Don't

"Do be do be bop, do be do be yeah, do be do be da! Da, da duh da, do be do be da," The Child sang. "This is so much fun Prophet."

"Do be do be da, do be do da yeah," The Child shouted and did a double axel landing on the lily pad directly on the beat do be do be da.

 The Child sang and a sound rich and deep came up out of the depth of her soul.

"Why don't you dance, Prophet?"

"I'm dancing."

"No, you're not. You're sitting there watching me," the Child replied.

"No, I am dancing, Child, to my own beats."

"If you say so," said the Child and continued to sang do be do be da twirl around the lily pad singing do be do be da.

"Eeeeeeeek!" The Child cried out looking into the horizon.

"Don't look at the wave. Keep on singing and dancing."

"But that's a big one coming my way," the Child said.

"I love to hear you sing do be do be da."

"But what about the wave, Prophet?"

"The wave is not significant. Keep singing."

"Do be do be da," the Child barely whispered as the wave approached. It lifted the lily pad high off the ocean floor.

"Eeeeeeeek do be do be da," the Child sang with a tremulous voice.

"Don't dwell on the wave," the Prophet said. "It's directly under you. You're dancing on it."

Suddenly, the ocean calmed, and the lily pad was floating peacefully.

"Prophet, where is the wave?"

"It's behind you, Child."

Shalom

Pat Garcia

Can't

"Can't," said the Child. "Can't, Can't Can't," she chanted as she stomped around the huge lily pad on the ocean.

"Why can't you?" asked The Prophet. 

Sitting in the middle of the lily pad, The Prophet observed the Child's drooping shoulders and bowed head. 

"I can't. I know I can't," The Child replied, and the tears flowed.

"Why is that child?"

"Because I'm tired, and if you really cared about me, you would twirl your magic wand, and free me from my fears."

"Why are you tired, Child?"

"I'm tired of going nowhere. We've been on this lily pad for I don't know how long, and we're still in the same place. Why don't you wave that magic wand of yours and tell it to make something happen?"

A smile came upon The Prophet face.  It amazed him that her discouragement kept her from seeing the progress that she'd made.

"Is that why you can't, Child?"

"I'm just tired and discouraged?"

"Why are you discouraged, Child?"

"You know you're a contagious little disease that contaminates my mind making me think I can find my purpose."

"Child, what are you afraid of?" The Prophet asked.

"I didn't say I was afraid."

"But you are. The nearer you get to your purpose you say, can't, and your shoulders droop.  So tell me, what are you afraid of?"

"I guess I'm afraid of failing," replied The Child.

"Would you like to turn back?"

"No!" The Child said loudly. "I can't turn back."

"Why not?" asked The Prophet?

"Because I don't want to," replied The Child.

"Which means?"

"I won't say can't anymore. Even in failure, there's success." The Child mumbled.

"That's very nice to hear," replied The Prophet.

"Prophet?"

"Yes, Child?"

"Can we dance on the ocean?"

                             

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Broken

"Broken," mumbled the Child and then shouted, "It's broken!"

"What's broken, Child?" asked The Prophet.

The child, looking at the pictures being flashed below her, sat down on the ocean in shock.

"The bridge," she answered.  "The bridge is broken."

"What wrong with it?" The Prophet asked.

"There is no railing; there're large potholes and miles of rocks that make it impossible to go over. It's strange, and I can't see where the bridge begins nor do I see where it ends."

The Prophet chuckled; the ocean shook, and anger overcame the Child.

"What's so funny, Prophet? Why are you laughing at me?" The Child screamed.

"What did you expect, Child? With the bridge, I mean."

"That bridge led to where I once was. What if I wanted to go back?" The Child shouted.

"You can't go back over that bridge, Child."

"Why not?"

"It's not possible."

"Why not? I'd love to go back and be with all my old friends, and be normal."

"You've forgotten one important thing, Child."

"No, I haven't. You're trying to confuse me."

The Prophet chuckled again at her unwillingness to see the consequences of the choice she'd made.

"My dear Child, you're not normal anymore." the Prophet said, "That bridge deteriorates every time you metamorphose into becoming what you're supposed to be."

"You mean I am destroying the bridge by accepting change?" The Child asked.

"Of course, you are. Your journey lies ahead; the bridge lies behind you.  The more you evolve into your true being, the more the bridge corrodes into nothing.

"Does that mean I can't go back because the bridge is no longer there?"

"It means you can't go back, because you are no longer the same."

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Acceptance

As she looked down at the ocean, she saw pictures of where she had once been.  A person was standing alone on the sidelines of the old football stadium where she had once stood.

"What do you see, Child?" the Prophet asked.

"Nothing much," The child answered. "Just someone standing all alone on the sidelines of the old football field where I used to live.

"Why is the person standing alone, Child?"

"Maybe other people don't want to be around the person," the child replied.

"What makes you think that?" The Prophet asked.

"Because this person looks different."

"Is the person breathing the same air the others breathe?"

"Of course, Prophet. That's a silly question to ask."

"So, why do you think the person is different?" The Prophet asked. "I don't understand, Child. You've got to be a little bit more specific."

"Prophet, that's easy. This person has got all kind of funny colors on the skin and looks like a rainbow."

"Is that important, Child?"

"But don't you see. You have to be accepted, Prophet? You just can't look any kind of way."

"So what are you trying to tell me, Child," The Prophet replied.

"I don't quite know yet, Prophet. This multicolored person could be really cool, but the people down there find it hard to accept someone that doesn't look like they look or think like they think, and this person is all kind of colors."

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Marta's blogroll: MY WRITING PROCESS

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