Migratory Birds

"I really like it here" said the male bird to the female.

He traces his main claw, drawing small circles in a puddle of water on the rocky part of the bay.

"It's nice, this corner of the earth. It's not too hot but the sun is strong and the air is fresh."

The female bird looks at him longingly.

"Do you come here often for vacation?" she inquires.

The male bird looks intensely into her eyes and takes a purposeful step backwards as a stone flies directly in front of his face, the exact place where he had just been standing.

"Often" says the male bird disregarding the stone's threat casually. "But I go other places as well. There is a lot to explore and many nice places to pass a summer.

Both birds hear a stone pass sailing over their heads. This one is well off it's mark, as were the majority of stones in the 10 minutes prior.

They turn their heads and regard the stone's source, a freckled eight year old kid who sits on a driftwood log. He searches at his feet and looks for more suitable stones to throw.

"And how about work?" The female bird asks intrigued. She is a hint playful but also serious. "Where do you go?"

"I usually breed amongst the chain islands in the Berring Sea" he replied. "I enjoy the remoteness, the peace after snow-melt. There, I find a certain freedom in the wind."

"The Aleutians? Me too. Do you have a preferred island?" 

The male bird tilts his head to the side and thinks. There were so many islands, each one with its charms.

"I'm going to have to go with Kiska" he chooses finally.

"Oh, I'm not sure I know it."

The male bird nods knowingly. He thought as much. "It is a small island" he explains. "But not too small by Aleutian standards. Most flock to Attu, but I find Attu crowded. Kiska is what Attu was in the 70's."

The female bird is impressed. "Kiska eh? I'll have to check it out. Maybe I'll breed there in the next Northern summer. Do you have a breeding partner?"

"Not yet. Do you?"

"No" she replies and smiles.

Both birds hop closer together, each hop slow and delicate, their respective momentum driven by shiny notions seen in each others eyes. Their beaks are almost touching, the air warmer from each others breathing, when suddenly the male bird extends his wing and quickly pushes the female bird away. He does it just in time as a bullet like stone passes directly between them, the speed and force ten times greater than what they had been contending with before.

Startled, they each turn their heads and regard it's source. The boy's father now sits on the log beside him and joins him in searching for suitable throwing stones.

"Want to get out of here?" the male bird asks.

She nods and both birds take flight.

"I know a good spot over the headland. There are less people there. None of the city holiday campers like we get here."

"Why do you think the humans hate us birds so much?" the female bird asks.

"I don't know" replied the male, effortlessly floating into the sky.

They watch as both father and son stand up from their log now and hurl stones rapidly with all of their might. They grow smaller and smaller, like tiny ants, the power and trajectory of their throws pathetic and feeble.

They extend their wings and glide through the air with ease. The earth taking shape beneath them. Their paths careless, unencumbered.

"I have no idea at all. Perhaps they long to be free?" he muses.

"Have you been to the Hawaiian islands? Kauai in particular is magic this time of year..."

Regarding the Things of God and Men

What exactly does your god tell you when he whispers in your ear? What does he do to manifest feelings in your heart?

The things you will go on to do in his name?

The actions you will take?

From the small things to whether you reply to an email or respond to someone in the street.

To the finger, with gold you will surround.

To the bombs planted in the hearts and minds of those whose god is different.

You will put your god before people.

Then one day when you finally meet your god will you be relieved? To look back on the devastating road that lead you to this place, but be glad that you finally made it.

Will you look back on all the people that haven't and feel pity?

I wonder if you will realize that the reason that they haven't might be because of all the things you said and did in his name?

They meant nothing to you, and therefore your god.

The Fate of the Last Clairvoyant

Madame Delany, the last remaining clairvoyant, was sad when she finally packed up her tent. As she stowed away her crystal ball and unhooked the veils for the very last time she reflected on years of visions and readings. She met all sorts of people in that tent. There were many non-believers who came in for a laugh, some were skeptics - unsure of what to believe - and the remaining others stared into her eyes intently. They trembled when they held out their palms, they clutched and shuddered hopefully. She could feel their energies, she could read their expressions and body language. It was a serious matter speaking words into people's lives. It was a matter she never took lightly and if she saw nothing amidst the faux smoke and glimmer in the crystal, she never charged.

But no one came to see her anymore. Machines had taken over.

Madame Delany sighed as she contemplated the demise of personal contact, the human touch of intimacy, romance, drama and mystique.

People were now informed of their futures via computers for handsome sums not just loose change. It was an age where machines knew more about people than people did about themselves.

Almost every human action was monitored, recorded and meta-analyzed. With the advent of social media, CCTV cameras, satellite tracking systems, and electronic financial blue-printing, machines could trace the whereabouts of everyone, the things they viewed and searched for, the friends they kept, their affiliations and habits - social, financial, and private.

It was an age where technology was fast but time was even faster. People were busy, too busy, lives always being lived in the future tense with no ability to rest in the present moment. People no longer knew each other, just ideas and marketed images, sales-pitch personalities on screens. You saw people's selected images rather than their physical being. This was how they communicated and this was how they networked. There remained very few chance encounters. Face-to-face evolved into screen-to-screen. Existence had become calculated and boring. Advertising slowly replaced inspiration, and wonder had been brushed aside by statistic.

But Madame Delany never wanted any of these things. She despised the city and its commercialism. She hated machine orientated invasions of privacy all for the sake of capital. She lived the life of a true bohemian, in the countryside on the outskirts of the city. There she lived in peace, growing her own vegetables, trading produce with neighbours, never owning a cell phone, computer or television. She had all that she needed, living a simple contented life.

But this way of life was slipping away. Slowly, even the bohemian communities were evolving. House rents increased and became harder to cover. The owners in the city began to evict those that couldn't pay. Everyone started to move further afield where the cost of living was more affordable or stay, working harder and longer. She began to lose many of her friends and the community disintegrated.

Some months later, a drunk and heavily depressed Madame Delany stumbled off a public bus in the middle of the city. Fuelled by a heavy sense of irony she swiped her bank card in a machine that told people's futures. The bank card was the only information they had on her and she hardly ever used it.

The machine quoted her the cost of it's clairvoyance service and it was nearly the entire sum of her account, but she decided to accept.

In a slot at the bottom of the machine a piece of paper emerged which read her new balance which amounted to a few quarters - the cost she usually charged her clients to have their futures read.

Below that was only one additional piece of information, her future;

Directions to the nearest bureau where they issue food stamps.

Immediately the screen dismissed her, changing to welcome the next user in bright colours, an image of a nuclear family jumping for joy in celebration on an intricately cultivated suburban lawn.

"The future is yours" it read.

In response to the person who questioned what I was doing with my life

First of all. Why such critical and condoning tone? Why not such question posed with love or concern? What does it even mean to you? Does my life effect you in some way? Do I cause you pain? You say that I have no stability or foundation. What do you expect from me? I'd build a house if I knew where to put it. I'd make a home if it agreed with my heart. Both are not for lack of resource. I'm not an unwise and foolish penny-less vagrant.

Are they monuments, a wife and children? Are they things to erect on my lawn? Everything happens in its own time and I trust that everything works out as it should. So let it be.

You fail to see this journey I'm on. And I'm working it out slowly. I've been studying and I've been discovering, and I'm lost somewhere within the depths of me, the universe makes sense.

I've learned what it is to look through these eyes. I've stepped through the past and come to terms. I've held things in my hand and let them go. I've taken hurts and lies and thrown them into the light.

Because this journey is not about a destination. You see, it is so deep and amazing that we never truly arrive. It's not about milestones or trophies. It's not about accolades or comparisons. It's a personal and shared experience. Blessed are those that sink into it's weight, and feel it's endless bounds. Do you know what love is? Are you in awe of its power? It will collapse your knees!

So what about my years? So what if I'm thirty?

I am a deliberate man and I am deliberate in my actions.

So please don't criticize me when I can honestly say;

I am ready to love.