Shadow's Secrets

I sit here, beneath my favorite cherry tree, watching the soft sakura floating down to earth like so much blush snow. My eyes, remain focused upon the horizon, the beautiful storm clouds, pregnant with water, floating overhead. Ready to expel their contents at any time, should a sudden breath of cool, or warm air hit them. Lightning itching to strike at the earth, any moment now. Any moment now and that first burst of playful lightning will hit the ground, scarring it, though the lightning won’t know, or care. The thunder will clash in resounding joy, and then the first tentative droplets of rain will grace the parched land. Perhaps not, but I do so dearly hope so.

I reach behind me lazily, taking my cigarettes from my bag and placing one between my lips. Such a terrible habit; yet, even this disgusting thing can be beautiful in its own right. Every thing can be so wondrous, and magnificent, one has but to look for it. Not even terribly well hidden is this beauty. Why then, is it that so many wander through life in a stupor, seeing nothing but monotony. At least those that see only the horror have some wisdom; yet, they still have none.

The world is a wretched place, this is undeniably true. However, why must some people insist on only seeing this unfortunate fact instead of the few things that can bring pleasure, at least to them if none else? I can never understand, and shake my head upon this folly as I light my little stick of cancer to come.

Sweet, yet hot smoke fills my mouth and then lungs as I take a slow drag of the said cigarette, enjoying every moment I may of it. Simple pleasures, simple consequences, enjoy it now, and take the ‘rewards’ later. Fair trade I say, and so, I do allow myself the simple pleasure. Why not? If such a simple action could bring me even the faintest notion of joy or happiness, or even the simplest pleasure. Why not? Is it not worth it in the long run? To be happy now, and slightly less happy when I am old and gray, and tired of living anyway? Look at the situation from all sides is all I can say.

Soon, yes as soon as I could have even hoped, that first bright burst of lightning springs forth to the lightning rod. Sparks magnificent flare out into the air, fireworks of the best kind. For thunder joins in, the bellow rolling across the high airs, but hitting all ears with such resonance. I twirl my fingers just slightly, bringing my cigarette safely below my cupped hand. Just in time. As the rain begins to fall heavily.

Oh yes, let the rain pour. Let it come with all its might, and all the heart it does not possess. Let the careless rain pound down upon us, tearing at the once strong earth, even as it revitalizes it. Equal gift and punishment, though punishment is of no cause. Fairness, even in a world where all thoughts of ‘fair’ have become purely theoretical. This, this is what revitalizes my heart, to see fairness does indeed exist in this world.

I lean back a bit, placing my back in an arch over my bag to keep it, and its contents, dry. Schoolwork still in it after all, wouldn’t want it all ruined. I left school early today, around noon, since I was not in the mood for the drivel of every-day school life. Said I was sick, came here, and did my homework like a good little boy. Fairness there too, did something purely wrong, and did with it something purely good.

The alabaster of the stone path begins to shine, though there is no sunshine upon it, the gleam only rain produces. A smile finds its way easily to my lips as I rise, placing my bag under my shirt, and head up that path on to the small ‘shrine’ erected there. ‘Shrine’ is not the proper word honestly, but it is intended to be an imitation of one. An American insult to another culture, commercialization of their traditions. So sad, and ironic too that I get enjoyment from it. Though I do not revel in what it truly represents.

The, shall I call him ‘Caretaker’, of this ‘shrine’ greets me with his usual smile as I approach. Strange how welcoming of me, he is honestly, considering his generally negative disposition on people. Perhaps it is just that I understand the world in the same manner as he. Rather than in some other fashion, such that we generally consider correct in their own right, and as opinions just as valid as our own, but not ‘proper’. Not beautiful. . . .

Frankly that is what our shared philosophy amounts to. The world is beautiful just as it is. With all its horrors, and wrongs, and evils, and monstrosities. With all that, it only brings truth, and reality to the world. A reality mortals have created to be sure, but what has become of reality none-the-less. Reality is horrid, but this horrid chaos, is just what makes it so beautiful. Everything, even nature, fights to attain pure entropy, however contradictory that statement may sound. Therefore, there is some honor in it all. Everything is still fighting for something, and that is all that matters. For fighting without a cause, that is the only thing I can find no beauty in. Something devoid of any notion of what is ‘fair’ or ‘honorable’. That is the closest thing to ‘evil’ in this world. As it is merely a waste.

“Wonderful is it not? Been waiting all day for it, finally payed off. Patience does have its rewards I see.” Smiling too, I lean against the wall of the building comfortably, watching the rain continue its veritable onslaught with great interest. All the interest such a thing deserves, and probably more.

“Yes, yes it is. However, should you really have spent so long waiting on it? Perhaps school should come a little higher on your list of priorities my young friend.” Always the one to point out my little flaws, and the risk of sounding conceited is too great for my wanted response. I sigh and shake my head as I chuckle softly before turning to him with my settled reply.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. There is some chance school need be higher true, but then again, there is always the chance it is perfectly placed and balanced for my life. Would you not agree, that with such even odds, either choice seems perfectly well reasoned?”

“I see there will be no swaying on such matters when what you say is indeed true. Still, cutting half, and even whole days to come here when you think, it may rain. It is a slight reckless a decision. The decision; however, is yours to make.”

We both find small amusement in the statements, and small laughter. Though all our amusements, and pleasures may be small, they are vast of number. So a calm; yet, happy life is granted both of us. Tell me how could our notion be wrong, let’s just say for us, if it makes us happy? Especially when one takes into account, the misery, many ‘wiser’ people allow themselves to live in. My idea, is that wisdom comes with every moment of true happiness one experiences. Every moment when one can take true note of life, and be grateful for it. If only for those moments.

Ideas cause people to come to rambling on. Especially when one has as much they’d like to say about an idea that one may consider ‘evolved’, when frankly it is nothing but either rubbish or simplicity. Simplicity is what I will recognize this as, not rubbish, though it could very well be rubbish I do so concede. Why must I concede my idea as rubbish so as not to sound conceited in any event? I should not. Though it seems, I feel I must. How strange. . . . A quaint little paradox troubling me unnecessarily when the answer seems so obviously clear, and yet, is not. The trouble with all the ‘realizations’ and ‘evolutions’ I have attained through some means or another is, of course, that I have such arguments with myself. How could I even begin to reach a final answer when every ‘answer’ I find only brings more of these such arguments? Settle for the midway I suppose. Take seeming somewhat conceited when a part of what you preach, so to speak, is acceptance and not being so ‘high and mighty’. Things like this, it makes me almost hate my over-active mind. For better or worse of its affects.

“Thinking again are you? Honestly, you must let some things go. Thinking so much can be detrimental. You keep within your own mind for long, you lose touch with what allows you to have thoughts, my friend. The world, it must be experienced, or you’ll soon find you have only your previously existing ideas to toy with, and as such an effect . . . . You will only twist your ideas into something ridiculous at best, and horrifying at the worst.”

Laughter, the result of any moment when one does not know how to react. Through the course of history, or ‘evolution’, it has become the reaction to what is ‘funny’ as well. The problem with this is, of course, many mistake laughter from no immediate reaction being available, as laughter from something found as funny.

“Yes, well, that is. . . . I concede to your point. . . . However! If one spends no time within their minds, then they have only the perspectives of others to work with. With only the perspectives of others, then one is nothing more than a puppet.”

“Another good point my young friend. Your debating skills are progressing nicely I see. However, as most debaters do, you have made the mistake of drawing away from the question at hand, and by so ignoring it, you have allowed yourself to go on to an otherwise perfectly valid point. Effectively, only proving mine and wasting time, though it appears you have made an extremely good response.”

I sigh and shake my head with a small chuckle, holding my hands up in surrender. Old man gets me at every little trick. It really is maddening at times. However, if he had only accepted my point for the reasons he stated he could have, then I would learn nothing from my cheap trick and, equally cheap, mistake.

“Shame, it was just getting fun. Oh well, as the saying goes.” He smiles as he turns back to shrine, turning his back me. “You should go home now, that is one thing you cannot ignore. You have a home, and thus an obligation to return to it. Furthermore, I know one person at the least that shall be furious with you if you are gone to long forgetting entirely the time you have spent away from school."

"You're right about that." I wave my hand dismissively at our conversation, tossing every word out the window as it so often can be with such ease, before turning my own back on his. above me the sky has such a marvelous violet glow, the laden clouds for the moment no longer weeping, thus I make my way home.

Dripping droplets upon the lively flower, opened towards the sky as if to embrace it, as if to swallow it whole. the greedy little flower, yet it knows its limit, when full to the brim it shall close it's little arms about what it has, and be enough.

Pretty little being, if I had but the heart I would take him home with me. The flower dressed so regal, though I soo realise is so petty to touch. The Touch-Me-Not, so punished for its vanity as to ne'er be touched by maiden's hand again.