I’ll Pay You Back

The other day I bought a homeless man a guitar.

He promised he’d do all kinds of good things with it,

you know, to sell his worthiness to me.

But I didn’t buy it for that reason,

I bought it cuz he wanted a guitar.

I haven’t heard from him since the transaction,

but a pastor friend tells me he plays it all the time.

DO what is good, not because of the outcome

but because it is good.

Sometimes, it pays off in ways

you could never have imagined.

The Truth Behind the Eyes

He marched into the cave, full of muscle and sweat. The last tendrils of light glinted off his biceps and chest. He tightened his grip on his broadswords and walked farther in.

The cave was hot and damp, heated by the fetid breath of the beast. The lichen-slickened ground made for a hard journey. The sides of the cave were jagged and warped from the beast’s thick hide and claws.

The first thing he heard was silence. He strengthened his resolve. The silence was always the worst, but he had come this far. He would have his trophies. For the villagers. For himself. To prove that he was a man. His member surged beneath the loincloth as he thought of it.

Deeper, ever deeper. Sensing nothing until finally he heard it: the beast’s strained-raspy and hissing breath. He strengthened his back and stood erect. He waved his sword into the void.

“I am Bukanin son of Orinshield. I command you to come out beast,” he said.

Nothing. Breath.

“I command you to come out.”

The breathing stopped. A growl replaced. Bukanin gripped his sword.

The beast roared. Stomp-stomp-stomp-stump. Rrrrrrrrrrumble. The Beast charged. Bukanin charged.

He met the beast, with all its talons and fury. Roaring. Ranging.

Its hideous eyes. Thousands of them. Its hunched back. Its tiled and armor-like hide. It teeth and talons. Its rage and fury and hate. Bukanin challenged them all.

They fought there in the dark. The creature was used it, feeding off the energy supplied by bioluminescent mushrooms growing on its skin and in the cave around. But the warrior held his own. This would be his first beast, but it would not be his last. The village was full of dead animal trophies. He would not let them down.

They stabbed and slashed at one another. The blood! The blood! Green, animal blood blending with red human blood. Spraying against the walls. Drenching each other’s forms. They were both mad, crazed. Their draining fluids only made them halluncinate victory.

They sparred for ours until finally Bukanin gained the upper hand, hamstringing the foul creature, bringing it down to its side. He stood over it. Weak due to lack of blood. Weak from the dying adrenaline rush. All he had to do was finish it and it could all be over.

He towered over the creature.

“Finally beast you are slain!” he said, waving his broadswoard high.

He climbed atop it and flipped his weapon about, pointing fearsome blade at his opponent to end it.

He stared into its many eyes. A long time. It was so near death, it had scarcely the energy to keep them open. He could relate, having scarcely the energy to stand, let alone kill the thing.

He stood there, in the death position, breathing; then, he flung the sword aside.

He collapsed atop the beast and slept.

***

He did not return to his village for a long time. Rumor spread that he had been eaten. Rumor spread that he had been overcome. Never did they fancy the truth: that he and the beast spent many of their days hobbling the hills together. Many years later, a young man, out to prove himself found them, offering to end the beast’s life.

When Bukanin decline, the young man branded him a traitor. Bukanin accepted this word.

He was who he was, and if that was who he was, then so be it.

Later down the road, the villagers came and hunted them down. They slew them, for a hunter to befriend his prey was too much for them. They laughed and cheered and drank over the bodies of the dead. They had righted the Universe.

But the last thing Bukanin ever saw was the beast looking back at him with all those many eyes. That was enough for him. That had always been enough. So he peacefully surrendered himself to his fate.

The Death of Stars

It was the age of the Apocalypse.

Stars, worlds were descending into choas.

Two beings, suspended in the void watched from the protection of a sparkling, blue glow.

It’s so sad, said Hypernea.

It’s the way of things, said Drax, the hate and weight of time itself gets the best of all of us. Even we get old, even we will die. One day.

What is the point? she said, what is the point of it all, if it all goes away.

The point is that we’re all here now, and we shall continue to be here until we descend into stardust.

Would you hold my hand? she said.

He was not the type to touch, but it did so. He could feel a strange warmth overtake them.

As the stars burned around her, she started to cry.

I’m afraid, she said.

But you are alive, he said.

Yes, she said. Would you kiss me?

He turned to her and looked into her eyes. O how they sparkled and shone. It was the fires burning around them, and something more. Something connected to the light.

He squeezed her hand and kissed her lips.

They kissed then. Slowly, passionately. Their fingers exploring each other’s bodies.

If tomorrow is our end, I’m so glad to have known you, he said.

Thank you for being my strength, she said, through all these eternities.

You’ve always been your own, he said. I’ve only had the good pleasure of seeing it sprout and grow.

They kissed as the world burned. Their fingers burning, their souls ablaze.

They gasped as they forms began blurring together, descending into one.

The fires around began drawing into their singularity.

They became a wormhole, a nexus of fire and light.

They smiled and laughed as they embraced, as the end drew night.

There was no choice but to laugh. What gain was to be had in fear?

They drew deeper into themselves, forsaking themselves, becoming the other.

I feel your soul, she said, how beautiful it is!

And you are the mother of all that is good and true, he said.

Their forms faded into light. Nothing concrete could be made of them. They were pure energy, the beginning of… beginning of…

Darkness raged around them. The singularity their love had created exploded out, casting starletts, fractions of light into the Universe.

When the stardust settled the lovers were no more, but darkness had abated. Planets formed. It was the beginning of things again.

They had done it. They had conquered death, by dying to themselves.

Aaron’s 1st Musical: CDs Now Available!

DSC02583.JPG

I am incredibly ecstatic to announce that the first shipment of “Into the Word” CDs are now in! This has been a two year process, off-and-on.

Definitely took me on one of the most exciting adventures I’ve been on, spanning two states, involving lots of new friends, and learning tons from seasoned professionals.

Check out IntotheWordMusical.com for more information.

Bless you all!

Spinning Wheel

“I would like to buy your spinning wheel,” said Katie, “how much do you want for it?”

“Three hundred dollars,” said the woman.

Katie reached for her purse.

“I prefer it to be paid in cash,” she said, “it means a lot to me. I would very much like it to mean a lot to you.”

Not having cash, Katie drove several blocks to the bank and returned with the payment in full.

Years later, Katie still has the wheel and has become quite the master spinner, treasuring the wheel the started her on her way.

God’s Scarlet Thread

I love old songs and stories

Even with old hymns, you’ll find there are a hundred different versions

In days past, the idea of story was much more about the conveyance

of individual ownership rather than empirical data.

So, depending on the region and the dialect, you could experience the story in a

whole new way.

That’s why I think it’s so fascinating looking at the Scriptures with a strictly Western

mindset.

The word “inerrant” gets throw around a lot, and I agree that you CAN TOTALLY

rely upon the Bible as your rock and guiding light,

but as I look at the Gospels and even things like Genesis 1 & 2,

I see something beyond equations, a “by the book” approach

I see God working uniquely in the lives of each and every one of these storytellers

to bring about a handcrafted, wonderful experience.

People may never see life the same way you do or we do,

but half the beauty of life is seeing where these stories meet and where they

diverge,

and seeing that through all of it is the scarlet thread of God.