But the lapwing came early this year

He heard the young couple discussing about iOS or Android was the best when it came to safety and App-availability, and he heard one say that SMS was coming out in favor of snap chat.

He saw the old lady with the walker and her crooked legs dragging her goods from the supermarket, and she should apparently bring it all home with the bus. Her thoughts could have been:

“I wonder if the mailman comes today?”

She probably can’t figure out electronic communication, so words like E-Post, Homebanking and Internet violates her, the arthritis plagues her all the time, and the laundry room is modernized. You can’t use coins more but use a card. She can’t really remember how to book a washing machine, or understand how to get it started. She misses her late husband and mutters:

“It will fortunately end some day.”

The world has outstripped her at high speed, as fast as you can send a text message. But her pace has not changed in the same direction, and her face is painted sad.

He also saw the little boy standing alone in the school shelter pulled up against the wall while he watched the others’ intense play. He had refused to pee in Lisa’s thermos Bottle, so now he could not attend. He was too different, and thought he was something. It hurt in his heart and stomach day and night. Perhaps he was thinking:

“I wish I had a little dog I could attach myself to.”

In nature’s secret workshop is worked around the clock. The seasons must be thoroughly prepared, that‘s how it is, and it makes every completed season realize that nothing lasts forever.

The lapwing does not think of other countries or yearns, but when the sundial beats springtime, it finds fast passport and tickets, because it must, and because it is how it is.

Meanwhile are screaming seagulls, behaving demanding and greedy. They want it all for themselves. They are not minded to share even slightly residues with each other. But that’s, as far as they know, how it is.

Star Perspectives

The stars, Josephine has on her sky, watching her thoughts and her feelings, even the ones she does not even know yet. If she is quiet and pay attention she will discover that they all smile at her, gently and lovingly sympathetic. If she smiles back in her quiet mind, they offer her new perspectives. And there are no limits.

She creates star pictures by drawing lines from star to star, but it’s actually a little carelessly, because it pushes the door slightly to what they whisper. And the clearer she perseives her constructed images, and the names she gives them, the more blurred is her hearing for their poetry.

Urania’s dress is so beautiful, but Josephine can only see it if she erases her lines out again and rebirth the stars without naming them. She should not create anything extra, because it’s already invented, otherwise she cuts them just down to her own size in her own mind, and this there is no future in.

Urania looking at the sky while Josephine is looking at a corner of Urania’s star embroidered dress. It is her starry right now. And Urania arranged the stars so that they can fine-tune Josephine’s mind-compass needle in again.

Dear Sisyphus

The gods laughed and cried
as a heavy stone fell straight from your heart.
Uphill, in the sweat of thy face,
but the stone rolls down immediately.
Bring it up again. But why?
Because it is down, because you believe so,
and because you recognize the Gods
and Godesses’ smile
behind the expressions in their faces,
and because you see
flowers blooming over and over.

A stone weighs again significant in your heart.
But sit down under the shady tree
overflowing with sweet, juicy fruits.
You are more than welcome.
The sweat runs into your eyes,
so you do not notice the opportunity.

The Smile

There is made much fun with Mona Lisa’s inscrutable smile, but I think I know what Leonardo was trying to tell with it, thought Leo and smiled slyly. He felt he had seen right, but could not directly claim that Leonardo’s intention was in full compliance with this experience.

It could also have been described with music, but such a composition, was Leo not able to perform. However, he would recognize the music if a composer described the same as Leonardo did, because it seemed to him that he understood the message.

Before this discovery saw he almost only division of the world in all sorts of different things: Other people, animals, streets, cars, trees, thoughts, feelings, cold, wind, summer weather, himself, lampposts, sky, sun, moon, stars, cans, furniture and the distances between it all, but in a magical and elongated second, smiled it all at once and revealed or suggested that it was in fact one disguise.

The suggestion was a Mona Lisa smile which consisted of all of the above, and everything else that was not mentioned. If you only saw these things as separate elements in space and time, you could not see the Mona Lisa’s smile, but a sudden and very gentle change of mind approach revealed everything in one unit which also included space and time, while everything also took out as before.

He wondered if it was possible to see it that way always, and thought that it was because it actually was real. One might maybe go further and achieve even a more wonderful way to realize the world on, but it might prove. Now it was, at first, to recall the Mona Lisa’s smile, straight through everything – as often as possible in regaining the state of mind which transported it… and nurture it, for a brief glimpse from reality’s tiara is much more valuable than constant light from illusion’s diamonds.

So it was maybe not so important whether it was what Leonardo had tried to tell, but Mona Lisa picture was a picturesque way to describe something without to spell out it further. Now would Leo go into the paint shop and buy the few colors that he was missing. Tubes with Royal Blue and Titanium White were used up, and those could he not do without.

There was soon full moon and maybe lunar face had shown something of this unfathomable too. He would reflect on it, and then it would turn out if he could capture it without anyone at the sight of the resulting picture would exclaim:

“Is this to be a human, a pizza, a full moon… or what?”

In a TV show on the Discovery Channel Leo had followed was revealed some researchers attempt to understand what made Leonardo’s colors radiating so special. The painters made their own colors at the time, and experimented with different recipes.

To the researchers’ surprise, was Leonardo’s colors without known pigments. It was not acceptable for colors without pigments gave no immediate sense.

Traveling Light

She looked around, and was very well pleased with what she saw, even though the surroundings were different from the ones she came from. Not that it did anything, because she felt comfortable here, and everything was as real as it used to be, but the thought of how far she was from the well known, her usual daily life, was staggering.

Why she was here, and how she had come here, she did not think about, oddly enough. The whole thing was probably too intrusive really to allow flights of fancy, but it was strange to think about how far away she was from home. She felt that she never got the chance to travel back because she had a crystal clear sense of a distance of light years. She knew she was in a different solar system, and distances as judged by light years, are not something you just are dealing with. It may also mean that the people she was used to be around with, was completely out of reach now.

It made her sad that she would never see her loved ones again, and she closed her eyes and thought about them. The next moment she was home again, as if she had not been away, but no one took any notice of her being back. As if they had not discovered that she had been away. It felt mysterious and very overwhelming, but what surprised her most was the amazing way she had traveled such impossible distances. It took only a fraction of a second to get from one solar system to another when traveling with the speed of thought.

This she had learned now, and she was happy with her experience. All ended well, for she remembered quite clearly the feeling of infinity, completely insurmountable, distance. But it was not something she had acquired the license to, for she knew not really how she could possibly do this again.

She had taken part in it… and in a way as if she partially had done it herself. But it was mostly something that had been “done.” Perhaps to play with her, to play her tricks or to teach her something. The history does not say that but the idea of traveling on vacation, for example, to Majorca by plane, bus and taxi, seemed to her right after so absurd and naive, that she found herself smiling.

And did you look at her, right at this moment, you might have suspected her to realize something special, of some mysterious nature… and this could make one a little unsure.

Star Dreams

All who were employees of the Firmament, had started at the bottom of the hierarchy with their vocational training, as tiny points of light, and if they would advance here, they should work for it.

It took courage, talent and hard work, not to mention time, to achieve stardom, but had one finally achieved it, almost everything one said and did, was seen as sparkles, and relatively fast growing salaries to astronomical heights.

One was further recorded in the star map, and was then exposed and linked in the galaxies. Was one, so to speak, discovered, beamed the career opportunities.

Unfortunately for some, they burned out earlier than expected. Often became their light brighter and brighter, too fast, and then they exploded, collapsed and turned into black holes.

Maybe they had forgotten the right hemisphere, and oversaw love, art, culture, philosophy, meditation, astrology, poetry and adventure, because the bright glow of the earth’s gold seemed to them more real than the beautiful, golden light and sounds from the singing stars. The stars who constantly inspired each other’s beautiful luster and together spread a bright rug across the firmament.

But many ended their career as small, beautiful shooting stars in the Milky Way, and this was honorable enough.

Weaving

The fairing you wear now was woven “yesterday”

I wonder if it not after all, is a little too small.

Is the body just thickened so the fairing now is a prison

or It could be that the pressure coming out of longing?

The next fairing fits better, now you have practised weaving also

the old ones are thrown out to the scrap

and maybe soon you can soar again.

Once the fairing is as it should be, is like you want it,

you can go to the elf-dance at midnight

with a garland of wild flowers in your hair

An elf's delicate hand frees you of the fairing.

Now, you can throw all ties from your shoulders

and receive "the elf-baptism"

while the full moon uses the forest lake as mirror.

Sundew, Butterwort and Ladyslipper

In this lush spot in the forest thrived flowers and plants of many species. The large, heavy boulder was almost overgrown, but not more than that one could see it was there. It had been there for a long time and was dry and bleached by the sun. But by putting hands on the stone deep down in the foliage, one could feel a refreshing moisture.

Down in the ground under the stone bubbled a spring that despite the weight of the stone found its way up, here and there, and it was the refreshing and perfectly clean water from the spring, which made the soil so fertile. And it held no breaks. Around the clock, even year round, it was active and the ground suffered from it, for it was a lot of pressure, the spring exerted from below, and a big pressure of the stone from above. The ground would wish that the stone was removed, so the spring could get free outlet.

Among the flowers one quickly noticed the orchids and the meat-eating flowers, sundew and butterwort, for they were all to classify as exotic, at least in this region. There were also poppies nearby and a few sunflowers. Among the vegetables were ferns most represented, but grass, nettles and many other species thrived too.

In one of the open sunflowers lay two elves with hands interlaced behind their heads. They lay beautiful, the sunflower was better than a box mattress, and it swayed gently as a well ‘brought up’ hammock. And by turning occasionally one avoided easy to get burned by the sun. The trees also took off for the sun, so only the best of the best reached the elves. For them, life couldn’t be better, because everything was as everything always should be.

But the ground under the stone panted at the constant pressure it was always exposed to and suddenly intercepted one elf vibrations of its longing for deliverance.

“Listen,” he said and pulled his hands out from under his head which he simultaneously lifted slightly. “Something has whispered to me that the ground needs help.” He sat up and looked around, inquiring listening. “The stone should be gone. It’s for sure. Why, I do not know yet, but I know it should be gone.”

“I have a certificate to bumblebee,” said the other elf. “Maybe we should try if we could tie a noose around the stone and then fly it out to the lake’s center and make a big splash there. I think the fish could benefit from it. Around such a stone will be many playgrounds, housing and hiding places.”

“It is both too large and too heavy for a bumblebee. No. I will send an elf-telepathy-sms to the Muses. They know so much about everything between heaven and earth. Clio is probably the one who knows who or what it takes to eliminate a large and heavy boulder.”

“Look, there’s a little girl with long hair over by the stone. She is doing something over it, and her hair almost hides it. Now she holds her hands up to her face, as if she’s crying. Let’s go and see what’s going on.”

The girl sat and wove a garland when they reached her. They could see she had been crying, although she looked happy and carefree. Her eyes sparkled as if the night’s brightest stars lived there and she smiled so lovely that every heart that saw it, had to tremble.

“Where is the boulder?” said one of the elves. There was no trace of it. Grass, ferns, sundews, butterworts, ladyslippers and orchids, grown where the stone had been and vertically, in water jets, jumped the most beautiful spring.

“What boulder? I do not see any boulder,” said the girl, smiling. “But drink of the holy spring here, so you can’t get sick for many, many years, and you can even heal others, if you lay your hands on the sick place.”

There came a calling, with overtones of silver bell sounds, and the girl got up, put the garland on her head and began to run toward a clearing in the woods.

“Wait,” shouted the elves, “can we meet again?”

While the girl ran, she shook her head, and it could sound as if she replied:

“No, no, Clio must home and write new tales.”

Adventurous mumbo-jumbo

“Fairies do not exist in reality,” said the elf and struck out with both hands. He sat on the beach and talked to himself, and it was going just fine.

“But I like the tales about them. Especially the good fairies are sometimes involved in wonderful stories, and I’ve also myself told stories with fairies.”

“Remember the tale of Sleeping Beauty. She was such a prettily child, and then she was conjured to sleep for a hundred years. Think of a hundred years. It is a sleep that will matter. I wonder if she then had become an old wrinkled lady.”

“I think not. But I do not know more than you.”

“I do not either.”

Now I just said that I prefer good fairies. In my view, the evil ones have no right to exist. I’m so sensitive and come easy to tears.”

“You are a soft elf, you. You have to take the rough with the smooth, otherwise there will be no colors on, and then you’re not for real adventures, but collect only cutout pictures.”

“Well, The Ugly Duckling, not to mention Hansel and Gretel, are unbearable. I will only read fairy tales, where the lovers are happy and get each other in the end. It fits to my imaginations, what adventures are concerned.”

“Yes, as I said: You are soft. Some do not understand that a real adventure is an analogy to reality and discard it as nonsense. But he who wrangles about what is real and what is not, gives me a headache. Are dry, dead leaves, as the wind whistles down the sidewalk on an autumn day, just ment to be removed as garbage, or is it the autumn goddess’ whispering secrets of life’s vicissitudes telling you why they are there?”

“I think it depends on whether you have a listening mind, or if you close your mouth, and ears for the adventurous babbling, so instead you can hear your own inner discussions.”

“If I come to think that a withered flower does not contain poetry, I will go to the Snow Queen’s kingdom and dance and play with the Northern Lights elves, till my soul gets its natural, healthy tan again.”

Adventures from the window sill

There are, to put it mildly, both good and less good adventures... or fairy tales. The less good, there is no need to waste time on, but the good ones deserve attention. The origins of them has always been there, and when some of them want to make good sense, they take wings on and land on the window sills, if they see that there is a well-prepared desk nearby inside. They know from experience that this is a possibility that an attentive mind will spot them and portray them properly.

Adventures are often sensitive, and if they are described too sloppy, they facilitate their wings and find other window sills looking for well-prepared desks.

An adventure, landed in a bright windowsill. Inside was a desk with pen and ink, lots of blank sheets, and an easel with tensioned canvas. It soon became aware that the radio played some strenuous music. The adventure had a good deal of musicality and wisdom in its backpack, and could clearly feel that this music was not well. For music that was in harmony with itself, remained always within the eternal second, but this music was trying to escape it. It sent desperate screams out in all directions to escape the 'now’ and tried to imagine that it succeded with that.

Now is ‘the now’ not so easy to escape from, but the unfortunate music thought it had succeeded it, and you could even sense it boasted it. But it was far from happy, and grasped not a node of it. It tried to find new and more advanced ways to have peace in its innermost tones. But it made no difference. The unsatisfactory murmuring held by, and even dexterous Octave Shift did not help.

Then you could argue that the music was not responsible for its discordant bursts and feelings, but that the composer had to vouch for them, and it probably sounds quite plausible. One might add that the conductor and the musicians' abilities had their roles to play too.

The adventure unfolded its wings and left the windowsill. For this music would disturb the poet's mind, and thus his ability to describe so good that it could recognize itself. It was probably one adventure-right to demand that.

The poet had seen it coming and fly again. He switched off rapidly on the radio, because now he wanted to describe, and if someone, or something, tried to obstruct, they were sent to their own sites where they could entertain each other with their temporal considerations. The only way they understood the eternal second on was if a clock had stopped, without any thought about it, and yet glanced at it periodically.

Now he would contact Maya's castle, which was completely outside contacts. The place where all the untold adventure, and ‘the now’ lived. Then he would paint a word picture in oil, a portrait that looked like the adventure. It should absolutely not be a caricature.

And from Maya's castle came an ethereal stream of adventurous analogies and metaphors, as well as reports without bluntly, and the doors to the past and future were closed gently so the adventures could freely express themselves. They picked a few flowers in the past's and in the future's gardens, and took away a little weed here and there.

But they cultivated them not longer.

Muses With Patent Stoppers

“I have tears in my eyes,” said Melpomene and pointed reportedly a finger against the root of her nose.

“Have noticed, dear Mel, your tears come easy now a days. In recent decades, your tears come more and more easy. But it is not uncommon, so enjoy just your self-pity,” said Thalia little casually.

“It’s not self-pity. It is compassion, organic empathy, and there is a world of difference between the two things,” snorted Melpomene.

“Ohhh, you have never read Wisdom Quotes? I have an app that quickly finds plenty of them, and they say inter alia that the world is your mirror image, so I think that if you feel so much for the suffering of others, you feel the same for yourself. And therefore it could as well be called self-pity.”

“Ha,” she added quickly, “perhaps you should have self-pity with the world and feel compassion for yourself?… Just joking!”

“Yes, for you everything is just fun and games, but when you bear a heavy stone in your heart, it is not easy to pretend that everything is just for fun. For it seems to me that everything not is that.”

“Sky and sea foam, so maybe we should ask Erato for advice. She always finds that everything has something to do with love, and once she gets started, she’s not going to stop. She says that love goes right through highs, lengths and breadths of everything, and therefore is the best answer to every question. For me, pure love and blessing is the same thing, but Erato has entrusted to me that she knows about a source of love extract that is so strong that it can be diluted a thousand times and still be effective. It rises diagonally up to the right of the Big Dipper. Should we try to find it and get you back on track, little Mel?”

“Oh, yes. We take all the bottles, we can carry, so we have something to share. We have a whole box of empty bottles with patent stoppers, and the love extract has hopefully not been patented yet.”

“No, it is not. If you patent it, goes the glory of St. Gertrud, and so there is only a little insipid sentimentality back. Now let’s find the bottles and get going.

When big is good and bigger is better

Many fusions probably occurs with the above thoughts in mind, and this is also going to happen on a galactic level. The boards of the two already large companies, Andromeda and the Milky Way have decided to merge. None of the galaxies have issued press releases yet, but our employee in space, Hubble, has been able to reveal the plans.

It will not happen tomorrow or next week, but first after approx. 4 billion years, and implementation is expected to take another few billion years.

The merger do not seem to cost jobs, because all the involved stars will slide in between each other in good order. There is ample space or spaces, but some minor rearrangements will maybe occur.

So we must wait and see whether the merger lead to the development of new products, new circumstances or ideas so that all shareholders can be happy and satisfied.

Soft shadows

Night’s darkness beckons the stars on stage, and the moon sprays gentle shadows behind all who are looking at her.

Time is thoughts, and in the meantime, we ignore that we are role models in our own role-plays that lets theater curtains up around the clock to perform many of Thalias and Melpomenes, often surreal, comical or poignant pieces as neither actors or audience really comprehend. For they are as subtle as a remembrance of summer flower scents, and this “something” as was, and perhaps still is in the air.

They smile seductive, behind the ethereal, silky veils they wear, to hide the fact that they themselves are woven from the very same silk, as are spun from the rays of galactic sonatas and stellar secret whisper. They see our mental images, but allow us anyway boldly to tear their veils away.

They are and will be, however, forever untouched by human hands, but are only a thought away.

The river Styx

After having rowed across this river, the memory is erased. Basically, on more areas, you have to start over.

Figuratively speaking, you might say that almost everything is trashed, the trash is emptied, and the hardware is destroyed or transformed and recycled. It can still be found on the Special Internet but not just like that, and this is probably also appropriate. For the new hard drive can’t contain it all - at once.

However, This Internet can.

Shorthand notes from the back seat

“As far as I understand,” he said while he quickly clutch out with his foot, pulled the horizontal shift lever back and gave it the decisive turn and push that was needed to shift gears, “is the historical Jesus, the only prophet which does not have skeletons in the closet, at least among the so-called prophets, I remember having heard of so far.”

He stretched out his right arm to its full height, turning the palm forward right to feel the pressure from the warm wind that sped over their heads.

“It is true, but now we know not if Jesus lived, or if it’s just a fairy tale, but if he was here, he seems to me to have been awesome.”

“Agree. Some of the others recruited followers in different, quirky ways. Some ways are both embarrassing and threatening. And many beautiful words from profound poets, are woven into the postulates to get the message easier to digest.”

“It does happen so ago that the new generations are growing up with these religions, and so get they a likely glow and many think it is the way it is or should be. They do not feel it could be different. And many are brought up that it is sinful to ask questions, that it is sinful to search yourself. Many got their spiritual future destroyed by fear and horror of the threat of eternal fire of hell, their parents and teachers has carried and passed over from their parents and teachers. It is shameful and transfers easily to a kind of schizophrenia. There are also some people who are naturally seeking, but have been brainwashed into thinking that they have to be part of some sect to be really searchers and thereby prevent eternal punishment.”

“In fact, feeling people often tend to listen inwards and consider this as something natural, but also as something private that, in itself, is no one else’s business. Some spend time to pick up the religion that they think fits best because they believe a religion is necessary, and not only a compass. They simply accept the idea that a religion has some rules that must be followed, even if they feel wrong, which is able to trigger budding insanity. Hey, hey, hey, run properly and slow down a little before you turn. I get fucking seasick on this rocking horse. Well, phew… in one sense, the religion is the spiritual counterpart to the more mundane, or should we say, temporal, politics.”

“So there are statements made by some religions representatives, suggesting the existence of Christ envy among those who do not have Christ as the main character. Christ envy and contempt of Christ. Some people discard Christianity because of the primitive misunderstanding of what Christians call the Trinity. Will you pat the window up? No, just give the tab a little turns, and then flip it up. Symbolic confusion. Like figuring the Garden of Eden as a real garden, with so and so many different plants and hedge trimming at appropriate intervals.”

“There arising wars when some fools are mortal enemies because of different views, for example, how many varieties of fruit trees that were or which person is related to whom and exactly how. Christ contempt occurs when you attach god human characteristics, such vindictiveness. But Christ vanquished not his enemies, and he had no idea of an earthly throne, yes, and of course not of a royal crown either. It was a crown of thorns instead. His CV remained quite untarnished. He had shown a completely different agenda. Now I can see the sign where we turn left. Do you not remember, John said it was there, we had to turn if we would reach our goal? So it goes by the book.”

Sunset

I will approach to the horizon, and soon I’m away. Then “Off” has taken me. Before I get totally absorbed in the abyss, I make myself extra effort, so you don’t forget me and lose heart.

Look at me, enjoy my beautiful rays. And I’ll be back… I will be reborn. If you are standing exactly where you stand now my rebirth will come behind on you. Then you must repent if you want to see me, and I will then enlighten you, warm you and caress your face.

Yet for quite a while after I am gone, my glow will stay with you so you can remember me for something good. I know your memory is short but if you call on me, I will come again. This time of year you should probably call on me in a 8-10 hours. If you not believe in me and therefore fail to call on me, I will come anyway. Maybe you can not see me directly when I arrive, the clouds love to play hide and also sometimes they just teases.

But I’m there. In a way, I am above everything, at least above all the things you can see. Whether I am directly visible or not, I’m there after I pushed the night into the abyss. Sometimes I have to step on the tip of its fingers, to get it to let go. That may sound a little harsh and cynical, but I’m just doing my job. It is in my job description, and I do it for you.

The sun. ;)