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

Bison used  to range freely through the plains  migrating with  the seasons  living in harmony  with the people  of the land who moved with them from place to place only taking enough for survival to ensure the generations to come  until ones who  upset the balance  dominated life  with no regard  for consequences

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.

A diverse group  with different ideas  all brought together  to solve a problem  has more of a chance  to find an effective solution  than one who constantly  tries the same tactics  that have failed in the past. So why is this not done? History teaches us that the most effective answers can be taken from the past and adjusted for the present and changed for the future. Flexibility is the key and seeing it from angles can reveal complications. A simple response: Ego and arrogance get in the way of effective solutions no matter how wealthy no matter the cost the need to protect oneself the veneer of control will override a common good.

Youthful optimism  a chance to change the world  find cures for old diseases meet new people  see a different outlook visit faraway places  blaze a new trail up a sacred mountain try odd cuisine strange flavors on  the tongue cherish the history of peoples all over learn from their mistakes to avoid strife in the future witness history as it unfolds in front of your eyes.   but like gold that tarnishes  and iron that rusts with time  shelve naive thoughts  for the world no longer  feels safe to explore.

Chilled to the bone  fog heavy in the streets  why would one  go for a little stroll  and invite terror  into their lives? It is easy to judge the unfortunate who might not  have a choice. A livelihood to fund survival A house made of cobblestone streets. No one expects it  to happen to them  and it makes  a sensational story  for others.

Sinuous letters a special kind of code the key was lost so long ago only to be rediscovered millennia later Painted and inked on alabaster walls pressed into soft clay baked in a permanent frieze the details of a business agreement permanent for all to see. Every little detail a sequence of images a flourish here and there faces stare out with golden or azure eyes expect you to understand what they think and feel all these years later.

Have fun storming the prison free the prisoners lettres de cachet no rhyme or reason of why they are there. No more kings or serfs feudalism is dead Declarations of the Rights of Man all are equal under the eyes of the Creator above. A celebration of freedom parades down the street a show of mighty brotherhood devotion to the cause Vive le France, monsieur.

Extend the olive branch Not in surrender but in peace time to rebuild time to reset together. The conflict is hard enough But what comes afterwards can be just as difficult It is naive to expect things to go back just the way they were. Life has changed it leaves an indelible mark not only on your body but on your very soul you cannot rest as easily just as you cannot trust. It will take time and effort on both sides to live in harmony years, decades perhaps centuries No quick and easy solution.

The vibrant colors of a civilization gone by hidden for centuries for thousands of years uncovered by careful hands. It reveals a way of life that was only preserved by the songs and stories from bards long ago. The images of relaxed parties peaceful home lives traders on foot the ordinary day to day not too different from the modern. All of these people lived breathed loved died and faced all sorts of challenges and triumphs like anyone else. No one can be certain what they thought or believed so why do some today hold them on a pedestal and assume their goals aligned with their own?

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.

It's so poetic history repeats itself no lessons are learned. The very same mistakes are made Time's judgments are forgotten. "This cannot happen We are better than this. The past will stay there This is a brand new future and we have changed and evolved." But the more things change and the more things stay the same People are people with all their glorious flaws and all of their true courage. Strife and hardship comes challenging the status quo justice miscarried establishment needs power to enforce the old thinking. Only much later when history unfurls and the results come will we see who is right and who is on the wrong side.  

The axe came down with the roar of thunder biting Then falling Vision broken apart Light shattered landing in the dark with an omnious thump in silence. Join your comrades a mass of souls swayed by the promises of a new sun to break over the land. No more pain forever peace prosperity and harmony. Silent witness as history turns. Burning summer turns to bitter fall. Dead leaves turn to cruel winter cold. Suffering goes on. Where was the promise? The lofty words spoken by those who sway with poisoned words and heavenly ideals? Ideas soaked in blood. The victors become the tyrants turning against each other tearing themselves apart like wolves with no prey to distract them. Heroes are cast down Villains are raised up. Which one was I? I can't remember. Memory is fading In one fleeting moment Heartbeat stutters. Thoughts vanish like mist I give myself to history. The axe came down.