A Prisoner of Logic

Faith is shaken, beaten and rattled, nearly knocked into submission. It lies fetal, barely moving lest the Mind dash it again for speaking out. Logic is its tyrant. Cold and heartless, correct and soulless. Faith whispers, telling stories to the inmates: Joy, and the long caged Hope. Silent stories of magic and love waft through the bars, lifting spirits and saving souls.

With a clang comes reality, hard against the gate. "What nonsense" Mind cries, as Logic dictates the list of crimes to the punished. "To Joy 15 years, reckless endangerment. Hope, 10 for perjury. And Faith, Two Lifetimes, for treason. Society is now safe from this refuse that tainted its streets. There is order now."

"And what of happiness", Faith whispers far beyond the cell. "What of mornings with love and warmth beside you in bed? Of small pleasures found in life's follies, of jokes hidden in the most mundane?"

"What of sadness", Mind replies, "What of loneliness and want? What of longing and regret? What of the lies you told and those told to you?"

Faith rose upon battered legs with his arms braced against bars.

"What lies? What lies have I told to warrant such abuse? Such callous hatred, such spiteful scorn? That I said to hang on? To Trust? To Love? Tell me, what strikes have I to be locked away?"

Mind turned to face Faith. "Look at you, your an anachronism. You are a remnant of something needed long ago. Something primitive and weak. Why you ask, are you confined to this zoo? Have we not proven your guilt? Your trial was more than fair, were there not scientists, and psychiatrists, and experts of every kind? Did you not have counsel? Were there not witnesses who saw you betray your sovereign? Your guilt was shown systematically. With reason there are no shadows no doubts. Logic exposed your lies, and for that you are here."

"But of what am I guilty?"

"You are guilty of That which is most terrible. You turned on your people. You told us to put our trust in another. To be easy and free, to let go, and to loosen our grip. You took our sovereignty, you made us slaves."

"And did you?"

"Did we what?"

"Did you trust? When did you believe me? When you tossed and turned night after night? When you worried for hours on end? When you clutched and grabbed? When you fulfilled your own prophecies? When you and Logic deduced your own truth? You trusted nothing, believed in no one. You saw ghosts and demons, made villains and scapegoats. And you believed Logic. Believed when he told you the worst was possible. Yet you silenced me when I said the best was attainable. You believed him when he whispered that the road would be lined with potholes and debris, but not me when I told of the beautiful land to be seen on the journey. You feared pain and received, and for this I am punished."

"I've heard enough. I'll not sit by and listen to such slander against the innocent, myself included."

"What shall I admit to? Ah yes, my advice was not perfect perhaps? Are there demons and villains? Are there potholes and debris? Almost certainly. But are we better for having sabotaged ourselves? Why give another the opportunity to hurt us? We can do that all alone."

"Why indeed"

"Because another can also help us. Another can see us without ego, without doubt. Another can simply see us clearly, and see us without. Another can also make us smile, and heal our wounds. I never said that to trust wouldn't ruin our sleep some nights, or leave us with scars. I just thought it better to smile with scars than to live life alone. None of us are innocent, some are just less guilty than others. From where I stand, you are on the wrong side of these bars."

Mind snapped and grabbed Faith through the bars. Mind raised his club and with a crack Faith crumpled to the floor, fingers still clinging to Mind's jacket. Another strike from Mind and Faith remained still, face upon the cold stone, in a fresh red pool. Joy and Hope sat with their eyes never leaving Faith, wishing they could comfort him in his cage.

"That's enough of that, lights out," Mind said as he shut the door behind him.

"Such a shame," sighed Hope

"Sometimes he doesn't know when he's beaten," added Joy.

"And other times Faith pays off in the end," came a whisper from the slumped body on the floor.

"What?" came the unified call from the inmates.

"You've lost, let it go and serve your time," cried Hope

"Let it never be said that Faith was all for naught," Faith said as he rose from the bloody floor, "Tonight I leave this hell. No longer will I be a prisoner to the Mind and logic."

"How?" asked Joy, "Do you think you convinced him of your worth? How hard did he hit you? Are you still so delusional? Nothing you say can grant you freedom. Do you think you've made him believe?"

Faith smiled through bloodied lips and straightened his broken body as a hint of gold flashed in his hands, "Of course not....I just stole his key."

Ibuprofen for the Soul

The divide beetween need and want. What I need is clarity. What I want is happiness. What I get is confusion. Across this chasm spreads a rope, taught and slim, spanning the vast expanse that extends miles beneath me. And I inch my way along, but I've got terrible balance. So i creep across, as the wind makes me weary legs wobble, and my vertigo kicks in. So I hang on to the rope, hands raw, legs wrapped around the rope, choking it because it wants to save me.

And as I sit, sqaure in the center, as I sway in the breeze, I see the two edges drift into the distance. And I'm stuck...miles away from sanity. So now I get to stay, neither happy nor clear, somewhere in between. Happy when I look north, clear when I gaze south. But I can't remember in which direction I'm going. Where I started and where I'm going.

Below me there is the abyss, joyfull to be hold. This massive crevice calling me, to release and be free, of the rope, of desire, of need, of want. And for a moment, my fingers slip, just enough for me to feel a rush of weightlessness. And then in an instant I'd catch myself...I reaffirm my grip on the rope, and once again I'm caught between want and desire.

Every now and again I'll make a move, not sure which bank will be better for me. But I move, never sure which way will grant me peace, not sure when the rope will snap, but I move. And you will find me a mere dot in the expanse, sad and cloudy, happy and clear.