What does your happiness look like?

The last couple weeks have been downright enlightening for me.

Let me back up even more. I have been struggling (again?) for a while now. Nothing new to someone who has way to much time on their hands to simply think. My current (constant?) dilemma is finding (creating?) a meaning for my life … or more accurately for life in general. It is by no means a new or original thought, but I firmly believe life has no specific meaning. Much of humanity cannot grasp or accept this thought, so we create explanations that give us comfort and ease the fear such randomness generates. We create cosmic scapegoats called gods. We assign polarity to everything and call it good vs evil, then make ourselves feel important by assuming we are on the “right” side of this faux polarity. And all too many of us let OTHERS decide what determines good vs evil in the first place, giving up our own capacity for self determination.

This type of thinking has resulted in the world we live in today. A world being shattered by divisiveness and fear, often in the name of a purpose assigned by SOMEONE ELSE. And too many of us don’t even know what it is we actually seek. What IS our purpose after all? Why are we even here? Many of us avoid the question altogether (at least on a conscious level). It is so much easier not to even ask. That guy over there has a compelling answer. I’ll just go with that one.

For a long time now it has been clear to me that the each and every one of us is nothing more than a minuscule collection of energy in the mysterious vastness we call the universe. On a cosmic level, we leave no discernible impact. Those choices we struggle with at any given moment really mean nothing in this immensity. We are nothing but a infinitesimal spark in an ongoing infinite energetic explosion. In other words, our lives really have no meaning. At least a meaning we are capable of understanding.

I am not preaching nihilism here. In fact it is quite the opposite. Since to me there is no set meaning, it is evidently up to each of us to make our own. We each need to decide what we will choose to value, and how we can bring that value to life in a way that allows us to embrace our existence.

This has been my struggle. I lost track of what I value. I have simply been going through the motions, wondering why I bother at all. It all seemed so pointless that I really just craved oblivion. I am not saying I sought death. Just wanted off the ride. It was fun while it lasted, but I am done with it now. This lack of inertia had me not getting enough sleep and simply not really taking care of myself. Then memorial day weekend came and I sought further escape. Let it all go. Have some meaningless fun and just enjoy. That food was good. The couple of beers hit just right. That hit was a deep one. yes it will all go away …

And suddenly I faced an epiphany driven choice …

I (WE) am the creator of my own reality. This is a simple fact. If I (WE) do not like the current reality, just change it. Also a simple fact. So my choice was do I just give up altogether and fade away? Or come back to the reality I (WE) choose. I chose to come back …

… and ended up in the emergency room. Which opened the door for a new journey of self … discovery? … no … CREATION. Ultimately leading to a profound question that stopped me in my tracks for I never placed it before myself in exactly this way.

What does your happiness look like?

At first I really did not know how to answer. I looked deep, and said this:

I don’t know the answer to that question. Happiness is an ever flowing river to me. Refreshing, but never the same twice.
It is not a fixed thing. that is why I can’t answer the question. Many different situations might result in me feeling “happy” and every one of them could be a different experience generating different feelings within me. There is no single definition.
Happiness is this mystical being that everyone seems to think they seek, when it is simply there to be recognized. If you insist on a definition, it is the absence of negative feelings. That’s the best I can do.

Me

For some their search is for happiness, not meaning (if they have a search at all). To me happiness is just part of the whole. We are defined by a spectrum of emotions. I view it as a sphere of emotional energy. Each emotions just represents an area on the surface; each is countered by its opposite on the other side. If we seek only one part of the sphere, we are cheating ourselves of completion. So I do not seek happiness. I seek the center. Once I can find that and hold there, I will truly encounter the me that I am. And I will be complete.

If you are still here, thanks for staying. I know this was a long one. I have shared a little of MY truth. Now I give you an opportunity to explore your own, and maybe even get a little closer to it. So tell me ….

WHAT DOES YOUR HAPPINESS LOOK LIKE?

The post What does your happiness look like? first appeared on thrumyeyes.

The answer has always eluded me.

Am I the me others perceive based on their own experiences and expectations?

But I am also other.

Step back; forget what was; let go of expectation.

Be the observer.

Ask again.

Who am I?

I caught myself smiling for no reason this morning.

With a blinding flash it dawned on me that I have been asking the wrong question.

I should be asking, “Who do you want to be?”

I caught myself smiling for no reason this morning.

Him. I want to be him.

The post I caught myself smiling for no reason this morning first appeared on thrumyeyes.

momentous

mō-mĕn′təs

adjective

Of utmost importance; of outstanding significance or consequence.

From The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, 5th Edition

A few days ago my morning started as it always does. I woke up because for various reasons my body decided it was time to wake up. On this particular morning my reaction to waking up was one of pleasant expectation. It varies depending on the quality of my sleep, the nature of my dreams, and the weather. The mood being appropriate, I set out doing the morning rituals with energy (not always the case). These rituals include getting my self started on the day’s journey and attending to Her Most Royal and Beloved Majesty, Brown Dog. Of course she has her own rituals as well. A quick(?) timeline of the morning:

• Wake up
• My ‘Behind closed doors’ stuff
• Bribe Brown Dog to take the medication she is currently taking
• Turn on the computer, and make sure all the tools I am likely to use during the day are current and functioning
• Stimulate my mind a bit (translation … play some games)
• Notice Her Majesty is demanding my attention, meaning it is time to give her a Dental Chew, one of the collection of goodies that qualify as Doggy Crack
• Enjoy watching the dance of pure pleasure Brown Dog performs when I give her said yummy
• Go back to what I was doing
• Notice Her Majesty is demanding my attention, meaning it is time to go out on the deck with Brown Dog so we can “meditate” together

And so the post actually begins …

I have seen the view to the left countless times. I have take hundreds of photos of that view …so many that I thought there was no point in taking any more.

EPIPHANY

Stillness does not exist. Every aspect of EVERYTHING is in constant motion. On a macrocosmic scale everything is constantly moving, even if from a local perspective it does not seem so. On a microcosmic scale the ‘stuff’ that everything is made of is always in motion. Stillness does not exist.

What follows from this is that we can never view something the exact same way twice. Thus a new photo would be a NEW photo. Our perceptions might not agree. And so we limit ourselves.

PERSONAL STAGNATION IS A STATE OF MIND

If everything seems stale and repetitive, that is because we choose to perceive it as so. But it can’t be. So we need to change our perception. How? Embrace the moment. I’ve said it before. The past is past, unalterable. The future is a shaping idea, not realized until its moment comes. THIS moment is the only real truth.

All of this hit me in a glorious moment of release. Suddenly all that went before was gone from my awareness, and the yet to be was … well … yet to be. I simply breathed in THIS moment, and it was pure bliss. Then I took out my phone/camera/whatever the hell it is and took a few NEW (new New nEw neW) pictures. The two above and a couple of Brown Dog’s

MOMENTOUS DECISION

Do I lie down?

Yes. I do.

The only thing that creates equivalence between THIS moment and THAT moment is that we will be inevitably faced with a choice. The choice may be to simply be or not. Or maybe it will be more involved than that. Every choice we make determines the qualities of the next moment. This ultimately means that

EPIPHANY GROWS

EVERY choice we make is the most important decision of the moment. In other words, it is a MOMENTOUS decision in the purist sense of the word. The very NEXT moment is determined by what happens in THIS moment. This is a basic fact of existence ( at least if we have a linear view of reality. It could be that all these moments happen simultaneously, but that does not really change what I am saying here).

SIMPLIFY

Embrace THIS moment. Make MOMENTOUS decisions. Find the inherent peace and joy of doing so.

Live a momentous life.

The post A momentous life first appeared on thrumyeyes.

Perhaps I have it backwards, I am living the life I should,
to allow all these other mes to be the mes they would.

Perhaps my dreams are alternate mes, the mes of other choices;
the dreams piercing the veil that separates me from my other voices.

Does the powerless me, the purposeless me, the me that has grown resigned,
allow the Freedom Fighter me to pursue the future that I seek to find?

Or maybe the sad me, the confused me, the me that despairs for humanity,
allows the vibrant, optimistic me help others return to sanity?

Are there many mes in a multiverse greatly varied and wide,
with me the counterbalance here on the other side?

And the biggest question I have of the mes I so often see,
“Do the rest of you, my other selves, also dream of me?”

The post Alternity first appeared on thrumyeyes.

In the beginning of the April A to Z challenge, I shared one of my first digital creations (The Treehouse). Since then, I have learned much more about this cool art form and the program I am using to pursue it. As much as I have improved so far, I have barely scratched the surface of what CAN be done. The only thing limiting me in creating more and more in this manner are the specs of the tools I am using. As I get more advanced, I start pushing the limits of my computer. So I either need to shift my creative goals, or upgrade my system (both which have their difficulties). But for now I will continue on THIS creative path. Below is a re-imaged version of my Treehouse. It is more realistic and closer to what I originally imagined. I am proud of the original version, which has its own beauty, but it is interesting comparing the two. The first two images are old vs new. The bottom image is a higher resolution version of the new project as I figured out how to get the most out of my computer.[/vc_column_text][vc_empty_space][vc_row_inner][vc_column_inner width=”1/12″][/vc_column_inner][vc_column_inner width=”5/6″][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”6215,6423″ img_size=”medium”][/vc_column_inner][vc_column_inner width=”1/12″][/vc_column_inner][/vc_row_inner][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image=”6422″ img_size=”full” alignment=”center”][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]I am far from done with this particular project. Even as I am sharing these images, I see ways I can improve what I have already done. I also have some ideas of additions that might add to a final image. I will share again as I add and change … probably more than once.  But for now, enjoy the products of my imagination![/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

The post Learning new skills first appeared on thrumyeyes.

Change is essential to our perception of reality.

I have never expressed the idea in quite that way, but this is a concept I often share. Change provides the contrast that allows us to differentiate between now and then. It provides a template for our understanding of improvement (or its lack). Without change, we cannot truly learn … or even understand … ANYTHING, simply because the very act of learning and understanding IS change. Change is inherent in the very definitions of time; life; existence … basically all the core concepts that define reality.

Without change, everything simply stops.

Recently, I have found myself exploring both extremes I mentioned above. I have both been denying much that is changing around me; WITHIN me. I have also been fighting against it. Both are not norms for me, but that in itself is one of the changes I face. Where once I thrived on frequent change, I now see more clearly the value of a certain level of constancy as well. I look back at my life, much of it shared by means of my creative endeavors, and I both see how much I have changed, and how much I have NOT. The very world around me has drastically changed even as it remains the same. Part of that is the essence of change itself, part of that is my perceptions of the world change as I do. Thus I become more and more human, yet never felt so distant from the rest of humanity.

And only I can change ANY of that.

Taking part in the challenge this year has reminded me of all that I have just rambled on about. I needed to remember that change is inevitable. I also needed the reminder that I have very much input in what changes FOR ME, and what does not. For that matter, I am the ONLY one who can choose those changes for myself. By abdicating from life, I am giving away this fundamental right and essentially casting myself adrift in the flow of time. In many ways, I am the same me I was as a child … I just understand THAT me so much better now. In other ways, I have grown so far beyond that child that I no longer recognize him in me. This is neither right nor wrong … just the way things are. I recognize the “flaws” in me that have shaped my path through life. More importantly, I recognize that they are only “flaws” if I choose to see them as flaws. I am, and always will be, me and the only change that I require of myself it to let myself be the best me I can be.

So the very short answer to the questions I posed: I would not change anything. I would continue to be me, which itself is a constantly changing concept, and allow me to take me where I will go. For no matter how much we might change, we are still we. It is like the flow of water in a river. The water is ever changing, but the river remains a river. And even if that river dries up to be a mere creek, or disappears entirely, the river that was is still the river that was. I will be the me that is, even as I am still the me that was. I will continue to create because being a creator is how I have defined myself. Whether or not the rest of the universe even notices my contribution is immaterial, because I was, I am, and I will be for a bit longer, and this simple reality is one that is immune to change.

I have no idea what to expect from the future. I cannot bemoan the loss of the past, because it is not lost. I can only continue to create my present. The rest will fall in place on its own.

The above image is a digital expression of what I have just written. It is my own creation, emulating the wonder that is inherent in nature. It is far from perfect, yet still has its own beauty. The me that was has become the me that is through learning the skills necessary to make this image, and I will continue to learn and change into the me that will be (with future creation). The image well portrays changelessly changing, in the form of flowing water. Thus I change as I remain the same

The post Reflections and (in?) a bit of digital art … first appeared on thrumyeyes.

My newest creation is the below animation, inspired by a clever little 3D puzzle my sister bought me in Thailand. Above is the actual puzzle, along side my digital rendition of it. I have much to learn in this new art form I am dabbling in (and always will), but I seem to be doing a fair job with my current skill level.

The post Pull yourself together first appeared on thrumyeyes.

Simon had always been a curious fellow. That is to say, Simon had always been a fellow with a lot of curiosity. Character-wise, he was no more curious than the NEXT fellow. Curiosity had shaped his life from day one. He had been born so quickly it was as if he had rushed out of the womb on his own to see what the outside world had to offer. His constant curiosity was well matched with a quick brain, so that he was always learning something new and, hopefully, USEFUL. Unfortunately, his curiosity also got him into a lot of trouble. It was a good thing that he was NOT a cat, for otherwise he would have lived a short (if curiosity filled) life. Simon had more than his fair share of luck. His curiosity had yet to cause him any serious harm.

Because of this innate need to learn new things, Simon never really managed to carve a specific place in the world for himself. He always wanted to know how things worked; who made them; why they were made … suffice to say he had a lot of questions about everything. As a result he had quite a few skill sets, without being a master at any. He was a good person to have around if one wanted a capable helping hand, but if one was looking for a committed soul to become their protegé and inherit their life’s work … it was best to look elsewhere. Thus Simon survived by being willing to help when others may not have been, or by being crazy … er … um … curious enough to take on projects that more cautious people might avoid. Because his curiosity would just as likely inspire Simon to take something apart as to try using it untrained, he usually had a few handy pocket tools. He felt like part of himself was missing when he DIDN’T have a way of tinkering with something. This tinkering also meant he was quite good at fixing things … when he wasn’t breaking them. He was the very definition of a Jack of all Trades, or maybe a Simon of all Trades would be more appropriate.

The town Simon lived in was rather small. This fact, combined with his nature, pretty much ensured that not only did Simon know everybody in town … they all knew him as well. If something unusual or unpleasant needed to be done, the first question on anyone’s lips was, “Where’s Simon?” It was not so much that they took advantage of him; he was after all a rather likable fellow. But when you have someone so willing to do just about anything … it was a kindness to LET him. If he got into trouble, the townsfolk would gladly help him out of it (even if some a bit reluctantly). No they knew Simon’s worth. They just didn’t want it to go to waste.

There came one afternoon when the generally peaceful town had an occurrence. Anyone outside was surprised by a sudden streak of fire that started high up in the sky and ended somewhere over there. Anyone inside was soon outside when they heard the sudden ear hurting clap of thunder, followed by a ground rattling explosive thud. Those recently inside were told by those already outside that the culprit was somewhere over there. Everyone headed to the center of town, sure that an explanation would be waiting. The town square soon filled with a multitude of excited voices (with attached bodies), one clear question oft-repeated: “Where’s Simon?” The town elders, just as disturbed as the rest of the inhabitants, soon had everyone at least more quietly excited. They assured the restless townsfolk that the mysterious occurrence would soon be investigated. By the way, does anyone know where Simon is?

Simon was already well on his way to somewhere over there. The townsfolk realized the likelihood of this once their reason overcame their initial mental disturbance. The soon chosen investigation squad fully expected to find Simon already there (once they figured out where there was), ready with some answers. They were quite willing to give him the time to find those answers, if their lack of hurry in setting off was any indication. Meanwhile Simon was so excited by this unusual occurrence that he rushed out of his house without any of his usual pocket tools, a fact that he did not even notice until he was already in sight of the whatever he was in sight of.

With caution, Simon approached the point where the streak of flame had not doubt landed. His version of caution was to anyone else a leisurely stroll. In the rolling hills up ahead he could see a billowing cloud of dust, centered on a ring of mild destruction. Getting closer, he could see a small crater had been carved out of the hillside, with a circle of felled trees and upturned bushes cleared around it. Considering how fast the thing had come down, it was not very big, or the destruction would probably have been much worse. Simon was soon at the crater. There was a glow in the center of the crater, not quite identifiable as yet. Simon could not get too close at first, as he realized that the glow was from the heat of passage of the unidentified object. He would have to let it cool before he could truly get a look. It was as he waited for the heat to subside that he realized that he had forgotten his collection of useful items. The glowing thing started to take a more identifiable form, and the heat it generated became bearable fairly quickly. Simon got closer, and his curiosity was peaked even more (if that was possible) upon seeing, sitting there in the center of the crater against all odds, what looked like a jewelry box. He reached for it, his unusual luck ensuring that it was already cool enough to touch, and found that it was solid but not too heavy. It was also very clearly locked.

Simon had just the tool needed to open such a lock. It was sitting right where he left it, back in his home. Curiosity winning over patience (normal for Simon) he opted to find something here to open the box, instead of having to go all the way back home. The very thought of doing this seemed to cause the box in his hand to start warming up again. Suddenly there was a buzz, a pop, and a flash, followed by a stark odor. Simon was so startled by this that he dropped the box. He laughed at himself when he worried that he had damaged the box, considering it had survived its dramatic arrival seemingly unscathed. Picking the box up again, he noticed a glitter on the ground not too far from where he had dropped it. Bending closer, he saw just just what he needed to open the box. Not letting his curiosity of how that happened to be overcome his curiosity about the box itself, he picked up the screwdriver and attempted to jimmy the lock with it. Try as he might, he could not get the lock to budge. The screwdriver was just not the right shape. As if responding to his thought, the box warmed, buzzed, popped and flashed again. Less startled this time, Simon continued to hold the box. He dropped it one more time when something landed on his foot. Picking up both the box and the something, Simon found another screwdriver, this one possibly the right shape to manipulate the keyhole. Again staving off the whats, wheres, and whys that wanted his attention, Simon tried the new screwdriver. With a satisfying click, the lock opened.

Just as Simon was about to open the box, words appeared on the cover. They said, “Insert payment here,” with an arrow appearing, pointing at a hole that was not there before. Simon had left any money he had right there next to the useful tools, at home. Suddenly inspired, he grabbed the pendant he had around his neck. It had been payment for a favor he had done a while back. While he liked it enough to wear it on occasion, Simon was not so attached as to fear losing it. Somehow, it fit right in the hole that had appeared. The hole (and the words) disappeared. With a buzzing, popping, smelly flash, the box opened.

Before he could get a look inside, Simon heard someone calling his name. The investigation squad sent by the town had finally arrived. Carefully setting the box down, Simon went to meet them. No doubt they wanted to know what he had discovered. At least this time, their curiosity must match Simon’s!

TO BE CONTINUED (AGAIN MAYBE) …

The post Continued in curiosity first appeared on thrumyeyes.

In the Muller household, this special storage area took the form of a desk drawer. The desk was a basic desk, a simple wood top placed on two legs on the one side, and a three drawer file cabinet on the other. When the desk was purchased, it was meant to be a place to help keep life a little more organized, as well as a place to sit and do useful tasks. As with many simple plans, its uses never quite manifested as hoped. The bottom drawer, larger than the other two, did contain files, though mostly of things that no longer needed to be kept. The middle drawer also had a bit of organization, containing items that might be useful to a functional desk, essentially office supplies. The top drawer was initially empty, set aside for some unknown important purpose. Then a battery that would be needed later was temporarily placed in the drawer, followed by a bit of string, then a cute little stone that could be used in an art project … before they knew it the drawer had become THAT place … the gathering place of all that “COULD be used if we only knew how.” The Mullers referred to it as the Junk Drawer, or simply The Drawer.

As with many such storage places, this drawer seemed to hold more than it was physically possible to hold. No matter how much was placed in it … there always appeared to be room for more. Unsure where to put something? Toss it in The Drawer. Unable to find something? “Did you look in The Drawer?” Now there were certain items in The Drawer that ended up being used fairly often, so for them The Drawer was where they SHOULD be, and chaos reigned if they weren’t there when needed. The Drawer was the ultimate solution to all problems, and the final answer for all unanswerable questions. It was The Drawer.

There came one afternoon when Mrs. Muller had need of a screwdriver. She called to her husband, who was sitting at the desk, to retrieve the requested item from The Drawer. Mr. Muller, after verifying if she wanted a phillips or a flathead (both being in The Drawer), happily obliged. The screwdriver quickly did its screwdriverly duties, and Mr. Muller just as happily returned it to its proper home before continuing his own activities at the desk. He did notice an odd buzzing followed by a quick pop right after he shut The Drawer on the screwdriver, but focused on his own project, the odd noise and its accompanying ozone smell barely registered. It was not until a few moments later, when Mrs. Muller realized that she was not quite done with the screwdriver, that Mr. Muller noticed something was amiss.

Mr Muller opened The Drawer to grab the required screwdriver, this time without really looking since he knew right where he put it. He was a little surprised when his hand did not find the expected object. Thinking he needed to pay more attention, Mr. Muller focused on the task at hand (so to speak) and looked, certain that he just hadn’t put it back right where he thought he did. Oddly, the screwdriver was not there. The other screwdriver was there, as well as many items he recognized from his recent search through The Drawer, but the screwdriver that he had just put there was simply … not there. Laughing at his own absentmindedness, Mr Muller looked at the floor, now certain that he had missed The Drawer completely, and dropped his target on the floor. No doubt that would explain the odd noise he vaguely remembered hearing.

The screwdriver persisted in its absence.

Sure that they both needed their memories checked, Mr. Muller suggested to Mrs. Muller that she still had the screwdriver. She, of course, denied this, having very definitely returned the screwdriver to Mr. Muller’s hand to be placed back where it belonged. Mrs. Muller like things to be where they belonged. Words were exchanged, as each playfully accused the other of losing their minds. Mrs. Muller, uncertain why her husband was playing this little game, came to retrieve the screwdriver herself. Unsurprisingly, she could not find it either. Still convinced Mr. Muller was toying with her, she insisted that he supply her with the recalcitrant object. Getting a little annoyed himself, he slightly heatedly insisted that he did not have it. More words were exchanged, this time more strained. This was such an unusual occurrence that it brought the younger Mullers to the scene.

The eldest Muller child, a practical girl, suggested that maybe they should retrace their steps, and surely the missing screwdriver would be found. Agreeing that this was a sensible plan, Mr. Muller opened the drawer, grabbed the remaining screwdriver, and they all proceeded to the other room, where Mrs. Muller recreated her mastery of screwdrivership, and then handed the tool back to Mr. Muller for return to The Drawer, just as she had previously done. They all returned to the desk, where Mr. Muller again opened The Drawer, and replaced the second screwdriver, just as HE had previously done. This time, the buzz-pop was noticeable by everyone, and a little flash was added to the sudden ozone smell. Looking at each other hesitantly, they all huddled together as they opened The Drawer one more time.

The second screwdriver was now gone as well.

Quickly shutting The Drawer, the all looked at each other, no one knowing what to say. As they exchanged glances, there was another buzz pop. Coming to a silent agreement, they again huddled together and this time very slowly opened The Drawer. The screwdrivers stubbornly refused to appear. However, now there was a new item in the drawer, an item that none of the Mullers had ever seen before. It was a pendant; the kind of pendant one might pick up at a craft fair, pretty, obviously hand made, but not necessarily a work of art. Once again in silent agreement, The Drawer was abruptly closed, and the mass of Mullers scrambled to another room to discuss these strange happenings.

The Muller’s life would never be the same.

TO BE CONTINUED (MAYBE) …

The post Devious Drawer first appeared on thrumyeyes.

To think just a few months back he wasn’t sure where his next meal would come from, or even where he could safely sleep. He was just another of a growing collection of street waifs, a product of ongoing war in a society driven by greed and selfishness. He had little memory of having parents … just vague images of faces and a sense of unconditional love. Such memories were hidden deep in his core, kept safe from the harsh reality of being an unwanted child in a city that already had too many. And like so many others with similar stories, he learned to survive by being quick, smart, and basically unseen. He had a sharp eye, both for danger to himself and targets for acquisition, and a skill at getting out of scrapes that had people believing he could fly. That is how he had earned is nickname, and since he remembered no other it stuck. His fascination with heights only added to the illusion of a boy who could fly. The day he had picked a certain older gentleman as the target for supplying his next meal changed Hawk’s life in a way he could never imagine. Fate or not, that choice directly lead to this moment.

His attempt at relieving the gentleman of the unnecessary weight of so many coins failed utterly, but instead of seeing Hawk punished, the man had taken him home. Hawk was never clear what made Master Jerome choose to make Hawk his apprentice. It may have been pity, or maybe the Master just saw something within Hawk that Hawk didn’t even see in himself. Whatever the reason, Hawk found himself not only with a steady supply of food and shelter, but starting to learn skills that many believe were not even real; matters of legend. Most did not realize it, thinking he was just a man of wisdom with an undisclosed source of wealth, but Master Jerome, was , in fact, a mage. And he seemed to think that Hawk had the makings to become one as well.

Hawk had only been with the mage for a short time before it became apparent that he did have a knack for magic. He couldn’t learn it fast enough, a constant annoyance to Master Jerome, who insisted that his knowledge needed to be doled out slowly, for both Hawk’s safety and to ensure Hawk was not a threat to others. Of course, Hawk, being a self-reliant teen, knew better, and was constantly sneaking peeks where his eyes did not belong. So far there had been no major issues, other than a few scorched wall hangings and a scar or two that Hawk would not soon forget. He had not really considered trying anything THAT ambitious … until he came across a spell intended to make a man fly.

Reading it, Hawk had sensed a thrill within himself that he could not fully explain. The words of the spell seemed to trigger something inside, almost as if awakening a dormant instinct, that had Hawk pining for a chance to try the spell immediately. However, beyond being Master Jerome’s student, he was also obliged to help him with the tasks of living … tedious though some of them may be. Hawk had learned an immediate respect for the Master the moment he had caught Hawk attempting to pick his pocket, and it had only grown as he spent more time in the Master’s care. Hawk may push limits, but he really did not want to give Master Jerome any reason to be REALLY disappointed in him, so he mostly did as asked. Thus attempting a spell that Hawk shouldn’t even know existed was a matter of careful planning. The moment Master Jerome asked him to gather some of the more obscure herbs and plants needed for some of his labors was just the moment Hawk had been waiting for. It would take Hawk into the mountains for a couple of days … ALONE … just what he needed. Hawk had been so enthusiastic about the assignment it was a wonder that Master Jerome had not been suspicious.

So here Hawk was now, approaching the perfect spot for taking flight. He had worked hard to gather everything on the Master’s list quickly, so he had time to do what he truly desired. As he did his final approach to the cliff edge, the strong, brisk breeze only increased the urge to leap into the void. His need to fly was becoming a compulsion. Hawk couldn’t even understand why this was happening. It was as if he was two beings at once: a brave but often foolish boy, and his namesake; a lord of the air. This was an unnerving feeling, especially since he never had encountered such a division in himself before. He was somehow changing, and as scary as it was, it also felt right. Hawk had to use all of his will to stop from simply leaping off the cliff face before he had enacted the spell of flight. Strong though the desire to do this, some sense of sanity held him back. Barely able to focus as the strength of his desire grew, Hawk managed to get the spell performed as required, and unable to hold back any more … he jumped off into space.

For a sickening moment, Hawk simply fell. His stomach in his throat, it occurred to him that he had done the spell incorrectly, or worse yet … it was not a real spell. Panic plucked on the edges of his awareness, as the thought of a painful demise suddenly, and rather belatedly, became a reality. Just as he was sure that death was imminent, that bizarre instinct within seemed to mesh with the recurring words of the spell.

The panic was washed away, as well as the sickening feeling, replaced with an unsurpassed thrill of being alive. One moment Hawk was plummeting, the next he was flying. He suddenly knew exactly HOW to move in such a way that he could be one with the wind. He could almost see the wind itself, as it swirled around in amazing patterns. Again he had the feeling of being two. He was still Hawk the boy, he could see his own body, but he was also a bird of prey, wings spread wide as he began to soar through the skies. The land below inspired him with its beauty, seeing it now in a way that others could only imagine. Hawk suddenly had a sense that he was about to start a journey that had only been waiting for him to arrive. With a shout of glee (or was it a birdlike screech?), Hawk continued his flight.

Observing from his hiding place a short distance away, Master Jerome watched the boy’s aeronautic display of gymnastics. “And so it begins,” he thought to himself.

The post Flight first appeared on thrumyeyes.