Very

“Very good, Child, hold on to the dorsal fin,” The Prophet shouted. “Lean to the right, Child, Lean to the right!”

“I’m trying to lean,” The Child shouted back. “But I can’t lean and hold on to Mr. Whale too.”

Another wave, larger than before, appeared. Like a cylinder, it twirled on the ocean surface and started moving toward The Child.

“Okay, Mr. Whale, go get it! Let’s ride that wave,” The Child commanded, and Mr. Whale charged the wave’s wall.

“Very good, Child. That’s it!  Hold on to the dorsal fin.”

“Oh, Prophet, I’m so tired,” The Child shouted over the noise of the ocean.

“You’re doing very good, Child. Hang in there. Let Mr. Whale carry you over the next wave,” He shouted back.

Suddenly,  monster wave appeared from out of nowhere, tall, wide, and spinning as it threw fish caught up in its spin against the hard ocean surface.

The Child leaned forward and stretched herself out on Mr. Whale and closed her eyes.

“Oh, Prophet, why don’t you help me?”

Monster wave roared and prepared itself to attack.  It lifted Mr. Whale up from the ocean and flung the both of them high in the air.

“Eeeeek,” The Child screamed.

“Gaaaak,” said Mr. Eagle, lifting her up from Mr. Whale’s back.

“Very good, Child.  Mr. Eagle got you. You did very, very well,” The Prophet shouted.

Mr. Eagle flew her to The Prophet and dropped her gently on the  Lily Pad.

“Why didn’t you help me?”

“You didn’t need help.”

“That wave could have killed me.”

“No, it couldn’t.”

“Yes, it could.”

“You did very well, Child.”

“You really thought I could do it.”

“Very much so, Child.”

“Why?”

“Very much is within you, Child that you have yet to discover.”

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Upward

“Up, Child,” The Prophet said.

“How much farther?”

“You have exactly six days.”

“Then what happens?”

“I thought you wanted to go upward.”

“I do, Prophet, but…”

“But what, Child?”

“Where will you be?”

“Where you will be.”

“I don’t understand, Prophet. How can you be where I will be if you’re going to pause too.”

The Prophet observed The Child; he saw her inner frustrations eating away at the proclamation she’d given the day before, and he knew she would have to force herself to break through her lethargy.

“Get up, Child.”

“But you just said I had six days, Prophet.”

“True.”

“Prophet?”

“Yes, Child?”

“I’ve been thinking about this upward thing?”

“In what way?”

“Well, it’s not bad walking on the water, playing with Mr. Whale, flying with Mr. Eagle and sleeping on Lily Pad.”

“Ah, so.”

“I’ve even gotten used to you, Prophet.”

“I know, Child.”

“So, I thought maybe we could stay on the water instead of pausing. Then I could reach my goal earlier.”

“It’s not that easy, Child.”

“Why not? Why go upward, when I can keep going?”

“It’s necessary.”

“For whom?”

“For you.”

“But what guarantee do I have that Mr. Eagle, Mr. Whale, and Lily Pad will be there when I have to take off again?”

“None.”

“Then, what will I do?”

“Oh, Child, you’re making things hard for yourself. Haven’t you learned that nothing is constant? Everything changes.”

The Child looked at The Prophet. Sadness and happiness mixed with fear had her almost to tears.

“Do I have to go upward, Prophet?”

“Only, if you want to reach your goal.”

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

To

“To be or not to be––that is the question,¹ recited The Child as she skipped across the sea, pulling the lily pad.  “To stay or not to stay,” to go or not to go,” to sing or not to sing,” to move or not to move,” to write or not to write,” to do or not to do…”

“Halt, Child, and tell me why you’re reciting those phrases in your sing sing voice.”

“Who was Hamlet, Prophet?”

“Is that why you’re chanting infinitive phrases as you skip on the water?”

“What’s an infinitive phrase, Prophet?”

“What you were reciting.”

“Oh…Prophet?”

“Yes, Child.”

“Was Hamlet a real person?”

“His creator was.”

“And who was his creator?”

“Shakespeare.”

“You mean Shakespeare created him?”

“Yes.”

“But how?”

“By examining human character.”

“But how could he examine Hamlet when he hadn’t created him yet, Prophet?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Cause…”

“Child, Choice is given to everyone. You choose to do or not to do, to be or not to be, to go or not to go, to hear or not to hear. The decision is always yours.”

“So Hamlet had a choice?”

“Of course he did. Shakespeare wouldn’t have been a great creator if he had taken away his right to choose.”

“Oh,” she said.  Frowns appeared on her forehead, and she stepped on her lily pad to sit and think.

“Prophet?”

“Yes, Child?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You’ve always had a choice, Child, and you always will as long as you’re on your journey.”

“I like it, Prophet! The decision is mine,” And The Child laughed.

Solemnly, The Prophet bowed his head seeing the trials coming to test her conviction.

“Yes, Child, the decision will be yours.”

“Prophet?”

“Yes, Child?”

“What’s an infinitive phrase?”

Shalom,
Pat Garcia

---

[1] Hamlet’s Soliloquy,  Act 3, Scene 1, Hamlet, William Shakespeare, http://www.monologuearchive.com/s/shakespeare_001.html

So

“So.”

The Prophet observed the Child, standing before him with balled fists, crinkled forehead, and fire in her eyes, her back stiff with tension.

“So what, Child?”

“So when?”

“So when what, Child?”

“You know what I mean?”

“Tell me.”

“So you can avoid it? No.”

“Okay.”

“So why, Prophet?”

“So why what, Child?”

“So what’s the plan when we pause?”

The Prophet chuckled. Their harbor for the next eleven months wasn’t far away, and The Child sensed it.

“You’re laughing at me again.”

“No, Child, I never laughed at you. I’m just amused at your indomitability that sometimes defeats your own denouement. “

“So does that mean I’m bad.”

“No.”

“So what?”

“So what what?”

“About my indomitability that defeats my own denouement.”

“Sometimes, Child. I said, sometimes.”

“So?”

“Look at Mr. Whale. What’s he doing?”

“Navigating while he swims beside the lily pad.”

“And Mr. Eagle?”

“Scouting while he flies above us.”

“Have they asked what happens when you pause?”

“Of course not, Prophet.” And The Child giggled. “They’re happy with me.”

“So what does that mean, Child?”

“They aren’t thinking about it.”

“And what else?”

“They’re taking a day at a time, maybe.”

“So why are you worried, Child?

“Prophet?”

“Yes, Child?”

“You think I’ll love such a long pause, Prophet?”

“Don’t think about it, Child.”

“Why not?”

“It hasn’t come yet.”

“So what should I do today?”

“Capture the sunrise and see it with your mind; watch the bud bloom on the lily pad; observe the flight of Mr. Eagle as he flies against the wind; ride Mr. Whale as he masters the water waves; collect these golden nuggets, Child, and put them in the treasure trove of your heart as you move into your future.”

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Row

“Row, row, row your boat,

Gently down the stream,

Merrily, merrily,

Merrily, merrily,

Life is but a dream.¹

The Child sang.

The Prophet hummed along.

Mr. Whale drummed the water with his fluke,

Mr. Eagle glided with the wind, singing,

“Gaaaak, gaaaak, gaaaak, gaaaak,

Gaa, Gaa, Gaa, Gaa Gaaaak.”

And the small purple bud on the lily pad sprouted.

“Row, row, row your boat,

Gently down the stream,

Merrily, merrily,

Merrily, merrily,

Life is but a dream.²

         
         

The Child stopped.

“Is it true, Prophet?”

“What, child?”

“That life is but a dream.”

“It depends, Child.”

“Prophet?”

“Yes, Child?”

“Why do people hurt other people?”

“What's on your mind, Child?”

“People dying, women and girls getting kidnapped, children dying on high seas, didn’t they have a dream too?”

“How do you mean that, Child?”

“Like me. Didn’t they have a dream like me?”

“Yes, they had a dream.”

“So what happened?”

“Me first, me better than at the cost of others, destroy dreams, Child.”

“Is that bad?”

“How do you row your lily pad?”

“With care.”

“How do you ride Mr. Whale?”

“Gently.”

“Why, Child?”

“Cause I don’t want to hurt them.”

“Egotistical, me first, me better than at the cost of others, feed destruction. It grabs hold of the heart and turns it into a selfish monster.”

“Can that happen to me, Prophet?”

“That can happen to anyone, Child.”

“Prophet, what if it happens to me?”

“It won’t, Child.”

“Why not?”

“It won’t.”

“Oh,” said The Child, and she started singing,

“Row, row, row your boat

Gently down the stream

Merrily, merrily,

Merrily merrily,

Life is but a dream,³

And The Prophet hummed, and Mr. Whale drummed, and Mr. Eagle gaaaaked while gliding above.

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

 ¹ This and the preceding repetitions of the nursery rhyme, Row, Row, Row Your Boat are all by Eliphalet Oram Lyte, The Franklin Square Song Collection, Copyright, 1881, New York.