Lightning Crashes

Lightning crashes, a new mother cries
Her placenta falls to the floor
The angel opens her eyes
The confusion sets in
Before the doctor can even close the door

Oh now feel it comin' back again
Like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
Forces pullin' from the center of the earth again
I can feel it.

Lightning crashes, an old mother dies
Her intentions fall to the floor
The angel closes her eyes
The confusion that was hers
Belongs now, to the baby down the hall

Oh now feel it comin' back again
Like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
Forces pullin' from the center of the earth again
I can feel it.

Lightning crashes, a new mother cries
This moment shes been waiting for
The angel opens her eyes
Pale blue colored iris, presents the circle
And puts the glory out to hide, hide

Oh now feel it comin' back again
Like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
Forces pullin' from the center of the earth again
I can feel it.

  - Ed Kowalczyk

A Dream of Desolation

Dawn broke through the darkness. The non-descriptive greys of the predawn disappeared silently, albeit swiftly, yielding to the skyscape of deep reds and pale pinks. A soft breeze began blowing from the North, shuffling and spreading around the wispy white clouds, rather like an artist’s representation of them on a watercolour. The meadow below turned to life and colour with a suddenness that matched the Sun’s appearance – turning into a lush green carpet from the dull grey-brown that it was seconds ago.



Curious life-forms appeared, going about their businesses as usual, as they did everyday in this World of theirs. A strange world, much like ours in some ways, unlike in other. A flight of fish-like, reptilian-looking birds took to the skies as it turned to its regular morning orange. They called to each other as they flew in their high-pitched nasal tones. A graceful, perfectly spherical, white ball popped out from among the grass in the meadow. In the exact centre of the sphere was a single round eye with a tiny pupil. Slowly, the head turned around in a circle, quite like the periscope of a submarine. Softly, it chirped. All around it, more similar spheres popped up and chirped in reply. The heads rose higher until they cleared the vegetation around them. The heads were connected to round, fluffy white bodies by black, camel-like necks. The bodies were themselves supported by six spindly legs with no discernable joints. There were about half-a-dozen of these creatures in the meadow, looking more like golf balls on a teeing green than the sheep of this World that they actually were. The heads bent down in unison and began cropping up the vegetation. There were more birds in the sky now. Some looked like flying squirrels that could actually flap and fly; others appeared as gliding worms that were so thin that the breeze picked them up like bits of thread and flung them about.



The Sun rose higher and the sky changed to a bright, baby blue. As if on cue, every single sheep stopped stooping in the grass and began chirping at each other loudly. They began chasing each other in intricate geometric paths running in peculiar half-jumps. The animals reached the meadow’s edge and jumped over an outcrop of rock that formed a natural fence easily. The grass on the other side wasn’t as green as the meadow. Here and there, rocky patches could be spotted by the keen-eyed. As if preordained, all except one of the sheep-like creatures suddenly put on a burst of speed and ran away ahead. The lone animal cheeped in despair. Like a chameleon, the fur on its body shifted from snow white to black. It cheeped again and began jumping after its recent companions.



As it moved, the scenery changed. The green grass thinned. Here, it only grew as tufty clumps of a dusty brown variety. The ground below was slaty and scrabbly. Here and there, thin, gnarled and leafless trees dotted the landscape. The sky became grey as the clouds combined growing heavy with vapour. The creature’s jumps became irregular, and finally stalled into a slowed-down version of a trot. The cheeping had died down to a ponderous, plaintive beep that sounded at long intervals. The ground slowly morphed into hard, packed sand; and as it altered, its breadth grew shorter, and the ground level dipped lower and lower on the horizon to the sides. There were no trees or grass here; not even dead ones. Little droplets of water fell from the sky forming into fine dew on the sheep-like creature’s hair. The droplets became drops and the drops gave way to a deluge. The rainwater formed rills and rivulets as they fell to the ground, only to be drained into the hungry soil in a matter of minutes. The sky grew darker and the wind rose into a gale. The rain seemed replenished with the storm-clouds herded by the wind. Great peals of thunder and balls of lightning dictated the sky. Doggedly, the animal kept plodding. Its cries had stopped completely. Its head was bowed. Its coat looked like a wet and bedraggled carpet. The ground had petered out to a narrow trail. On both sides, there seemed to be abysses from which a noisome smell arose. As the animal stepped on to the walkway the ground behind just dropped away into the bottomless pit, leaving the creature no place to move but forward. For every step the sheep took, the bridge behind crumbled into the crevasse. The rain kept falling, unabated. The creature kept walking, hopelessly. The sky grew dark, until it was pitch black. The night closed in all directions, overpowering the senses till it seemed all-pervasive and omnipresent. The path kept moving endlessly, forever. The sheep kept following it persistently, forever. The trail behind it kept getting shrouded by the darkness, forever.

A Three-point Lesson

1) Entropy: That ultimate reaper of randomness. That king of confusion. That reason for us never knowing the extent of our being or the extent of our existence. The universe is constantly expanding. Well, here's a thought - you know how people are always saying the only constant change in the universe is entropy? If the universe is "constantly" expanding, isn't the volume of the universe also defined by a constant change? Like entropy, the volume of the universe would be defined by a mathematical equation, wouldn't it? It would be a constantly expanding sphere, wouldn't it? What lies outside the sphere, we'll talk about some other time or we'll leave it open for discussion with Perfect Melange. Right now, I'm leading up to something else.


2) Choice: We all have a choice - so they say. In every situation, every instant, we make a choice. Do I press the question mark key now? Will you read the next sentence or skip it? Do you even want to read the rest of this post? All choices. Each step we take, each choice we make creates a totally new definition for our universe. Each step we take, each choice we make creates a totally new universe where we did the opposite - simply put, the blue pill or the red pill, Neo. It is from this simple concept, the theory of the multiverse arrives. If every choice we make, splits the timeline in two, then, from the beginning of time, from the very first choice made, there have been the creation of infinite universes - each exactly like its parent universe until the point of split - each differing from its nearest twin by the weight of a single choice. In all my years of life and in all of yours, just imagine how many new universes we have created. Even as I write this and later when you're reading this, we would've created an infinite number of new worlds. What a concept! Makes you feel all powerful, dunnit?



3) Defined Universe: So, each time you make a choice, each time you exercise your freewill, you create a new universe, right? Wrong. Deflate, little balloon. Deflate. It is all predestined. The universe is ordered. From the beginning of time, the beginning of the universe, from the big bang, there has always been some order. The Chaos Theory defines "Life" as being the "Order at the edge of chaos". The universe is defined. From the moment the first choice was made and the spool began to unravel, it has been defined, although within limits, within a range, within which we are allowed a certain amount of freewill. The universe, from the moment the first choice was made, ceased to be the universe. It had split. It was a biverse. And then tetraverse and in a matter of seconds, a multiverse. Which begs to ask, what if there was no choice? If freewill is a non-existent concept, there would have to be no life. So, before life began, it was still a universe. Elements can't make decisions. They are governed by rules so strict, they make a Jew-hating Nazi colonel from the Third Reich seem like Santa Claus. The life of a non-living thing is more or less like - "Hmm. Vacuum, let me just do nothing and float around", "Hmm, Still vacuous.", "Oh no! Temperature's up by 200 degrees, boil over, boil over!" - Life came and free will emerged, universes split, new worlds created. All within the framework created, defined and executed by whatever it is that controls the multiverse. You and me are just puppets. Why? Simply because, every decision we make today is governed by some occurrence in the past. Nothing we do or say is random. Nothing is done on impulse. Everything is in some teensy way, connected to something you or your subconscious experienced before. Every decision, every choice, is just a probability function with past influences o your life as variables. Each past influence in your life, in turn, is another probability function with its past as variables; and so on and so forth, until - the very first choice! So, sorry my friend. But everything you have done, are doing or will do, is known and can be calculated pretty accurately provided all previous choices and decisions defining your particular world is known and the first choice is known.



It doesn't matter what you choose, because elsewhere, you'd have done the opposite. I suppose, its only a matter of whether you want to live with this or that. If you want to exist with "this", then "you" in another world would have to live with "that". There again is the quandary. If you've made the decision, then don't "you" in the other world have a choice at all? Must "you" in the other world take the leftovers after you've decided here? Don't "you" have freewill?

See? the choices that you and "you" make are defined by choices or occurrences previously occurred. It is all governed and predictable. The only choice you have is who you want to be and what you choose to be. You will be it, while "you" won't.

Sadness and Hate

Sad night, the weeper of starwind sky,
Take me where the shimmering lights are fading out,
Through the shadows of hate and through the fires of grace,
I followed the voice in the night, beautiful as black sky,
but nothing I found.

My thoughts are captured by the magical chants,
Of the spirits, but I cannot see them with these dead eyes,
Lost I am in these dismal streams,
Lost I am forever in my life.

The snow is falling on the withering leaves, I am left in the cold,
The shadows are crying in the moonlight, is this night the last of my life?

Have we arrived from our journey, I must ask you now,
At last I can cry, 'cause these sad words are calling me tonight,
My eyes bleed for you, my star, my pride and the love of my heart,
But why did you have to fly so far, I raged and it tore me apart,
I promise to you with sadness and hate,
Wherever I might go, you will know.

I give my life to the withering leaves,
Oh, the bleeding moonlight,
To the crying shadows,
I give my life to you.

--- Jari Maenpaa.

**/**/2027: A Day in the Life

7 A.M., the alarm began its shrill routine trying to jerk him to alertness. It had to be disappointed because he cut it's cacophony off before it could really get into its groove. He'd hardly slept through the night. It was the end of a chapter in his life. It was the end of the last chapter in another life and he knew it. He hadn't done anything about it because he couldn't and he really hadn't wanted to. There was no way he was going to let that biography end any other way.

The newspaper was there when he opened the front door waiting to be read. It was waiting to shock people awake with its headlines. It had to be disappointed as well because he already knew what it had to say. Sure enough, there it was at the bottom-left corner, below all those articles about politicians visiting places of worship in the hope that the almighty might favour them in the impending elections. As usual, he wasn't going to be bothered with it. Governments would come and go. Always promising and always corrupt. He skipped the dreary details of yet another footballer's affairs, wondering why they would even bother when their wives were so incredibly beautiful. Then he finally composed himself enough to focus his eyes on the unforgiving, glaring black print: "Indian Artist Lost at Sea".

The small article went on to describe the short and eventful life of the woman who'd been his friend for so many years. It gave a brief and totally untrue insight into her life and praised her for her daring but foolhardy ambition to sail alone to the Bahamas from India during the winter. The writer concluded by saying that the authorities were still searching for any signs of her little craft but that it was unlikely to be ever found in the light of the hurricane that hit the region that she was last heard to be making for.

He closed his eyes for a few moments and wondered if he'd be able to live with knowing that she'd managed to choose the time and place for her death. He wondered if it would eat into his conscience that he could've easily stopped her from making that fateful journey. All he'd have had to do was ruin their friendship and blow the whistle on her plans. He would've confined her to a mental institution, but she'd have been safe and alive then - and he'd have lost a friend forever.

It wasn't as if now, he still had her with him. She was well and truly gone. He admired her sense of direction at being able to find the Bermuda Triangle like she'd wanted to. Then, a small smile showed on his face, just at the corners of his mouth - he was betting everything he had that she had been drunk beyond words at the time. It was how she had always wanted it to end - the story of her life.

He opened his eyes. He'd done the right thing. He'd been the true friend he'd always aspired to be. She'd done and achieved everything she'd wanted to in her life - right from greeting every birthday in a shack by the seaside to having slept with the scion of a huge multi-national industry. She'd trusted him enough to tell him of her plans and he'd done everything possible to reason with her, though he knew it was pointless. Once he'd established the fact that it was what she wanted beyond everything else and that she'd do it anyway with or without his help, he'd helped her all he could. The purchase of a craft was easy enough considering the vast fortunes they'd amassed over the years. The publicity was unnecessary but unavoidable considering their fame. The curiosity of the general public was, frankly, quite irritating at times. The plan was so nearly ruined a countless number of times but they'd somehow pulled it off.

They'd researched and found some obscure sailing record that she would be attempting to beat; they'd held a press conference announcing it; they'd allowed the reporters to greedily lap up the fake story. They'd played their cards right. She's gone. Nobody could accuse him of abetting her. She was at peace; and now, so was he.

He'd go on living until he had done everything that needed doing. He'd promised her an art museum in her memory. He had to set up a trust fund to manage her estate and use the money to fund eco-friendly projects around the world. He also had just twenty more years before his appointment with Death. Not that he'd need anyone's help seeing as he already onwed a silver Harley-Davidson and knew how to get to the Amalfi Coast.

He got up and put the paper aside. He had a more pressing matter to attend to. He had to find that friend of her's - the one with all her writings in his safekeeping with instructions to open after her death. He had to find that friend and they'd have to start going through those sheets of paper he knew would be covered with doodles and designs like she kept doing all the time. He hoped there was a Spongebob Squarepants somewhere among those drawings because that would be so like her. He smiled as he walked to the bathroom for a shave. It was time for him and the other friend to meet and compile her biography - the real story of her life.