The early morning activities on Mr.Guthrie’s farm sounded like an orchestra five minutes before a large performance, un-synchronized and full of different tones and expressions. The mud covered cows groaned as Casper the Jack Russell chased them into the milking parlor, accompanied by the clonking of their hooves on the slippery manure filled concrete floor. A few words were uttered by the farmer that only Casper could understand as he partnered with old man Guthrie to try and achieve some sort of order.
Emily and Pamela were half way through their two week stay as part of a work training program for their studies. On leave from the nearby agricultural collage they had been given this opportunity to experience life on a real working dairy farm.. The two friends had learned a lot so far and especially about how not to stand behind a cow when it raises its tail. They liked Mr.Guthrie but they grew impatient of his plodding along and country-like ways. Neither of them could understand how he could keep the farm running by himself but he had promised his late wife that he would never give up and that had become his strength in his later years. Emily’s wellington boots had a hole in the right foot and she had grown frustrated with a soaking sock within the first few minutes of her daily routine. She was in need of a change, even a brief walk through the nearby fields would be a welcome break for her as she thought of ways of avoiding the daily task of scraping up the fresh steaming stinking manure.
After giving her excuse of a headache and needed to go to the local store for tablets, she quickly made her exit through the five bar gate that swung backwards and forwards as old man Guthrie had not got round to fixing it yet, three years after the hinge had fallen off.
Emily was inquisitive in some areas and fearful in others. As a young child, her fear of spiders prevented her from climbing a tree. Every time she saw one she would remember how she panicked as she almost grabbed one at the beginning of her climb and therefore had never got over the fear. Her reason for climbing was to see the wonderful view that was only visible from its branches high above, a view that her elder brother had dared her to see.
The sound of Casper’s barking disappeared into the distance as Emily made her way down the lane that led to the fields where the crows gathered. The morning sun was shining and a sense of peace began to consume her as she admired the brilliantness of the wild daffodils. A mixture of colors created a striking contrast of yellows and lush green of the grass and it made Emily feel like a young child in a overstocked sweet shop. Her senses had opened and she began to see more than she had seen before, the trees, the leaves, everything seemed to have more life and more texture as if seen from a new pair of eyes for the very first time. Past fields of rape seed plants and numerous bushes, Emily suddenly realized that she had forgotten the way she had come. Trying to imagine what she had seen as significant markers to find her way home it dawned on her that she was lost. Lost, and she was lost alone. Approaching a wooded area she was forced to accept the fact that she was getting a little scared. Being alone is one thing, but being alone in a forest is another.
The trees stood tall like soldiers on parade, the sunlight flickering between the trunks with an intensity that was new to her. In the hope of finding a way home Emily walked deeper into the forest.. Branches crackled and leaves rustled under her feet and the occasional mouse could be seen scurrying away with its tail swishing as it ran. Then suddenly as if the trees had joined forces against her the light vanished. Darkness lived in the middle of this forest and Emily was alone surrounded by it. However hard she tried be heard, there were no ears to listen, no body to help her, no-one to guide her. Emily was in a area that she didn’t know and had no idea of the way back to a safe place.
To be continued......
© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris
Sunday, 1 May 2011
Wednesday, 9 February 2011
The great battle
As the chants and pounding of the drums echoed in jubilation across the plains of the great continent known to mankind as Africa, another day had won the battle of survival and Agymah was making his way home with his head hung in shame once again. An empty stomach was his only companion and failure was his aroma. His once flowing mane of golden hair looked worn and tattered yet strangely complimented his tail that dragged through the dirt like a wounded snake. The bright orange sun slowly dimmed into a blood red glow that appeared closer than hope was for this once feared king of the animal kingdom, yet still so far away. The elephants were calling to their loved ones and the birds of this ghostlike territory could be heard singing their evening song. As the celebration from the local villagers faded into the distance Agymah was left with no distraction from his own thoughts, a process he had come accustomed to recently, for the lack of fresh meat was the reason for his tiredness. The shadows of the trees tried to hide his shame but that was only temporary and it would re-appear again like the bright morning sun every now and then.
A new morning brought the heat giver into the darkness and the morning choir of feathered singers greeted the land as the kingdom awoke and the nocturnal creatures said their goodbyes to the night shift. "Could this day be any different from any other?" he thought to himself as he wondered into the morning light. A deafening roar came from his mouth and his long rugged tongue swiped across his teeth like a hurricane wiping through a village. His eyes were honeycomb yellow and focused on the mission for the day...SURVIVAL! The nearby stream was his regular drinking hole for this time of day. Agymah stooped his head down to the muddy water, after a quick drink he caught a glimpse of himself, startled and concerned he quickly reversed and shook his head dry in the hope that his thoughts would also be shaken and leave him forever.
A few miles walk away, Kianga was walking her two cubs through the cool night, ever grateful for their presence in her life that she had named them by their characters. The eldest cub Dumaka was named because even from birth he had been a male she respected, a young male to always look out for his family and lend a helping hand when needed, a true warrior in the making. Her second, a playful cub full of curiosity and intrigue, a real burst of energy. She was crowned Limber for she brought many days of happiness to this three cord family. The morning sun rays were like beams of joy to these protected three. As they yawned, their mouths and eyes spoke of unity, strength and togetherness ready to groom each other for the day ahead. Grooming was also a subtle way of checking for wounds and cuts from the thorn bushes that had a habit of rolling into them during the dark night.
Kianga starts to look for their breakfast, her shoulders held back as she walks behind her little hero's keeping a watchful eye for a morning predator.
Completely oblivious in harmony, they walk closer to Agymah's territory. He is also walking, pounding with frustration searching for his breakfast carrying a stronger need than the day before. The only thing between them is a few miles of dust on their paws and time. Their need for nourishment grows deeper as their eyes become more vigilant of the slightest movement within the undergrowth. Their hunger grows along side their impatience. The hunters war drums accompanied by melodies of encouragement can be heard ringing in their ears. The breeze whistles through the trees and creates whisper sounds that startles the cubs. Kianga reassures them with the strong purr of words "Do not be afraid my little hero's, i am watching over you and nothing can hurt you."
The smell of an infant Gazelle suddenly awakens Agymah's senses and he pauses immediately. His adrenalin of the chase returns and he is reunited with the enthusiasm he shared a few moons ago with his hunting companions. A rustle was heard and two tiny ears appeared, this was all the evidence he needed and he suddenly sprung into attack chasing the Gazelle further into the plains. A sharp turn to the left and then to the right zig-zagging intensely as these two battled it out for survival. His energy was boosted when the scared infant slipped and fell but rose quickly but unfortunately was still too quick for the tired warrior. Within a few moments Kianga sensed breakfast in the air and sharpened her vision with a squint. Ears pinned back for the best radar like hearing she caught a glimpse of the Gazelle closely followed by a struggling out of breath lion. She joined the chase and together they wore the running infant out. Kianga pounced onto the back of the sprinting Gazelle which meant Agymah could dive and sink his teeth deep into its neck. Within seconds breakfast was prepared. They both tore into the flesh and ripped the Gazelle into tiny pieces. Dumaka and Limber arrived at the murder scene full of admiration for their mother for her perseverance and skill in providing for them yet again. A glance of gratitude was shared between the blood faced adults as the cubs ate the smaller portions of dripping flesh.
After breakfast Agymah was the first to leave, clearly proud of his effort and restoration process to his former energized self.
Life was stolen from the young Gazelle and credited to its killers and over many moons Dumaka and Limber had become young adults, fearless, wise and perfectly capable of preparing their own meals. They now shared the responsibility of protection and shared it well, defending their family against predators of the night and brave ones during the day. Kianga watched in awe as her once tiny cubs practiced their techniques of combat under the intense African sun. A permanent smile was upon her face and her golden eyes brimmed with calmness.
A gentle breeze stirred the tree above them as they rested under its dancing branches. Kiangas ears suddenly pricked up as she heard a sound different to the dancing leaves. A shadow disappeared into the camouflage quickly joined by another two. Deep patient breathing awoke her senses. It looked like a leopard, but these predators were no match for Kiangas speed and agility, the local pack had learned that lesson before. Then suddenly she caught a glimpse of the rounded ear of a spotted scavenger. These wild dogs were always a threat to any animal, reckless and fast these Hyena's could easily bring panic into any family environment. The first stood up to catch a better glimpse of the resting family, quickly joined by the second and then the third. Before Kianga could stand the Hyenas lurched into a sprint towards them. Dumaka roared which awoke his sister. Together they were ready, united and fearless. The battle began and it was clearly a fight for life. The attackers split from their grouping and each choose their opponent. Kianga had been chosen by the pack leader, clearly a battle of power and knowledge. The roars drowned out the growling of the Hyenas as their razor sharp teeth snapped at the neck of the once calm family. Dumaka leapt onto his challengers back, ripping at the back of his head, claws dug firmly into its shoulders while balancing through out his fight for life. Limber had broken free from her spotted enemy and caught a glimpse of her older brother trying to overcome the anger fueled dog. She jumped forward with a loud roar and swiped her right paw deep into the cheek of the Hyena which brought him to the ground with a dull thud. Tearing her nails through his cheek made his growl come to a end, which left two. Kianga was struggling with her two opponents and as soon as the warrior juniors noticed they instantly went to Kiangas rescue. Limber changed her tactics and dived for the four bony legs while Dumaka leapt between the scavenger and his mother prizing them apart. The second Hyena had its teeth deep into Kiangas neck. Her blood had stained her fur and was she was beginning to grow weary. Dumaka tore at the ear of the spotted dog, ripped it clean off, opened his mouth wide and sunk his teeth deep into the head cracking its skull open in two. The third realizing he was no match for this fearless threesome ran as fast as he could into the plains, dripping of blood, flesh hanging of his back and the taste of failure in his mouth.
The breeze and the battle soon ceased and the reality of it all quickly revisited their minds. Kianga praised her young for their bravery and perseverance, their skills and unity whilst licking and cleaning their wounds. The family had overcome yet another battle even though their appearance said otherwise.
The wind carried the battle sounds across the plains and alerted a nearby pride. Hastily running towards the wounded for their defense came the males of the pride, their manes flowing wildly as they ran through a herd of zebra like the slicing of a hunters knife through fresh meat. Roaring in unity to announce their arrival and to warn off any attackers. Startled and weary Kianga let out a roar that ended their sprint in an instant. The deafening roar of a lioness was a feared thing in these parts, especially Kiangas, and upon realizing her sound they returned to their pride, all except one. The one whose name meant "he who left his family" stayed and quietly hid from view. He saw something he recognized and was not content in not investigating the situation further. Agymah hid until he thought of the right timing to approach. His timing never had been good and this time it was no different. Kianga, although battle worn still had excellent vision and smell and started to chase Agymah away from her family. She chased him far across the plains, far away from the battle scene. Knowing that she had gone far enough eventually she turned her back on the intruder, wounded bloodstained and tired she finally made her way home to her young heroes and the shade of the dancing tree.
Agymah could not face ridicule from yet another pride for his softness so he left and made yet another home in the mountains, high above the sun kissed plains and alone. As he walked up the jagged rocks he began to remember what he had recognized from down below. He remembered the teamwork, the togetherness, the final achievement of the silencing of a young Gazelle. He remembered Kianga and the glance they shared during their needed chase. A sudden thought entered his mind, a thought that challenged him at the time of their first meeting, the same thing he saw in Kiangas eyes when she saw him lacking in strength. A thought that proclaimed "If i want just a lion i will choose just a lion"
Unable to sleep under the moonlit sky, Agymah was troubled with his recent findings. To be close to Kianga he had to be strong, fearless and a lion she could lean on for protection of her family, yet he had grown into something completely opposite. His roar had lost its fierousness and all the other lions of not just one but now two prides laughed at him because he liked to sit in the shadows of a dancing tree under the hot African sun relaxing while others provided the freshly caught meals.
His nights had become long and his days even longer as he fought with himself high above the landscaped battlegrounds. He could easily remember how he used to be before his first expulsion, yet he could not figure out how to be that way again. He was not the same lion that the young lioness's used to like and play games with. His achievement with the younger Kianga meant so much more than any of that and in just one glance he witnessed something he had never seen before, something truly captivating, a true lioness, one to be honored and adored for her qualities strengths and motherhood. Kianga's reputation was known all over the plains and many a lion had tried to be her chosen one but many had failed. Kianga knew what she wanted and did not settle for just any regular lion. There was a time where Agymah would have been fierce competition from any opponent but that seemed so many sunsets ago to this lonely warrior.
The heat from the African sun had become intense and the land had grown dry. This had happened many times before and was not a stranger to Agymah who remembered the struggles of survival from his past. The once moist valleys were cracked and brown, the green trees had disappeared and tensions had become high between all the land dwellers. The seasonal battle of wisdom and strategy versus energy had become their focus.
Kianga searched for miles to find a watering hole for her beloved heroes as they sat tired under a withered tree. It was important to her that her once baby cubs rested while she searched, to save as much energy as they could should a young Gazelle come into view. This close family worked hard as a team, spurred on by love and commitment to each other. The respect for each other was woven into them like a stream that weaves its way down a mountainside, turning this way and that way, overcoming any rocks or tree trunks that lay in its path. Kianga's mother was also known in this land, and what she had been taught by her mother had been handed down through the generations. These whispers of wisdom were secrets to survival and were held with great esteem to this fearless threesome.
Darkness grew closer as the evening sun disappeared into the ground. The air was cool and the creatures of the night started to appear slowly one by one. Agymah made his way down the steep rocky mountain side, slowly placing his paws along the lonesome path he had created. He was unaware of two bright yellow eyes following him as he descended down the slope. Eyes that watched him from a distance, eyes that were full of protection love and commitment, eyes that belonged to Kianga. Crouched down behind some rocks silent and motionless, watching every move Agymah made Kianga was ready to protect her family once again. Agymah made his way into a valley unknown to her. Patient and curious she slowly followed him step by step, she placed her paws in the same prints that he had made in the dust but in a more delicate silent way than his. The white circle had appeared in the night sky and the stars began to twinkle and flicker. Agymah paused, arched his shoulders and leaned his head forward into a rippling flow of undiscovered water.
Kianga waited until his thirst had been quenched, he lifted his head, blinked his eyes and roared. Refreshed, he made his way to rest under a nearby deserted tree.
Content and peaceful with her findings, Kianga turned her head and looked straight at where the mountain climber lay. With a quiet purr she revealed her gratefulness and realised that she had been following more than just a lion.
© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris
A new morning brought the heat giver into the darkness and the morning choir of feathered singers greeted the land as the kingdom awoke and the nocturnal creatures said their goodbyes to the night shift. "Could this day be any different from any other?" he thought to himself as he wondered into the morning light. A deafening roar came from his mouth and his long rugged tongue swiped across his teeth like a hurricane wiping through a village. His eyes were honeycomb yellow and focused on the mission for the day...SURVIVAL! The nearby stream was his regular drinking hole for this time of day. Agymah stooped his head down to the muddy water, after a quick drink he caught a glimpse of himself, startled and concerned he quickly reversed and shook his head dry in the hope that his thoughts would also be shaken and leave him forever.
A few miles walk away, Kianga was walking her two cubs through the cool night, ever grateful for their presence in her life that she had named them by their characters. The eldest cub Dumaka was named because even from birth he had been a male she respected, a young male to always look out for his family and lend a helping hand when needed, a true warrior in the making. Her second, a playful cub full of curiosity and intrigue, a real burst of energy. She was crowned Limber for she brought many days of happiness to this three cord family. The morning sun rays were like beams of joy to these protected three. As they yawned, their mouths and eyes spoke of unity, strength and togetherness ready to groom each other for the day ahead. Grooming was also a subtle way of checking for wounds and cuts from the thorn bushes that had a habit of rolling into them during the dark night.
Kianga starts to look for their breakfast, her shoulders held back as she walks behind her little hero's keeping a watchful eye for a morning predator.
Completely oblivious in harmony, they walk closer to Agymah's territory. He is also walking, pounding with frustration searching for his breakfast carrying a stronger need than the day before. The only thing between them is a few miles of dust on their paws and time. Their need for nourishment grows deeper as their eyes become more vigilant of the slightest movement within the undergrowth. Their hunger grows along side their impatience. The hunters war drums accompanied by melodies of encouragement can be heard ringing in their ears. The breeze whistles through the trees and creates whisper sounds that startles the cubs. Kianga reassures them with the strong purr of words "Do not be afraid my little hero's, i am watching over you and nothing can hurt you."
The smell of an infant Gazelle suddenly awakens Agymah's senses and he pauses immediately. His adrenalin of the chase returns and he is reunited with the enthusiasm he shared a few moons ago with his hunting companions. A rustle was heard and two tiny ears appeared, this was all the evidence he needed and he suddenly sprung into attack chasing the Gazelle further into the plains. A sharp turn to the left and then to the right zig-zagging intensely as these two battled it out for survival. His energy was boosted when the scared infant slipped and fell but rose quickly but unfortunately was still too quick for the tired warrior. Within a few moments Kianga sensed breakfast in the air and sharpened her vision with a squint. Ears pinned back for the best radar like hearing she caught a glimpse of the Gazelle closely followed by a struggling out of breath lion. She joined the chase and together they wore the running infant out. Kianga pounced onto the back of the sprinting Gazelle which meant Agymah could dive and sink his teeth deep into its neck. Within seconds breakfast was prepared. They both tore into the flesh and ripped the Gazelle into tiny pieces. Dumaka and Limber arrived at the murder scene full of admiration for their mother for her perseverance and skill in providing for them yet again. A glance of gratitude was shared between the blood faced adults as the cubs ate the smaller portions of dripping flesh.
After breakfast Agymah was the first to leave, clearly proud of his effort and restoration process to his former energized self.
Life was stolen from the young Gazelle and credited to its killers and over many moons Dumaka and Limber had become young adults, fearless, wise and perfectly capable of preparing their own meals. They now shared the responsibility of protection and shared it well, defending their family against predators of the night and brave ones during the day. Kianga watched in awe as her once tiny cubs practiced their techniques of combat under the intense African sun. A permanent smile was upon her face and her golden eyes brimmed with calmness.
A gentle breeze stirred the tree above them as they rested under its dancing branches. Kiangas ears suddenly pricked up as she heard a sound different to the dancing leaves. A shadow disappeared into the camouflage quickly joined by another two. Deep patient breathing awoke her senses. It looked like a leopard, but these predators were no match for Kiangas speed and agility, the local pack had learned that lesson before. Then suddenly she caught a glimpse of the rounded ear of a spotted scavenger. These wild dogs were always a threat to any animal, reckless and fast these Hyena's could easily bring panic into any family environment. The first stood up to catch a better glimpse of the resting family, quickly joined by the second and then the third. Before Kianga could stand the Hyenas lurched into a sprint towards them. Dumaka roared which awoke his sister. Together they were ready, united and fearless. The battle began and it was clearly a fight for life. The attackers split from their grouping and each choose their opponent. Kianga had been chosen by the pack leader, clearly a battle of power and knowledge. The roars drowned out the growling of the Hyenas as their razor sharp teeth snapped at the neck of the once calm family. Dumaka leapt onto his challengers back, ripping at the back of his head, claws dug firmly into its shoulders while balancing through out his fight for life. Limber had broken free from her spotted enemy and caught a glimpse of her older brother trying to overcome the anger fueled dog. She jumped forward with a loud roar and swiped her right paw deep into the cheek of the Hyena which brought him to the ground with a dull thud. Tearing her nails through his cheek made his growl come to a end, which left two. Kianga was struggling with her two opponents and as soon as the warrior juniors noticed they instantly went to Kiangas rescue. Limber changed her tactics and dived for the four bony legs while Dumaka leapt between the scavenger and his mother prizing them apart. The second Hyena had its teeth deep into Kiangas neck. Her blood had stained her fur and was she was beginning to grow weary. Dumaka tore at the ear of the spotted dog, ripped it clean off, opened his mouth wide and sunk his teeth deep into the head cracking its skull open in two. The third realizing he was no match for this fearless threesome ran as fast as he could into the plains, dripping of blood, flesh hanging of his back and the taste of failure in his mouth.
The breeze and the battle soon ceased and the reality of it all quickly revisited their minds. Kianga praised her young for their bravery and perseverance, their skills and unity whilst licking and cleaning their wounds. The family had overcome yet another battle even though their appearance said otherwise.
The wind carried the battle sounds across the plains and alerted a nearby pride. Hastily running towards the wounded for their defense came the males of the pride, their manes flowing wildly as they ran through a herd of zebra like the slicing of a hunters knife through fresh meat. Roaring in unity to announce their arrival and to warn off any attackers. Startled and weary Kianga let out a roar that ended their sprint in an instant. The deafening roar of a lioness was a feared thing in these parts, especially Kiangas, and upon realizing her sound they returned to their pride, all except one. The one whose name meant "he who left his family" stayed and quietly hid from view. He saw something he recognized and was not content in not investigating the situation further. Agymah hid until he thought of the right timing to approach. His timing never had been good and this time it was no different. Kianga, although battle worn still had excellent vision and smell and started to chase Agymah away from her family. She chased him far across the plains, far away from the battle scene. Knowing that she had gone far enough eventually she turned her back on the intruder, wounded bloodstained and tired she finally made her way home to her young heroes and the shade of the dancing tree.
Agymah could not face ridicule from yet another pride for his softness so he left and made yet another home in the mountains, high above the sun kissed plains and alone. As he walked up the jagged rocks he began to remember what he had recognized from down below. He remembered the teamwork, the togetherness, the final achievement of the silencing of a young Gazelle. He remembered Kianga and the glance they shared during their needed chase. A sudden thought entered his mind, a thought that challenged him at the time of their first meeting, the same thing he saw in Kiangas eyes when she saw him lacking in strength. A thought that proclaimed "If i want just a lion i will choose just a lion"
Unable to sleep under the moonlit sky, Agymah was troubled with his recent findings. To be close to Kianga he had to be strong, fearless and a lion she could lean on for protection of her family, yet he had grown into something completely opposite. His roar had lost its fierousness and all the other lions of not just one but now two prides laughed at him because he liked to sit in the shadows of a dancing tree under the hot African sun relaxing while others provided the freshly caught meals.
His nights had become long and his days even longer as he fought with himself high above the landscaped battlegrounds. He could easily remember how he used to be before his first expulsion, yet he could not figure out how to be that way again. He was not the same lion that the young lioness's used to like and play games with. His achievement with the younger Kianga meant so much more than any of that and in just one glance he witnessed something he had never seen before, something truly captivating, a true lioness, one to be honored and adored for her qualities strengths and motherhood. Kianga's reputation was known all over the plains and many a lion had tried to be her chosen one but many had failed. Kianga knew what she wanted and did not settle for just any regular lion. There was a time where Agymah would have been fierce competition from any opponent but that seemed so many sunsets ago to this lonely warrior.
The heat from the African sun had become intense and the land had grown dry. This had happened many times before and was not a stranger to Agymah who remembered the struggles of survival from his past. The once moist valleys were cracked and brown, the green trees had disappeared and tensions had become high between all the land dwellers. The seasonal battle of wisdom and strategy versus energy had become their focus.
Kianga searched for miles to find a watering hole for her beloved heroes as they sat tired under a withered tree. It was important to her that her once baby cubs rested while she searched, to save as much energy as they could should a young Gazelle come into view. This close family worked hard as a team, spurred on by love and commitment to each other. The respect for each other was woven into them like a stream that weaves its way down a mountainside, turning this way and that way, overcoming any rocks or tree trunks that lay in its path. Kianga's mother was also known in this land, and what she had been taught by her mother had been handed down through the generations. These whispers of wisdom were secrets to survival and were held with great esteem to this fearless threesome.
Darkness grew closer as the evening sun disappeared into the ground. The air was cool and the creatures of the night started to appear slowly one by one. Agymah made his way down the steep rocky mountain side, slowly placing his paws along the lonesome path he had created. He was unaware of two bright yellow eyes following him as he descended down the slope. Eyes that watched him from a distance, eyes that were full of protection love and commitment, eyes that belonged to Kianga. Crouched down behind some rocks silent and motionless, watching every move Agymah made Kianga was ready to protect her family once again. Agymah made his way into a valley unknown to her. Patient and curious she slowly followed him step by step, she placed her paws in the same prints that he had made in the dust but in a more delicate silent way than his. The white circle had appeared in the night sky and the stars began to twinkle and flicker. Agymah paused, arched his shoulders and leaned his head forward into a rippling flow of undiscovered water.
Kianga waited until his thirst had been quenched, he lifted his head, blinked his eyes and roared. Refreshed, he made his way to rest under a nearby deserted tree.
Content and peaceful with her findings, Kianga turned her head and looked straight at where the mountain climber lay. With a quiet purr she revealed her gratefulness and realised that she had been following more than just a lion.
© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris
Sunday, 14 November 2010
Au mois de Mars
The sign on the door said "closed", the weather worn shutters were folded across the windows and the sound of the nearby town clock struck it's 1st chime of the new day. Jean la-Poule was counting the few coins that had spent most of the day sitting in a compartment of an old push button cash register that lived on a dusty counter. The sky was dark and the reflection of the one corner street lamp could be seen in the wet surface of the cobbled lane. Rain had been the only visitor to this town for a few days. A rhythmic squeak was heard coming down the lane as Monsieur Picard the local baker traveled to work on his trusted green bicycle. The wicker basket strapped across his handle bars squeaked in tune with the pedals that moved in a slow circular motion. He was a popular man, a friendly soul and always had a smile for his customers, and was known to give out an extra croissant or two for his favorite ladies, but deep beneath his friendly exterior he carried a dark secret that no one knew, not even his best friend Jean la-Poule.
As the irritating squeak slowly disappeared back into the darkness of the cobbled lane a sigh of despair was heard from inside the bistro, once a vibrant meeting place for all travelers passing through to experience the big city of romance a few kilometers away. The four legged tower once created by a local man Gustave Eiffel haunted the distant night skies like a vulture seeking an eagerly awaited meal.
Jean la-Poule reached down behind his counter, pulled out an old dusty shoebox, turned around and fixed his hand firmly on his most expensive bottle of brandy which he had been saving for more promising times. With the box of memories, the bottle and glass squashed between his fingers he made his way over to the best table in the bistro, a quiet secluded corner with a window view forbidden by wooden shutters. He untied his white apron, folded it and placed it on the table and sat himself down.
First out of the box was a revolver that was meant for an escape from any impossible situation if needed. Monsieur la-Poule carefully unwrapped the black cloth that housed the gun and gently ran his finger down the side of the barrel. The bullet stood upright on the table like a soldier on parade, bronze in colour and with a small dent on one side. The sound of the brandy splashing into the glass broke the silence but only for a moment as an expressionless face sat at the once romantic rendezvous point, a face that gave away no clues as to the thinking behind it. A large gulp and a deep sigh was taken, time stood still and even the tick tock of his grandfather clock seemed to last an hour between each swing of the pendulum. His weary hands reached into his shoebox and pulled out two more objects. The first was a crinkled discolored photograph of two lovers. A once slim, handsome gentleman with a beautiful auburn haired woman standing under an old oak tree. Clothed in a pale pink sweater and a white skirt that hung down over her feet, she held a simple but elegant collection of flowers in one hand and her lovers in the other. The corners of the picture were dog-eared and the edges had tiny tares which had been carefully preserved to eliminate any further damage. The second item was an envelope with the initials JLP written on the front.
A loud thumping echoed down the quiet streets,
"JEAN LA-POULE, JEAN LA-POULE ARE YOU IN THERE? THIS IS AN EMERGENCY" shouted the local Gendarme as he straightened his tie. "JEAN LA-POULE ANSWER THIS DOOR!"
After a clatter of chairs and unexplainable mumberlings the door opened slowly and in came the morning light eclipsed by the tall uniformed Monsieur Stone. Half awake he turned to see the time on his grandfather clock and the sight of an empty bottle laying on the table caught his eye. The clock chimed nine and he realised that he had failed in his attempt of escapism along with the success of a little French cafe.
"I HAVE SOME BAD NEWS MONSIEUR LA-POULE, THERE HAS BEEN A FIRE AT THE BAKERS AND MONSIEUR PICARD HAS PASSED AWAY. HE HAD IN HIS WALLET AN EVELOPE THAT IS ADDRESSED TO YOU" As Jean La-poule slumped back into the chair the feeling of despair fell upon his face once again. Within 24 hours time had stood still in the life of this once energetic man.
"My dear friend. In the event of my death will you please do me one last favour? Will you go to 127 Elliott Street, Bath, England and when you knock on the door and they ask who you are, just tell them you bring bread from Picards bakery. Merci and Bon Voyage"
Later that afternoon Jean La-Poule started his journey for England, he never liked the final goodbye's of funerals so this was a perfect excuse to avoid that and to leave the bistro behind, even for a few days.
The boat trip was cheap and affordable and dated 28th February but he soon found out that comfort was not included in the price. He had been to England a few times to wine tasting conventions in the hope of finding a masterpiece that would draw customers into his bistro, but he never found such a thing and his bottles collected dust from week to week just like his floor and chairs.
Hitchiking was his cheapest form of transport and although the journey had taken him 2 days he was grateful to reach the old Roman city. Stubble had appeared on his face and he was in need of a shower but he persevered to honour his friends final request.
After various questions of direction in broken English, he turned the last corner into Elliott street. An upmarket neighbourhood with stone lions that guarded every driveway. Buildings of splendour filled the street accompanied by a beautiful purple plant that seemed to creep up the walls and around the windows. The people walking their dogs saw him crossed the road refusing to acknowledge his curiosity of this foreign culture.
"121......123........125........there 127" he whispered "finally, now what was Picard hiding this time?"
A young woman answered the door dressed in a black and white simple uniform with a black leather belt around her waist. Her hair was tied up into what looked like a bun on top of her head, clearly a woman who took pride in her appearance.
"Bonjour Madame. Je suis Jean la Poule et j'ai apporté de la boulangerie Picard" he said in a quiet nervous voice.
"I am sorry Sir, i cannot speak French" were the words he heard from this little lady. "
"Pardon moi Madame, I am Jean le-Poule and i have brought bread from Picard's bakery."
A silence filled the air that accompanied a look of shock and surprise that came upon the maids face and her eyes began to fill with tears, The moment was timeless, the questions were limitless but no words were spoken as these two strangers stood on the concrete steps of 127 Elliot street.
"WELL SHOW HIM IN JOESPHINE, DONT LET HIM STAND OUT IN THE COLD!" came the words booming from behind the door that was a few feet away. As Jean la-Poule tried to pear through the crack between the door and its frame he saw a small segment of a large black piano. Josephine hustled him in , took his coat and offered him a cup of tea as he made his way into the grand sitting room that was the home of this majestic music maker. The fireplace was the first thing that captured his attention, three foot pillars either side made of solid white marble with a few pictures resting on the shelf that was the roof of this enormous fireplace. The white lace draped across the arms of the chairs camouflaged the soft pink of the material that lay beneath it. A circular silver tray was brought in by the front door greeter and placed on to the table in a way that was delicate and silent.
Trying to take in the splendour of the room into his conciousness he heard a soft voice coming from behind him "Please sit down Jean la-Poule, welcome to my home. I know who you are"
Over tea and cakes the two strangers exchanged a few smiles, but it was not a smile that Jean la-Poule had come for. He wanted an explanation as to why he was asked to come to England. The elderly lady peered over her glasses, adjusted the shawl that covered her shoulders and suggested that her new visitor take a closer look at a photo album that lived on a small wooden table next to her chair . A final glance and a half smile was offered as she handed the book of memories to the curious traveller.
The pages were turned yet no answers were found, until the book had come to its last page. Jean le-Poule sat in amazement, his hands were shaking and a tear rolled down his wrinkled cheek. Completely speechless, he turned his head towards the black piano and remembered a tune he once sang in his heart. His eyes were shared between glances of the piano and the woman as he tried to find an answer for what he was experiencing. Another look at the photograph was needed, but this time his eyes did not leave the picture..... a picture of a young handsome man with a beautiful auburn haired woman dressed in a pink sweater with a white flowing skirt and in one hand was a collection of lovingly picked flowers and in the other was the hand of her lover.
The years had past by so quickly but time had been good to her, she still had that special something hidden beneath her exterior. That special something that once again made Jean la-Poule's heart miss a beat. He was so overwhelmed that he had been given a moment to be in the presence of his one true love again that he had no words that could possibly enhance this moment in his life. The pain had been lifted, the peace had been found and the love for this woman had been re-ignited in an instant. Years of suppressed emotions were filling his entire being. His heart, his soul and his mind were being filled with a waterfall of speechlessness. Their eyes met across the tastefully decorated room as the connection between the two hearts was made again. This was a connection that was bigger than time, bigger than the house that they sat in and bigger than life itself.
Jean la-Poule's dream woman broke the silence with words of storytelling and the adventures the two of them had shared and the ones they had done separately. When they laughed they grew younger and both traveled back and forth in time in their memories as they tried to make a dent in the ocean of experience's that they wanted to share since that time in the forest of Oak trees all those years ago.
"But how?" Jean la-Poule asked, ""How did you find me?"
The sound of sniffles were heard through the door as Josephine sat cross legged leaning against the wall listening....listening to the story that for so many years she had been told about a certain Jean la-Poule but never in a way that it was being expressed at this time. The story in her ears was being told surrounded by an atmosphere of pure love. She sat motionless as even the slightest movement could disturb her from hearing a vital heartbeat of the journey of these people who had without knowing it..... given her so much hope in finding her own one true love.
Monsieur Picard's deep secret was finally revealed as the lady of the house explained that after he saw the broken heart of his best friend, he made it his mission to find her. Once he had found her he regularly kept her updated with the life of Jean la-Poule and promised that if anything would ever happen to him that he would find a way of filling his best friends heart with peace again. That he had to conjure up a code so that nobody would ever find out his secret and the one he thought was best to use was that the broken hearted Jean la-Poule would bring bread from his bakery.
Their cheeks were wet with tears as a moment of silence fell into the room. She handed him a note that was given to her on the bakers last visit to Elliot street and on it were written a few simple words:
" Jean la-Poule, i want to congratulate you on being a great man, and thankyou for being my friend. "
Pierre Picard
News had spread fast about the French visitor and the hallway of 127 Elliot street was full of sobbing workers listening to the journey of their hearts. All honoured and adored their employer and had all imagined this one man who loved her so much.
The emotions of the day were too much for our French romantic and it was agreed between them that he would stay in one of the many vacant spare rooms. The sound of a tiny bell echoed down the hallway and startled all of the eager listeners. Josephine jumped to her feet, quickly wiped away her tears and straightened her uniform and took a deep breath.
"Yes Miss Anabella, how can i help you?" asked the emotional young lady.
"Monsieur la-Poule will be staying for a few days, please can you prepare bedroom six for him. He will need something to wear while we do his laundry so can you take his measurements and arrange for Mr.Roberts the tailor to make something for him and let him have the bed linen with the forest flowers on it and oh......can you please get him some of my favourite chocolates too? Thankyou Josephine, what would i do without you?"
As the sun rose it met the busy workers preparing for the day. A knock on the front door at 8.30am announced the entrance of 3 new suits for Jean la-Poule. On receiving the measurements Mr Roberts had worked through the night,
"Anything for you Ma'Lady" he would say, but even though Miss Anabella knew that she was the apple of his eye she still kept things very professional between them. She paid him instantly for his hard work and thanked him with a gentle handshake.
"Please see Josephine before you go Mr.Roberts, chef has been baking a cake for your dear sister, i hope she feels better soon."
Over the next few days stories were told, questions were answered and friendships had begun between all who worked and lived at 127 Elliot Street. Jean la-Poule was a different man, a happier man, a more relaxed man. Smithers the gardener often caught him walking around the huge garden whistling and smelling the flowers. Although despite this new inner peace he had found he still had one question that he needed an answer for, a question that had haunted him for forty years, a question that he had always dreamed of asking but never had the courage to ask it.
But the time had come for our lovestruck Frenchman to return to his homeland. His return journey was different from his first, courtesy of Miss Annabella who had purchased a ticket on a new boat making her first voyage across the waters, much to Jean la-Poules surprise and gratitude.
The smell of the cobbled streets and the heavy fog that lay over the tiny French town were a far cry from the elegant streets of the roman city that wrapped itself around his one true love. His heart was aching and his tears kept flowing, he had learned to live in the darkness of life all these years and all of a sudden light had come into it in an overpowering abundance, just like his first opening of his bistro door that sunny morning. Immediatly he realised one thing and even the thought of it brought tears to his eyes. He sat once again in the most romantic table of the bistro and in front of him were three choices, a gun, an empty bottle and an envelope. He pushed two of them aside and reached out to grab the third. His hands were trembling, his bottom lip was quivering and his eyes were filled with tears. He took a deep breath and embraced his final choice. Upon opening the envelope the smell of wild flowers filled his senses and a folded piece of lightly shaded pink paper was its hidden treasure. Scared to read it and scared not too, Jean la-Poule was in a place in his life where he had never been before.
" I love you now, I always will. I'm sorry i have to go. - Annabella"
A sudden explosion of wanting filled every inch of his body. The cries that came from behind the bistro doors that day came from the very depths of a man's heart. A place where only one person can go, a place created especially just for a man's one true love.
Jean la-Poule held in one hand his bag and in the other a note from his lover.
Two days later he knocked on the door of 127 Elliot street. A young woman answered dressed in a black and white simple uniform with a black leather belt around her waist. Once again silence filled the air on these concrete steps,
"WELL SHOW HIM IN JOESPHINE, DONT LET HIM STAND OUT IN THE COLD!" came the familiar words from behind the door. His coat was removed and he walked into the room where his true love was sitting.
"Annabella, I can't lose you again" he said as his eyes filled with tears.
"So don't" she replied.
© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris
As the irritating squeak slowly disappeared back into the darkness of the cobbled lane a sigh of despair was heard from inside the bistro, once a vibrant meeting place for all travelers passing through to experience the big city of romance a few kilometers away. The four legged tower once created by a local man Gustave Eiffel haunted the distant night skies like a vulture seeking an eagerly awaited meal.
Jean la-Poule reached down behind his counter, pulled out an old dusty shoebox, turned around and fixed his hand firmly on his most expensive bottle of brandy which he had been saving for more promising times. With the box of memories, the bottle and glass squashed between his fingers he made his way over to the best table in the bistro, a quiet secluded corner with a window view forbidden by wooden shutters. He untied his white apron, folded it and placed it on the table and sat himself down.
First out of the box was a revolver that was meant for an escape from any impossible situation if needed. Monsieur la-Poule carefully unwrapped the black cloth that housed the gun and gently ran his finger down the side of the barrel. The bullet stood upright on the table like a soldier on parade, bronze in colour and with a small dent on one side. The sound of the brandy splashing into the glass broke the silence but only for a moment as an expressionless face sat at the once romantic rendezvous point, a face that gave away no clues as to the thinking behind it. A large gulp and a deep sigh was taken, time stood still and even the tick tock of his grandfather clock seemed to last an hour between each swing of the pendulum. His weary hands reached into his shoebox and pulled out two more objects. The first was a crinkled discolored photograph of two lovers. A once slim, handsome gentleman with a beautiful auburn haired woman standing under an old oak tree. Clothed in a pale pink sweater and a white skirt that hung down over her feet, she held a simple but elegant collection of flowers in one hand and her lovers in the other. The corners of the picture were dog-eared and the edges had tiny tares which had been carefully preserved to eliminate any further damage. The second item was an envelope with the initials JLP written on the front.
A loud thumping echoed down the quiet streets,
"JEAN LA-POULE, JEAN LA-POULE ARE YOU IN THERE? THIS IS AN EMERGENCY" shouted the local Gendarme as he straightened his tie. "JEAN LA-POULE ANSWER THIS DOOR!"
After a clatter of chairs and unexplainable mumberlings the door opened slowly and in came the morning light eclipsed by the tall uniformed Monsieur Stone. Half awake he turned to see the time on his grandfather clock and the sight of an empty bottle laying on the table caught his eye. The clock chimed nine and he realised that he had failed in his attempt of escapism along with the success of a little French cafe.
"I HAVE SOME BAD NEWS MONSIEUR LA-POULE, THERE HAS BEEN A FIRE AT THE BAKERS AND MONSIEUR PICARD HAS PASSED AWAY. HE HAD IN HIS WALLET AN EVELOPE THAT IS ADDRESSED TO YOU" As Jean La-poule slumped back into the chair the feeling of despair fell upon his face once again. Within 24 hours time had stood still in the life of this once energetic man.
"My dear friend. In the event of my death will you please do me one last favour? Will you go to 127 Elliott Street, Bath, England and when you knock on the door and they ask who you are, just tell them you bring bread from Picards bakery. Merci and Bon Voyage"
Later that afternoon Jean La-Poule started his journey for England, he never liked the final goodbye's of funerals so this was a perfect excuse to avoid that and to leave the bistro behind, even for a few days.
The boat trip was cheap and affordable and dated 28th February but he soon found out that comfort was not included in the price. He had been to England a few times to wine tasting conventions in the hope of finding a masterpiece that would draw customers into his bistro, but he never found such a thing and his bottles collected dust from week to week just like his floor and chairs.
Hitchiking was his cheapest form of transport and although the journey had taken him 2 days he was grateful to reach the old Roman city. Stubble had appeared on his face and he was in need of a shower but he persevered to honour his friends final request.
After various questions of direction in broken English, he turned the last corner into Elliott street. An upmarket neighbourhood with stone lions that guarded every driveway. Buildings of splendour filled the street accompanied by a beautiful purple plant that seemed to creep up the walls and around the windows. The people walking their dogs saw him crossed the road refusing to acknowledge his curiosity of this foreign culture.
"121......123........125........there 127" he whispered "finally, now what was Picard hiding this time?"
A young woman answered the door dressed in a black and white simple uniform with a black leather belt around her waist. Her hair was tied up into what looked like a bun on top of her head, clearly a woman who took pride in her appearance.
"Bonjour Madame. Je suis Jean la Poule et j'ai apporté de la boulangerie Picard" he said in a quiet nervous voice.
"I am sorry Sir, i cannot speak French" were the words he heard from this little lady. "
"Pardon moi Madame, I am Jean le-Poule and i have brought bread from Picard's bakery."
A silence filled the air that accompanied a look of shock and surprise that came upon the maids face and her eyes began to fill with tears, The moment was timeless, the questions were limitless but no words were spoken as these two strangers stood on the concrete steps of 127 Elliot street.
"WELL SHOW HIM IN JOESPHINE, DONT LET HIM STAND OUT IN THE COLD!" came the words booming from behind the door that was a few feet away. As Jean la-Poule tried to pear through the crack between the door and its frame he saw a small segment of a large black piano. Josephine hustled him in , took his coat and offered him a cup of tea as he made his way into the grand sitting room that was the home of this majestic music maker. The fireplace was the first thing that captured his attention, three foot pillars either side made of solid white marble with a few pictures resting on the shelf that was the roof of this enormous fireplace. The white lace draped across the arms of the chairs camouflaged the soft pink of the material that lay beneath it. A circular silver tray was brought in by the front door greeter and placed on to the table in a way that was delicate and silent.
Trying to take in the splendour of the room into his conciousness he heard a soft voice coming from behind him "Please sit down Jean la-Poule, welcome to my home. I know who you are"
Over tea and cakes the two strangers exchanged a few smiles, but it was not a smile that Jean la-Poule had come for. He wanted an explanation as to why he was asked to come to England. The elderly lady peered over her glasses, adjusted the shawl that covered her shoulders and suggested that her new visitor take a closer look at a photo album that lived on a small wooden table next to her chair . A final glance and a half smile was offered as she handed the book of memories to the curious traveller.
The pages were turned yet no answers were found, until the book had come to its last page. Jean le-Poule sat in amazement, his hands were shaking and a tear rolled down his wrinkled cheek. Completely speechless, he turned his head towards the black piano and remembered a tune he once sang in his heart. His eyes were shared between glances of the piano and the woman as he tried to find an answer for what he was experiencing. Another look at the photograph was needed, but this time his eyes did not leave the picture..... a picture of a young handsome man with a beautiful auburn haired woman dressed in a pink sweater with a white flowing skirt and in one hand was a collection of lovingly picked flowers and in the other was the hand of her lover.
The years had past by so quickly but time had been good to her, she still had that special something hidden beneath her exterior. That special something that once again made Jean la-Poule's heart miss a beat. He was so overwhelmed that he had been given a moment to be in the presence of his one true love again that he had no words that could possibly enhance this moment in his life. The pain had been lifted, the peace had been found and the love for this woman had been re-ignited in an instant. Years of suppressed emotions were filling his entire being. His heart, his soul and his mind were being filled with a waterfall of speechlessness. Their eyes met across the tastefully decorated room as the connection between the two hearts was made again. This was a connection that was bigger than time, bigger than the house that they sat in and bigger than life itself.
Jean la-Poule's dream woman broke the silence with words of storytelling and the adventures the two of them had shared and the ones they had done separately. When they laughed they grew younger and both traveled back and forth in time in their memories as they tried to make a dent in the ocean of experience's that they wanted to share since that time in the forest of Oak trees all those years ago.
"But how?" Jean la-Poule asked, ""How did you find me?"
The sound of sniffles were heard through the door as Josephine sat cross legged leaning against the wall listening....listening to the story that for so many years she had been told about a certain Jean la-Poule but never in a way that it was being expressed at this time. The story in her ears was being told surrounded by an atmosphere of pure love. She sat motionless as even the slightest movement could disturb her from hearing a vital heartbeat of the journey of these people who had without knowing it..... given her so much hope in finding her own one true love.
Monsieur Picard's deep secret was finally revealed as the lady of the house explained that after he saw the broken heart of his best friend, he made it his mission to find her. Once he had found her he regularly kept her updated with the life of Jean la-Poule and promised that if anything would ever happen to him that he would find a way of filling his best friends heart with peace again. That he had to conjure up a code so that nobody would ever find out his secret and the one he thought was best to use was that the broken hearted Jean la-Poule would bring bread from his bakery.
Their cheeks were wet with tears as a moment of silence fell into the room. She handed him a note that was given to her on the bakers last visit to Elliot street and on it were written a few simple words:
" Jean la-Poule, i want to congratulate you on being a great man, and thankyou for being my friend. "
Pierre Picard
News had spread fast about the French visitor and the hallway of 127 Elliot street was full of sobbing workers listening to the journey of their hearts. All honoured and adored their employer and had all imagined this one man who loved her so much.
The emotions of the day were too much for our French romantic and it was agreed between them that he would stay in one of the many vacant spare rooms. The sound of a tiny bell echoed down the hallway and startled all of the eager listeners. Josephine jumped to her feet, quickly wiped away her tears and straightened her uniform and took a deep breath.
"Yes Miss Anabella, how can i help you?" asked the emotional young lady.
"Monsieur la-Poule will be staying for a few days, please can you prepare bedroom six for him. He will need something to wear while we do his laundry so can you take his measurements and arrange for Mr.Roberts the tailor to make something for him and let him have the bed linen with the forest flowers on it and oh......can you please get him some of my favourite chocolates too? Thankyou Josephine, what would i do without you?"
As the sun rose it met the busy workers preparing for the day. A knock on the front door at 8.30am announced the entrance of 3 new suits for Jean la-Poule. On receiving the measurements Mr Roberts had worked through the night,
"Anything for you Ma'Lady" he would say, but even though Miss Anabella knew that she was the apple of his eye she still kept things very professional between them. She paid him instantly for his hard work and thanked him with a gentle handshake.
"Please see Josephine before you go Mr.Roberts, chef has been baking a cake for your dear sister, i hope she feels better soon."
Over the next few days stories were told, questions were answered and friendships had begun between all who worked and lived at 127 Elliot Street. Jean la-Poule was a different man, a happier man, a more relaxed man. Smithers the gardener often caught him walking around the huge garden whistling and smelling the flowers. Although despite this new inner peace he had found he still had one question that he needed an answer for, a question that had haunted him for forty years, a question that he had always dreamed of asking but never had the courage to ask it.
But the time had come for our lovestruck Frenchman to return to his homeland. His return journey was different from his first, courtesy of Miss Annabella who had purchased a ticket on a new boat making her first voyage across the waters, much to Jean la-Poules surprise and gratitude.
The smell of the cobbled streets and the heavy fog that lay over the tiny French town were a far cry from the elegant streets of the roman city that wrapped itself around his one true love. His heart was aching and his tears kept flowing, he had learned to live in the darkness of life all these years and all of a sudden light had come into it in an overpowering abundance, just like his first opening of his bistro door that sunny morning. Immediatly he realised one thing and even the thought of it brought tears to his eyes. He sat once again in the most romantic table of the bistro and in front of him were three choices, a gun, an empty bottle and an envelope. He pushed two of them aside and reached out to grab the third. His hands were trembling, his bottom lip was quivering and his eyes were filled with tears. He took a deep breath and embraced his final choice. Upon opening the envelope the smell of wild flowers filled his senses and a folded piece of lightly shaded pink paper was its hidden treasure. Scared to read it and scared not too, Jean la-Poule was in a place in his life where he had never been before.
" I love you now, I always will. I'm sorry i have to go. - Annabella"
A sudden explosion of wanting filled every inch of his body. The cries that came from behind the bistro doors that day came from the very depths of a man's heart. A place where only one person can go, a place created especially just for a man's one true love.
Jean la-Poule held in one hand his bag and in the other a note from his lover.
Two days later he knocked on the door of 127 Elliot street. A young woman answered dressed in a black and white simple uniform with a black leather belt around her waist. Once again silence filled the air on these concrete steps,
"WELL SHOW HIM IN JOESPHINE, DONT LET HIM STAND OUT IN THE COLD!" came the familiar words from behind the door. His coat was removed and he walked into the room where his true love was sitting.
"Annabella, I can't lose you again" he said as his eyes filled with tears.
"So don't" she replied.
© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris
Sunday, 3 October 2010
Something precious
Throughout our lives i am certain that journeys are given to us to reveal a various cocktail of things, our character, our hopes and dreams, our abilities and even our determination, yet none of these journeys can be greater than to win a trophy for our achievement's on completion, for me....the greatest reward is that of a good woman's heart. I am not comparing a woman's heart to a trophy or am i? A trophy is a symbol of a sense of achievement, honour, determination hard work and a focus that goes un-distracted. The reward that I aim for is to be allowed into that very secret place in a woman's heart. They all have one, its part of what being a woman is. But to get to that place, if the heart is worth the journey then the heart is worth the sacrifice.
When a long distance runner searches for a race, im sure that he searches for the one that would give him the most honour. That people would be in awe that he had achieved such a pain staking journey to the finishing line, that his endurance would be without doubt visible to even the untrained eye. How many of us can actually run a marathon? 26 miles of pounding step after step onto the hard concrete of city streets, despite the weather conditions, despite the muscle aches and most definitely despite the "wall". They say, that when a runner is near to the end of his race he hits this invisible "wall" that challenges him or her more than the race itself. At this point is where you see their true character. Do they quit, or do they continue? Do they rest and be overtaken by another competitor or do they fight with everything they have left within them. The only way through that wall is to draw strength on the times and challenges that have gone before them. You can't have a tomato without having a tomato plant grow the tomato. This takes time, watering, tender loving care and endurance and to find a way of battling against the storms of life. The reward of crossing that finishing line for the runner is their focus, its what they have spent days, weeks, months training for, and when they do cross that line they can sleep peacefully knowing that they ran the race and didn't give up, that they kept focussed on their reward despite the obstacles.
So if the reward of crossing that final line is their focus, how much more can the reward be for winning someone's heart? If the heart is given instantly, then the giver dosen't realise the preciousness of it. But if the woman knows how special her heart is then in her wisdom she will hold onto it until she is absolutely certain that the man has run the race and has the endurance and commitment to continue despite distractions, obstacles, easier races and even feelings of doubt of their own abilities.
I can not speak for all males, but for me.......to be allowed into that secret garden, then it is going to cost me something, in fact it will cost me alot personally and if it dosen't then she is not worth it. It is going to push me to my limits, the journey will reveal to me my own abilities and strengths and weaknesses, but if i stay focussed on my reward then i have the same chance as anybody else, but without knowing if i will cross that finish line and not allowing my own doubts to trip me up along my way, then to run with my head held high and constantly looking at what i want needs to be the rules for this race.
Even if i do get to that place in a woman's heart it does not mean that i could give up and put my feet up and think "i'm here, you are not moving me out" NO! The journey to that special place is only the beginning. In fact, i think it is easier to get there than it is to stay there. Especially if there are past hurts floating around, then it will be a constant journey of paying attention, observing and learning every minute of every day.
A few years ago while in the funeral trade i witnessed something that has stayed with me. One day we got a call to go pick up a deceased man from his home, and upon arrival we found notes on the table by the front door to the milkman, the newspaper boy and the electric company, notes of final payment for the outstanding amounts. My colleague and i walked into the front room and it was there that it took my breath away. The husband had heart problems and was given a few months to live, but his wife couldn't bear to be without him and on the sofa were two elderly people holding hands, both taken the same amount of pills and overdosed 15 seconds apart. This spoke of lots of things to me, love, commitment, togetherness but it spoke of something else which i have just realised in the last 2 minutes......it spoke of him running the race, the race to stay in her secret place. He had to work to stay there, but she allowed him. That picture of these two people stays in my mind and i am grateful and so privileged to witness not only love, but completeness on that Sunday morning.
I do have a woman in mind that has actually without even knowing it been the inspiration for this particular story and when i think about her, when i look at her, it dawns on me very quickly that i need to get into training and although i do not even know if i will cross that finishing line, i do know this....if i don't train, if i don't try, if it dosen't cost me something then i will never know what it is like to be in that secret place of a woman's heart. I am sure that the reward of winning a race becomes more precious with every step taken.
The un-nerving thing about starting this particular journey is that it has two parts, the first...... is that i know however hard i work the final decision will be hers, and second .....just like a marathon, i know i am not the only competitor. The reward is her heart....... which can only be described as something precious.
When the rain is blowing in your face
And the whole world is on your case
I would offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love.
When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one to dry your tears
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love.
I know you haven't made your mind up yet
But I would never do you wrong
I've known it from the moment that we met
No doubt in my mind where you belong.
I'd go hungry, I'd go blind for you
I'd go crawling down the aisle for you
There ain't nothing that I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love.
The storms are raging on a rolling sea
Down the highway of regret
The winds of change are blowing wild and free
But you ain't seen nothing like me yet.
There ain't nothing that I wouldn't do
Go to the ends of the earth for you
Make you happy, make your dreams come true
To make you feel my love
Make you feel my love - Bob Dylan
© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris
When a long distance runner searches for a race, im sure that he searches for the one that would give him the most honour. That people would be in awe that he had achieved such a pain staking journey to the finishing line, that his endurance would be without doubt visible to even the untrained eye. How many of us can actually run a marathon? 26 miles of pounding step after step onto the hard concrete of city streets, despite the weather conditions, despite the muscle aches and most definitely despite the "wall". They say, that when a runner is near to the end of his race he hits this invisible "wall" that challenges him or her more than the race itself. At this point is where you see their true character. Do they quit, or do they continue? Do they rest and be overtaken by another competitor or do they fight with everything they have left within them. The only way through that wall is to draw strength on the times and challenges that have gone before them. You can't have a tomato without having a tomato plant grow the tomato. This takes time, watering, tender loving care and endurance and to find a way of battling against the storms of life. The reward of crossing that finishing line for the runner is their focus, its what they have spent days, weeks, months training for, and when they do cross that line they can sleep peacefully knowing that they ran the race and didn't give up, that they kept focussed on their reward despite the obstacles.
So if the reward of crossing that final line is their focus, how much more can the reward be for winning someone's heart? If the heart is given instantly, then the giver dosen't realise the preciousness of it. But if the woman knows how special her heart is then in her wisdom she will hold onto it until she is absolutely certain that the man has run the race and has the endurance and commitment to continue despite distractions, obstacles, easier races and even feelings of doubt of their own abilities.
I can not speak for all males, but for me.......to be allowed into that secret garden, then it is going to cost me something, in fact it will cost me alot personally and if it dosen't then she is not worth it. It is going to push me to my limits, the journey will reveal to me my own abilities and strengths and weaknesses, but if i stay focussed on my reward then i have the same chance as anybody else, but without knowing if i will cross that finish line and not allowing my own doubts to trip me up along my way, then to run with my head held high and constantly looking at what i want needs to be the rules for this race.
Even if i do get to that place in a woman's heart it does not mean that i could give up and put my feet up and think "i'm here, you are not moving me out" NO! The journey to that special place is only the beginning. In fact, i think it is easier to get there than it is to stay there. Especially if there are past hurts floating around, then it will be a constant journey of paying attention, observing and learning every minute of every day.
A few years ago while in the funeral trade i witnessed something that has stayed with me. One day we got a call to go pick up a deceased man from his home, and upon arrival we found notes on the table by the front door to the milkman, the newspaper boy and the electric company, notes of final payment for the outstanding amounts. My colleague and i walked into the front room and it was there that it took my breath away. The husband had heart problems and was given a few months to live, but his wife couldn't bear to be without him and on the sofa were two elderly people holding hands, both taken the same amount of pills and overdosed 15 seconds apart. This spoke of lots of things to me, love, commitment, togetherness but it spoke of something else which i have just realised in the last 2 minutes......it spoke of him running the race, the race to stay in her secret place. He had to work to stay there, but she allowed him. That picture of these two people stays in my mind and i am grateful and so privileged to witness not only love, but completeness on that Sunday morning.
I do have a woman in mind that has actually without even knowing it been the inspiration for this particular story and when i think about her, when i look at her, it dawns on me very quickly that i need to get into training and although i do not even know if i will cross that finishing line, i do know this....if i don't train, if i don't try, if it dosen't cost me something then i will never know what it is like to be in that secret place of a woman's heart. I am sure that the reward of winning a race becomes more precious with every step taken.
The un-nerving thing about starting this particular journey is that it has two parts, the first...... is that i know however hard i work the final decision will be hers, and second .....just like a marathon, i know i am not the only competitor. The reward is her heart....... which can only be described as something precious.
When the rain is blowing in your face
And the whole world is on your case
I would offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love.
When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one to dry your tears
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love.
I know you haven't made your mind up yet
But I would never do you wrong
I've known it from the moment that we met
No doubt in my mind where you belong.
I'd go hungry, I'd go blind for you
I'd go crawling down the aisle for you
There ain't nothing that I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love.
The storms are raging on a rolling sea
Down the highway of regret
The winds of change are blowing wild and free
But you ain't seen nothing like me yet.
There ain't nothing that I wouldn't do
Go to the ends of the earth for you
Make you happy, make your dreams come true
To make you feel my love
Make you feel my love - Bob Dylan
© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris
Friday, 1 October 2010
Being watched
I have seen some wonderful things in my life, but none as wonderful as my older brother. He was brave, wise and beautiful, but most of all, he was my friend. All the chicks wanted to be with him, all the guys wanted to be like him. He used to say that this bracelet that he wore around his ankle was a mark of honour and the number engraved upon it was indeed the amount of times that a father had approached him in the hope to make a match for his daughter. But i think a more understandable reason was that it was a constant reminder of his rebellious nature regarding the times that he played up at bedtime and the number is actually a record of the times my parents smacked him for not obeying them. He was a real high flyer and a good teacher of the ways of this world. When we were young we used to go on adventures together and we would experience some amazing things.
Despite the good times, i cannot forget this particular day. The air was clear and it was time for adventure. Turree and i woke up as the light came to say hello and after singing our morning songs we left the warmth and comfort of our home with exploring as our focus. We would see some colours that reminded us of our cousins in far away places, colours of a richness and a warmth. On our travels we had seen big silver birds with fire coming out from behind them. These masters of the skies would swoop and dive and move faster than the fastest eagle. They were big and they made a loud noise. We would try and be like them, we would fly through the sky after each other, going one way and another at high speeds. Our wings would be outstretched to allow more speed to catapult us forward. My trusted wing commander and i were kings in the air, a team that could predict each others moves. We flew through the air like a big fish travels through the water, gracefully and with power. Lifting our wings a little we would turn and dive, the sound of the air against our feathers would remind us of grandma's rumberling stomach.
I looked down to the ground to see creatures moving without feathers. These creatures were clothed in many different colours. They were many different sizes and some...... some would have something attached to them which had a fire on the end and smoke came from it.
" Look at those down there Turree"
"Where? " he said,
"Down there, see the one with the smoke?"
"Who maaaaaan?" was the answer i heard.
We both laughed because Turree had a tendency to speak with a slur in his voice as if he had been inhaling some of that smoke that we had seen, but eventually he saw who i was talking about and with his laughter he swooped straight into a mid-flight roll, but this was his final act of aerial acrobatics. I did not know that this day was going to come, this was something he had never taught me and something we had never discussed. As he rolled he laughed, and as he laughed he rolled more. He started to fall from the sky, out of control and couldn't recover. Still laughing he turned over and over and was heading for one of the big things that come out of the ground, the large things that blow in the wind that look like they are standing on one leg...
"Tuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrree" i shouted in desperation. It was too late, he could not get back in control of his spinning and went face first, died instantly, and his body fell to the ground with a thump.
I flew back to my home, told my parents what had happened and while my mother comforted me, my father said...........
"Do not worry my son, Turree will be in feathen, for this is where all good birds go, but it is up to you to keep him alive in your memory. We believe that if you keep someone in your memory, they will never die."
The days went past and i had lost my desire to explore. I watched the heat giver rise in the morning and go to sleep in the dark. Every time it appeared i would try and sing my morning song, but it was hard. I missed my flying companion, my brother and my best friend.
One dark time i was looking at the lights above me, everyone was sleeping and it was very quiet. It was then that it suddenly dawned on me that I was doing everything that Turree did the opposite to. He was life, he was adventurous, he was brave and here i was hiding, afraid and not living my life as i should.
The cold season had come and gone and I had to force myself. It was not easy to fly alone. I had got used to having somebody look out for me, protect me, make me laugh and even find me food when i didnt have the energy, but this was a time where i had to really spread my wings. To learn to fly by myself, to learn to be safe, to learn to provide for myself and to keep the passion of exploring alive, for two reasons.......for Turree and for me.
I sat on the edge of my home high in the air, i said to myself.....
"Turree, give me the strength, the passion, the ability to keep flying"
It was at that moment that my heart was filled with peace and i heard my mother say to me
"Watch out for that turree, because he's watching out for you"
I jumped, i opened my wings and i felt the air again. The rush of adrenaline filled me as i swooped down and around the various obstacles that crossed my path, my desire to explore started to cloth me again like the warmth of the morning after the dark. I wanted to explore more, i wanted to go to places i had never been, to see new things, new colours and to meet other explorers. I wanted to live my life for the sake of Turree, my trusted friend and brother.
I noticed alot of things on those early journeys, but i have never experienced anything as wonderful as imagining my brother flying with me again, because i too now believe that when i keep his memory alive......he is always with me.
© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris
Despite the good times, i cannot forget this particular day. The air was clear and it was time for adventure. Turree and i woke up as the light came to say hello and after singing our morning songs we left the warmth and comfort of our home with exploring as our focus. We would see some colours that reminded us of our cousins in far away places, colours of a richness and a warmth. On our travels we had seen big silver birds with fire coming out from behind them. These masters of the skies would swoop and dive and move faster than the fastest eagle. They were big and they made a loud noise. We would try and be like them, we would fly through the sky after each other, going one way and another at high speeds. Our wings would be outstretched to allow more speed to catapult us forward. My trusted wing commander and i were kings in the air, a team that could predict each others moves. We flew through the air like a big fish travels through the water, gracefully and with power. Lifting our wings a little we would turn and dive, the sound of the air against our feathers would remind us of grandma's rumberling stomach.
I looked down to the ground to see creatures moving without feathers. These creatures were clothed in many different colours. They were many different sizes and some...... some would have something attached to them which had a fire on the end and smoke came from it.
" Look at those down there Turree"
"Where? " he said,
"Down there, see the one with the smoke?"
"Who maaaaaan?" was the answer i heard.
We both laughed because Turree had a tendency to speak with a slur in his voice as if he had been inhaling some of that smoke that we had seen, but eventually he saw who i was talking about and with his laughter he swooped straight into a mid-flight roll, but this was his final act of aerial acrobatics. I did not know that this day was going to come, this was something he had never taught me and something we had never discussed. As he rolled he laughed, and as he laughed he rolled more. He started to fall from the sky, out of control and couldn't recover. Still laughing he turned over and over and was heading for one of the big things that come out of the ground, the large things that blow in the wind that look like they are standing on one leg...
"Tuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrree" i shouted in desperation. It was too late, he could not get back in control of his spinning and went face first, died instantly, and his body fell to the ground with a thump.
I flew back to my home, told my parents what had happened and while my mother comforted me, my father said...........
"Do not worry my son, Turree will be in feathen, for this is where all good birds go, but it is up to you to keep him alive in your memory. We believe that if you keep someone in your memory, they will never die."
The days went past and i had lost my desire to explore. I watched the heat giver rise in the morning and go to sleep in the dark. Every time it appeared i would try and sing my morning song, but it was hard. I missed my flying companion, my brother and my best friend.
One dark time i was looking at the lights above me, everyone was sleeping and it was very quiet. It was then that it suddenly dawned on me that I was doing everything that Turree did the opposite to. He was life, he was adventurous, he was brave and here i was hiding, afraid and not living my life as i should.
The cold season had come and gone and I had to force myself. It was not easy to fly alone. I had got used to having somebody look out for me, protect me, make me laugh and even find me food when i didnt have the energy, but this was a time where i had to really spread my wings. To learn to fly by myself, to learn to be safe, to learn to provide for myself and to keep the passion of exploring alive, for two reasons.......for Turree and for me.
I sat on the edge of my home high in the air, i said to myself.....
"Turree, give me the strength, the passion, the ability to keep flying"
It was at that moment that my heart was filled with peace and i heard my mother say to me
"Watch out for that turree, because he's watching out for you"
I jumped, i opened my wings and i felt the air again. The rush of adrenaline filled me as i swooped down and around the various obstacles that crossed my path, my desire to explore started to cloth me again like the warmth of the morning after the dark. I wanted to explore more, i wanted to go to places i had never been, to see new things, new colours and to meet other explorers. I wanted to live my life for the sake of Turree, my trusted friend and brother.
I noticed alot of things on those early journeys, but i have never experienced anything as wonderful as imagining my brother flying with me again, because i too now believe that when i keep his memory alive......he is always with me.
© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
To rust
Tattoos and scars are different things. Unless a person has been forced to have the external design injected into their skin - then normally a tattoo is something that is achieved by choice, but a scar is usually something caused by an accident, negligence or abuse. A scar is an invisible area of darkness within our lives. The problem with scars are that they have immense power over us and can easily build up a wall that seems impossible to overcome...... if we allow it. As human beings we build walls for our own protection and safety, but it actually has different aspects to it. To build a wall is stating that there is a boundary in place and is usually impossible to climb, unless the fear of the size and thickness of the wall does not intimidate the climber. It also says that whatever is inside needs protecting. When i think of walls and boundaries i think of the fairy tales i have heard in my lifetime. The beautiful princess alone in a castle tower, looking, searching, hoping for her handsome hero to bravely come riding towards her on a white horse. A muscle wearing horse whose flowing white mane dances in the breeze as he thunders along the open plains.. A horse that maybe answers to the name of "Honour." Upon its back is a dashing hero with blonde wavy hair that matches his golden smile. His name is Prince Gallant. Together they defeat their enemies and bandits along their journey which strengthens their focus and endurance for gaining their prize. A wife for the Prince and another friend for the horse. As they reach the tower of lonely cries they face the huge obstacle of climbing the wall. An opportunity to turn back and seek an easier maiden no doubt. But this Handsome hero is focussed and ready for any task.
So a wall is built to separate people and it does exactly that. But not only does it keep people from getting in, it also stops the person on the inside from getting out. So take the the word "Trust" .....add 1 letter to it and it changes everything. Add an "o" and it says "to rust". Pronounced similar to the original, but with a completely different meaning. After a few storms, rain, even an extreme coldness, metal will not only change its outward appearance but slowly break into smaller pieces, losing its strength and can be a hazard to surrounding objects. Rust will not only effect non living things but plants too. Its a plant disease that produces a reddish-brown discoloration of leaves and stems, caused by various rust fungi robbing the plant of its natural beauty. So the deterioration, lack of strength and non ability to complete its task is all caused by weather and time, which could be described as the storms of life.
So as human beings we have been given lots of choices in our lives and one of them is to either trust or to rust.
One day a man was walking his dog along the cliff top. The wind was blowing the trees and after a few minutes he had already seen his tweed peaked cap fly over the edge and drop down into the crashing waves below. The wind was getting stronger, his dog was continually barking and our young explorer struggled to stand up straight as he leaned into the wind. The leash flew out of his hand and like his hat he now saw his dog run off into the distance. Bashed by the storm he lost his step and slipped on a loose rock which took him on the same journey as his favourite walking cap. Falling down towards the waves he managed to grab a branch poking out from the cliff face. Holding onto it with all his strength he started to wear fear like a scarf, wrapped around him and occasionally slapping his face. Eventually he cries out
"Help!" Only silence answers him.
He cries out again with a desperateness in his voice "Help!" no answer yet again,
"Heeeeeeeeeeellllllllp!" he screams, tears rolling down his face onto his aching arms.
"LET GO OF THE BRANCH, I WILL CATCH YOU" said a deep voice booming from the heavens.
"How can you catch me, i cant even see you. Is anyone else there, Help!"" he cries.
So because of our understanding of past events in our lives we allow the past to dictate our future. We surrender our strength and give it the power to make us understand and trust only in the things that we can see and know. But to trust, that is really birthed from the unknown, a new journey, a new experience, a chance to explore deeper into another human being and deeper within ourselves.
As children we are told not to touch the hot pans in the kitchen, that it is dangerous and we will get hurt. But sometimes our personality's like to rebel against warnings and instead of taking notice to the wisdom that is shared we go ahead and do the exact opposite. We touch the pan, we burn our fingers and we shout and cry because of the pain, sometimes we shout at the wisdom giver and accuse them of not warning us correctly. Instead of listening and learning the softer way, we learn the hard way....by getting hurt. But over time the one thing we would remember about the incident is the pain that we felt. Sometimes that burn is strong enough to make people avoid cooking. A few years ago i was working with an Autistic adult who gave me an amazing experience. This fully grown muscle man had a scar that ran from his shoulder to his elbow. A big scar that could only be made by boiling hot water. Maybe he was told not to touch the pans and he rebelled, i don't know. But i was filling the washing bowl up with hot water after our evening meal and this guy came out of his comfort zone and came up to me, gently pushed me out of the way and turned on the cold water. He was a man living behind a medical wall but he himself climbed that wall to protect another person. He trusted me enough to overcome his own barrier of getting close to people. It was an incredible moment for me and he taught me so much in those few seconds.
The bible says "It is better to trust God than to trust man" What does this mean? Does it mean we are all bad and doomed, no! It means that the author of the bible knows what human beings can be like. Our imperfections, our reactions, our behaviours are not a secret to Him. So not only does He know what we are like, but an awareness that all people are capable of being the same. That we as human beings hurt each other, sometimes without even knowing it.
I have had the most beautiful people i have ever met hurt me. They didnt mean to, it was something that just happened. But it was my reaction to their mistake that was important. At that point i had the power to end the friendships or to work through it, and today i am grateful that i did not turn and run, but to face the truth that they had said about me.
Some times a physical position is needed. In a war, soldiers are taught to be prepared and you can almost imagine the warriors all through time of maybe placing their right foot forward and their left foot to one side, crouched down and ready to attack. Maybe the foot to the left is a ready position to run if the attack seems to fierce. But what if the person attacking dosen't actually attack but approaches in a different way, a softer way, a more friendly way? It means the defender has to change their stance. A physical action needs to be taken to accommodate the new encounter. But a fighting stance is not really an attacking stance, its a defence action. As a human being, it is alot easier to take on the defensive attitude of "maybe i will get hurt through this, so i need to be ready" than it is to think that maybe the new encounter is going to be amazing. Its human nature. In Texas USA they have an unwritten law....."you come on my land i will shoot you." But what if the new visitor was bringing lottery winnings to your home address? What if its a long lost school friend? What if its the exact person they have been waiting for all their lives? The wrong stance could make or break their new journey.
So the key is not too allow our past to dictate our future, but to choose on how we want that first step to land, with a positive footprint or a negative footprint. But either way.....it is our choice.
None of us are cactus's, we all like to be touched.
© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris
So a wall is built to separate people and it does exactly that. But not only does it keep people from getting in, it also stops the person on the inside from getting out. So take the the word "Trust" .....add 1 letter to it and it changes everything. Add an "o" and it says "to rust". Pronounced similar to the original, but with a completely different meaning. After a few storms, rain, even an extreme coldness, metal will not only change its outward appearance but slowly break into smaller pieces, losing its strength and can be a hazard to surrounding objects. Rust will not only effect non living things but plants too. Its a plant disease that produces a reddish-brown discoloration of leaves and stems, caused by various rust fungi robbing the plant of its natural beauty. So the deterioration, lack of strength and non ability to complete its task is all caused by weather and time, which could be described as the storms of life.
So as human beings we have been given lots of choices in our lives and one of them is to either trust or to rust.
One day a man was walking his dog along the cliff top. The wind was blowing the trees and after a few minutes he had already seen his tweed peaked cap fly over the edge and drop down into the crashing waves below. The wind was getting stronger, his dog was continually barking and our young explorer struggled to stand up straight as he leaned into the wind. The leash flew out of his hand and like his hat he now saw his dog run off into the distance. Bashed by the storm he lost his step and slipped on a loose rock which took him on the same journey as his favourite walking cap. Falling down towards the waves he managed to grab a branch poking out from the cliff face. Holding onto it with all his strength he started to wear fear like a scarf, wrapped around him and occasionally slapping his face. Eventually he cries out
"Help!" Only silence answers him.
He cries out again with a desperateness in his voice "Help!" no answer yet again,
"Heeeeeeeeeeellllllllp!" he screams, tears rolling down his face onto his aching arms.
"LET GO OF THE BRANCH, I WILL CATCH YOU" said a deep voice booming from the heavens.
"How can you catch me, i cant even see you. Is anyone else there, Help!"" he cries.
So because of our understanding of past events in our lives we allow the past to dictate our future. We surrender our strength and give it the power to make us understand and trust only in the things that we can see and know. But to trust, that is really birthed from the unknown, a new journey, a new experience, a chance to explore deeper into another human being and deeper within ourselves.
As children we are told not to touch the hot pans in the kitchen, that it is dangerous and we will get hurt. But sometimes our personality's like to rebel against warnings and instead of taking notice to the wisdom that is shared we go ahead and do the exact opposite. We touch the pan, we burn our fingers and we shout and cry because of the pain, sometimes we shout at the wisdom giver and accuse them of not warning us correctly. Instead of listening and learning the softer way, we learn the hard way....by getting hurt. But over time the one thing we would remember about the incident is the pain that we felt. Sometimes that burn is strong enough to make people avoid cooking. A few years ago i was working with an Autistic adult who gave me an amazing experience. This fully grown muscle man had a scar that ran from his shoulder to his elbow. A big scar that could only be made by boiling hot water. Maybe he was told not to touch the pans and he rebelled, i don't know. But i was filling the washing bowl up with hot water after our evening meal and this guy came out of his comfort zone and came up to me, gently pushed me out of the way and turned on the cold water. He was a man living behind a medical wall but he himself climbed that wall to protect another person. He trusted me enough to overcome his own barrier of getting close to people. It was an incredible moment for me and he taught me so much in those few seconds.
The bible says "It is better to trust God than to trust man" What does this mean? Does it mean we are all bad and doomed, no! It means that the author of the bible knows what human beings can be like. Our imperfections, our reactions, our behaviours are not a secret to Him. So not only does He know what we are like, but an awareness that all people are capable of being the same. That we as human beings hurt each other, sometimes without even knowing it.
I have had the most beautiful people i have ever met hurt me. They didnt mean to, it was something that just happened. But it was my reaction to their mistake that was important. At that point i had the power to end the friendships or to work through it, and today i am grateful that i did not turn and run, but to face the truth that they had said about me.
Some times a physical position is needed. In a war, soldiers are taught to be prepared and you can almost imagine the warriors all through time of maybe placing their right foot forward and their left foot to one side, crouched down and ready to attack. Maybe the foot to the left is a ready position to run if the attack seems to fierce. But what if the person attacking dosen't actually attack but approaches in a different way, a softer way, a more friendly way? It means the defender has to change their stance. A physical action needs to be taken to accommodate the new encounter. But a fighting stance is not really an attacking stance, its a defence action. As a human being, it is alot easier to take on the defensive attitude of "maybe i will get hurt through this, so i need to be ready" than it is to think that maybe the new encounter is going to be amazing. Its human nature. In Texas USA they have an unwritten law....."you come on my land i will shoot you." But what if the new visitor was bringing lottery winnings to your home address? What if its a long lost school friend? What if its the exact person they have been waiting for all their lives? The wrong stance could make or break their new journey.
So the key is not too allow our past to dictate our future, but to choose on how we want that first step to land, with a positive footprint or a negative footprint. But either way.....it is our choice.
None of us are cactus's, we all like to be touched.
© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris
Saturday, 18 September 2010
The root
A root of a tree is a powerful thing. Its the source of all life for it. Nourishment and growth are transported through the twisted snakelike foundations. The future of the tree lies cradled within its root. From one root there could be glorious fruit, colour and even a scent that could be pleasing to the nose of both humans and living creatures. The strongest of Oak trees, the fragility of the Weeping Willow, both started with one root. The 300ft Red trees of California have grown to such great heights because of the power and direction of their roots. A dead tree however, bare, fruitless and brown with its bark falling away, dies first in the root and then it progresses into the branches and the leaves, losing all of its splendour of life. So it is with human beings. From the day our mothers give birth to us, our roots begin to grow. Our personal tree of life will grow one way or another and it will encounter certain things that could change its course, block or enhance its growth and determine the quality of fruit that we bare. The strange thing about an Olive tree is that as it grows, it will twist and turn in its own direction, it will be its own leader and it will create some very unusual patterns. But through all of this, they actually grow in a way that they were not made to, but eventually, over the years they become something beautiful and a masterpiece.
So like an Olive tree, i have made some wrong decision's in my life. I have travelled down roads that i thought were the right way for me, and time after time it was proven that i was wrong. But the problem with this is the realization of one very simple statement....."the hardest thing in the world to change is a belief system."
Through numerous crossroads and obstacles and years of abuse, caused by others emotionally, or by myself, emotionally physically and mentally, my opinion of myself became very low. The scars from these things although invisible to the untrained eye are very visible to me. If you sat on the beach and drew a line in the sand, waited until the sea washed over it and erased the groove that was made, in our eyes we could still the line. Even days later, when taking a walk along the beach and reaching that same point we would remember the feeling of cutting into the sand and we are capable of picturing that line again, even though it may not be there.
My wrong belief system started to bare its fruit. Negativity became the source of my life. It fed me, it blurred my vision of how i see things. How i see people, situations and how i see myself. If i had known better, i would have done better. But like those racehorse's lining up for the years biggest race, with leather blinkers over the side of each eye to avoid distraction, that is how i have been. Negativity became my blinkers and it was all i saw and knew. When people said something complimentary i didn't believe them. When people said something positive i didn't believe them. When people said something bad, i believed them. That was easy to believe because i was already plugged into the negative life source, so it became natural to me. To always think the worst in people, places and things.
A few years ago i was living in Texas USA. I had run from everything that i knew in the hope that my head would not follow me to the other side of the world. But instead, i remember very clearly that it greeted me when i touched down at Dallas airport. I had no escape, no way out and no where to hide from the root of my tree. I remember due to a bad relationship i was in, negative situation and a hopeless state of affairs, i had decided to go for a long walk. 4 hours had passed, many roads were taken but my mind was still the same - pumping negativity through my veins. I came upon a crossroads, one road went into the unknown and another went back to the place i had run from. I sat at that crossroads for over an hour, crying because i didn't know which way to go. I did not know that negativity is a brother to fear and lack of self worth and a cousin to a continual feeling of failure. Fear will stop a person being brave and going into the unknown. Lack of self worth will tell a person that they cant achieve anything and the feeling of failure....well that just says "game over." Eventually i had made my decision and as it was proven again it was the wrong decision. When i got back to the place i was living in i found the person i was with in bed with somebody else. If only i had been brave enough to keep going i could have saved myself from more invisible scars. But i didn't believe in myself and that stopped me from moving forward. The road we know is usually the easier one to take, but the road that smells of bravery is normally right behind the sign that says "do not enter, fear lives here." That crossroads in Texas was a very real sign to me. I was given the opportunity to change, to grow, to overcome, but i was a coward and i choose the way that i knew. I was not brave enough to walk into the dark without a torch and to feel my way through to the destination that was laid out before me. I choose to go the way where i could see. And so it has been like that all of my life. Negativity has been worn by me like an aftershave or cologne, something that is put on every morning. The problem with it is that it smells disgusting. It turns people away instead of drawing them closer. So then i am stuck alone with the stink of rotten fruit.
Until recently, this had been the source of my life, the energy within my body, the destination of my focus. But recently, through more crossroads and opportunity's, i have been able to see that there is another way. Its called positive thinking. A new concept to this battle scarred travelling boy. A new wave over the line of pain drawn in the sand. Money can buy alot of things but it can't buy this. All the money in the world can not buy freedom. Freedom from negativity can only be purchased by a decision. Before that decision there must be a pause button, so i can make that choice and not be blinkered again like those 4 legged money machines. To take a step back, to pause, to see and weigh up both routes, has become a necessity for me now. But that does not mean that i make the right choice every time, it means that i am worthy of making a choice and that my choice's are important. That i can no longer be controlled by something i don't see and by that i can see a bigger picture, not just the inside of two leather blinkers.
When it is my time to go from this world, i don't want to be the type of person who says to my grandchildren "don't try this and don't try that because there dangerous." but instead a person that says "Go out there, experience all that life has to offer you, you may fall, you may stumble, but you can always pick yourself up and try again. Your life is worth more than to stay laying down." Because the only thing we could leave as an inheritance of our lives that is worth anything, anything at all.......is our story.
I have recently come across a wonderful quote, which i read daily. Written by Henry Ford, the guy who invented the motor car. At some point in his life, proberly when he was being verbally abused for his ideas and told that his opinion on something was not good enough, he had this revelation and said....
"Whether you think you can or you can't, either way you are right."
© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris
So like an Olive tree, i have made some wrong decision's in my life. I have travelled down roads that i thought were the right way for me, and time after time it was proven that i was wrong. But the problem with this is the realization of one very simple statement....."the hardest thing in the world to change is a belief system."
Through numerous crossroads and obstacles and years of abuse, caused by others emotionally, or by myself, emotionally physically and mentally, my opinion of myself became very low. The scars from these things although invisible to the untrained eye are very visible to me. If you sat on the beach and drew a line in the sand, waited until the sea washed over it and erased the groove that was made, in our eyes we could still the line. Even days later, when taking a walk along the beach and reaching that same point we would remember the feeling of cutting into the sand and we are capable of picturing that line again, even though it may not be there.
My wrong belief system started to bare its fruit. Negativity became the source of my life. It fed me, it blurred my vision of how i see things. How i see people, situations and how i see myself. If i had known better, i would have done better. But like those racehorse's lining up for the years biggest race, with leather blinkers over the side of each eye to avoid distraction, that is how i have been. Negativity became my blinkers and it was all i saw and knew. When people said something complimentary i didn't believe them. When people said something positive i didn't believe them. When people said something bad, i believed them. That was easy to believe because i was already plugged into the negative life source, so it became natural to me. To always think the worst in people, places and things.
A few years ago i was living in Texas USA. I had run from everything that i knew in the hope that my head would not follow me to the other side of the world. But instead, i remember very clearly that it greeted me when i touched down at Dallas airport. I had no escape, no way out and no where to hide from the root of my tree. I remember due to a bad relationship i was in, negative situation and a hopeless state of affairs, i had decided to go for a long walk. 4 hours had passed, many roads were taken but my mind was still the same - pumping negativity through my veins. I came upon a crossroads, one road went into the unknown and another went back to the place i had run from. I sat at that crossroads for over an hour, crying because i didn't know which way to go. I did not know that negativity is a brother to fear and lack of self worth and a cousin to a continual feeling of failure. Fear will stop a person being brave and going into the unknown. Lack of self worth will tell a person that they cant achieve anything and the feeling of failure....well that just says "game over." Eventually i had made my decision and as it was proven again it was the wrong decision. When i got back to the place i was living in i found the person i was with in bed with somebody else. If only i had been brave enough to keep going i could have saved myself from more invisible scars. But i didn't believe in myself and that stopped me from moving forward. The road we know is usually the easier one to take, but the road that smells of bravery is normally right behind the sign that says "do not enter, fear lives here." That crossroads in Texas was a very real sign to me. I was given the opportunity to change, to grow, to overcome, but i was a coward and i choose the way that i knew. I was not brave enough to walk into the dark without a torch and to feel my way through to the destination that was laid out before me. I choose to go the way where i could see. And so it has been like that all of my life. Negativity has been worn by me like an aftershave or cologne, something that is put on every morning. The problem with it is that it smells disgusting. It turns people away instead of drawing them closer. So then i am stuck alone with the stink of rotten fruit.
Until recently, this had been the source of my life, the energy within my body, the destination of my focus. But recently, through more crossroads and opportunity's, i have been able to see that there is another way. Its called positive thinking. A new concept to this battle scarred travelling boy. A new wave over the line of pain drawn in the sand. Money can buy alot of things but it can't buy this. All the money in the world can not buy freedom. Freedom from negativity can only be purchased by a decision. Before that decision there must be a pause button, so i can make that choice and not be blinkered again like those 4 legged money machines. To take a step back, to pause, to see and weigh up both routes, has become a necessity for me now. But that does not mean that i make the right choice every time, it means that i am worthy of making a choice and that my choice's are important. That i can no longer be controlled by something i don't see and by that i can see a bigger picture, not just the inside of two leather blinkers.
When it is my time to go from this world, i don't want to be the type of person who says to my grandchildren "don't try this and don't try that because there dangerous." but instead a person that says "Go out there, experience all that life has to offer you, you may fall, you may stumble, but you can always pick yourself up and try again. Your life is worth more than to stay laying down." Because the only thing we could leave as an inheritance of our lives that is worth anything, anything at all.......is our story.
I have recently come across a wonderful quote, which i read daily. Written by Henry Ford, the guy who invented the motor car. At some point in his life, proberly when he was being verbally abused for his ideas and told that his opinion on something was not good enough, he had this revelation and said....
"Whether you think you can or you can't, either way you are right."
© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris
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