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Look up and He’ll be there, too.


A small creek flows by the town center. In summer, children play in its river, catching butterflies, wading and splashing. But it all flows into the deep darkness of the culvert. A large drain-hole that leads far away. I wonder what it could lead to…

The book Wild Girls by Pat Murphy, is a favorite of mine, for all of it, but one chapter stays with me. The two girls, Fox and Newt take flashlights into the dark culvert, which stretches miles underground, they walk through it, talking, until Wild Girl Fox says she would never have gone into the drain, if Newt had not been with her.

As I sat by the river, looking into the culvert, I wished I had someone to plunge into the darkness with. But, most of my friends would get too scared to enter its depths, and, for the sake of truth, I would too. But, I longed for it, to have that kind of adventure with someone who is like a sister to me. To throw the rules out the window, and say screw the fear, the danger! Wild Girls is the kind of book I call a Summer Story. It has the distinct feel of the freedom of running free in summer, of exploring, or being without supervision. To be kids. I love books like that, and I long for my life to like that, for those to be a portal I could leap through. To have those Summer days where we become wild, running through towns, fields, secret passage ways, with a friend running beside me.

But, I knew I would never gather a flashlight and enter the Culvert. It was a distant dream, not much more. Yet, no matter how distant, entertaining those dreams is the closest I’ll come to living in a Summer Story.

My world is flipping upside down, so until it flips back, I’ll be spouting Abstract nonsense.

Pure is impure.

Impure is pure.

Good is bad.

Bad is good.

To live is to die.

To die is to live.

Can this be true? To strive for goodness and purity is a tarnishing act? Is the road to hell really paved with good intentions? More so, I guess I am not grasping the difference in intentions and striving for something. Those who try to achieve perfection are plagued by fear of anything, but do not let it show, though it festers. Yet, as humans, we are impure, flawed beings. So, what is like to be Godlike? The saints who have feast days, were they perfect? And if so, does that make them superhuman, if not physically, then mentally? I should think not. Has anyone ever considered how many facets of perfection there are? Think about it, to be perfect, do we master just one side, or is it a simple matter of achieving utter flawless ness, and putting the diamond toghther, one big three dimensional puzzle of a person. But, really, nothing at all, not even our dear Lord, in my opinion, can live without mistakes. This is so, because, something absolutely right in this person’s eyes is horribly wrong to the next person.

Then, there is the aspect of”what if”. What if everyone one of Earth was flawless. We would have to look the same, not a slight change, absolutely symmetrical. So, there would be no different races, only one universal race., which could mean no racists. But, nobody could ever be able to think a single though of their own. Because, complete and utter perfection could mean no conflicts, differences of opinion. Disagree? Good, that means your human. Human’s don’t let things go, they hold them tight, so these topics will be discussed over and over, and will never get an answer, that much is evident. But, if you were to ask me, being perfect sounds like being locked up and bound. And, to be jailed is certainly not perfect, so, I think the concept of perfection is meaningless.

“If only, if only” The woodpecker sighs

“The bark on the trees was as soft as the skies”

While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely

Crying to the moo-oo-on.

If only if only

If only if only the moon gave no reply

Reflecting the sun and all gone by

Be strong my weary wolf, turn around boldly,

fly high, my baby bird.

My angel, my only.


Sing this softly, in danger and in doubt, in darkness till light.  Let its melody weave into your mind, a resounding lullaby.

You are now aware of your breathing, blinking, that your tongue has no comfortable place in your mouth. You fell out of that tree in the corner when you were three.Clouds are like ice cream after a tornado. 2 ears < 1 mouth = humanity. I like black and white windows. Walk backwards up a mountain, you’ll be glad you did. If a ripple could save a life, we’d learn to train in the art of cannon balls, not chemical warfare. I’m really tired at seven in the afternoon. I dare you to. If we talk about “different perspectives” why do we use words like “crazy” and “insane”? I wish I could see only in shades of blue. You probably thought this post we be meaningful. But it’s not. It’s really, really not.

Songs are like hallucinations, they keep resounding in your head.

That is all.

We walked back into the cafeteria, where we where having the last few minutes of the 6th Grade Girls karaoke Night. We had just had a singing/dance contest.

“Hey, even if we didn’t win, I did accomplish something!” Stich beamed up at me. I smile crookedly back.

“And what was that?” I asked. She smiled back, her grin becoming sly.

“You unleashed your inner girl!” It was true, she had gotten me to wear hot pink feather boas and a tiara for my routine. I laughed mockingly.

“Yeah, once-in-a-life-time thing, that.” I replied, laughing once more.

“We’ll see,” She said, beginning again on how she was going to make me wear makeup to her birthday party. I smiled, Stitch saw right through most things. She probably knew that I liked being girly, that sometimes I wished I wasn’t so much of a tomboy on the surface.

“Not on your life,” I joked back.

But, part of me wished people would remember me like that, not the cold, loner who freaks them out. Instead, the girl who sings, wants to be in a school musical, write a book, have friends, wear a long white sundress, swim with horses, find out who she is, prove her inner beauty, and be beautiful.

I’ve spent too much time and energy walling up this icy facade, this fake persona. And despite it all, I don’t plan on letting those girls who I wish I knew know me. Too much at stake? Maybe, but I don’t even know what’s the risk, only that there appears to be one. An illusion I’ve created, one that hovers outside my tight little shell, because it’s presence is enough to stop me from breaking out.

Yet, my dear friend, Stitch, continues to try to bring me into the groups, to get to know the people I’ve been with since kindergarten. I always shrink back, but, despite my resistance, she never stops trying. Girl, you are a true friend, I’ll start doing my part. Yes, I’m contradicting myself, yes, above I stated I would not, but, too bad. I’m breaking out, beware world, for I will fall for the first time out in the open, and I will get back up.

Can we pretend the midnight trains always come back?

That yesterday’s airplanes will land into the cruel hands of tomorrow?

If you fall, a safety net will spring you back up?

I don’t know, you tell me.

What if we tried to put a blindfold on and tried to walk straight?

If we tried to force back the tides?

And let the Earth breathe a sigh?

What would happen if we could hold music?

You tell me.

I think we’d shatter it.

Tell what would happen if old souls rose from the again,

to be free again.

And what happen if the wind stopped trying?

I’d call you to cut me free,

and we’d leap out of the atmosphere,

forever free-falling in the accompany of oblivion.

Why did we destroy the world?

Why does the Earth still love us?

Why do we take that love for granted?

You tell me.

I don’t know,

but what I do know is,

the world is in our hands.

“Hey, do you know what Mer is?” Avery asked, swimming up to Ally. It was PE, swim day, all around us kids dove and screamed, splashed and shouted. I was hanging out on the side, my arms lolled over the edge of the gutterway where water spilled in.

“The stuff that the wise men brought baby Jesus?” She really did say that. I remember that conversation, perfectly. I remember hearing them talk as though the world could not listen.

“No, Ally! The Mer! I guess you would know them as mermaids” She said, leaning in closer, her voice quieter. “Well, I’m one of them, and so are you!” She smiled, demonstrating a perfect dolphin kick from the deep end and back.

“How can you tell?” Ally asked, her eyes gleaming with delight of being a Mer. It was evident on her face that she believed Avery  full-heartedly.

“Well, the Mer, us, are graceful in the water, we feel at home, we can go great lengths without a breath of Air!” She sneered the word, as though it disgusted her. “And, “she said. “The sea calls to us, we can hear it, the pull the Mer singing. We dream of them. Can’t you?”

“Yeah, I have always loved the sea, and lately, I’ve been dreaming of mermaids, so…”

Ally and Avery swam off, dolphin kicking and weaving through splashing children. I looked after them, watching them swim away, wondering how what I’d just heard coul be real.

*All names have been changed for the privacy of the students at my school. But, If “Ally” and “Avery” were ever to read this, i’m sure they’d recognize themselves.

The story isn’t over, more about my school’s Deep Sea girls, and How they became the Sea, coming very soon!

My eyes turned blue and green,

I heard a gorgeous sound,

and that’s when it became a dream.

When the sky fell in,

When the hurricanes came from me,

I could finally crash again,

and that’s how I became the sea.

~Adam Young