Surrender to Light

Dyson Sphere

By Delbert H. Rhodes

I wake each morning staring into darkness, and a looming brilliance that at times is harsh and hurtful. How am I to understand that after almost sixty-two years, still, I have learned little, so little?

In my youth, there was laughter; but below the surface of imposing joy, sadness held me. Yes, even in childhood gloom walked with me. “Be positive, believe in you, tomorrow will be better than today.”-Perhaps.

Sometimes, I wonder why sadness finds me. Where are the answers to my many questions? Surely, all of you have better lives than I do. How am I ever to make sense of seemingly nothing? “Oh, come on, man, stop bellyaching; you have more than many.” Okay, still, the questions are worthy of asking and answering.

My life, my world spins on an axis of lulling sorrows, pains, insecurities and borrowed smiles. Sometimes laughter feels strange. Most times, and especially when I am alone, I realize that I may be smiling.

Forgive me, darkness was never my intention; I apologize for sullying your thinking. Still, I know no other way.

The day rushes in upon me, a wealth of sounds fills my ears. Sometimes the filtering light captivates me; the thin sprays of sheeted curtains wavering about the ceiling, walls and floor; the vivid streams become rivers of illumination.

Lying in bed I become breathless of the silhouetting spectra, and I wish that I were light. The quivering forms without human mass; the untouchable tangible spheres floating in thin rays, or, thicker sheets of mystical mesh cause me feelings of incredulity and envy.

These unstained entities, this purity existing without the dread of conception or the fury of pain fear and sadness. Oh, wonderful it must be!

Curiosities are many in my world; I consider things that even to me are strange.

Do you?

Sometimes I look at my hands. They are my Mother’s hands. My eyes, teeth, hair, all of me are mostly my Mother. Knowing this joyfully elevates me.

Often I wonder: If a photo, television or other displayed my faceless body parts could I identify them. Staring into a mirror, I sometimes desire that someone else stares back. Is this self-hate or a strange type of love; the need to be different, to purge and redistribute my DNA-Is this negative, imaginative or dread.

Of the many things that I can do, there are many more that I cannot. Of the many things that I understand, more things confuse me. Of the many things that I value, others are of little worth.

Strange: Mathematically, I am learning and demonstrate  basic calculations of Scientific Notation, Probability and Complex Fractions, while mingling with Monomials, Polynomials, Algebraic Fractions, Inequalities and Absolute Value; and energetically, learning continues without falter; yet psycho-emotionally the mind wearies of worry.

Query: What are the actual derivatives of the tangible and intangible regarding human tears versus human feelings? Truly, could we ever know? Skeptically, does it matter?

In morning’s wake, my thoughts and fears embrace me. Throughout the room and before me bright shadows dance to inaudible music, and it is as though the bedroom has morphed becoming sinister a dark carousel. Shortly, I spirit to the places of Witches while whirling to the whimsies of Court Jesters.

Soon I am home: and wittingly surrender to light: its reflective ribbons higher towers of consciousness.

Copyright © 2013 Delbert H. Rhodes

For the Sake of Love: The Mimesis of Murder

Red Ink

By: Delbert H. Rhodes

 

The days and nights are witnesses to his anguish. Surely, any ever realizing a truth understand him. Today, Timothy Nolan Stealth feels overcome. He has a choice to make, a choice he may never out live.

A Wall Street Tycoon, Tim, known throughout the world for his spearheading expertise and financial prowess, falls in love. The woman of his fancy, a well-known television reporter named Marcy Peacock, attracts the man like no other. Even before his marriage to wife, Judy the man has never fallen this far.

Marcy is a lovely and intelligent woman a great reporter and wonderful mother of five children. She lives in the City and is attentively outstanding as both mother and professional. Then, one day while on assignment, she and Tim lock eyes. Yes, and so starts the illustrious affair.

Tim, the brain and brawn of a financial empire, loves his wife and family; but and though (seemingly) none could challenge this love, still, he is a man, and a man who (now) loves another woman.

Often Tim and Marz, as he lovingly calls her, meet in a downtown hotel. Surely, no one would expect to find him there. The place has no five star credentials; any person might use it, yes, and certainly not a person of his status. The sweethearts meet at night, reducing the chance of recognition. After all this is a matter of indiscretion. The hotel appears to be safe from exposure, Tim is confident about his choice.

The affair is commencing well, and then the unthinkable happens. During a walk through the hotel’s Lobby, Tim and Marz are recognized. The observer, a Wall Street Broker, and shocked by what he witnesses, decides to become a lookout. Sure enough, Timothy Stealth and Marcy Peacock frequent the hotel, and more than twice weekly. The Broker, ever on the cutting edge of ‘network news,’ and not to mention personal gain, telephones a local Reporter.

Imagine the faces of Marcy and Timothy when seeing the Front Page of a morning newspaper. The news sweeps Wall Street and Reporters are on a feeding frenzy. Timothy and Marcy are devastated.

Well that occurred three months ago, and now what of his marriage and then what of Marz. Additionally, and then there are the effects on the Market. Doubtless, stock prices are soaring downward as he thinks. News of this type causes investors to run like frighten rats. Tim needs a quick fix and fast.

On the other side of town, Marcy is not enjoying her day. The woman worries about family job and reputation. Some would offer, and from the first, she should have chosen morality over infidelity. This is true and for both individuals; strange how getting caught manifests clarity. Still, what is a woman to do?

Tim’s Secretary buzzes him, informing of a call from a TBBN Reporter. Taking the call, he and Marz agree to meet somewhere to talk about things. Unknown to the lovely lady ‘things’ are exactly what Tim is considering. The man has a dark side; it is soon to highlight the night. Tim would end this unwanted escapade. His family and business must not suffer, yes, and even for the sake of love. After all, love is an intangible; therefore, expendable.

English: FOX News Channel newsroom

Cunningly, Tim cultivates the plan; the diabolical deed begins to swell. Killing is not easy, and Timothy Nolan Stealth is not a killer. On the other hand, is he?

The Question: Why would the successful tycoon intellectual type feel the need to take a life? Why not (simply) say goodbye to indiscretion. After making the apologies and begging her forgiveness, perhaps the wife would let bygones be bygones. Of course, the lady could leave him sue for divorce and strip the fool of all he is worth. Okay, but then, things could work out for the guy. Maybe, but killing someone he says he loves, and for the sake of selfishness, is outrageous, heinous, and criminal. In addition, how is murder to benefit the market or his investors?

The Arm Chair: (The) Professional Thinkers: Would it be possible to exact the pathways to unwrap the complexities of the human mind in order that we are able to and with astute accuracy and truth postulate the standing question: “Why would a man who neither has committed a crime nor has history of violence suddenly become a violent criminal?” That is to say, to consider the unadulterated and the adulterate as one element. Possibly, the venture would only evidence mere speculation; therefore, fallible to the erroneous, and as such would be inconclusive. Indeed.

These and other rational thoughts hit the mark and make absolute sense. Nevertheless, here, we have little desire for speculation, or armchair theorems. We need absolutisms. There is but one definite, and that is, for the sake of love or selfishness, someone is going to die.

Moreover, at another juncture in his life, for Timothy Nolan Stealth the sensible would have sufficed. For reasons unknown Tim has developed a taste for the horrible, a sick flavor rots at the rear of his tongue, and he likes it! Unfortunately, for Marcy Peacock, the day dawns a new light, and its hue is deeply dark.

On the far corner sits the restaurant at which the lovers are to meet. A dark moon brightens the night while aimless clouds thread the tapestry. In the distance, the occasional shooting star graces the skies. Such a night is the best for the favorite place with the favorite person. This night has a ghoulish thirst, and its bloody flavor is sweet.

The meal and drinks were divine and to complete a wonderful setting the lovers agree to stroll by the seaside. ‘Frisco is lovely this time of year and the waterways are splendid. The crystal light reflecting the tidal pools is romantic. Rather than take the usual path, however, Tim diverts to a woody region, and luckily, no one is around. Shortly, the lovers disappear from the public eye, and then flirtatiously Marz relaxes near a tree.

The cool moist air feels wonderful, lubricating Marcy’s nostrils while passing into her lungs. The air’s freshness provides a sweet taste of lust. Marcy inhales deeply she loves the feeling as her lungs swell with oxygen. A gusty wind plays in her blond hair. Deliciously dilated, the wide-eyed woman asks, “Tim, do you like me “air brushed?” Quickly almost sexually, the wind searches beneath Marcy’s dress, the tender touch of cool fingertips feels sweetly warm.

This woman is beautiful, her stylish hair deep blue eyes and shapely lips are what every man wants in his mate. Marcy works out at a local gym; she has the body of a dancer, with sumptuously sculpted breasts. Coursing her well-formed legs and curvy hips, the worn aging creases in an old pair of blue jeans appear as artful caresses. The lady is quite the catch. Any other time, Tim would be on the make, and seduced by the seeds of love. Tonight the demon seed seduces him gorges him, brings him rapture.

Staring sincerely into her eyes, Tim takes Marz in his arms, deeply kissing her. Tenderly turning her she swoons while falling against him. The woman has no idea that this passionate moment is to be her last. She also does not know of the hidden hammer at the small of Tim’s back. Shamelessly even sinfully, Marz strokes her warm tummy with one of Tim’s hands. Her hot wet lips hunger for kissing, “I love you.”

With a deceptive smile, Tim appears to embrace the mood. ‘I love you’ is somewhat misplaced, he thinks. For, stalking the shadows of Tim’s malevolent mind, is the mimesis of murder. Acutely listening for the sounds of others, Tim, and with the skills of a soldier on point, feels the night. With chill in his veins, the brute removes the hammer from its hiding place.

Marz, delightfully distracted, fails to notice Tim’s icy stare. Then suddenly and before she realizes the terror, the woman falls limply to the ground. Beneath her head, a trail of dark red blood begins to pool; standing over Marcy Peacock’s lifeless body, the man who loved her stares down at her. (Tim tosses the hammer into the bushes.)

Turning away and without one look over his shoulder, grimly, Timothy Nolan Stealth feels a strong sense of joy, (yes) and even pride.

Copyright 2012 Delbert H. Rhodes