human fools
looking down to read hands
on dial of some senseless watch
while omnipresent timekeeper
nods in quiet melancholy
shedding one tear for these fools
living ignorant on watchless wrist
Friday, August 11, 2006
Lunch With Nathan Hale
by Karyn Huntting Peters
Caveats and emptors, yeah. As long as they aren't suicide bombers, sure, and as long as they're not on the wrong side and as long as they're not assassins and as long as they are only willing to sacrifice themselves and not anyone or anything else and as long as.... Yeah, we can get into this whole ops versus black ops stuff, but you know what I was thinking. I sort of make those assumptions in my own mind. It's a pretty clear us and them maybe from there, and the nutcakes aren't in the us camp. And I count the "just following orders" nuts (just like they had in Nazi Germany) as part of the Freaking Nutcake Brigade.
Is it a fine line, a tightrope, sometimes? Especially when you talk about ops? Yep, I think probably so. Not easy, and it probably takes a lot to hold onto the vision that you went in there with and not lose it along the way. To add to it all, you had to watch out for the lure of the MKULTRA - (that's minus) ULTRA stuff. Not to say whose side it would come from...could come from any and all, really. Tough. Really tough. At its worst, it could probably be enough to put even the strongest mind to the test.
Some of the more entertaining little stories that haven't been told yet have to do with a young kid finding out just how screwed up the real system and the real world really are. Pretty screwed up. Yep. I ate lunch one day with Nathan Hale. It was either that or eat in an area of a place I didn't want to eat at because I was so pissed at some particular people, and I didn't particularly want to run into a few of them over a Caesar salad. Et tu, Brute? I could just see it. If only I could have pulled live, bare electrical wires out of that salad as Brutus walked by. See how you like being electrocuted, you sick pervert.
So I bought some dried out, overpriced sandwich and a cup of coffee and headed outside. Spring and the cherry blossoms. And not a soul in sight (not even a sold one) except Nathan and me. He stood there not moving, cold as stone, and I sat at his feet. He only inscribed, "I only regret that I have but one life to give to my country" as I mumbled something unintelligible about what the hell I was doing there and how I had ever gotten myself twisted up in such a strange circumstance. And I mumbled it in Arabic. Let them translate it. Disillusionment set in bit by bit. The cynical idealist was taking shape, growing into fine form under the falling pink petals of spring somewhere north of Washington. And all before I could legally buy beer in most states.
It's really sad to see how you grow up in such a hurry sometimes. How your eyes actually change, how you learn so much about how things are, how you realize that things just aren't the way they're supposed to be at all. And how sometimes the worst wars are between those who are supposed to be friends.
As I left Nathan that afternoon, hundreds of delicate pink petals were smashed into the rough concrete as I walked. I wiped their remains onto the carpet before my heels touched the polished marble entry.
I looked back. Other people, people with hard eyes, walked around the fallen petals at Nathan's feet. I smiled for no apparent reason.
Caveats and emptors, yeah. As long as they aren't suicide bombers, sure, and as long as they're not on the wrong side and as long as they're not assassins and as long as they are only willing to sacrifice themselves and not anyone or anything else and as long as.... Yeah, we can get into this whole ops versus black ops stuff, but you know what I was thinking. I sort of make those assumptions in my own mind. It's a pretty clear us and them maybe from there, and the nutcakes aren't in the us camp. And I count the "just following orders" nuts (just like they had in Nazi Germany) as part of the Freaking Nutcake Brigade.
Is it a fine line, a tightrope, sometimes? Especially when you talk about ops? Yep, I think probably so. Not easy, and it probably takes a lot to hold onto the vision that you went in there with and not lose it along the way. To add to it all, you had to watch out for the lure of the MKULTRA - (that's minus) ULTRA stuff. Not to say whose side it would come from...could come from any and all, really. Tough. Really tough. At its worst, it could probably be enough to put even the strongest mind to the test.
Some of the more entertaining little stories that haven't been told yet have to do with a young kid finding out just how screwed up the real system and the real world really are. Pretty screwed up. Yep. I ate lunch one day with Nathan Hale. It was either that or eat in an area of a place I didn't want to eat at because I was so pissed at some particular people, and I didn't particularly want to run into a few of them over a Caesar salad. Et tu, Brute? I could just see it. If only I could have pulled live, bare electrical wires out of that salad as Brutus walked by. See how you like being electrocuted, you sick pervert.
So I bought some dried out, overpriced sandwich and a cup of coffee and headed outside. Spring and the cherry blossoms. And not a soul in sight (not even a sold one) except Nathan and me. He stood there not moving, cold as stone, and I sat at his feet. He only inscribed, "I only regret that I have but one life to give to my country" as I mumbled something unintelligible about what the hell I was doing there and how I had ever gotten myself twisted up in such a strange circumstance. And I mumbled it in Arabic. Let them translate it. Disillusionment set in bit by bit. The cynical idealist was taking shape, growing into fine form under the falling pink petals of spring somewhere north of Washington. And all before I could legally buy beer in most states.
It's really sad to see how you grow up in such a hurry sometimes. How your eyes actually change, how you learn so much about how things are, how you realize that things just aren't the way they're supposed to be at all. And how sometimes the worst wars are between those who are supposed to be friends.
As I left Nathan that afternoon, hundreds of delicate pink petals were smashed into the rough concrete as I walked. I wiped their remains onto the carpet before my heels touched the polished marble entry.
I looked back. Other people, people with hard eyes, walked around the fallen petals at Nathan's feet. I smiled for no apparent reason.
the juggler
by Karyn Huntting Peters
the juggler dances with air,
a finite number of futures
in his quickening circle
a thoughtless turn of the head
and one crashes to the ground,
shattered tomorrows
shards of days never to be lived
crushed under pointy-toed shoes
as he gathers what futures remain
and gingerly walks away
the juggler dances with air,
a finite number of futures
in his quickening circle
a thoughtless turn of the head
and one crashes to the ground,
shattered tomorrows
shards of days never to be lived
crushed under pointy-toed shoes
as he gathers what futures remain
and gingerly walks away
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
you are closer than they
by Karyn Huntting Peters
you. you are somehow closer than they, those other atoms of
all that is, those other angles and sides and shadows of
the only possible thing, that one is, that existence and reality,
apart and together, different and same, without and within.
you. you are somehow closer, beyond words, a dimension
unknown to the others, and i, this thing i call i, i would
reach out from where i am and i would touch you from so far
across the sameness, yet you, you so far are somehow closer
than the closest of they, they that reach out with their hands
and touch the hand of i, yet cannot reach me, you understand.
you. you do not reach yet you are here. here you are, just as i,
i feel you like i feel myself, your self beyond words existing,
and in this little distance, in all that is, where there is you and
me, i hear silence.
and i feel you, part of you, your self from inside of me.
you. you are somehow closer than they, those other atoms of
all that is, those other angles and sides and shadows of
the only possible thing, that one is, that existence and reality,
apart and together, different and same, without and within.
you. you are somehow closer, beyond words, a dimension
unknown to the others, and i, this thing i call i, i would
reach out from where i am and i would touch you from so far
across the sameness, yet you, you so far are somehow closer
than the closest of they, they that reach out with their hands
and touch the hand of i, yet cannot reach me, you understand.
you. you do not reach yet you are here. here you are, just as i,
i feel you like i feel myself, your self beyond words existing,
and in this little distance, in all that is, where there is you and
me, i hear silence.
and i feel you, part of you, your self from inside of me.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
rapunzel's lament
by Karyn Huntting Peters
standing alone in some crumbling ivory tower
i look down upon the masses far away and apart
knowing that this humanity exists with or without me
time wears the walls, wind chills the narrow hallways
the stairway leading down to the village
may be gone before too many more years pass
long braid of rapunzel hair cut just so when i found him
the climb upward to require just the smallest effort
one word, yes, to open the way for that lone traveler
yet still i wait alone, patience blended with salty tears
everything frozen in time except the wind and erosion
and some tiny flame of hope for he whom i love to come
standing alone in some crumbling ivory tower
i look down upon the masses far away and apart
knowing that this humanity exists with or without me
time wears the walls, wind chills the narrow hallways
the stairway leading down to the village
may be gone before too many more years pass
long braid of rapunzel hair cut just so when i found him
the climb upward to require just the smallest effort
one word, yes, to open the way for that lone traveler
yet still i wait alone, patience blended with salty tears
everything frozen in time except the wind and erosion
and some tiny flame of hope for he whom i love to come
the ignorance you feign
by Karyn Huntting Peters
So you thought I wouldn’t, couldn’t see you,
Feared or sighed relief that I didn’t know you?
I should roll my eyes and laugh out loud
At the ignorance and foolishness of you,
You who first opened your mouth to speak
Too late now to tell me you’re mistaken,
That it was a muse, a dream, a soft whim.
I should pull you close and wake you up
Till you realize the ignorance you feign,
You who first showed me the silver mirror
So you thought I wouldn’t, couldn’t see you,
Feared or sighed relief that I didn’t know you?
I should roll my eyes and laugh out loud
At the ignorance and foolishness of you,
You who first opened your mouth to speak
Too late now to tell me you’re mistaken,
That it was a muse, a dream, a soft whim.
I should pull you close and wake you up
Till you realize the ignorance you feign,
You who first showed me the silver mirror
Saturday, August 05, 2006
journal 1450 hours
by Karyn Huntting Peters
i saw that noon moon
as i drove in my red mustang
and ran an errand to day
thought of coffee houses and
poetry and berets and heard
some sort of strange beat in my
head but i couldn't remember the
senseless, rhymeless words if i tried
but the moon was cool
like torn wet tissue paper
and the clouds knew enough
to get the hell out of its way
as i drove just a little
more than twenty over the limit
but none of it matters anyway cause
i'm just finding a way to pass the keyboard
time until my coffee break chimes in
tic toc tic toc
coffee time for the girl
hit me, caffeine beans
hit me
i need it bad
i saw that noon moon
as i drove in my red mustang
and ran an errand to day
thought of coffee houses and
poetry and berets and heard
some sort of strange beat in my
head but i couldn't remember the
senseless, rhymeless words if i tried
but the moon was cool
like torn wet tissue paper
and the clouds knew enough
to get the hell out of its way
as i drove just a little
more than twenty over the limit
but none of it matters anyway cause
i'm just finding a way to pass the keyboard
time until my coffee break chimes in
tic toc tic toc
coffee time for the girl
hit me, caffeine beans
hit me
i need it bad
Friday, August 04, 2006
towers
by Karyn Huntting Peters
my thoughts
are at moments
stark!
bare!
towering in fields
like monuments
at sunset
my thoughts
are at moments
stark!
bare!
towering in fields
like monuments
at sunset
Thursday, August 03, 2006
crossing
by Karyn Huntting Peters
only felt and existing within a now-different self
formerly other’s eyes now too reflecting our own
as we can exhale now and find some peace
in our crossing together, into, and through again
only felt and existing within a now-different self
formerly other’s eyes now too reflecting our own
as we can exhale now and find some peace
in our crossing together, into, and through again
answer
by Karyn Huntting Peters
Stole I away to midnight's birch grove
You, oh confidante to meet in filtered moon
Moonlight now shed on darkened-once cove
Question not yet asked for fearing yet too soon
Stood I yet still as question now asked
Knowing words of truth to fall on bended ear
Mystery now wont its face be unmasked
Yes now fully gi'en and we now freely near
Stole I away to midnight's birch grove
You, oh confidante to meet in filtered moon
Moonlight now shed on darkened-once cove
Question not yet asked for fearing yet too soon
Stood I yet still as question now asked
Knowing words of truth to fall on bended ear
Mystery now wont its face be unmasked
Yes now fully gi'en and we now freely near
question
by Karyn Huntting Peters
Looked I away from dawn's first pink mark
I, oh confidante, to feign foreknowledge none
Sunlight now shed on hidden once dark
Question now is asked in light this rising sun
Quiet I stayed, now questioner be
Stole my answer you, for both did know 'twas true
Voices two spake this question what be
Answer flows from one, its truth no more are two
Looked I away from dawn's first pink mark
I, oh confidante, to feign foreknowledge none
Sunlight now shed on hidden once dark
Question now is asked in light this rising sun
Quiet I stayed, now questioner be
Stole my answer you, for both did know 'twas true
Voices two spake this question what be
Answer flows from one, its truth no more are two
this star
by Karyn Huntting Peters
this star i see in the black sky
is struggling bright one minute
fading the next
is it dying or being born
or is it just an image from
a far off dream?
this star i see in the black sky
is struggling bright one minute
fading the next
is it dying or being born
or is it just an image from
a far off dream?
obelisk
by Karyn Huntting Peters
and what now with these
words, left an obelisk in
the shifting saharan sands?
seal the narrow passageways
and encase the golden-faced
promises in blackest night,
faithful osiris to stand watch.
and what now with these
words, left an obelisk in
the shifting saharan sands?
seal the narrow passageways
and encase the golden-faced
promises in blackest night,
faithful osiris to stand watch.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Tin Man
by Bob Johnson
"A heart?" said the Wizard to the Tin Man, "You want a heart? My boy, you don't know how lucky you are not to have one! You should never have to suffer the pain that comes when one gets broken!"
"But Great Wizard", said the Tin Man, "if I have no heart then how may I know the joy that comes when one is full of love?"
"Oh, my boy," said the Wizard to the Tin Man, "The happiness of Love is indeed a wonderful thing, and nothing is more beautiful to be sure." "But the pain of a broken heart is so very terrible to endure, and the only thing that can heal it is a love much greater than that which broke it."
The Tin Man sat still for a minute, considering the Wizard's words, for he was sure they held more meaning than it seemed. But finally, after a while, The Tin Man answered:
"But still, I want one."
... And so the Wizard gave the Tin Man a heart, one strong and new and ready to love. And the Wizard also gave the Tin Man some advice...
"My boy, I give you a heart, but let me tell you some things you should know before you use it, things that I wish I had been told many, many years ago when my own heart was young and strong and new."
"Great Wizard", said the Tin Man, "please tell your advice. I've never had a heart before, and I have no wish to break it by not knowing how to use it!"
The Wizard looked at the Tin Man, thinking carefully before he spoke. Finally, he said to the Tin Man, "Be careful of who you love! Don't give your love too easily or too fast. But when you find the one who will accept your love, and who you feel you can trust with it, give her all of your love, hold nothing back! Do not use it as a weapon to hurt with, nor as a reward to please with. Just give it freely and simply, wholly and completely!"
The Tin Man thought for a moment, and then asked the Wizard, "How will I know when I have found the right one?"
"Oh, my boy! That's no problem. You will know it when you find her! But before you give her your heart, make very sure that you are also the right one for her! Make sure her love for you is greater than any she's had before. And then, my boy, you will know the happiness of loving, and the even greater joy of being loved by another!"
"Thank you, O Great Wizard!" said the Tin Man. "You words are truly wise! I cannot imagine how a man can know these things so well!"
The Wizard said, "My boy, I have lived a long, long life and have learned of many things. My hope is that you can learn these things from me, without the need and pain of learning them for yourself."
The Tin Man thanked the Wizard, and left on his quest to find love. The Wizard watched as the Tin Man became smaller in the distance, and the Emerald City was reflected in the tears that grew in his eyes. "Good luck, Tin Man," whispered the Wizard to himself. "I hope my words will guide you well, but I know and fear that to truly understand them, you will finally have to learn them for yourself."
And then the Wizard closed the door to the Palace of Oz.
The Tin Man was happy as he followed the Yellow Brick Road. The birds singing in the trees filled his heart with joy, and he thought "If something so simple can make one's heart feel so good, then love must surely be a wondrous thing! This thought made him more eager than ever to continue his search...
After a while he stopped along the path and sat down near a fence, beneath a tree. As he sat there enjoying the day, he looked at the heart the Wizard had given him. It was indeed strong and new, and it shined brightly in the sun. A beautiful gold chain held it near the middle of his chest, right where a heart was supposed to be! He held it tightly in his hands, closed his eyes and smiled.
As he sat there, he fell asleep and dreamed of love...
When he awoke, he was startled to see a rabbit, a very LARGE rabbit, sitting nearby and watching him intently. It was a very beautiful large rabbit, about 4 feet tall, with silky golden fur, a white tail, and pink eyes that seemed to hold more intelligence than a rabbit should have. And the Tin Man was even more surprised when the Rabbit spoke:
"You're awake!"
"Yes, well, I guess I am!" said the Tin Man, "But I'm not really sure...I don't often have conversations with rabbits!"
"Well, maybe you should try it more often," said the Rabbit, "you might learn something!"
"That's possible," said the Tin Man, "but I couldn't say. What could a rabbit talk about besides carrots and other rabbit-type things?"
"Well," said the Rabbit, that depends on what kind of a rabbit you are talking too!"
"Oh, I see. I never thought of it like that before. So, Giant Rabbit, what kind of rabbit are you?"
"I'm a Giant Rabbit..." came the rabbit's answer.
"Gee thanks, I never would have guessed..." began the Tin Man...
"...from Finland!" continued the Rabbit.
"From Finland!" exclaimed the ever more surprised Tin Man, "Aren't you a long way from home?"
"No. I said I am from Finland, that doesn't mean I live there!"
The Tin Man, while quite amazed with the overall situation, what with a giant talking rabbit and all, was getting a bit irritated with the rabbit's attitude, but something made him go on... "Oh, okay then, what do giant, talking, Finnish rabbits know?"
"That all depends. What do you want to know?"
"Tell me about love," came the Tin Man's reply.
"Sorry, you're on your own about that!" said the Rabbit, "But you tell me, why would a Tin Man want to know about love?"
"Well, because now I have new heart!" said the Tin Man with pride as he showed it to the Rabbit, "And now I am out looking for love! Maybe you know where to find some?"
The rabbit admired the heart, obviously strong and new, and he felt that he should try to help the Tin Man if he could.
He said, "Sorry again. If I knew where to find love, I'd be there myself right now! But I can tell you this: You won't find love, at least not a good one, if you're out looking for it! Usually, it finds you when you don't expect it. You should just go back to the city, get a job, and see what happens! You know what they say, 'a watched pot never boils!', and if you spend all your time looking for love, you may never find it and then you'll have wasted your fine new heart and all of your life looking for something and never even knowing what it was you were looking for! Just live and enjoy your life, and when the time is right love will find you!"
"Are you sure?" asked the Tin Man skeptically.
"Sure, I'm sure! Rabbits never speak unless we're sure!" said the Rabbit. And then he turned and hopped away into the forest.
The Tin Man sat beneath the tree for a while longer, thinking about what the rabbit had said.
Finally, he seemed to make a decision, and a mix of disappointment and hopeful expectation came to his eyes.
He stood up, looked around, and began walking once again, his heart swaying gently on it's chain with his steady gait.
"From Finland!" he said to himself, "They have Giant Rabbits in Finland! Amazing!"
and later "...I wonder where this Finland is?"
"A heart?" said the Wizard to the Tin Man, "You want a heart? My boy, you don't know how lucky you are not to have one! You should never have to suffer the pain that comes when one gets broken!"
"But Great Wizard", said the Tin Man, "if I have no heart then how may I know the joy that comes when one is full of love?"
"Oh, my boy," said the Wizard to the Tin Man, "The happiness of Love is indeed a wonderful thing, and nothing is more beautiful to be sure." "But the pain of a broken heart is so very terrible to endure, and the only thing that can heal it is a love much greater than that which broke it."
The Tin Man sat still for a minute, considering the Wizard's words, for he was sure they held more meaning than it seemed. But finally, after a while, The Tin Man answered:
"But still, I want one."
... And so the Wizard gave the Tin Man a heart, one strong and new and ready to love. And the Wizard also gave the Tin Man some advice...
"My boy, I give you a heart, but let me tell you some things you should know before you use it, things that I wish I had been told many, many years ago when my own heart was young and strong and new."
"Great Wizard", said the Tin Man, "please tell your advice. I've never had a heart before, and I have no wish to break it by not knowing how to use it!"
The Wizard looked at the Tin Man, thinking carefully before he spoke. Finally, he said to the Tin Man, "Be careful of who you love! Don't give your love too easily or too fast. But when you find the one who will accept your love, and who you feel you can trust with it, give her all of your love, hold nothing back! Do not use it as a weapon to hurt with, nor as a reward to please with. Just give it freely and simply, wholly and completely!"
The Tin Man thought for a moment, and then asked the Wizard, "How will I know when I have found the right one?"
"Oh, my boy! That's no problem. You will know it when you find her! But before you give her your heart, make very sure that you are also the right one for her! Make sure her love for you is greater than any she's had before. And then, my boy, you will know the happiness of loving, and the even greater joy of being loved by another!"
"Thank you, O Great Wizard!" said the Tin Man. "You words are truly wise! I cannot imagine how a man can know these things so well!"
The Wizard said, "My boy, I have lived a long, long life and have learned of many things. My hope is that you can learn these things from me, without the need and pain of learning them for yourself."
The Tin Man thanked the Wizard, and left on his quest to find love. The Wizard watched as the Tin Man became smaller in the distance, and the Emerald City was reflected in the tears that grew in his eyes. "Good luck, Tin Man," whispered the Wizard to himself. "I hope my words will guide you well, but I know and fear that to truly understand them, you will finally have to learn them for yourself."
And then the Wizard closed the door to the Palace of Oz.
The Tin Man was happy as he followed the Yellow Brick Road. The birds singing in the trees filled his heart with joy, and he thought "If something so simple can make one's heart feel so good, then love must surely be a wondrous thing! This thought made him more eager than ever to continue his search...
After a while he stopped along the path and sat down near a fence, beneath a tree. As he sat there enjoying the day, he looked at the heart the Wizard had given him. It was indeed strong and new, and it shined brightly in the sun. A beautiful gold chain held it near the middle of his chest, right where a heart was supposed to be! He held it tightly in his hands, closed his eyes and smiled.
As he sat there, he fell asleep and dreamed of love...
When he awoke, he was startled to see a rabbit, a very LARGE rabbit, sitting nearby and watching him intently. It was a very beautiful large rabbit, about 4 feet tall, with silky golden fur, a white tail, and pink eyes that seemed to hold more intelligence than a rabbit should have. And the Tin Man was even more surprised when the Rabbit spoke:
"You're awake!"
"Yes, well, I guess I am!" said the Tin Man, "But I'm not really sure...I don't often have conversations with rabbits!"
"Well, maybe you should try it more often," said the Rabbit, "you might learn something!"
"That's possible," said the Tin Man, "but I couldn't say. What could a rabbit talk about besides carrots and other rabbit-type things?"
"Well," said the Rabbit, that depends on what kind of a rabbit you are talking too!"
"Oh, I see. I never thought of it like that before. So, Giant Rabbit, what kind of rabbit are you?"
"I'm a Giant Rabbit..." came the rabbit's answer.
"Gee thanks, I never would have guessed..." began the Tin Man...
"...from Finland!" continued the Rabbit.
"From Finland!" exclaimed the ever more surprised Tin Man, "Aren't you a long way from home?"
"No. I said I am from Finland, that doesn't mean I live there!"
The Tin Man, while quite amazed with the overall situation, what with a giant talking rabbit and all, was getting a bit irritated with the rabbit's attitude, but something made him go on... "Oh, okay then, what do giant, talking, Finnish rabbits know?"
"That all depends. What do you want to know?"
"Tell me about love," came the Tin Man's reply.
"Sorry, you're on your own about that!" said the Rabbit, "But you tell me, why would a Tin Man want to know about love?"
"Well, because now I have new heart!" said the Tin Man with pride as he showed it to the Rabbit, "And now I am out looking for love! Maybe you know where to find some?"
The rabbit admired the heart, obviously strong and new, and he felt that he should try to help the Tin Man if he could.
He said, "Sorry again. If I knew where to find love, I'd be there myself right now! But I can tell you this: You won't find love, at least not a good one, if you're out looking for it! Usually, it finds you when you don't expect it. You should just go back to the city, get a job, and see what happens! You know what they say, 'a watched pot never boils!', and if you spend all your time looking for love, you may never find it and then you'll have wasted your fine new heart and all of your life looking for something and never even knowing what it was you were looking for! Just live and enjoy your life, and when the time is right love will find you!"
"Are you sure?" asked the Tin Man skeptically.
"Sure, I'm sure! Rabbits never speak unless we're sure!" said the Rabbit. And then he turned and hopped away into the forest.
The Tin Man sat beneath the tree for a while longer, thinking about what the rabbit had said.
Finally, he seemed to make a decision, and a mix of disappointment and hopeful expectation came to his eyes.
He stood up, looked around, and began walking once again, his heart swaying gently on it's chain with his steady gait.
"From Finland!" he said to himself, "They have Giant Rabbits in Finland! Amazing!"
and later "...I wonder where this Finland is?"
art of nightfall
by Karyn Huntting Peters
dark veil, keeper of secret thoughts, reaches
across day’s doomed end, takes more of
the artist’s abandoned palette captive as its fingers
near the horizon off the western sands.
what patterns will emerge in the night sky
as the veil enfolds all these watercolors, wrapping
them tighter and tighter, finally stowing them
in a secret place beneath the boundless sea?
dark veil, keeper of secret thoughts, reaches
across day’s doomed end, takes more of
the artist’s abandoned palette captive as its fingers
near the horizon off the western sands.
what patterns will emerge in the night sky
as the veil enfolds all these watercolors, wrapping
them tighter and tighter, finally stowing them
in a secret place beneath the boundless sea?
a human's doubt
by Karyn Huntting Peters
nearly imperceptible haunting
silent fracture feared from deep within
creation of divine artist cries
soundless tears of heaven's rain
at mere thought of mortal wounding
such more-than-human creation
by hands not yet tempered
with eternity's all-knowing touch
nearly imperceptible haunting
silent fracture feared from deep within
creation of divine artist cries
soundless tears of heaven's rain
at mere thought of mortal wounding
such more-than-human creation
by hands not yet tempered
with eternity's all-knowing touch
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
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