Timeless Birth

The waves of eternity crash against the rocky coast of forever. The rays of love and acceptance are setting, but still wash a warmth over all. Soon it will be replaced with the blue moon of peace and serenity.

A never ending cycle in bliss.

A soft whisper caresses the consciousness. “This is the point between two places. It is here you must decide to stay or go. To leave the peace and love of forever and go back into the turmoil of life.”

The whisper points attention to the obelisk defaced by a single black door.

The door inspires horror and fear.

The whisper no more uttered the sentence then the air around is felt, still questions swirl. Thoughts dip in and out. The potential to live again hums like a long forgotten desire.

Consciousness has come this far, it could travel no farther until answering yes or no. Here and now a decision was possible. In the timeless void counting second and minutes, days and years was meaningless.

Life was what once was. Maybe an empty candy wrapper is an apt description. A wrapper that has been licked clean. Once was. A memory gone, but for which the longing for has never disappeared.

At the start this was fine. A void in which to play. To make sandcastles on a beach that the surf never washed away, but eventually the remnants of chocolate disappeared from the wrapper and nothing could replace what the tongue craved and now Consciousness is here facing the pain of birth, of life, of wound and disappointment, all so that he can fill a need to feel the more again.

He answers yes.

His next thought is pain.

His eyes sting under bright light and his lungs burn, stuck painfully closed. Sticky gloves abrade his soft skin. His mouth opens to scream and can’t. He yearns to breath. To live. A concussive blow to his back. Nothing. Another and he sucks greedily at the cold air and sends the breath back out in a terrified scream. He is swaddled in warm blankets and laid under the softest most loving set of eyes he has ever known and all else about his existence is forgotten and time begins to tick once again.




Photo courtesy of :

Sue Vincent’s  #writephoto


Repetition in Failure



I place my hand on the pistol grip protruding from my jeans. The jeans that are a bit too tight. The jeans that sit under my jello like belly. The jeans that bunch under my ass and ride up my crotch as I walk.

Einstein said, every moment, of every life, is doomed to duplicated repetition.

How many times I have entered this bank will forever remain a mystery.

If I have one assurance it’s that I’ve been through this before. What will be, will be. I do not know what that is yet though. I can only assume through the enigma of the universe that I have been returned to this determination time and time again.

I can only play with this idea in my head. There is nothing I can do about it. I am stuck in this loop for eternity. My one hope is I make different better choices, that this time I am somehow more competent. That I am smarter. That I am more capable. That no matter what happens it will all work out in the end.

The end: the inevitable conclusion.


This is the torturous cycle of things. The over and over again that always terminates the same way.

I decide, there is nothing I can do, but complete the circuit. It is my burden.

I jerk at the Walther PPK.

It won’t come. My heart thumps against my ribs. I feel dizzy. My hands tingle. Black splotches form around the corners of my eyes. I jerk on the pistol harder and hear a rip as the hammer snags on the waistband of my underpants. The old, badly fitting fruit of the looms that are discolored from too much use and too few washing, pull into my butt-crack as I jerk again. I try one final time and the pistol comes clear, but with a loud rip of cotton rending at the abuse.

I can feel old underwear flapping above the tight waistline of my pants.

With one hand I try to shove the fabric back inside my jeans, but only manage to make the levis slide farther down my rear-end.

I spread my legs to keep the jeans from going all the way to my ankles.

A snicker.

Blood flushes to my face. I feel hot. Sweat beads from every pore, instantly drenching my shirt.

I push past the pain in my shoulder as I slam the gun up against the bullet proof glass the bank teller sits behind. He is a bald man, skinny, in a red knit sweater. He has a black tie around a neck with a huge adams apple that bounces up and down as if he is swallowing laughter. He has a look on his face that makes me want to end him.


I scream, “This is a fucking robbery, give me all the money,” but it comes out all garbled like I’m chewing on my tongue.

His skinny face blooms into a humored smile.

I get startled by movement to my right and squeeze the trigger to fire off a warning shot. My hand won’t work the trigger. I turn the weapon and I see the safety is red.

What’s the saying? See red you’re what?

Suddenly I don’t see anything. But I hear a room full of people laughing.

Then nothing.

Einstein said, every moment of every life is doomed to be repeated.

I’ve been here before.