An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

blood is life  and an obligation  when loyalty  is placed above reason  the family banner  unfurls over your existence  and casts a long shadow  an intangible sense of honor becomes all encompassing and a way to ensure power is in the correct hands when your fate is already written in the stars how do your actions make a difference? At least that's what they tell you. Only when the balance tips way too far and life becomes too intolerable do things change A righteous tradition  is not always a just one.

Cleaning up after you is like tidying up after a frat party to that I wasn't invited. When I ask for help you make a big deal out of it "notice me senpai" "what do you want, a medal?" All messes are automatically mine all complications are mine to blame because I take care of everything from your house to your kids. I can give you my opinion but unless it comes from someone else you don't hear it. I know why you keep me around: to do all the shit you don't want or can't do. And the only time you ever notice is when things don't get done: "why isn't she here?"

How can someone be guilty when it doesn't take much to overturn it and make them innocent again? Money in indulgences confessing your sins you have a brand new and unsullied soul. If the verdict can be overturned what use is it? A moral victory one for the books A bright spot of hope for Justice for a little while but it doesn't last It doesn't stick there are no repercussions you can brush it off dust off the inconvenience and go back to doing what you were doing all along. And no one can stop you their protests are ineffectual. You know they cannot touch you you are golden. They say that karma will come round and catch up but it doesn't help anyone else in the time they wait for karma to finally get here And those who are destroyed could have been saved if not for a weak and indecisive and ineffectual enforcer. You smirk because this is true and you  know it.

I stare into the Light Nothing stares back. I can't see should I have faith in what should be there even if my vision is clouded? Do I trust blindly in fate or destiny or in higher powers beyond my understanding? Or should I only depend on what I can see or hear or touch or feel or perceive and just in the tangible? I cannot see past the blinding glare therefore nothing is there? Are they mutually exclusive or can there be a compromise? Do I have the time to contemplate all of the possibilities and ramifications if one or the either or both are the truth?

I don't feel angry anymore. It's almost expected. When I need you it's only at your convenience. When I talk to you, it's just an irritation. You have your own priorities. Work, children, money, spouse in that order. I do everything that you don't want to deal with: child care, appointments, bills all the things that interfere with doing what you want. When I'm in pain I don't bother saying so because life must be without any conflict, any problems. It's something you can't control so it's something you can't handle. And you wonder why I don't smile anymore.

Name a generation where there have been happy days and tranquil nights but there have been dark shadows and horrible events that shatter the spirit and the illusion of paradise. The old tell stories the new want to make their own new ones. What wisdom do they need to go on their journeys? So then the cycle repeats and they point their fingers at each other the young don't know anything the old have nothing more to say. But both have their trials their toils, their suffering Those who come before set the path for those who come after turn after turn And it only becomes obvious in retrospect at the threshold of the gate from generation to generation.

( "Write about a woman named 'tomorrow'" prompt from The Writer's Retreat Kit by Judy Reeves ) At the edge of reality not quite formed not quite there Tomorrow waits for her time on the stage. Yesterday has already made her curtain call and joined the ranks of those who have had their time in the sun. Today commands the stage captivates Her audience hands out favors on a whim makes her displeasure known with no rhyme or reason. Tomorrow recites Her lines in her mind. It has to be perfect. Yet her performance hinges on what Today does and on what Today leaves behind. She must improvise on the results left to Her. Some events are preordained others are left to hilarious chance. For now She watches and She anticipates Her time in the lights and She knows full well another ingenue also named Tomorrow will follow in Her footsteps.

 ( "Write the symphony of a thunderstorm" prompt from The Writer's Retreat Kit by Judy Reeves ) The thunder sneaks up on you. At first it is a low, caressing rumble barely heard, but it sends chills down your spine. You know it's approaching but how or when is still unknown. And then it comes closer gradually louder The winds no longer silent no longer pianissimo Anticipation builds More instruments join in the fray Bass grows louder the rattle of rain the pounding of hail a steady tattoo on the tin roof above. It holds you in its thrall you can't sleep lie awake until lightning flashes thunder crashes It announces its arrival with a chaotic chorus A cacophony of sound that doesn't care for subtlety. Its climax reaches a point before it dies down races to its conclusion with softer chords as it passes on into blessed silence.

  Lawful Good: "Cool motive, still murder." Neutral Good: "It's murder, but he was a bad person." Chaotic Good: "He was a bad person, why is murder a bad thing if it's morally right?" The champion of ethics. Lawful Neutral: "Murder is against the rules. I don't care what your reasoning." True Neutral: "I don't really care, keep me out of it." Chaotic Neutral: "I should be free to do what I want, including murder." Middle ground of self serving. Lawful Evil: "As long as it's within our law and order, murder can be justified." Neutral Evil: "I can sell you information for the next murder, pay my price." Chaotic Evil: "I murder to watch the world burn." The dark side of 'freedom'.

He dances with other women a fandango in front of the band fast paced, skin to skin riffs and improvisation adapting to the rhythm and tempo an intricate puzzle each and every time the partner is different. She looks on forlorn a sorrowful dirge in the corner. What do they have that she does not? Her clothing is plain her eyes no longer sparkle The booming bass hurts her head No one encourages her to step out and shine. A mismatch made in hell He simply follows his nature Craving excitement, novelty nothing stays the same. A wanderer from place to place from person to person love is so fleeting, life so short. How much will it take before she walks away? There is another world right outside the door. Only obligation and morality and her own stubborn pride. It's not as if anyone really cares. It's not like he really notices.

All waiting no one wants to be seen head down eyes averted no one wants to be recognized You don't know me you didn't see me Waiting to be called to final judgment.  In our own thoughts In our own world too tired of fighting the good fight to spare a glance of sympathy empathy solidarity. We have it worse than the others If I have to suffer then so do they They are the enemy and they will treat us the way we treat them or so we think. Then we all wonder why there is no motivation to help each other other in this cruel world. It's because we think there is absolutely no good reason.

Nothing to it but to do it Talk is cheap action is what shows your true intentions. You can explain every step of the process in great detail it doesn't count if you just sit on your arse. Please don't lecture me as if I'm five and I'm so naive I cannot comprehend what is before me without your bounteous wisdom! I am not blind I am not deaf Don't treat me as if I'm an idiot. You want to make yourself clear not to be misunderstood by rambling on every detail But have you stopped to consider how the other person feels? Of course not you accuse others of insensitivity yet you do not take my feelings under account. It does not apply to you. So don't be surprised if I just nod and smile and listen with only half an brain I may be a captive audience but don't count on me respecting what you say when you insult my intelligence.

Ankle deep in leaves golden like the rising sun A living carpet And it weeps tears at its roots bright happy and never sad. The weather is still warm The sky is still blue Yet there is a restlessness as the yellow shower continues to fall. The squirrels gather nuts and store them in the hollows of the gracefully twisted trunk a safe warm harbor against the coming storms. Ah, but the days are fading fast the last hint of past halcyon days Fond memories, casual regrets fall to the ground like rain soon to be forgotten. But even as the last stubborn leaves cling to the branches in defiance There is still hope that the spring of rebirth will come again.

Artificial world and yet it still seems so real it's still illusion a thriving terrarium warm sun, green trees, empty souls Can you tell the difference? The sensations feel right The breeze dances on your skin The chatter of children at play And yet... There is a seam between this world and the next invisible yet tangible like pieces of a puzzle that doesn't quite fit. They say that babies can see it Children speak of it Before reality takes hold and clouds that naive vision until the end of life. Do we walk in a dream? Is what our brains perceive a lie? What stories do we take with us when we cross over to the other side?

Kintsugi (or Kintsukuroi)): Japanese. Fixing a broken object with gold resin The fire burns bright it eagerly claims the coal void transforms to pure light the frozen to searing heat molten gold fills the cracks of your heart. Still liquid, still pliable shining and seeking to fill the low pooling within the dents and transforming the shattered pieces not making it as it once was not making it whole but strengthening it making it shine despite the wear and tear of life's battles. It becomes part of the tapestry not a mere observer and unifies the chaotic making it coherent again old yet new.

What's in the letter? Is it the joyous shine of good news? Or the deepest despair of bad news? A bill for the labor of modern life? A random appeal from some idealistic charity? The slick paper and bright colors of the new restaurant or solar panel installers in town? Like Schroedinger's cat you won't know if it's something you want or something you ignore until you open it.

At the time the monarch held the lives of his subjects the power granted by the grace of God. He must appear strong might makes right Even the rules of religion and its edicts couldn't stand in his way. And those who displeased him paid the ultimate price. Heads literally rolled Fortunes literally unmade Loyalty literally betrayed. Too bad Death took him like those who went before. Grand tomb never made Legacy forever stained God's judgement is final.

What lurks behind the sun after all there cannot be light without shadow. The seen without the unseen. Two sides of the same coin They cannot be separated. Yet people accept one and deny the other. Day follows night and such is the law of nature it has always been this way and no one questions it. Waves ebb and flow the tide comes in, encroaching then drains out, retreating only to surge through again. What makes the darkness evil? Is it the unknown, the uncertainty? Surely the brightness of light illuminates all to be known. But the light can't reach everywhere. It cannot reveal everything which is why the darkness hides behind the sun.

Eyes the color of ocean mist that pale blue, almost white impenetrable, implacable almost clouded but clear what secrets do you hide as you look at me, my child? An old soul in a young body You look at things in new and exciting ways trace patterns forgotten recombine them to fit whatever you see now. The past buried deeply in the realm of dreams mirrored in the hues of the waking world. You know the impossible yet seek the improbable. Where does this wonder come from? And how can you keep it from going dim as your vision seeks more from this harsh reality? For now your eyes can see what can be made true.

A Divine Door doesn't have to lead into a church. It is a portal to deep and mysterious places. The mouth of a cave gaping wide with siren song of adventure. An entrance to the depths of your sleeping mind. An exit to the Light on the opposite side. Old rotted wood stone scoured clean peeling paint. Where does it lead? Where is that sound coming from? What are dreams made of? The dust that floats in the middle of a sunbeam. Do you have the strength the courage, the imagination to walk on through?