It was the end of the world, they said.
Burning acid rain spewed from the hole the sun had bitten into the atmosphere, searing the surface of the planet. Scorching a line across the equator, merciless as it combed its rays over the land closest to it. More than likely, to the sun, the lands at the equator felt like an offering—so close, so dense, so populated.
Lots of people lost their lives that day.
And yet, somehow…
Mankind, as a whole, I mean.
Honestly, everyone thought that that would be the end of it. When the sky opened up, nobody expected to survive—no one. We thought that was it for all of us. That the planet was doomed.
That wasn’t the case.
That day, I stood, watching the sky. Feeling the heat waves engulf the planet. Rolling over us, though we were so far north—so far from the sun’s gaze. I stood and saw the glare, the sweltering fingers that razed the land, that evaporated portions of the ocean, that decimated our numbers.
I saw it.
I saw the sky open up.
And, just as it was then, it’s the same now:
I’m not afraid. Continue reading “When the Sky Opened Up”
I was not interested in the humans at first. Not at all.
Thousands of years—or, perhaps, it was the blink of an eye, I can’t be sure—passed before I finally found out why my kind were so enamored by them. Why they found them amusing. Entertaining. Why they risked their lives, and our secrets, in order to interact with them.
After a good long while, I figured it out.
Such small, delicate creatures. So powerless. And yet:
The beauty of humanity was locked into that fact. Showcased in their faces as the sky lit with stars in the chasm of the night. How enamored they were with the world. How wondrous they found life, even in the darkest of nights.
Such helpless creatures. Unable to grasp their circumstances, unable to withhold the hand of death, and yet:
The strong ones were, anyway.
Continue reading “Hopeful Lights”
A blue sea, set above the earth. Embedded behind the clouds. Reaching to heights—worlds—that we can’t see. That we can’t describe. A blue hue that deepens the mystery when the sun goes down. That darkens our vision, brings tiny lights to the forefront of our minds.
Stars are up there, swimming in that ocean sky. Even during the day, they’re up there. Twinkling. Burning. Brilliant hues of red, orange, blue. All of the colors, probably. They shine so bright. So, so bright.
And, when I go out at night—I head to that field. And when I look at the sky?
I can feel it.
All the stars burning. Simmering. Reaching from millions of billions of miles away. Reaching out to graze the planet with their light. To simply touch down, if only for a moment.
I can feel their effort.
I can feel their light.
And I can feel you, too. Continue reading “Star Chaser”
I’ve always wondered why meteors fall out of the sky. Why they venture so close to earth, when they could stay afloat. Stay above all the mess and mayhem instead. At peace in the voice of space. Stay aloof and above all this disaster. Why join this chaos when they have an easy way out? Can just float by, unbothered?
Why do meteors try to reach the earth? It just doesn’t make sense to me.
Especially since they burn up in their descent. Only the largest of meteors stay intact long enough to impact the earth. Otherwise, they never make it to the surface. Turning to ash instead of ever reaching their goal. In fact, most of them burn up, never make it to the ground.
So why do it?
Why waste your life trying to reach the earth when you could float through the stars instead?
I didn’t get it.
I probably still don’t get it. After all, I’m not a meteor. Not a falling star.
I’m just a human. Just a person.
Just a guy.
A guy lucky enough to touch a falling star. Continue reading “Star Heart”
Everything is constant. Moving forward, and never backward. Progressing toward an end that no one can see, that none of us know in any quantifiable extent.
Everything moves on.
Onward, though not always upward.
Unfortunately, for me.
Not always upward. Continue reading “What the Star Brought”
The rain is a pattern. A beat. It drums endlessly, shuffling from leaf to leaf, from branch to branch until, finally, it hits the ground. It moves, and it shifts and it desperately reaches for something solid to land on.
The ground soaks it in, this melancholy soundtrack.
Eats it up. Adores it.
And who could blame it?
How could you not love something that falls so far for you? That reaches down from the heavens, just to crash into the ground below? Just to have a small, tiny chance to shower you?
The rain is cold, and wet, and sometimes its unwanted.
But it’s beautiful.
In the wilderness, it’s a love song. One that I can’t help but appreciate. That I can’t help but sing along to.
Thirty years in the wilderness, and still.
I find it beautiful.
I find myself.
In this mist, and under these branches, and in this downpour, I find myself.
I find my way. Continue reading “What I Learned From The Wilderness”
There was always time to look at the sky.
Under the light of the moon, under the burning sun, beneath the angry clouds that Thor makes.
There’s always time to look at the sky.
I’ve always found it calming. Soothing. To think that there’s such a big sky, and yet, it still covers the whole earth. Everything is tucked away under the sky. Not a single person out of its atmosphere.
Which means that, yes:
Everything is within reach. Continue reading “Phouka Finds Direction”
I don’t remember just being mighty.
I remember being majestic.
A whole constellation, a spilling of stars, smattered into the sky. Burned into the dark atmosphere like the proudest of marks. The most gorgeous of tattoos. A unified light that could guide, if need be.
I remember it.
But I’ve forgotten how to get there.
Forgotten how to get back to you.
Guide me back to being a constellation.
You need me.
Don’t you? Continue reading “To Fill A Constellation”
Do you know what’s scary?
And I don’t mean in that vague, temporary way. The way in which you walk into a room—be it the kitchen, or the laundry room, or your living room—and forget what it is that you’re there to do. What task you had in mind, or what object you meant to pick up. And then, after staring intently into the abyss for a moment, you remember what it is and then go about your day, the feeling of an unseeable itch gone, replaced by the relief of remembering.
I don’t mean that kind of forgetting at all.
I mean truly, sincerely forgetting.
It’s terrifying when you think about it.
…how do you remember what it was you forgot?
Spooky, isn’t it?
What have you forgotten, I wonder?
Was it important?
Was it beautiful?
Was it magical?
Was it something like this?
I wonder for your sake, not mine.
I’ve already been shown what I lost to my bad memory. What it was that I forgot.
And it was all those things in one. Continue reading “Soaring”
For years, I’ve been afraid of the water.
I didn’t have a traumatic experience. My uncle supposedly did, but that was way before I was born. Apparently, he hit a rock or something while swimming at the beach and just… never came up.
But I didn’t know him.
So, zero scores under “traumatic water experience”. I’ve never even so much as been hit by a water balloon in the face. That’s how little experience I have with water. I drink it, that’s about it.
Because I am terrified of water.
But, can you blame me? I mean, it’s not really my thing.
How could a creature with wings not be afraid of the water?
That’s what I thought, up until recently. Until I learned what I could do.
It’s incredible how much knowledge you don’t know. How much knowledge your predecessors withhold from you.
The day I found out though, I stopped hesitating. That doesn’t mean I stopped being afraid, but still. I stopped hesitating.
I dove right in. Continue reading “Steps of a Diver”