Tag Archives: fate

Be Bendy

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Perhaps nothing was ever “meant to be.” There was just life, and right now, and doing your best. Being a bit “bendy.”

― Liane Moriarty, The Husband’s Secret

For One-Liner Wednesday 

I was going to skip posting today, but then I read some answers to this prompt and thought, hey, I can write just one line!  But apparently I have to write more than one, in order to write just one.  Good thing the rules are bendy.

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Lost Soul

Stonehenge Summer Solstice 2010 - Druid Ceremony
Stonehenge Summer Solstice 2010 – Druid Ceremony (Photo credit: vintagedept)

It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.

Before the sun sets, one of us must depart this earth. Thus fate decrees. What was done cannot now be undone. Do not weep for one lost soul. Celebrate tomorrow, and joyous rebirth.

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Trifextra Challenge:

In The Scorpio Races,

author Maggie Stiefvater writes,

 “It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will
die.”  Give us the next thirty-three words of this story, as you imagine it.
Take it wherever you like, but make it original and make it 33 words
exactly.

trifecta button

So… Can you Connect the Dots?

Daily Prompt: Open your nearest book to page 82. Take the third full sentence on the page, and work it into a post somehow.

So…

Here is the book that is on the top of my pile of real (as opposed to electronic) books  to read.  It was definitely “nearest” as I was able to take a weird angle picture of it on my I-Phone from where I was sitting, and then still without getting up I reached for it and picked it up and opened it to page 82.  So far this prompt is going extremely well for me.  (By the way, why have I not read this book yet?  It’s The Red House, by Mark Haddon, author of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time.  It looks really GOOD.)

It’s hard cover, red with a black binding and has a lovely crisp new dust jacket full of excellent information which I should have referred to for that last prompt about the writing of dust jackets, but too late for that now.  Time to zoom in to the top of page eighty-two and discover what fate has in store for me today.

I am in love with that first sentence.  Stuck on the dashboard there was a toy camel with rubber legs which wobbled when the car went round corners.  Who could not write an entire essay with that sentence for inspiration?  The second one is equally amazing.  There was a diamante cat collar in the footwell.  How easy would it be to write a page or two about the glittery ornamentation of sequins and rhinestones?  Because if the collar belongs to a cat I don’t think they’d be actual diamonds.  Although I could be wrong – some people are just that enamoured of their cats.  And I’m not sure what a footwell is, but it doesn’t sound too complicated.

Moving right along in chronological order, the third sentence is next.  It is rather short.  One word short in fact.  So…  Come on.  Seriously?  That’s my sentence?  Is it even a real full sentence?  It starts with a capital and ends with a period (or three) and the next word is also capitalized, so it must be sentence number four.  The woman lit a cigarette. 

Are you running away from home?   Well, no, but I am a little disappointed.  However, when I further peruse the page and see all that greek coming up I can’t help but feel I have also dodged a bullet.  At least I know what the word “so” means.  Here are some sentences to illustrate.

1.  I am so sorry.

2.  Do it like so.

3.  And so it was.

4.  It has always been so.

5.  So how much do you think this duplicate opticians license which was printed with the old picture on it and sent out before they received the new picture would be worth on the black market?  Nothing?  Oh.  So I just thought I’d ask.

6.  So what?

7.  Is not – is SO!

8.  Not so fast!

9.  He’s just a stupid so and so.

10.  I am so done with this.  So long for now.

So what does all this have to do with connecting dots?  I so do not have a clue.  Unless So… becomes So___ but then it would look more like filling in the blanks.  I’m going to read the book now, so I can let you know if it contains any more one word sentences.  I am so sure you’re holding your breath waiting for that.  So…

Heroes on a Holiday Monday

Happy Victoria Day Weekend!  I’ve worked the Saturday and the Sunday of it, so it’s hard to get overly excited about a Monday off, although any day off work is worth celebrating.

For the past week or so I’ve been watching the tv show “Heroes” on Netflix.  At first my intention was to view only season four, which I never watched the first time around.  Then I thought it might be a good idea to watch it all from the beginning, so that season four would make sense.  THEN I got completely hooked on watching every single episode, and ‘just one more’ before doing whatever else needed doing and should have been a priority.  Like going to sleep, for example.

Today at last I’m going to get into the fourth season.  Even though my brain is now completely overloaded with villians and heroes and time travel.  And people who die a violent death in one episode and then come back for a do-over in the next.  And change the future and save the world so many times that you begin to wonder why they persist.

I think I’ve discovered the reason why I’m still kind of hopelessly drawn to the whole thing and need to see it out to the bitter end.  It’s because of Mohinder Suresh and his wonderful voice-overs.  The fact that he’s easy to look at doesn’t hurt either.  I tried to keep the list short, but decided that’s impossible.  So here they are.

Where does it come from? This quest, this need to solve life’s mysteries when the simplest of questions can never be answered. Why are we here? What is the soul? Why do we dream? Perhaps we’d be better off not looking at all. Not delving, not yearning. That’s not human nature. Not the human heart. That is not why we are here. Yet still we struggle to make a difference. To change the world. To dream of hope. Never knowing for certain who we’ll meet along the way. Who, among the world of strangers, will hold our hand. Touch our hearts. And share the pain of trying.

We all imagine ourselves the agents of our destiny, capable of determining our own fate. But have we truly any choice in when we rise? Or when we fall? Or does a force larger than ourselves bid us our direction? Is it evolution that takes us by the hand? Does science point our way? Or is it God who intervenes, keeping us safe?

For all his bluster, it is the sad province of man that he cannot choose his triumph. He can only choose how he will stand when the call of destiny comes, hoping he will have the courage to answer.

When a change comes, some species feel the urge to migrate, they call it zugunruhe. “A pull of the soul to a far off place,” following a scent in the wind, a star in the sky. The ancient message comes calling the kindred to take flight and gather together. Only then can they hope to survive the cruel season to come.

Evolution is imperfect and often a violent process. A battle between what exists and what is yet to be born. Amidst these birth pains, morality loses its meaning, the question of good and evil reduced to one simple choice: survive or perish.

You do not choose your destiny, it chooses you. And those that knew you before Fate took you by the hand cannot understand the depth of the changes inside. They cannot fathom how much you stand to lose in failure…that you are the instrument of flawless Design. And all of life may hang in the balance. The hero learns quickly who can comprehend and who merely stands in your way.

The Earth is large. Large enough that you think you can hide from anything. From Fate. From God. If only you found a place far enough away. So you run. To the edge of the Earth. Where all is safe again. Quiet, and warm. The solace of salt air. The peace of danger left behind. The luxury of grief. And maybe, for a moment, you believe you have escaped.

You can run far, you can take your small precautions. But have you really gotten away? Can you ever escape? Or is it the truth that you did not have the strength or cunning to hide from destiny? That the world is not small. you are. And, fate can find you anywhere.

In the beginning there was discovery. A confusion of elements. The first snowfall of impossible change. Old lives undone, left behind. Strange faces, made familiar. New nightmares, to challenge sleep. New friends, to feel safe with. Only then comes control. The need to impose order unto chaos, through determination, through study, through struggle. All in defiance of a thundering truth. They’re here, and the earth shudders underfoot.

When we embrace what lies within, our potential knows no limit. The future is filled with promise. The present, rife with expectation. But when we deny our instinct, and struggle against our deepest urges… Uncertainty begins. Where does this path lead? When will the changes end? Is this transformation a gift… or a curse? And for those that fear what lies ahead… The most important question of all… Can we really change what we are?

To survive in this world, we hold close to us those on whom we depend. We trust in them our hopes, our fears… But what happens when trust is lost? Where do we run, when things we believe in vanish before our eyes? When all seems lost, the future unknowable, our very existence in peril… All we can do is run.

The sun rises on a new dawn. Yet few of us realize the debt we owe to those responsible for this. To those who dwell among us. Anonymous, seemingly ordinary, whom destiny brought together to heal, to save us, from ourselves.

It is man’s ability to remember that sets us apart. We are the only species that is concerned with the past. How memories give us voice. And to bear witness to history so that others might learn. So that they might celebrate our triumphs and be warned by our failures.

There is a moment in every war where everything changes. A moment when the road bends. Alliances and battle lines shift. And the rules of engagement are rewritten. Moments like these can change the nature of the battle, and turn the tide for either side. So we do what we can to understand them. To be ready for change, we steady our hearts, curb our fears, muster our forces, and look for signs in the stars. But these moments, these game changers, remain a mystery. Destiny’s invisible hand, moving pieces on a chessboard. No matter how much we prepare for them – how much we resist the change, anticipate the moment, fight the inevitable outcome – in the end, we are never truly ready when it strikes.

There is good, and there is evil. Right, and wrong. Heroes and villains. And if we are blessed with wisdom, then there are glimpses between the cracks of each where light streams through. We wait in silence for these times, when sense can be made. When meaningless existence comes into focus, and our purpose presents itself. And if we have the strength to be honest,  what we find there, staring back at us, is our own reflection. Bearing witness to the duality of life. And each one of us is capable of both the dark, and the light.. the good and evil, of either, of all. And destiny, while marching ever in our direction can be rerouted by the choices we make. By the love we hold on to, and the promises we keep.

Generations unfold — father to son, mother to daughter. Where one leaves off, the other follows, destined to repeat each other’s mistakes, each other’s triumphs. For how do we see the world if not through their lens? The same fears, the same desires? Do we see them as an example to follow, or as a warning of what to avoid? Choosing to live as they have, simply because it’s what we know, or driven to create one’s own identity? And what happens when we find them to be a disappointment? Can we replace them? Our mothers, our fathers? Or will destiny find a way to drive us back? Back to the familiar comforts of home?

It is our nature to protect our children. For each generation to pass on their cautionary tales to the next. So it is with the myth of Icarus, the legend of a boy who fashioned wings from feathers and wax, daring to fly into the heavens. His father was fearful and warned Icarus to be careful, begging him not to tempt fate by flying too close to the sun. But in the end, the boy couldn’t resist. His waxen wings melted from the sun’s rays. And he plunged to his death.

For every being cursed with self awareness, there remains the unanswerable question, “Who am I?” We struggle to find meaningful connections to one another. We are the caring friend, the loving father, the doting mother, the protected child. We fight and we love in the hope that somehow, together, we can understand our significance in the universe. But in the end, no one can share our burden. Each of us alone, must ask the question, “Who am I? What does it mean to be alive? And in the vast infinity of time, how do I matter?”

There are nearly seven billion people on this planet. Each one unique. Different. What are the chances of that? And why? Is it simply biology, physiology that determines this diversity? A collection of thoughts, memories, experiences that carves out our own special place? Or is it something more than this? Perhaps there’s a master plan that drives the randomness of creation. Something unknowable that dwells in the soul, and presents each one of us with a unique set of challenges that will help us discover who we really are.

We are all connected. Joined together by an invisible thread, infinite in its potential and fragile in its design. Yet while connected, we are also merely individuals. Empty vessels to be filled with infinite possibilities. An assortment of thoughts, beliefs. A collection of disjointed memories and experiences. Can I be me without this? Can you be you? And if this invisible thread that holds us together were to sever, to cease, what then? What would become of billions of lone, disconnected souls? Therein lies the great quest of our lives. To find. To connect. To hold on. For when our hearts are pure, and our thoughts in line, we are all truly one. Capable of repairing our fragile world, and creating a universe of infinite possibilities.

There are many ways to define our fragile existence, many ways to give it meaning. But it is our memories that shapes its purpose and give it context. The private collection of images, fears, loves, regrets… we choose the importance of each. Building our own unique histories, one memory at a time. Hoping the ones we chose to remember don’t betray us or trap us. For it is the cruel irony of life that we are destined to hold the dark with the light, the good with the evil. This is what separates us, what makes us human. And at the end, we must fight to hold on.

HEROES
HEROES (Photo credit: Keng Susumpow)

If you read all of that, wow – good for you.  You must have almost as much time on your hands today as I do!  But all this philosophical meandering is what sets this series apart and makes it worth watching, despite all the blood and violence.  It’s not so much about heroes and villians and black and white, but about the myriad of traits mixed up inside every one of us and the things we ultimately do for whatever misguided reasons.  Who is right and who is wrong?  Who really knows.

Everything Happens for a Reason: My Stance

“I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they’re right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.” Marilyn Monroe.

Do I believe everything happens for a reason?

Well, Hannah Montana and CheNelle made money with that phrase, so it MUST be true.

What’s really happening here is that we like to reason out everything that happens, ascribe some deep and profound meaning to events we can’t explain.

Is there some master plan, conspiracy, destiny, fate over which we have no control? I don’t think so. Each of us is born with infinitesimal potential destinies. We make choices, change directions, interact with the people we encounter and deal with all the things in our lives that happen by chance.

If your cat gets hit by a car, someone will say it’s oh so sad but it must have happened for a reason. Then there’s a litter of kittens that a friend is trying to give away, and that same person says, see? One of those kittens will take the other one’s place in your life! It must be fate! And when they’re all given away to other people and there’s none left for you, they’ll explain that away too by telling you it was just not meant to be. At this point it is entirely forgivable to tell them to shut up, your cat is dead and their platitudes are annoying the hell out of you.

Believing things happen for some pre-ordained reason can make us feel a little more calm about the chaos all around us. It makes the inexplicable easier to accept. But it certainly doesn’t mean that we have no power at all over what happens next.

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