I came here altricial.  Naked and blind.  I slowly grew in fluffy down feathers, covering my nakedness and warming me.  I grew in my contour feathers and flight feathers.  And soon I stepped into the abyss and found myself soaring above the heavens, riding the thermals and owning the sky. 

I flew over mountains as a raptor.  I danced with the herons, hundreds of us creating fractal patterns in the sky.  I wandered across the ocean as an albatross, bringing fate to those I followed.

I even danced with the devil in the pale moonlight, a lesson not timely learned.

When I flew too high my eyes were opened and I saw Icarus fall, his melted wings tumbling with him from the sky.  Yet my wings, grown of my soul, were only singed.  And I was no longer blind.

And now I will join the Phoenix, in our nest of cinnamon twigs, to embrace a new incarnation, to join again with the soul of Ra. 

I leave naked,
Just as I came,
But no longer blinded,
And never the same.

"Death rushed through our windows."

An epidemic of typhus, a disease transmitted by lice, broke out two weeks later. I was the first one to have a high fever; then many prisoners started to collapse, one after another, unable to walk. The Germans reacted by kicking them, but soon realized there was an epidemic and set up a room for the sick. The doctor sent for me and said, "You have to stay in there."

"Not me," I said; "I would rather work, even with the fever." The food was wonderful for the sick ones, since it included chocolate, an unimaginable luxury item. Oh, how tempting it was!

Twenty-nine people were confined to the sick room. One day, two trucks came to pick them up. The driver said, "Come on, there's room for 30 in the hospital where I'm taking these people."

"Fisch," the doctor said, "you're the sickest; come." But I did not go. I did not trust them. The doctor told me I was crazy not to go and said that he never wanted to see me or hear my complaints again. Many who were well volunteered to go to the "hospital," but only one "lucky" one was chosen to be number 30.

All were shot at the edge of the village.

.............from 'Light From the Yellow Star', Robert O. Fisch  http://www.holocaust-trc.org/ylstr01.htm" title="http://www.holocaust-trc.org/ylstr01.htm" target="_blank"http://www.holocaust-trc.org/...

A Birthday Song for my Deer Friend Bambi

I got weeds in my garden.
I got weeds in my soul.
I got weeds in my attic.
And I know they're gonna grow.

You know, weeds they are a funny thing.
You never know just what they'll bring.
The pokeweed feeds the birds that sing,
When it's 5 degrees below.

So if you've got things growin' up
Where you don't want them to be.
Chances are that it's a weed,
And chances are you'll see.

That sometimes things are really not 
What you think they seem to be.
Your weeds may yet be flowers or
Perhaps they're only weeds.

It all depends on where you look
And what's your point of view.
'Cause if you've flowers or just weeds
It's really up to you....

I got weeds in my garden.
I got weeds in my soul.
I got weeds in my attic.
And I know they're gonna grow.

This is a community.  A gathering of people with diverse backgrounds, diverse goals, and diverse opinions.  We will not always agree with each other.  But those who cannot treat others with respect.....

Those who cannot treat others with respect probably do not treat themselves with respect, either. 

And that does not make me angry.  It just makes me sad.

For an explanation of this post, feel free to read the post and comments here: Caught In a Maelstrom