Glow

The night is quiet less the shuffled sound of sandal turned desert rocks and labored breathing.

My hands grow increasingly numb with every step, backpack straps from the heavy pack full of all our worldly possessions restrict the blood flow to my arms, but we must keep going.

From the darkness an innocent voice asks, “What is that father?”

Vapor from our warm breath momentarily glows like a cloud, illuminated by the distant bright lights of the Kabul airport.

Without looking down, nor losing a step I respond, that’s hope my son, that’s hope”.

Word Count=94

“Newspaper” Relationships

As I understand, Hemingway said that writing for a newspaper meant you needed to forget everything you learned from the previous day on the job and wipe the slate clean because there is a new story to be had for the next days headline.

In contrast, Hemingway said writing a story or a novel was to celebrate and apply what you know and learned in life..

I think relationships are the same way. Some are like newspapers and some are like a well written story or novel.

“Newspaper” relationships are all about the headline of the day. Slights, hurts or even joys for that matter experienced from the previous days story, mean little. Newspaper relationships are the days big headline with not allot of substance. At times you may wonder why you keep the subscription. If a newspaper relationship is to work, you must accept it for what it is and not rain on it with expectations lest it stop showing up on your front porch.

“Novel” relationships are like a favorite book that speaks to you. It is based on trust, commitment and mutual respect in which you allow yourself to be vulnerable, open to the story’s point of view and potentially grow as a person.

Peace-Goroyboy

Harmony (Dealing with Conflict)

I cannot speak for others but, I admit it, I want to be liked, and accepted.

I can feel anxious thinking of unresolved personal conflict with others when the relationship emotional bank account with that person is overdrawn, depleted.

What about reconciliation?

That takes commitment from both parties.

Admittedly, I have fooled myself into thinking otherwise, sometimes you CANNOT reconcile.

Unfortunately our polarized society would suggest a short sighted mindset that someone always has to lose.

What is left?

Breathe deeply and slow down for a moment…..

What is the alternative?

Harmony…. If there is power in kindness, harmony is the fuel that feeds it.

In my humble opinion, Living in harmony is quite simple:

Step 1. Recognize the others humanity

Step 2. Commit to living a harmonious life with or without them.

Step 3. Accept the possibility that you may never reconcile with that person.

Step 4. Accept the fact that others(even those you despise) have the same right to the pursuit of happiness as you.

Peace

“Comfortable Chains” #abuse #selfawareness

It is difficult to free fools from the chains they revere“- Voltaire

Who among us doesn’t at least for a moment think the fool Voltaire speaks of, is someone other than ourselves?

We all have chains don’t we?

Chains come in many forms, pride, hatred, greed, spite, envy, These seem obvious as they exude evil.

But what are the “revered” chains Voltaire spoke of?

May I propose they are the shackles of codependency, and physical and/or emotional abuse? Why don’t victims break free of these bindings?

Unfortunately, victims can be so beaten down that sadly this abuse provides a warped sense of security. Knowing that they (the chains) are if nothing else, always there.

Be safe and take care of yourself first so, you can care for others.

Peace.

Frozen in Time by Raymond Roy

Why are you looking at me like that?

Did I do something wrong?

My senses suddenly become sharper,, ears feel hot, “tick…tock”..I hear a clock ticking nearby

Tick tock, tick tock

Survival mode, pupils dilate

Tick Tock…

Why is the door locked?

Tick tock…

I feel I should run but my feet weigh heavy like cinderblocks

Tick tock..

Under my loose fitting shirt, I feel a bead of nervous sweat run down my rib cage

Tick…..tock….tick ……..tock….everything is in slow motion,

I am terrified, Why can’t I scream?

Tick…..tock You manipulate me like clay..

Tick tock…Tick tock… tick tock… tick tock

If I say anything, I am a bleeding heart victim and an attention whore.

When you are a victim of abuse, you don’t always understand what is happening which IS one of the reasons many victims fall prey.Innocence. Especially children. You become frozen and confused.

Once you realize the brevity of what happened, guilt and shame set it….you feel alone. This is a lie.. You are NOT alone

Peace

-Royboy

“You Must Like Butter” By Raymond Roy #writephoto #domesticabuse

You Must Like Butter” By Raymond Roy #writephoto

The bright yellow flowers were reminiscent of when as a child, we would hold a dandelion under each other’s chin. If your chin reflected yellow, it meant you liked butter.

The fringes on the brand new fat rubber tires created a whirring sound as the whipped against the bicycle frame. A campfire effect of the warm sun on my back with a cool headwind brought a clammy sweat to the hair on the back of my neck.

Turning off the road onto a cleared soil path carved in the canola field, the ground was like a grainy dampened beach. The soil almost pebble-like yet firm enough to keep me moving forward. The canola plants were in full bloom.

The musky sweet scent sang a sirens song to the nectar drunken, pollen-laden sleepy bees as they made their way to work.

I found it difficult to keep my mouth full closed as my upper lip continued to swell. The iron rich salty blood crusted on my lower lip, the crimson vital fluid I had swallowed, sat in my stomach like a dagger.

At the base of the ridge I coasted under the bridge to the coal shadowed stream. As I ducked under the bridge. A small cloud formed from my warm breath as it floated out from the shade into the sunlight.

Pulling my hoodie sleeves up, I plunged my swollen hands into the icy stream. Cupping water up to my puffy lip, it was difficult to drink as if I just came back from the dentist. I took off my hoodie. Washing my face and the back of my neck felt good, I felt alert.

A few river rocks rolled down toward me. I sat down, on the moss laden bank, knowing they had come for me. “Melissa Taylor!! “ a voice yelled from atop the bridge. “Melissa Taylor!!, We have a warrant for your arrest!”

“What took ya so long?” , I yelled back. As I sat in the back of the squad car I remembered they left my new bike back there. They one he forbade me to buy(with my own money), hopefully a needy child will find it and make good use of it.

“Why did you kill him Melissa?”

“Just keeping a promise.”drool stringing down as I struggled to be articulate, “I promised he would die the next time he laid a hand on me.”

The full sun had come out, I could see my reflection looking from the backseat into the side mirror of the car. My whole face had a yellow glow from the golden fields.

I guess that means I like really like butter.

Peace

Goroyboy

Domestic Violence.

If you are a victim or know a victim of domestic violence, you are not alone. You are not what someone else says you are. You are who YOU say you are. Domestic Violence Help Line

Written for Sue Vincent’s # writephoto photo prompt. Thanks Sue for hosting.

Residential Farm by Raymond Roy #sundayphotofiction

“Residential” Farm By Raymond Roy

As the priest drove away, painted smiles on my new guardians, transformed into distorted scowls akin to grotesque masks in a Twilight zone episode.

The Mister, seethed,“Well Mrs., looks like we have that summer labor we’ve been prayin fer.” Mister was a scrawny crotchety person. Shoulders bare, void faded blue straps of baggy overalls.

The Mrs., although equal in height to Mister, was at least three times his girth.Belching loudly,she walked, protruding rib fat caused her arms to orbit around her body, similar to Randy from “A Christmas Story”never actually being able put them down.

The Mister, spewed an ebony stream of tobacco-laden spit, landing squarely on a saw legged grasshopper, What’s your name“Injun,? It wasn’t the word Injun, but how it was said. The tone inferred dominance. A wave of Familiar Rage sets in.

Grasshopper recovered, burst forth, ricocheting off a scrap sheet of tin roofing. The ping carried. Grinning internally, I too would have my escape, after dark.

“My given name, Binesi. It means…”

“Enough chatter Injun!”

(…”Thunderbird” I thought to myself)

“Get to work! Start by hauling that wheelbarrow to the compost pile. Earn your keep? You can sleep in the loft with the chickens.”

Word Count-200

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction a 200 word limit fictional story based on the provided photo prompt. Thanks Dawn Miller for this weeks photo.

Fictional yes but many beyond the boundaries of Canada are not aware of North America’s Residential school system which was a a cultural genocide of our continent’s indigenous people. Truth and reconciliation of Canada A great novel which I enjoyed was When the Legends Die addresses the destruction of a little Indian Boys heritage while bonding with an unlikely father figure.

Peace to you all.

-Goroyboy

“The Ego” by Raymond Roy

I cannot hold you in my hand, and the foundation of your lies are built on sand.

If I extend an open hand, a clenched fist is likely what you’ve planned.

If I give you residence in my mind ,you would have me be unkind

If I bring you to where love exists, you reassure me I should resist.

If I show you where you are mistaken, any semblance of truth is then forsaken.

Ego, I am self aware, that you destroy, my wanting to care.

To not care for others serving only my selfish needs, inside I’m waiting for the power of Love, to intercede.

To destroy you Ego is a daily decision , your Children named anger, envy and spite, fog my vision.

My vision for a state of mind, occupied by Love’s Children, whose thoughts are to listen, understand, and be kind.

Peace. -Goroyboy

“Gratitude” by Raymond Roy

Gratitude                                  For all that brings joy and for the challenges that shape me.

Gratitude connects me to the best life has to offer..

To my family, friend and foe alike, I wish you peace this day. Amen

-Goroyboy

“Capture the day” Photo by Raymond Roy

The Prodigal Son(an epilogue)

For those familiar with the parable of The Prodigal Son 

  • The younger of two sons asks for his inheritance, he gets it, he blows it, 
  • Desolate, he returns, begging for a servents position in his fathers house. 
  • Father welcomes him, kills the fatted calf in celebration of his return.
  • Elder son bitter at the younger, is reminded  by the Father that The eldest will still get his inheritance and to just be happy of his return. 

Irresponsibility, gluttony, lust, redemption, jealousy,  unconditional love, and forgiveness. All the makings of a great parable.  

    The Return of the Prodigal Son (1773) by Pompeo Batoni
    There is an implication that the father was wise in emulating God’s unconditional Love for HIS children. If there is a parallel of the father and God, would God have coddled his son by giving him the inheritance? If we saw similar behavior today wouldn’t the younger son appear to be nothing more than a spoiled rich kid ? 
    An often overlooked part of the story is the humility shown by the youngest son upon his return. If I were to add to the story, perhaps the Father realizes his mistake in coddling his youngest, learning that he also is not perfect. As a father of 5, I look back to my father figures and I must admit, some of the most profound lessons learned weren’t always what they did right but rather from their many mistakes. Here is to my children learning from mine. 

    Peace.-Goroyboy