Let Him Live

2011-02-09T13:57:00.001-08:00

It was half past five in the afternoon and the sky was on fire. Hell couldn’t be this intimidating.

Inside the city walls was an assortment of peasants, royalty, butchers, jesters, lovers, fighters, the spectrum of humanity. All eyes were focused on the King, erect above his followers, absorbing all admiration and exuding pure ferocity. His face weathered from the fields and a jaw that could cut open the belly of a whale. Shoulders; broad enough to carry a legion of thousands and the hopes of millions. The world at his beck and call.

Below him at the foot of his throne knelt an assortment of bones and ligaments who answered to the name of Daniel. His clothes were tattered from nights between cobblestone streets and moonlit skies. His feet wrapped in twine. Twine more fitting for a chicken coup than human flesh. His face was covered with a black sack, used typically to blind pigs during travels. He knelt motionless, statuesque.

With a flick of the head, the King ordered his burly henchmen to remove the fecal scented bag from the boy’s skull.

The audience was piercingly silent. At that moment, every man, woman and child were bonded together through intrigue, mysticism and fear. A pin drop would have registered on the richter scale.

The hood from the boy’s head was tossed to the ground. Daniel’s gaze was fixated on the ground beneath his knees, not revealing the fire hidden in his eyes. His body signaled servitude, but his energy encapsulated a pack of wolves. With a single synapse firing of the brain, he demanded that his spine straighten, resulting in an elevation of his chin. His gaze traveled through the grooves of the stone laden ground, above the purple suede shoes of his oppressor, up the masculine outline of the torso and finally resting in place within the eyes of The King.

A smirk crept into the corners of his mouth.

Every muscle in the face of the King turned to jelly.

The crowd cocked their heads in bewilderment.

The henchmen approached with an axe fixed in their palms. Ready to decapitate at a moments notice.

The King stood from his thrown. Two paces later he knelt with the boy staring directly into his pupils. The breath from his lungs spilling onto the cheeks of Daniel. Daniel’s breath dominating the King’s presence.

The King turned to the henchman, who raised his axe high above his head, positioned for execution as the King muttered, “Let him live”.

The Technicolor Balloons

2010-12-20T14:27:00.000-08:00

Daily life is often consumed with thoughts. Ideas. Mind Wanderings. It is these tangents that are so alluring at the moment, that I think keep us from going to the genuine depths of our imagination. Picture with me, a dozen balloons hovering just above your head. These balloons are your thoughts. Imagine, if you will, these thoughts obstructing the view of the sky. You have the ability to let go of the balloons one by one and let them slowly make way for a view of the beautiful reality above. Strangely, you hold on with white knuckles. These balloons may be an array of colors, resembling a static rainbow lullaby. The blue one: sidetracks. The yellow: a mental tangent. Red: Clutter. When all we can see is a sea of technicolored balloons, it begins to create a perpetual reality, blinding us to the reality that lay just beyond. We lose control because we do not accept loss of control. What would it be like if we had the mental capacity to let go of every balloon without judgement, without concern, and keep our eyes focused on the sky above. With every new balloon handed to you, you simply let it go, without care, knowing that your are holding your attention on something eternal. It's time to cut the strings of the balloons.

Sarah Street Entries

Let Him Live

The Technicolor Balloons