The Briefing
“So, do you understand?”
“No, not really.”
They never do, he thought. In all the countless centuries they’d been doing this, no one ever understood.
“Which part in particular is giving you a hard time?”
“Sort of…all of it.”
He sighed. “You will go down there,” he began, as patiently as possible.
“Yes.”
“You will learn all you can…”
“Right.”
“You will get into politics…”
“Okay.”
“And you will become a powerful and influential leader who will bring hope and peace to everyone.”
“Got it.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“You said I wouldn’t remember this briefing.”
“You won’t. No one ever does.”
“Then…and, sorry to harp on about this…how am I going to do any of that if I don’t remember you telling me to do it?”
“The vessel will not be able to retain the details of this briefing. It is too simple, too small to hold that much data. It would not be possible for you to remember.”
“And I get that. I do. Really, I do. What I don’t get is how you expect me to do these important things you want me to do if—”
“You cannot retain the details of this briefing,” he interrupted. “But the intent will still be there. Do you see?”
“Er…no, not really.”
“You will not remember talking to me, here, but you will remember that you want to help others. Deep inside, in ways you don’t quite comprehend, you will have an innate desire to help others, to treat them fairly, to seek justice and equality for everyone. This will color your decisions and, we hope, lead you on the correct path.”
“Hope? You hope it will?”
“Well, like I said, all you’ll have is the desire to help. Leading others takes more than that. Those are the parts you’ll have to figure out on your own.”
“But I won’t know what those parts are!”
“No, but you won’t be entirely alone. There are others.”
“Others?”
“That’s right. They have…more or less achieved the goals we set for them, and they did so with no more recollection of their briefings than you will have of yours. They’ll be…sort of your team. They’ll have to help you stay on the right path.”
“Do they know what that path is?”
“They do not.”
“This system seems sort of flawed, don’t you think?”
“You’re not the first person to make that point, but it is what it is. We’re doing the best we can with the resources we have at our disposal.”
“So, just to sum up, you’re going to drop me among other people who have no idea what they’re doing and expect them to help me figure out what I’m doing and all you can give me is the desire to help people?”
“That’s about it, yes.”
“Does this ever work?”
“More often than you might think. But, admittedly, we have had some failures. People who never figured out their purpose, or chose not to follow the path we laid out for them or found they were unable to fulfill their objectives. So, we try again with someone else.”
“Is that what I am? A replacement?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, you are. We had a case a while back. Could have been great. Could have saved the world. Decided to use her strength and skill to help herself first and others second. We’re hoping you’ll make better choices.”
“There’s that word again. Hope.”
“You have a problem with hope?”
“I think a real plan would be better.”
“What would you have us do? Dictate to each individual we send down there exactly what they are to do? Give detailed instructions at every step of the way? What would be the point of that? If we did that, we wouldn’t need someone like you to restore peace because there would already be peace. But you know what there wouldn’t be?”
“What?”
“Life. Choice. Possibilities. Free will. I’m not saying the system is perfect, but it’s better than the alternative.” He looked at his watch. “Look, it’s nearly time. Are you ready to go or not?”
“I…I think…yes. Yes, I’m ready.”
“Glad to hear it. Goodbye…and good luck.”
The next thing she knew was darkness, but just for an instant. It was broken by a blinding shaft of white light which she could see even through her closed eyes. She heard voices, screaming, groaning, a million tiny little sounds she would never remember being made by other people who had been given their briefing, come into the light and forgotten it forever, trying to make sense out of their mission in life just as she would soon have to make sense of hers.
Her eyes still shut, she didn’t see the woman on the bed who had always had a desire to rebuild the world which is what led her to study architecture…The man squeezing the woman’s hand who had always put taking care of others before anything else and was, at that moment, achieving his lifelong dream…Or the man in white holding her carefully who had, at his briefing, been imbued with the need to make people feel better when they were suffering.
And as the last vestiges of her briefing vanished from her tiny new mind there was the slap and the pain and she began to cry.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Smith,” said the doctor. “It’s a girl!”
The Cycle
I can hear it now, the sound of a desperate people awoken by a new wave of anger. It is barely January and so begins what has now become a tradition in my country, in Venezuela. The cycle remains: Injustice, ire, outrage, determination, peaceful action, violent reaction, fear, death then calm. It starts over today, the reason this time being the false re-election of a tyrant. What’s different this time? We have nothing else to lose.
For the Poet.
Not a lament
not this one
there will be no thoughts here
of callous lovers
lonely evenings
or sterile tears over someone’s parting.
No mention here
of empty promises
dreary liaisons
mournful trysts.
Rather I choose
that these lines celebrate my sense of self
intact
despite these things
my eagerness to give again
and to hell with the odds.
Let this one
revel in my resilience
my optimism
as I enter the breach once more
with expectations undiminished
awaiting surprises
fully expecting that love will one day
be all it can
and should be.
little birds
tiny birds speak of nothing when they need to say something
but they don't really speak
they sing
words we can't understand but sometimes it's obvious
when a squirrel is too close to the nest
they scream and holler get away from here
and I hear their stupidity on occasion
wondering why it takes so many freaking nasty birds
to protect a rather drab nest
I guess the nest egg
is big enough to argue over
we shall see, we shall see...
Insomniac Dreams
Static crackles over restless limbs
Cracking bones swallowed up by moldy flesh
Pulled taught, tight to the touch
Fingers grabbing, gripping, grasping
At the idea that maybe if I close my eyes
I might slip off into a dreamless sleep
But my mind races and my heart pounds
Pulse pumping adrenaline through my veins
The venom of fear churning in my blood
Fear that if I sleep I won't wake
"What if...?" my mind screams
Sinking into my sheets
Drawing my comfort around me
My mind muddled and mixed
A maze of questions and I don't have any answers
It was the sudden silence ringing loud and bold
Like eerie church bells
Calling sleepless dreamers to midnight mass
To be alone together
Stranded in that pre-dream state
Where Death and his companions,
Chaos and Confusion, controlling criminals
Consume drowsy musings
And feed my mind counterfeit sleep
Crushed by darkness, desperately trying to shut down
This dreamer's doubts about death and life
And everything in between
Just to rest my eyes for a few moments
To forget that train of thought that things aren't as they seem
But rather they're all an illusion and this is a dream and I am asleep
Strange Me
I see this stranger almost everywhere I go it seems
Eye contact will get a smile, but he wears a blank stare mostly
There’s something about him that makes the silence intriguing
When I get caught staring, I swear he knows what I’m thinking
And I’m suddenly overwhelmed by what can only be however he’s feeling
His aura is comfortable, all the hearts around him are always opening
People easily telling him all, they’re literally pouring
It seems odd, he only gave them a polite greeting
More often than not it’s even their first meeting
No wonder he looks tired, a refuge to so many pleading
And although sometimes distant, his demeanor is far from demeaning
Must need those broad shoulders to bare the world’s dealings
Matches his big heart but he has an unrivaled energy
Always get the urge to follow, wonder where he is going
He’s never really said, and the places I’ve seen him, only leave me believing
He must be nomadic, goes wherever the wind is blowing
There are many days I almost start asking
But if he doesn’t even know, then I’d only be chasing
Following a stranger, I guess, may also be considered crazy
I am however, so I only have one question remaining
Wherever he’s going, will the stranger in the mirror take me.
Stranger Things ...
The stranger knocked upon the door,
A creaking, wooden throb,
And someone on the other side
Unlatched and turned the knob.
Uncertainty, a soft, "Hello,"
And, "May I use your phone?"
The person on the other side
Appeared to be alone.
An observation taken in,
No pictures on the wall.
He pointed somewhere down the way-
"Go on and make a call."
The thunder boomed; the stranger stalled
As wires were cut instead.
The gentleman began to sense
A subtle hint of dread.
A conversation thus ensued-
"So what has brought you out?
The rain has flooded everything,
And wiped away the drought.
Say, did you walk, or did you drive?
Why don't I take your coat?"
The stranger slowly moved his arms,
A sentimental gloat.
The water from the pouring skies
Enveloped cloth and shoe.
"Say, would you like a place to sleep?
I'll leave it up to you."
The person on the other side
Discarded his mistrust.
The stranger said his tire was flat,
And shed the muddy crust.
"The phone won't work," he also said.
"It could just be the storm.
Perhaps I will stay here tonight,
To keep me safe and warm."
The patron of the house agreed.
He hadn't seen the wire.
The chilly dampness prompted him
To quickly build a fire.
"You have a name? They call me Ed.
My wife was Verna Dean.
She passed away five years ago
And left me here as seen.
I guess it's really not so bad.
We never had a child.
I loved that Verna awful much,"
He said and sadly smiled.
"No property to divvy up.
The bank will get it all.
Say, do you want to try again
To go and make that call?"
The stranger grinned and left the flame
As to the phone he strode.
Within his pocket, knives and twine
In hiding seemed to goad.
A plan was formed- he'd kill the man;
Eviscerate him whole.
The twine would keep him firmly held;
The knife would steal his soul.
A lusty surge erupted hence;
A wicked bit of sin.
The stranger hadn't noticed yet
That someone else came in.
About the time a shadow fell,
He spun to meet a pan.
The room around him faded out
As eyes looked on a man.
A day or two it seemed had passed,
And when he woke all tied,
The stranger gazed upon old Ed
Who simply said, "You lied."
Reversing thoughts, the moment fled
And Ed said in a lean,
"No worries, stranger. None at all.
Hey, look, here's Verna Dean!"
He looked upon a wraith in rage;
It seemed his little lie
Combusted in a burning fit-
He didn't want to die.
So many victims in his life,
Some fifty bodies strewn.
And now he was the victim; now
The pain to him was known.
The stranger fought against the twine,
And noticed by his bed
The knife once in his pocket left
A trail of something red.
A bowl filled full of organs sat
As Verna poured some salt.
She exited with all of them.
"You know, this is your fault.
We demons wait for just the day
The guilty take the bait
And play with matches one last time-
I simply cannot wait
To taste the death within your flesh;
The venom in your gut.
So now you know the way they felt-
Hey, you've got quite a cut!"
The person on the other side
Removed his human skin-
Before his wife came back for more,
He offered with a grin:
"Say, stranger, is there anything
You'd like to say at all?"
I looked at all the blood and said,
"I'd like to make that call ... "
I Miss You
You know that feeling
When you miss someone
It’s like a part of you is missing
You feel complete in their presence
But when they’re gone
You hope every text is from them
You wonder if you’re on their mind
Like they’re on yours
You yearn just to hear their voice
See their face
Touch their skin
Counting down the minutes
Until you can’t bear it anymore
Every second away from them
Is torture
So caught up in missing them
That everything else is irrelevant
And only when they return
Will everything seem to
Fall into place.
