Tarantella and Kintsugi February 12, 2014

Backstory:

I had the perfect cello teacher.  She had a doctorate in cello and was one of the more frightening individuals in my life.  After months of working on one piece called the Tarantella I walked into my lesson and played it for her and she told me that she could not clean it up any more, it was perfect.  It was the only time she ever said that to me.  In my mind that was the definition of perfection: that which is the shiniest and the most clean. I held that standard to myself through most of my life.  I tortured myself and assailed the ears of God asking Him why I could never be perfect.  I carefully wallpapered my heart with that image of perfection and it daily mocks my efforts.  I built this image in my mind of a God that would only love me and use the life I was trying to give Him if it was the shiniest and most clean.

Reality Check:

When I was little I read my bible and believed that Christ was the perfect man but I missed the fact that His sorrow and death were part of why he was the perfect man.  You cannot have a resurrection without a death. 

Perfection is an illusion, or rather, my definition was.  I missed the most important part of my Tarantella: after that lesson I stopped playing it.  I let it sit in my music book.  I shelved my mental trophy and wondered, “Is that it?”  Yep.  That’s it, that’s all I got.  My “perfection” was worthless.

Kintsugi:

Japan began a custom of repairing broken pottery with resin powdered with gold.  It is called Kintsugi.  By this process a vessel is made more valuable for having been broken.  That is how real perfection works.  Brokenness, hard work, Mondays, the struggles of any hero you’ve ever known are meaningless and wasted time unless perfection is forged from blood and tears and not simply awarded to the person with the cleanest performance.  Victory is more perfect for having been paid for with blood.  The Tarantella sounded sweetest when I played well the notes I had stumbled over 84 times.  A story is considered the most beautiful when it makes you cry.

Conclusion:

Death and failure of any kind have no power over you because they are no longer related.  Jesus ripped them apart.  We are commanded to die to ourselves daily, to be crucified daily, but dying is simply the prelude to resurrection. Failure is not to play the wrong notes and perfection is not to get them all right.  Failure is to never play the piece because it is too hard.  Death is no longer married to failure.  There is nothing left to fear except our own estimation of what is possible.

 

She called herself Winnipeg January 11, 2014

 

There was a boy who loved a girl. She said funny things about the stars and sea and cared too much and smiled too much. She wore dresses made of green and yellow polka-dots, sometimes jeans, sometimes lipstick was all she wanted to wear. She cut her earth-brown hair far too short. She claimed it helped her think. She would scrunch her nose and stick her tongue out when she was angry, she would raise her arms above her head and spin when she was happy. She would go out and sit on the sidewalk on the rainy days and would stay inside on sunny days and watch the light fall through the leaves of summer trees or make diamonds and silver shavings of the fallen snow and icicle spears. She said the stars smelt of ink and laundry detergent and the sea was in love with the moon, that’s why it was always running away from it. She called herself Winnipeg.

The boy wore black pants and white collared shirts. His blond hair was tamed and slept on his scalp under a blanket of plaster. He smiled with his pretty eyes. When his teeth showed themselves in mirth she laughed at their perfection and he hid them again.

The boy went to a school made of brick, black and ideas. He copied down numbers and reasons and thrust fistfuls of correct answers down his own throat and never thought to choke. He was a very good boy. His name was James. James showed Winnipeg the paper cuts in his mouth and she glued them shut. He showed her his pockets full of smudged and wet numbers and she made them into black butterflies. She wiped her stained fingers on his white collared shirt, drawing smiling faces over his heart.

They loved each other, these two. But one day he said goodbye. He told her that the black and brick school was sending him to the black and brick city to work and Winnie didn’t belong there. She promised to wear black and white and carry wet, inky numbers in her pockets if only he would take her with him. He stained his cheeks with her tears. He told her no. He kissed her goodbye. The kiss was colored like hot stain onto his mouth.

The people in the city where he worked smelled of secrets and sleeping pills. Each day James went to work, dragged by his small tie and double-knotted shoelaces into a grey cubicle and sat there next to the other coughing workers that spit paperwork in time with their heartbeats. A new lady caught his attention. She wore black and white, she had sewed the inky numbers lovingly to her face. Her heels seemed always around the corner, click-clack-click-clack-click-clack. The stained kiss on his lips itched him. When it rained he would run outside and open his mouth. The water tasted like soot. He learned to stay inside. Click-clack. There were no stars. The street lamps, neon signs and road work lamps stood proudly and believed they were the stars. No one questioned them. Click-clack. He washed all the smiling faces off of his white shirts. He knew the sea was never in love with the moon he claimed he could prove it with the numbers in his pockets. He soon forgot Winnipeg. The memories of her polkadots and lipstick and spiky brown hair were buried beneath piles of paper, chained with paperclips inside file cabinets and deposited in the thin arms of the woman who clicked and clacked always. He lived and worked and cried and that was all. The clock was his mistress now. The kiss stopped itching. Winnipeg wasn’t her name anyways.

December the Second December 2, 2013

Good morning,

Have you ever noticed that the sunrise looks best when there’s clouds for it to light on fire? Every victory is amplified when the preamble was “…all hope was lost and then….” When there is overwhelming opportunity for failure there is always that one small window for valiant success.  The way of Christ is not one for the faint of heart.  Boot camp sucks, the war sucks, and dying sucks. It just does.  Daily, we are given miriads of circumstances in which to fail.  We take many of them, probably more than we’d like to admit to ourselves.  Then, when we fail, we get to discover the potency of grace.  That grace is what makes us invincible.  Invincibility removes fear and allows us to do the impossible.  Jesus made a shield of himself for us because He loved us more than His own life.  He fought the war before us and took the fall for the failure we make daily then, as the clouds lit on fire, he made his death the battle cry for all of eternity.  Lords and ladies, we are the impossible for we have been given impossible grace.  The very best part is that we who carry the lacerated hearts, we who carry knives in our backs like porcupines with quills wrong way out, we that carry the marks of carrying a cross up a mountain get to give the grace away.  We can then inspire invincibility in others.

Give grace as you have been given grace.  Aim high and into the sun for you, Love, are superman.  He who is loved can conquer any terror, any day job, any battle be it small or big.  We change the world by throwing grains of sand that start an avalanche.  Choose bravery choose grace; don’t be afraid.

 

Have a wonderful day,

Love,

Me

Good Morning October 15, 2013

Good morning,

Tuesdays are always odd.  Tuesday means you’re past Monday but not quite to where you can look forward to the weekend without seeming “overly optimistic.” This particular Tuesday is a cold Tuesday that is somehow looking forward to winter, stuck in fall and longing back for summer all at once.  It can’t quite decide what it likes more.  

 

I’m sitting at a table with lukewarm coffee, listening to a lady sing lovingly in Italian and taking notes on her warbling.  I have a pile of unread books next to me and more to buy.  My house is messy.  My roommate is anxiously reciting greek next to me.  My landlord’s daughter is thundering back and forth on the ceiling above me. I have a thousand things running through my head and Latin is tapping my shoulder demanding my full attention.  What I would like to be doing is traversing the morning newness with hot coffee and a friend, quietly misting back and forth… marveling at the exquisite art of the light coming through the trees and frost.  Then I hear the music in my headphones again, now a man and woman and a guitar.  The trio is crying together in a language I don’t understand.  Maybe this morning is also a love song I don’t understand… but if I listen hard enough maybe I can recognize the tune. 

 

There is untold wealth strewn in piles of things out of place and stacks of work to be done: unfamiliar blessings… but blessings nonetheless.  The glory of the Creator is in His creation.  His song even leaks into all the forgotten and “inglorious” crevices of the world.  His loving melodies extend even to my messy house, scattered books, scattered brain and cold coffee.  I am provided for and will be loved in the midst of my everyday (and whether I know Latin or not).

 

Happy Tuesday –

Love,

Madeleine

Resurrection September 12, 2013

I am going to dust off my electronic notebook and start scribbling again.  If anyone is paying attention I hope you haven’t missed me but I pray your interest may be resurrected with my work.  

There are so many things to say, for now I am going to content myself with this: “The rest of God is an obligation for sanity.  God loves us too much to let us do ok by ourselves without resting.  So rest. You’ll be happier for it.” 

Today, find someone you like a lot and tell them that you love them.  The smallest bit of encouragement could mean the difference in someone’s life at that exact moment.  If you want to change the world start by encouraging people often.  

Have a good day, I’ll write more later,

Love,

Madeleine

Shawshank Redemption February 12, 2013

The film Shawshank Redemption is a tale in which there is a God that stands aloof from events and watches men live and die with only the redemption they carve out of life for themselves.  The characters in the film have seemingly reached the end of their stories by the time the hero, Andy Dufresne, begins his.  They are in Shawshank Prison paying for their crimes without hope. Redemption is not an option for them.  Their chains have shackled their minds as well as their bodies.  Over time Andy establishes an unspoken rule for the convicts as he works hope gently under their bonds.  “You can either get busy living or you can get busy dying” or in other words; “You can either hurry up and die or you can do as much living as the rest of your life allows.”  That is the thought, or the theme that runs through the entire movie even in the music.  The song and main theme of the film begins with a melancholy tune then a solitary oboe begins a sweet melody leading the entire orchestra into a beautiful, slow, sweet piece of music.  Just as Andy alone refuses to let his mind be tied down, carving his redemption from the very walls of his prison.  In doing so he leads the convicts into a new perspective on life and helps make their lives worth living again.  

The diction is simple.  There is no flowery language or Shakespearean style inspirational speeches.  It is clear cut and without embellishment except for the eloquent and frequent cursing.   The simplicity gives it a power not usually seen.  There are no extra words, not even the foul ones.  The foulness of language shows how very much Andy does not belong there.  He is educated, refined, and not even guilty of the crime he is convicted of.  He is a Jesus Christ in Shawshank.  Preaching the hope of redemption in the midst of the most foul circumstances and being beaten for his trouble.  The diction mirrors the setting of the movie which is primarily the spectacle of Shawshank Prison itself.  It is concrete, ugly, miserable, and practically impenetrable. It gives off a hard and unforgiving atmosphere that seeps into the hearts of the guards, warden, and inmates alike. When Andy escapes Shawshank to the countryside it is portrayed to be the very essence of beauty and loveliness, “the Pacific that has no memory.”  Pure freedom. The redemption that Andy bought for himself at the cost of nearly twenty years of patient work.  

The plot of the story runs thus: Andy Dufresne a neglectful but hardworking husband discovers that his wife is having an affair with a hotshot golf pro.  He tries to drink his grief and anger away but ends up driving to the house of the man with a loaded gun in his car.  He decides not to murder his wife or her lover and leaves them together in bed but they are mysteriously murdered later that night.  Andy is blamed for the crime and given two life sentences in Shawshank Prison.  Once there he meets the narrator of the story “Red” who is “…a man who knows how to get things”, a smuggler of contraband items for the prisoners.  Andy asks him for a tiny rock hammer that he wants to use to create stone figurines. Andy is manically abused by the inmates and the guards supposedly in charge of keeping law and order.  The tables slowly start shifting when Andy begins using his gifts as an accountant to help the guards with financial difficulties and the warden with the prison book keeping. Using his banking skills Andy hides embezzled funds for the warden as well.  Soon he is managing the financial situations of the entire prison staff.   He is universally trusted.  His fellow inmates slowly begin to love him as well. He risks and often receives extreme punishment in the name of  “feeling normal” again and providing a window of hope to his friends.  He helps many of the prisoners get their GEDs including one young prisoner named Tommy Williams.  Tommy tells Andy that he met the man who killed his wife and her lover.  Andy, ecstatic, goes to the warden asking for a re-trial and is refused on the pretense that it is nothing but a false hope.  Andy, in desperation, promises never to reveal the pecuniary manipulation that he has done for the him.  Furious the warden has Andy put in solitary confinement and Tommy killed for his story.  The warden is a deeply corrupted man and is determined to keep Andy for his lucrative money manipulating abilities.  He has made him rich man.  Andy begins to show signs of mental wear and his friends in the prison are afraid he will take his own life.  Has the mind of Dufresne finally succumbed to the grey walls of Shawshank? It is the defeat they fear most.  The light the prison had grown to love was leaving them. When Dufresne does not show up for roll call one morning his friends believed the worst had happened.  Much to the surprise of characters and audience alike Dufresne has escaped.   The story rewinds close to 20 years.  Andy scratches the surface of his wall with his hammer and finds it soft.  From then on he begins to create his own redemption.  Forged out of blood, sweat, and tears. He required no one else.  God would not help him so he helped himself, hiding his own rock hammer in a bible.  Finally he crawls through a sewer to finally claim his freedom.  Crawls through 500 yards of hell  to reach his vindication. He found salvation in God’s word but it was his own.  He leaves the country and builds his dream life in Mexico on the Pacific ocean and when his friend, is released, 

Shawshank Redemption is a story of death, Hell and resurrection.  Andy’s story is very like that of Christ.  Andy enters Shawshank for a crime he did not commit.  It is a foreign world to him in which his only purpose is to show the way unto salvation mentally and physically.  Christ entered our world for the sole purpose of rescuing the damned souls therein and was killed for crimes he did not commit. Andy “died” in the sewer and “rose from the dead” as he came out again.  He left to another land and drew Red to make his own redemptive story and follow him.  Christ rose from the dead and left this world for another land calling those he loved to follow after him in the redemption that he purchased them.  Besides the parallel to Christ’s redemption Andy also represents the journey of every man unto salvation.  Each person is held captive by sin.  Sometimes for nothing but the initial sin inherited by Adam.  A sin that they were not personally guilty of, like Andy.  Each man decides within themselves whether they will get busy living or get busy dying.  If they decide to get busy and live they begin working their way through solid rock scratch by scratch, defying the impossible, fighting to win their freedom.  This world seeks above all things to capture the minds of its inhabitants and bend them to its will.  Choosing to get busy living means applying hope to hopeless situations and rebelling against depression with action towards a higher ideal or higher reality, exactly as Andy did.  

Shawshank Redemption is a film portraying a man who is set up as Christ.  The movie takes the greatest story of all time and instead of God extending his saving grace to man, man redeems himself through his own good ideas and his own strength.  God is just a menacing absent being and man must forge his own redemption or die. God will not help.  The story is beautiful, the acting is unparalleled, the diction is succinct and powerful, the setting is imposing and very appropriate but the message is a lie.  There is nothing so attractive to someone than the idea that they are their own salvation, that no one can save them but themselves.  The movie pushes the worldview that men are their own Jesus Christ and that our salvation lies only in what they do to redeem themselves.  Jesus was, is, and always will be the only way to freedom.  There is no way that we can earn our salvation through good works or how right people feel they are.  Mankind is a sinful race in need of a mediator between them and the wrath of a holy God.  If they believe that trying to be a good person will get them sanctification from sin or if their good idea is going to spring them from the prison of wickedness they are wrong.  With the holiness of God 70% is not a passing grade and 90% is not an A.  Unless 100% of sin is covered there is no hope.  No man can meet those requirements unless he is covered entirely by the blood of Christ.  Shawshank Redemption is a wonderful movie and a work of art but the overall worldview is foolish and without merit.  

The Princess Bride

This is a kissing movie.  Princess Bride is a classic tale of daring adventure, intrigue, treachery, feats of valor and of course, true love.  True love is something that every person dreams of sometime in their life, however, no one can quite agree on a solid definition. The skeptics simply say that it does not exist, the fairy stories and fiction fantasies promise that there is a world of rainbows and cotton candy with the perfect “other” for everyone no matter who they are.  Other books tend to begrudgingly accept true love’s existence for the sake of their readers’ weaker sentiments, films just complicate everything by indoctrinating their audiences into the cult of “follow your heart.”  Truly, is love a feeling, an action, a legend, a lie, or a very present reality? The Princess Bride is a movie adapted from a fairy story that has become a family favorite and an all around cult-classic because of the simplistic, endearing and slightly ridiculous characters, the ever popular “handsome-rogue-rescues-princess” theme and of course because of the pure truth of what love is lies hidden among the hilarity and tackiness.

In the story the characters are pencil sketches of real life.  They are living in a black and white world where men are either cowardly or brave, good guys or bad guys, and right and wrong are ever confused.  They live in a perfect world. The thought, the very fabric of this movie, is that any good person who lives in the perfect fantasy world will see their lives work out in the end no matter what, the bad guys always get what they deserve and the hero always gets the girl.  The author himself can kill his heroes and create impossible barricades of hopelessness as high as “The Cliffs of Insanity” but that will not be enough to stop the characters’ love from reaching its ultimatum because this is a fairy tale where everything works out just as it should.  The diction of the actors in the movie is flowery and as old as story telling.  It feels familiar, like it has been written in a dream from long ago.    Each heart at some point in its song of beating longs for such sweet words be whispered to it as those given to the heroine by the hero, “Death cannot stop true love.” and “I will always come for you.” He whispers the same vows of eternal faithfulness, honor and goodness that haunt the skeleton every heroic story that we cherish.  Humans share an avid desire to be loved truly and in spite of themselves and their short comings.

The song of the movie, or the sound track, is simple.  There are a handful of themes and gaps of silence that bow out gracefully to the character’s dialogue.  Nothing legendary, just enough music to compliment the acting and keep silence from injuring the story.  The spectacle of the film is a strange mix of realistic backdrops and fantastical ones.  Everything is realistic enough to not cause visual alarm that brings in disinterest along with disbelief, yet it is all fantastical enough to not allow the scenery to be easily placed as belonging in this world.  The Princess Bride is a beautiful story that has unfortunately been spread a little too thin over the imaginations of the viewers to be called a masterpiece but it conveys the simplicity of loving without reservation.  Love is is timeless and that is what makes the Princess Bride a classic.

The plot and characters of the Princess Bride are enjoyable if without depth; the perfect fairy tale. Wesley or the Man in Black, is the loyal lover of Buttercup, the commoner princess.  It is a stereotypical platform for a story worthy of remberance.  These two characters are supplemented by Indigo Montoya, a spaniard with an over developed sense of honorable vengeance, Vizzini, a midget with an ego twenty times his size whose art is that of starting wars, and Fezzik, a giant who has a heart as large as he is.  The comic Vizzini and his two wannabe henchmen are contrasted by three slimy villains who’s hearts are as black and cold as their lies, Prince Humperdink, Count Rugen, and their own would-be henchman, a creepy albino servant. These three kill Wesley but are even then defeated by the efforts of Miracle Max and his witch of a wife.  The plot itself runs as someone would expect it to.  A young man falls in love with a beautiful woman who treats him like a worthless varlet then after persistent sweetness the young woman falls in love with him.  The young man, who is of course Wesley,  goes off to seek his fortunes.  Five years later Buttercup looses hope and is made to be engaged to the prince of the land, Prince Humperdink.  The last thing that Wesley says to his lady is: “Hear this now, I will always come for you.” Buttercup replies tearfully, “How can you be sure?” Wesley consoles her gently: “This is true love, you think this happens every day?” This definition of love is intriguing because it puts it forth as a rarity.

Love by Wesley’s reckoning is enduring faithfulness no matter what the cost.  He mentions nothing about enduring affection, nothing about following his heart, Wesley promises to always come for Buttercup.  For him it is always as simple as that.  He has promised to never to abandon her to any evil thing even her own devises and he keeps his promise.  This is really and truly what love is.  Throughout the story Wesley holds true to his word and treasures it in his heart and never lets go of it, thus, proving his love to be true to Buttercup.  Princess Buttercup is a very empty character.  She does nothing and always requires saving yet Wesley loves her with all his heart and soul.  He loves her enough to stay alive through almost every hardship and even comes back from the grave for his love when killed by Prince Humperdink, Count Rugen and their albino.

Wesley is not written in with a discernible flaw.  This is vitally important because Wesley’s role in the story is to be a picture of love itself in his dealings with Buttercup.  The princess does not deserve him yet he promises to always come for her and keeps his nearly impossible vow.  That is love.  Undeserved sacrifice.  Such an element is that which is desired by all people and in creating a film that enshrines that theme it gives power to its flat characters.  The advantage of a story with all an all one dimensional cast is the young may enjoy and understand as may the old, the in between, the hurting, those looking for a laugh, those without any expectations at all and those looking for truth.  There is no secret message it is a story being told for everyone simply for the love of stories.  But the very nature of stories is to convey truth or the lack of it.  In the Princess Bride the entire drama echoes of another, older, more passionate story.  That of Christ and His church. The undying and undeserved love of Jesus for His church is found slowly seeping through the crack of the rough frames of the movie.

The Princess Bride is a great story and like all great stories Jesus Christ’s fingerprints are visible in the clay.  The hero, Wesley, is a mirrored shadow of Christ, a distant parallel, but still a parallel. Both were perfect men who loved deeply unto death.  Both were abandoned by their first love for another, Wesley for Prince Humperdink and Christ for false gods.  Both redeemed their loves by their death.  Both were considered “rogue agents” by the corrupted law of the land.  Both win in the end and bring fulfillment to the people around them.  Both redefined the common understanding of love.  When asked what the greatest commandment was Jesus replied “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.  And the second is like it.  You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”    The greatest commandment laid down by God himself is to love.  Jesus laid down his life, purchased righteousness and eternal peace for those he loved and came back from the grave.  Wesley laid down his life as the reward for coming after Buttercup and then came back to life through the endeavors of Miracle Max and purchased peace for himself, Buttercup, and those around him.  In tales and in real life the act of loving truly is absolutely difficult and often requires life sacrifice and a great deal of unpleasantness.

In the Princess Bride sentiment and wishful thinking prevail and the villain Count Rugen dies and the slimy prince is robbed of his bride and his dignity as the true lovers ride away into the sunset and kiss each other tenderly with a pure and beautiful kiss that “…leaves them all behind.” Thus ends the adventure in a way that leaves the expectant audience satisfied and grinning.  With all the tawdriness there lies a story of  what love really is underneath the gaudy exterior. Wesley leaves in the minds of the viewers Christ’s definition of true love.  The act of loving is an act of bleeding, an act of undeserved sacrifice. Wesley and Jesus teach that the reward of loving is not in the act itself but in glorifying the object loved.

Death November 8, 2012

Death stalks my heart.  His cold fingers grope my mind.  His dry, cracked laughter rattles the leaf skeletons outside of my window.  He whispers the names of my loved ones, the ones he has escorted into eternity.  He haunts my dreams, a madman laughing, practicing his art again and again and again.  I struggle to ignore his voice caressing my name, try to forget the chains of terror and despair he carefully locks around my hands, feet, throat and waist.  He dances around me, delving into my soul and eating away at the song of hope that lays there.  He is preparing me for his bloody sacrifice.

With the last few sweet notes of my song mixed with unveiled pain, I scream. It is a battle cry and the last shout of the desperate dying.  Then there is a sound, it is a lion’s roar and a crashing ocean, it is the sound of bagpipes, drums and the clash of battle fury, it is laughter.   Fire and light is there and a man with holes in his hands.  In a voice like thunder and a thousand cello strings He speaks to my torturer “SHE IS MINE”. Then he kisses me.  I am burning, burning, burning in light.  My chains transform into bands of gold adorning purple robes.  I scream again but now I sound like an eagle screeching its glorious fury to the sunrise. I am as glorious as the sun.  I look back at my captor, he is writhing, bound by his own chains in a corner of Hell, a decrepit old man with no teeth left to bite. My name is bound within the name of the man with holes in his hands. Death laughs at me no more.

Trouble in the City

Trouble in the City

Gabriel’s mother woke him up gently. It was still dark. It was raining. Gabriel rolled over and watched the drops playing tag down the smog stained windows of their small apartment. His mother turned him over again and kissed his forehead.
“It’s time to get up sweetie, can’t be late for school.” she said sweetly, then quietly left the room. Gabriel got up, brushed his teeth, and dressed. He quickly pulled his favorite red shirt over his sandy colored curls but had to try twice to get his jeans on the right way. He found clean white socks laid out on the chair next to his bed but opted for dirty ones with holes with the word “Superhero” printed on them. He tied his shoes and as a finishing touch tied on a black satin cape with the insignia of Batman stitched carefully onto it. Gabe glanced into the mirror and left the room. He found his mother in her room putting on makeup, trying to hide the dark bruises under her eyes.
“Momma, I’m ready.”
“Gabe honey, you can’t wear play clothes to school.” Amy said.
“Momma I’m not wearing play clothes, this is my uniform.” Gabe said simply, smiling. Amy looked at him with pity in her eyes that Gabriel didn’t understand and turned back to the mirror to finish her make up.
“Alright sweetheart, you wear your uniform.”
Together they rode down the elevator and his mother hailed a taxi to take them to the nearest Starbucks. While sipping his hot chocolate and munching a sandwich Gabriel looked around at all the other people munching and sipping in the shop. Something was wrong. Everything looked mean, hard, and sharp. The man behind the counter was looking at his mother, the woman just getting up to leave smiled at him, the little girl across the room blew him a kiss. It was wrong. Momma had to get out. Gabriel stood up and grasped his mother’s hand tightly, pulling on it. She bent down to listen to him.
“Momma, please, it’s time to go. Let’s leave right now.” he said.
“Gabe, I haven’t got my coffee yet. Be patient love.” she said.
“Momma, come now please, it’s not safe.” Amy looked down at Gabriel concern etched under the mask of makeup.
“Alright honey, we’ll go, just one second.”
Gabriel never let go of her hand. They walked down the street in the rain which now froze onto Gabe’s cape. It matched the fierce determined look in his eyes. Down the busy street, through traffic, into the heart of the city, Gabriel never let go of his mother’s hand. Gabriel peered into every dark corner and around every trash can and news stand looking for he knew not what. He only knew his job.
After walking blocks and blocks in the cold they came to Gabriel’s school. Gabe walked slower. Superheroes don’t belong in school. Momma wasn’t safe without a superhero.
“Momma can you come to school with me today?” Gabriel said.
“No Gabe, I have to go to work.”
“Is there a superhero there to watch out for you?” he asked.
“Gabe there is no need for a superhero at work. I’m right down the street, nothing will happen. I’ll come get you in just a few hours. Be a good boy and go to class.” she said hurriedly as she walked out the door.
Gabe stared at the door as it was closed behind his mother. It was wrong. He was being locked into a prison without hope of escape. Momma was gone without anyone to look out for her. Gabriel sat down in front of the door and cried hysterically.
Gabe felt arms around him. He looked up through his tears and saw Miss Kathy, the pretty first grade teacher.
“Gabriel, it’s time to go to class. Can you come and do that with me?” she asked, smiling.
“No Miss Kathy, Momma needs me. Superheroes don’t belong in school. There’s trouble in the city.” Gabriel said.
“Gabe, now listen here. Your mom needs to go to work and you need to go to school. That is how the world works. Your mom will be back in a few hours to pick you up. Now take off your cape and come to class.” Miss Kathy said sternly. Gabriel looked at her and got up slowly.
“Miss Kathy, this is my uniform.” he said. Then he walked to the math classroom without removing his cape and went in. Everything was wrong. Nothing was safe. His mother was in danger he was sure of it. He ran back out of the room and straight into Kathy.
“Miss Kathy, it’s not safe here. I need to leave.” he said, the tears starting again.
“Dear, it’s time to stop playing and go to class.” she said.
“You don’t understand! I need to go. Momma needs me.” Gabe said.
“Gabriel. Get in class or I will take you to the corner.” she said. Gabe stood where he was. Miss Kathy took him into the teacher’s lounge, sat him on a stool and faced him into the corner and left the room. He promptly got off the stool, left the room, and sat next to the door. When Kathy found him there she lost her patience.
“Gabriel your behavior is unacceptable. You are going to class, and you are going to behave yourself.” She picked him up, carried him into the room, and seated him in his seat without another word. Far from defeated, Gabriel sat at his desk and waited out the lesson and tried to escape at lunch. That was the last straw for Miss Kathy. She called his mother. When Amy arrived Kathy exploded.
“Your son has become the most disruptive student in the school. This is unacceptable. Just because your husband left you does not give you the right to let your son parade around as the superhero he clearly believes he is. He is too old. He needs a firm hand, Amy. I require that you apply a more strict home life.” Amy’s stare was cold and full of daggers. Her voice was flinty.
“Miss Kathy my son is not yours. Yes, my husband left me, I’d thank you to keep silent on the subject. The love of a son for his mother is nothing to be ashamed of. I apologize for the disruption in your school. We will not be returning to this establishment.” Amy said. She took Gabriel’s hand and left.
Gabriel clung to his mother’s hand and watched carefully for danger all the way home. There was trouble in the city. When they arrived at their apartment Amy collapsed on the couch and cried bitterly. Devastated, Gabe climbed onto the couch beside her and tried to ascertain her injury. When he could find none he went and got her a cup of water, and a box of tissues and his stuffed bear, dabbed at her running makeup and kissed her. She slowly stopped her crying and sighed.
“Gabe honey, you were a very naughty boy today.” she said.
“Momma you need me to protect you.” Gabe said. She gave up trying to explain. Amy got up and made dinner for them both and watched the news while Gabriel got ready for bed. He came out of his room still wearing his cape.
“Momma, can I take my cape off to sleep? Will you be alright till the morning?” he asked. Amy picked up her son and set him on her lap.
“Yes sweetheart, I will be alright.” Gabriel fell asleep on her chest exhausted.

Ballad of the sea May 4, 2012

There was a young man who left all for the sea.

Upon her back he longed to ride, making his fortune, proving his bravery.

On the morn he was sworn to embark

He kissed his sweetheart tenderly and asked her not to cry,

He promised her a wedding ring when cresting the waves his ship she did espy

When the ship left port she sailed proud, strong, and free.

All the sailors, officers and crew, stood silent and brave;

daring the fierce ocean to defy them

Believing in their man-of-war’s sovereign immutability

Manned by the willing sailors the ship fought bravely in war

Two long years she defended her home shores,

Ensuring her tranquility.

The sea watched the sailor boy and loved him as none ever could

The sea claims those she loves forever to her stilling depths.

She will never release her loved ones until all the stars have fallen from the sky.

Our sailor boy survived all gun wounds and deadly splinters from shattered hull.

Distinguished himself and forged for himself a name respected across her forbidding waves

He always claimed he was fighting for his sweetheart

He had a ring for her, he wad waited two long years to make of her his bride.

The sea was abysmally jealous and swore she would never let him lie

in any loving bosom save her dark depths

never ending, forever stretching wide.

When at last the sea was forced to let her brave mariner lad go to shore

he humbled himself on bended knee to the queen of his soul.

But alas! His ring was proceeded by another,

his sweetheart of old no longer his to claim.

He had fought in vain, pursuing the very queen of vanity.

Broken hearted and listless he returned into the cold back of the sea.

Her fierce arms tried to comfort him,

She picked him up in a terrible storm and held him to her icy breast.

Kissed him with her terrible lips and drowned him

Knowing only by stilling his heart could she give him rest.

As the listless sailor became one with the waves he knew…

That the sea had been his love since the beginning,

He left all for her and had become great in her hands,

Why should he leave her now?

So he closed his eyes and rested there in her arms, still and cold forever more.