ANOTHER EPIPHANY

   This entry is not a story at all. It is just a way of recording an epiphany I had after someone else gave me the ability to do something I had forgotten how to do.  What had resulted from it slowly sneaked its way inside of me and nestled in deep to grow into something enormous and toxic; like a cancer I could not see and therefore didn't exist, or useful in the same way an opium addict weighs the effects he wants but fails to see the ever so pervasive addiction. It managed to change the way I perceived everything around me and how others saw me as well. Like my own favorite hero, Don Quixote, the inner frustrations manifesting inside of him to a paranoia that had a brave and noble hero transformed into a lunatic, tilting windmills and believing them to be giants.
    

    I am stunned with the ease that something like this can infect a person in general, but to have had it happen to me, and to have me completely unaware of the consequences of how others saw me because of it, is unbelievable.  Being able to have a person show it to me was about the same as expecting a person to continually hold up a VERY lifelike portrait of what it was I wanted to see about myself and having them say to over and over "Do you see it? Look closer." I kept telling myself I was listening and that the real problem was that they weren't understanding that I was no idiot and that "YES" I can see it. I can see it just as plainly as I always see it, and "YES, I did look close at the god damned painting", and that the only problem I have with it now is that the person holding it for me isn't listening to what I am telling them about what it is I see in it.

And then it moved.

     Suddenly I realized that all this time I had been POSITIVE that they were the one too weak to comprehend what I was telling them, that in fact, it was me that was too weak to realize what it was they were pointinting at. It isn't a portrait at ALL. It's a mirror. It is a reflection of myself. And the uglier it got the harder it was for me to see it for what it was. Even worse was that the reason it was so hard to hold up was that what I wanted it to be was not what they appreciated it for. I was spending so much time expecting them to apply paint to a portrait, at the same time they were becoming exasperated by  trying to convince me of the lunacy of applying paint to a mirror.  It doesn't matter one damn bit how carefully you apply paint or that you cared to use the very best paint at all. Not if that you are doing is painting over a mirrored reflection of yourself and destroying the use of the mirror entirely.

     How this actually happened is a bit clearer to me now, and when it happened makes it easier to understand how it got into me in the first place. It started two years ago and, like most diseases, got me when my defenses were down and I was at my most vulnerable. I had come back from Afghanistan and a situation where, even as scary and frustrating as it was, I had defined myself as capable and powerful and needed.  I was an authority for what I knew and did it well. People relied on me when they couldn't do it on their own, and I had managed to become trusted so much that they never gave it a second thought.  It was EXACTLY what I had worked for my whole life.  What I cam home to, however, was the exact opposite. Not only was there no way of continuing what I had accomplished there, but there was no need of it from the people around me. I became less and less needed and more and more secondary.  Finally I had completely failed even myself and spent two days on the floor of the bathroom. No one even knew to look for me.

     While I sat there, I began to think. I had a feeling inside of me that was undeniably an anger and a rage but that had absolutely no outlet for it.  It may have been what finally got me to pick myself up off the floor and use it as a crutch to walk, but I quickly adapted it as a prosthesis and kept it for something I did not need. It became a part of me, little by little, until I was back to being able to move around and think again with the same amount of energy I had before, but now was being driven by something that was no longer myself. I stayed angry because I thought that was all that was left of me, and I used the anger to justify the resentment I had, and the loneliness I felt. It became the easy out excuse for what it was I was not being seen as, and the longer I used it, the less of me could be seen through it. I became weaker and weaker, and less of myself, with every passing day.  Any energy I had to do anything was now being expended as a way of earning favor rather than defining myself with it. The harder I tried, the more exasperated I became by feeling that the only way to not fail was to keep doing it with this toxic thing rather than myself.  I began to believe that I had to earn everything rather than be defined by what I already was but couldn't find the way to express.  The result to others, however, is a slow miserable building frustration with watching a person define themselves by nothing but a series of accomplishments based on fear of rejection rather than by the truer person I once was.

     I have very amazing friends. That is not a point of pride for me at all, but more for them and the abilities that so many people seem to miss in them. More often now, I need to swallow a bit of my own arrogance and undue pride and admit that I miss it in them as well.  What one of them did for me by telling me that what they saw made me seem weaker in their eyes was a horrible thing to have to learn.  Had they not done it, however, I am sure no one else would have known or cared enough at all to say it, and it gave me the ability to see what was right under my own nose.  I am very good at being a problem solver and spend a great deal of my time looking forward and preplanning my defenses. But sometimes, the enemy at the gate gets in and breeds and army within the very walls I pride myself on being able to keep up. To say that it was plain as the nose on my face is useless as most people have no idea what's there at all unless someone else tells you. It's like eating a hotdog with mustard and then trying to look serious with mustard up your cheek. It would stay there all damn day unless someone cared enough to tell you.

     What this awareness has been able to do is to allow me to look at me from the outside and see what it was I was doing with a different perspective. Not in the way I saw what I was doing, but they way others took what I was doing. That is far more important than it seems because that was my intention in the first place, wasn't it? To have them see what I needed them to see?  Well what good is it if I had already preconceived what I needed from them without ever considering what it was they ACTUALLY perceived from it?  If those two things are different, then what I did, regardless of the intention, is a wasted effort.  I see and hear about so many people who are furious at all the work and effort they do and are unrealized and disrespected for it.  Maybe the reason is that what we expect isn't always going to be what we hoped if we are allowing the toxic and cancerous things to be defining us rather than our own true nature.

     The worst of this whole toxicity has been my assumption that the only way for it to make sense is with what I brought to its definition. My definition, however, had been skewed and convoluted by something else, and no matter how hard I tried to justify it or reason it, my only solution was to expect others to react to it. I spent time saying "you should" or "you shouldn't" or "why aren't you doing it this way" and at the same time kept telling people that I understood.  That wasn't true at all.  I did understand the situation completely, but what I didn't understand was that the solution was something that had to come from me internally, and I couldn't do it with a mass of tangled vines wrapped around who I really was. I had been trained into believing that the solution to what I wanted was to be done by someone else adapting to my new toxic environment, and not myself that had to work to remove it in order to be seen for what I truly am. The more I tried, the more the toxicity wound up defining me and actually worked to drive away what I was trying to bring closer. I often refer to people who do this as creating a "self fulfilling yet damning" prophecy. Its like trying to attract fireflies into a jar by spraying a flame thrower in the yard and then being upset that your jar isn't as full as everyone else.  Well, Boo hoo ya' big baby. Get a tissue and put down the overly dramatic flame thrower.

     The best thing about all of this is that I am not one to allow a weakness within me once it has been pointed out. Not only pointed out,  directly tied to the degeneration of what it was I was trying to rebuild.  It's true I have my own vices I choose for myself, but weakness is not something I am prone to simply allow and ignore in myself by pretending they do not exist. Being able to see it for what it really is and how it has been controlling what I can and can't do has become instantly enlightening. I slept like a real human being for the first time in months last night and had no problem being able to define what it is I have to offer to other people. Those things are mine to give and are far better than what had grown beyond my control. Now that it is out, and I am back to seeing who I am without it, I will either be seen for it in others, or I will not. It is no longer a rampant weed that makes me less of who I am and makes me  feel as though the only thing I am being measured by others is the size of the weed. It was a self induced brain washing, and I wanted it to or not, it took away the very best that I have that makes me unique. I only hope that by writing this, that other people see their own weeds and stop for just a moment to look in under their own walls to make sure that what they fear the most hasn't snuck in to be counted in the ranks of defenders of your castle. It is EASY to have it happen, and once you believe that what you perceive in yourself is normal, you fail to see that others no longer see anything else of you at all.

THE MAPLE AND THE MAIDEN

     Once upon a time, long before maidens were expected to marry men without any forethought or knowledge of their own about what type of person they would or could be, they were sent by their mothers into  a strange and illuminating forest.  The forest was like any other forest that you may have seen except that this one was filled with  very special trees. These were the trees that knew the secrets of men. Not just particular secrets, but all of them. Why they thought the way they did and what they prattled and boasted on about to each other. Why everything men did, and how another could be convinced of it what they are by what they do and why it is being done, rather than  Better than a tree that knew the secrets of men and said little, were the trees that could talk and would tell women everything they wanted to know as long as they realized that some questions need not be spoken to be answered completely.  These trees, however, were the rarest of all.

     It had always come as a great surprise to the men, however, to realize that regardless of how well they thought they could convince or trick women to believe what they were doing was honorable or fair, that the women almost always saw it coming long before.

     The foreknowledge of these secrets, and how the women  came to know them, baffled the men. Soon they gave up trying to figure out all together or where it came from.  Women simply knew. Had the men been as honest as they were foolhardy, they may have confided in each other that women knew far more than they were led to believe, but men are notoriously silent about their failings, even to each other. Had they been able to discuss it, the ruse would have been revealed. They never did, however, and as a result, there was no opportunity for a woman to be blindsided or tricked. Wise mothers  knew the secrets revealed and passed it to their daughters. Never once was a word spoken to their husbands of this.

     Instead, the women devised a story to inform the men as to where their daughters would be off to when they turned thirteen.The mothers wold tell the men of the village that they were off to learn how to be good wives and mothers, and that was enough to have them waving goodbye while leaning on their pitchforks bragging  to their boys  about how dutiful the women were to sen away their daughters for them to become docile  and compliant women.  The boys would leer and clap their hands eager for the wonderful stock of women that would return to give them exactly what their fathers claimed they would receive, but had forgotten about what their wives knew when they tried it on their own wives.

Most of the maidens maidens traveled here together when they turned thirteen,  but each would leave on their own when they felt they learned all they could of themselves and the trees who knew the secrets of men. It was suggested that young maidens learn what it was they respected and admired of themselves and would gladly give to a man by asking the trees what they would give in return. In the process the knowledge would reveal what it was that could be expected of a man.  Sometimes it took only a few months, and sometimes it took years. I know it sounds strange, but its true.

Mostly

     This story is not about all maidens, however. This is a story of one maiden in particular who learned  as much as any other maiden before her, but had the unlikely gift of learning from two trees instead of just one. She is also the very last maiden to ever journey into the forest to learn the secrets of men from the trees that could talk.  She didn't know it at the time, though, and when her story started, she was just like any other maiden.

     Maidens, for reasons we are simply unable to understand, seem to develop, very early, and quite unbelievably to the rest of us, the idea that what it is that they need is based on what it is they want. When they are very young, and before their journey into the forest, they would chatter to each other about what the man they would marry was going to look like or what he would say to them. They would comment and boast to each other about the lengths they were going to go to earn the respect of these men, but almost never talked about what it was they expected to receive from them. They never knew to ask, though, because no other person they talked with knew either.it had always just been assumed that what they were going to receive was what they asked for.  That is all fine and good for an honest man with honest intentions, but it never occurred to a single maiden that if that were the case, there would never be a reason to go into the forest in the first place.  It was simply something that was done this way because it had always been done this way. It would have been very useful to know that  when a maiden believes that what a man wants defines for herself what she supposedly deserves, and therefore needs,  a very horrible thing can happen.

     The maidens had traveled for many days to get to the forest. They camped together for one last night before traveling alone into the glade to search for the tree that would be most like the man they would marry and learn all of his secrets.  Most did not sleep the night before.  Their minds constantly raced with how they would seek out the tree they believed they wanted. This particular maiden fell asleep immediately,though, for she knew for certain what kind of tree to search for.  She wanted an Oak tree. Everything the Oak would tell her would be exactly the information she needed to make finding the man she wanted be exactly what she needed.  She drifted off right after supper to the sound of tossing and turning from the other maidens and the occasional question about what time it was and was it dawn yet.

"Foolish girls" she mumbled to herself.

     The following morning the maiden said goodbye to the other girls and marched directly out into the glade before most were even awake.  The sun had not even finished rising when she came upon her oak tree at the far end of the glade. It was not exactly where she expected to find it and the ground was so wet that it clung to her shoes in muddy cakes.  She decided that this was not the type of place where she wished to be learning anything.  She could  see a few of the other girls now wandering about the wide glade. Two of them approached her as she knelt in the cold mud looking at the small tree.

"Are you going to be an Oak tree?" she asked the small sapling jutting out of the mud.

"The sapling grinned at her as though he knew something she did not and said
"I am sure that there are a great many things that I might be, but I won't be any of them all on my own."

Well I have been looking for an oak tree. I want to know all of the secrets of men who are just like oak trees. He has to be strong and powerful and be able to protect me as much as I will protect him, and if I work hard, It will give me as many acorns as I am worth for all that I will do. Can you make Acorns?"

      The small sapling shrugged and said "Well I guess you will have to put in some effort and then wait and see, won't you."

     The maiden was not overly convinced, but it sounded so sure of itself. She liked that confidence in him. Surely a typical and ordinary tree would not expect time and effort from a maiden in order to produce what it had to offer....unless it truly was an oak tree and expected to be shown that a worthy maiden was willing to expend the effort  to earn the right to what it said it would give.

    The other girls laughed and skipped as they approached her. She grimaced at the obvious dis concern these girls seemed to have for such a serious task as learning the secrets of men.  As they got closer,however first one girl, and then the other, made a look of disgust as they realized that where it was the maiden had found her tree was brackish and damp.

What are you doing all the way out here?" one of the girls asked.

"I found my oak tree."

     One of the girls peered down at the small sapling as though it were on display  underneath a magnifying glass and that what had been made clearer to view, shouldn't have been at all.

"That's an Oak?" She asked with a look of unsuppressed disdain.

     She spoke to the two girls, but was looking down at the sapling when she replied.

"I will wait and see".

     The other two girls had no intention of standing in the mud any longer and decided they would look elsewhere.  The two of them began trudging off when one of them suggested she find another oak in a drier spot.  She wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of learning all of these secrets in the mud, herself, but  the sapling knew what she was thinking at that moment. He suggested that he simply go with her to a place more suitable to her liking.

"You could just transplant me to where you want to be. It isn't that hard for a maiden like you." The sapling replied, as though it made no difference to him one way or the other, and could care less whether she believed him or not.

     The maiden considered this for a moment before a thought occurred to her.

"But if I move you, will you still be able to produce the acorns and give me the knowledge I need?"

     This maiden was smart, and even now, did not falter in her goal to retrieve exactly what she intended to find.  The sapling , however, was undetered and quickly reminded her that what he had to offer required that she put time and energy and most importantly effort into him in order to receive it anyway, so why not take him?

     And with that, the maiden leaned down and carefully dug the soil out from around the roots of the sapling and carried it back to the center of the glade where she could be seen by every other maiden making the extra effort to work for what she knew she would get.

    
     With the sapling cradled in the front of her dress she carefully scanned the glade for a suitable place to learn the secrets she needed.  There was a spot with an outcropping of rocks that would have made an excellent place to stay warm, but the ground was too hard and rocky for the sapling to find purchase.  There was a spot next to a pond, but wind would blow ceaselessly and perhaps damage the leaves of the tiny oak.  She decided on a spot that was close to a very large shade tree that was very near to the center of the field that still afforded her a view of everything else. It was harder for her but easier for the sapling, and believed this to be her first test of dedication and sacrifice that would earn her the saplings favor.  Carefully she dug in the ground and transplanted the sapling to her more suitable vantage point where she could watch everything around her and they could see her.  It was perfect, but as she looked about, she found that there were not very many maidens even close enough to hear her if she felt the need to talk. Comparing different stories from different maidens about their trees would be very difficult, indeed.  Best to just concentrate on what the sapling had to say all on her own, she thought.
 


     A large shade tree had been sleeping a very long time when it was suddenly awoken by the sound of a small girl digging in the ground beneath him.  He could not see her unless he swayed back and forth because his lower limbs were so broad.  He watched her as she toiled in the dirt and made every effort to accommodate a small sapling she was planting in the ground.  She cleared away all of the grass in a circle around it and then lined it with stones she carried from the outcropping to make it feel more protected and to keep away weeds.  She walked back and forth endlessly from the pond and then back to the sapling with handfuls of water, and she sat as close to it as she could to ensure that everyone knew that it was hers.

     The large shade tree was very impressed with this maiden.  She was young and strong, and very eager to do what she believed was necessary to grow a tree. Day after day the shade tree watched her put every moment she was awake and every ounce of her strength into maintaining her tree. It was so important to her that after a few seasons of watching her, he realized that she did all of these actions automatically. She no longer thought of herself at all and had resigned herself to believing that it was her job to make the sapling succeed or be the cause of the failure if it did not.The large shade tree had, up until now, decided that it was not his place to talk to the maiden as she already had a tree of her own with whom she was attempting to learn the  secrets.  It was not his place to intrude near  another tree's maiden or the secrets they would be offering to her, but it was also noticed by the shade tree that this small tree was doing nothing of the kind. It was true, that the maiden had already defined herself for seasons, and now years well beyond what would have been expected by any other maiden under the same circumstances, yet this particular sapling would have none of it except to demand more of herself rather than give so much as a whisper to her for the attempt. It had grown lazy and contemptuous thinking that it could get from her anything it wanted and she would still give her time and labor unconditionally. All of the other maidens had long since abandoned the glade and returned home and to men  yet the most tenacious and steadfast of them all was still waiting. The bargain had been broken by the sapling, not by her. But so too,  would the bargain of non interference between trees be broken by the shade tree. It would be broken, however, for the benefit to the maiden, not the benefit of the sapling. To remain impartial was no longer acceptable if it robbed the will of the maiden solely for its own benefit. The shade tree would not allow this to continue either way.

   The other maidens would no longer coming to see her either. For awhile, they were just as eager to talk and to compare what they had learned with her, but with nothing from her to offer  them except the same silent diligence, they stopped altogether.  What good was a diligent maiden if she had gained nothing so far from her efforts.  She would sit day after day and count the number of maidens on the field. Every season the number got smaller and smaller. At one point she even considered visiting the other maidens to tell them what had happened, but by the time she had gained the courage to do so, there were none close enough for her to call out to that would hear her.  She watched them far off in the distance wink out like small stars until it was only her and the sapling. 

     The giant shade tree bent at its top branch and called down to the maiden.

     "I am sorry if it has taken me so long to speak to you. I didn't want you to be confused by the voices of two trees when what you wished for was merely one."

       The maiden had been alone for so long that she immediately jumped from where she was sitting and  crouched close to the sapling believing the voice to be his.  She was so completely convinced that she had finally earned the right to know the secrets of men from the sapling, that she was incapable of remembering that there were other voices in the world. She waited patiently for a very long time, but the sapling said absolutely nothing.

     a slight breeze blew through the meadow as she waited, but it was obvious to the Shade tree that she was unaware that the voice came from him.

     "It isn't he who speaks to you now any more than he ever has. It is me."

     The maiden was a mix of emotions as she realized, herself, that it was not the sapling that spoke to her. She was crestfallen that it was not her tree, but at the same time was excited that anyone at all had thought to do so."

"Hello?"

     The maiden looked out into the glade expecting to see another maiden she must have failed to notice. Maybe perhaps in the tall grass or among the rocks.  There was no one at all.

"Up here. Behind you."

     The maiden followed both directions simultaneously and spun about on her heel as she craned her head skyward to notice the tree as something completely different than what she had always thought it to be.  Up until now, she thought it was simply a normal tree mixed in with the more intelligent, wiser ones of the glade. 

     "Oh. Hello. I thought you were just...you know...a tree."

"I AM just a tree."

"No I know you are a tree. I just didn't realize you were a special  tree."

"And what makes a tree special as opposed to any other tree, fair maiden?

     The maiden immediately realized she had insulted the tree but didn't realize it had led the question directly to where he wanted it to go. 
     "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you.." the maiden stammered as she tried to correct herself "..I just meant that trees that talk... are special."

"And those that do not?"

     The maiden looked for the quickest way out of this social error as best she could.

"Are not so special. "

"Remember you said that, maiden, it believe it will become of great importance  later."
    
     The great shade tree straightened itself in the light breeze and looked back down toward her and then to  the small tree beside to her.  He had no intention of making this wonderful maiden feel even the least bit uncomfortable, so he pretended as though he had just noticed her without leading on that he had, instead, been watching her for many years.

     "I see you have been tending to a tree."

     "Yes I have. A very special kind of tree. This one is a talking tree, too.This one is my tree. I chose an Oak.  I am here to learn the secrets of this tree so that when I return I will be able to find the man I deserve and who deserves me.

The shade tree looked at the small tree but spoke to the maiden.

"Did you choose that oak...or did that oak choose you?"

     The shade tree continued to stare at the small tree next to the maiden. It glared up at him defiantly, but said nothing.

"What do you mean? It's the same thing either way isn't it? I mean, I am here with this tree and this tree is here with me.  It really doesn't matter at this point whether I chose it or it chose me."

"I would beg to differ."

     The maiden looked perplexed as she suddenly realized that this tree, although it was speaking far more than the one she spent her time tending to in the past, was doing so in such a way as to  make far more questions inside of her own head than it was answering for her.  The only thing wrong with it was that this tree asked questions her mind already knew  the answers to, and that was rather frightening.

     "Why would you object to that?"

"Because it was not the tree that was sent into the forest to learn the ways of a woman to benefit from it as a man. You were sent here as a woman to learn the ways of man from a tree."

     The maiden was instantly furious, but swallowed her fury as soon as she realized that the great shade tree was absolutely correct. While she believed that she had every intention of finding herself an oak tree, it almost seemed, that up to this point, it was she who had done the majority of the work to get the small tree to where it was now with little being returned in like or in kind. As though the oak had singled her out from all the other maidens as the one to move him to where he wanted to be. She was the legs to the tree that had none but could be moved about by her nonetheless. She was the arms that didn't have to fetch the water as long as she would fetch it. It could speak but didn't, and because it didn't had nothing to be gained for her or anyone else who wished to be near her. It was as though she had given her body to a tree and it had rooted her to the ground.

     The maiden had had enough of this talk. It was distracting her from what she expected herself to do unerringly and convinced that the small tree was aware of the fact that she was responsible for it. How could she not be when he hadn't done anything but sit there? Whatever this shade tree intended, it was obvious that it had irritated her oak tree and that she would now need to redouble her efforts to correct it in the eyes of the oak tree.

     "I am sorry"  she replied curtly "I have alot of work to do and I don't have the time to be talking right now. Perhaps later when I get a bit of free time, but right now, I have a tree to grow and eventually acorns to harvest and all kinds of secrets I need to have revealed to me. I am sure that as soon as there are acorns that the secrets will be revealed and then I will have a bit of time to relax and talk a bit before I go back to the village to find a man who is like an oak tree."

     The shade tree bowed his great trunk and told the maiden that regardless of how busy she got he would always be glad to help her any way he could and that it really was no trouble at all.


      Seasons passed ,and year after year the shade tree waited for the maiden to receive her acorns, but her oak tree would not give them up. Late at night, when she worried herself about what would be needed the following day, the shade tree would talk with her and suggest different ways she may be able to accomplish what it was she desired to achieve.  But every day was the same as the one before, and every day after was the same as today.  But still the shade tree talked to her and enjoyed all of the things the maiden talked and thought about.  He found out that she was very charming and witty ,and very quick with a joke.  Most of all he found out that this maiden had intended to ask very intelligent and thoughtful questions from her oak when it decided she was worthy of them.  Not the usual questions of how and what, but the deeper, more meaningful questions that involved 'why'. Questions that started with 'why' often had her delving deep inside of herself to pull out truths and open admissions that separated her from nearly every person he had ever come across, but the best part of these small quiet talks was that she found herself liking the maiden that she was inside for the way that what she said was received by the large shade tree.

     The shade tree cared less and less each day for what he thought he would have taken from the sapling  by not speaking to her right away. It became obvious that he never would speak enough to her to look that deeply into her, nor would have ever thought to have her go into those places inside of herself to find even greater things. What he knew he would always know, but what he knew he would never tell her. The secrets were never going to be revealed to this maiden.  The shade tree believed in her as much as the maiden believed in herself, however, and when she asked for advice, he would give it to her.

     One late night in the Summer, when the leaves of the shade tree were the largest and greenest they would be all year, the maiden admitted that she had been waiting for the sapling to speak to her.  She had done as it asked, but relied on what it was that she was doing to let him decide when she should be spoken to.  The shade tree did not like this one bit, and it pained him to offer what he feared the most as the best solution for the maiden.The shade tree suggested that perhaps she should talk to it herself. Plants grew better when you talked to them. He should know. He was, after all, a tree himself and absolutely loved the sound of her voice and what she thought that there was almost nothing he would not do at her asking. She did go and talk directly to the sapling, but nothing ever changed. It remained exactly as it always had been

 More time went by and the shade tree offered as much as he could to the stubborn maiden.When it was hot out and the sun beat down onto the glade, he provided her shade by stretching his longest branches over her while she worked. Still she sat and waited with her back turned toward him while she tended to the small, unchanging tree.  When it was raining, his broad leaves blocked most of the rain, and when it was bitterly cold, he shielded her from the wind. He gave her a place to lean against when she was tired and rested her head against the moss covered roots that grew high on the edges to cradle her like a bed. Deep in the winter, he often shed as much wood as she needed to keep her fire going, and she nestled in deep against his trunk while she waited for the smaller tree to grow or speak.

     One day, late in the Fall, the great shade tree was ready to lose its red and golden leaves when he heard the maiden crying.  She had cried with him many times before, but this was an angry grief that held so much more than mere sadness. This grief had time associated with it. Not just for what it took to weep, but every single moment that had accumulated doing it in the past. It had the sound of pain and suffering on deaf ears, of sweat and of toil, and of blood.  The shade tree knew immediately that this was not the time to be silent if ever there was one.  He called the maiden up to him. She sobbed and said she didn't need anyone.  He ignored her and continued to talk to her until she stood slowly, plodded toward him and crumpled into a heap against the great trunk of the shade tree.  The tree shook its branches until the warm dry leaves covered the maiden in a soft warm bed.

     "I don't have anything left to give." the maiden said as she curled up into a ball inside the leaves.
"I am tired and there is nothing left of me to give and I haven't got the strength anymore to try."

"Can I ask you a question, maiden" the great tree said.

"Yes. Always."

     "What was it you wanted to know and learn from this forest and from the trees? Exactly."
     The maiden wiped the tears from her face and then replied in a very thin quiet voice.

     "I wanted to know that there was something inside of the tree, and in a man, that would make it all worth it.I wanted to be able to be  provided for by someone with something I could see, and touch, and feel,and taste, and even to smell. I wanted to be kept cool in the summer under it and I wanted everyone to see how well I could grow an oak tree of my own. I watered when it said it needed water and it didn't grow, I let the roots dry out when it said it had too much and it didn't grow. I pruned its branches when they became unruly, and I tended the ground underneath and kept everything away from it it told me would do it harm. And most of all I wanted something that came from inside itself that would benefit me worth as much as  as I put into it."

"Did you get any of that?"

     "No I didn't. I gave what it wanted and I did it by taking all of me and pushing everything away until the only thing I had left was what I put into the tree. Everything else is gone"

The open meadow got very quiet for a moment except for the sound of the breeze through the leaves of the tree above her. The great tree waited to see if she would continue.  When she didn't he made a very blunt statement.

"Maiden, You asked the wrong tree the wrong question."

"What?"

"You really didn't know much about trees at all when you arrived here did you?"

"No. Nothing as a matter of fact. I just knew I was supposed to take care of one to have it take care of me."

"And what did you know of men before you arrived here?"

"The same. Nothing."

"And yet you willfully walked into the forest to find a tree assuming you would know everything about  it as well as you will a man?

"Um...yes"

"Not to sound condescending, but where do you think oak trees come from?"

     The maiden was a bit perplexed.  The answer seemed so incredibly simple, that he must be asking for something far more complicated than the only answer she could think of at the time. She decided that at least the answer she had was correct, so if he wanted to push for specifics she would work from there.

"Oak trees come from an acorn."

"When you first came into the forest, were you given a seed to plant?

"No, we were just instructed to find the tree."

"So how did you presume that it was an Oak tree you needed if you didn't know in the first place or think to ask that sapling if it came from an acorn."


"I am sorry, I don't understand what you are getting at" the maiden replied.


"While you sat there waiting for your oak tree to drop acorns to you, you neglected to know what qualities that type of tree had. type of tree you were expected by others to have in the first place , and demanded by the tree, to nurture in order to find out, but not a single soul told you what an oak looks like or that it comes from acorns.
 place.


"Were you ever told how long to wait?

"Well, no."

"So how long do you suppose it will take an oak tree to produce acorns?"

     The maiden thought for a moment.  She had already spent the better part of ten years here and had not seen a single acorn, but she honestly had no idea how long an oak tree took to produce acorns. No one ever even mentioned it.  The thought occurred to her suddenly, however, that she had never considered that it may take more years to produce acorns from an oak than there are years in a human lifetime.  Would this tree have made her hope until the day she died? The revelation scared her witless, but not half as much as what the great tree said next. 

"Dearest Maiden", he replied quietly, I will tell you that, as a tree myself, I know exactly how long it will take that particular tree you see before you to to produce acorns, but you may want to sit down before I tell you."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because that is not an oak tree you have been tending year after year with every ounce of your being consumed and eroded by either the effort of doing it or the fear of being seen as a failure by others  if you didn't. That tree is not an oak at ALL. THAT is a Hemlock."

     The maidens jaw dropped, and had it not been for her cheeks would have lost her bottom teeth in the large pile of leaves at the base of the shade tree.
  
  "A WHAT!?!?!" But it never told me  it was a Hemlock tree at all."

"No it didn't. And why should it? But you didn't ask it that either, did you? You asked if it could make acorns, and it gave you the only answer it could honestly afford to your very pointed and direct question that would keep you right where it wanted you to be, doing what it expected of you, either way. Do you recall what it was you asked of it?"

    She mumbled quietly under her breath so quietly the tree couldn't hear her but she was just as shocked to hear her mutter it herself.

"What was that?" The tree asked. "I didn't quit hear you"

"I said, it told me  to 'wait and see'."

"Knowing what to ask for in a question is just as important as what you are told as an answer." The tree paused for just a moment to let this sink in.

"Have you waited?"

"Yes. Much longer than I believe I should have"

"Why would a woman of such obvious potential continue at something long beyond what she even thought was prudent, herself?"

"Because I was afraid that if I didn't, that I would have stopped trying on the day just before I would have proven to the tree I was worthy of what it was I did to have it. "
     The tree offered her the other possibility she had silently asked herself every single day but refused to answer.
"And how many days can pass before you realize you will never be given anything for what you have already done? Who else will ever know the price of the days that were counted by only you? It is not swaddled babes in bassinets that contemplate the days of their lives. It is only those old and broken on their death beds who look backward that can truly understand the enormity of regret."



"Do you see any acorns at all?"

"No."

"Then your job here, and the answer to your question is finished. You have accomplished what was asked and you have found the answer.There are no acorns now because there will never be acorns from hemlocks"

     She stared at the Hemlock tree in absolute disbelief. As though her entire life had been summed up in a single sentence that took merely ten seconds to say, could possibly have been enough to account for the lifetime it would have taken had it never been uttered at all.

"Can I ask you why you wanted an Oak in particular?"

"Because Oak trees are supposed to be the largest of the forest and I thought I deserved the biggest and the best for what I was willing to do."

A fair statement for the most part"

"What do you mean, 'for the most part'?"

It is true the Oaks are the biggest trees in this forest, but there are larger trees in larger forests, and as for the best, what exactly makes it the best?"

"It's the biggest. It has to be the best."

"A blizzard is the biggest snow of the Winter. How do they make you feel?

"Cold...and alone"

"And yet it gives nothing different than the smallest of flurries. A mountain is no different than a  stone, and yet for all of its size, builds not a single house, nor bridge, nor even the ring for a fire.

"So what do I do now?" 

"Go and find a tree that does what you expect of it and shows you what you need to know of a men. Unless, of course, you have found enough already."

"But I can't just go out and spend another ten years tending to another tree. What if I do and I waste another ten years?"

     The shade tree wholly understood the enormity of this question, especially from a human whose life is so much less than that of a tree, but his answer, he hoped, would be enough to convince the maiden that the alternative to doing anything but that was tantamount to suicide.

     Like men, It does not take nearly as long for a true tree to produce knowledge as fruit as it does for a false tree to produce nothing at all by wasting a lifetime. "

     The maiden was absolutely beside herself in a blind panic as to how to account for all the effort and time she had invested in this tree. And rightfully so, as time is a much more precious commodity to humans. To trees, even worthless non productive ones, folly that accounts for decades would be the same as a single day of mistakes to a human.  Time, and more importantly, time wasted, is simply not an issue to things that have no reason to count it in the first place as a scarcity.

"Well, what if I just take what a Hemlock tree gives so that I won't have wasted my time? What does a Hemlock tree give if I can't have acorns?

"Are we going to be making  solutions or excuses?"

"Okay, your right" The maiden replied. "I'm asking for help and you're giving it and I am fighting you with the answers."


"I am not in the habit of defining the particulars of other trees, but I have watched you labor greatly for many years, and will tell you what I know of that particular type of tree because you have at least earned the right to know if it will not tell you itself."

     For once, the small tree finally spoke, but only for its own viewpoint, that it had done nothing different than what it always had and that it was not the fault of himself if the maiden didn't have the  fortitude or endurance to deserve such a tree as himself. She was far too weak and incapable of what he was and  had obviously set her sights too high for her meager abilities.  The maiden bowed her head in shame and paid no heed nor recognized what it was that she had accomplished. All she knew was that what she wished for, thought of her as unworthy in its eyes.

     The small glade grew very quiet as the shade tree looked down at the maiden. Her white dress was dark and soiled with dirt. her fingernails broken from tending the soil around the roots he swore were the foundation of not only himself but of her as well. Her hands were blistered in some spots, and calloused in others.  Her back ached from her labors, but still she had the ability to stand much taller than the tiny tree.  A rage built deep inside the trunk of the great shade tree.  His patience was gone and he would no longer stand with the patience of a tree and watch this woman be destroyed by him or destroy herself.

     The  shade tree had only just began listening to it and had already heard enough of this irritating little sapling.  He scowled down at the small tree and, for the first time, spoke in a completely diferent way. This voice was angry and contemptuous and with no pity or empathy like what he offered her.He spoke not directly to the maiden as he usually did, but to the other tree, as though she were merely a bystander to a much larger confrontation but still privy to the information. It was as though the shade tree were reading charges at a trial to the smaller shrub and who had,up to this point, relied solely on his silence and indifference  as its only defense and was, now, being implicated with evidence to the contrary that would condemn it.

     "A Hemlock..." he spat the word out as though beetles had infested a knothole inside of him, ".. is a poisonous perennial. That means it keeps coming back year after year. It will only grow as tall as you. Ever. It will  never shade you more in the future as you see from it right now.
     It will have many different names in the future, when man reaches the far edges of the earth. Those to the New World will aptly name it 'Poison Hemlock'. The Celts and the Gauls will call it "Devil's Porridge', and still others will call it 'Beaver Poison'.
     It flourishes early in the Spring before anything else and is often mistaken for food by its ability to be the only plant to present itself. It is poisonous, however. Remind me to tell you of Socrates sometime. A man named Shakespeare will refer to it in a play and put the product of Hemlock in the company of thistles and burrs. All of which lose their beauty and utility. It is even believed a martyred man who will die for the sins of the world will be given Hemlock to aid in his suffering, but only by speeding his death."

     The large tree suddenly shifted itself and returned the gentle tone and smile it always had for her before it asked his next question.
     "Just out of curiosity, fair maiden, has any other animal of the forest come to tell you of the ways of this Hemlock?"
     The maiden paused for a moment and recalled surprisingly, that she had never been approached by anything else in the forest at all save the small hemlock and the shade tree.

" No. As a matter of fact, they haven't. Nothing else has come near me at all except you, but you were always here."

 "That's no great surprise to me at all.  That's because a Hemlock  has the ability of causing muscular paralysis that makes it impossible to move or breathe. Any animal that attempts to eat from it will almost assuredly die, but only after it as walked back off into the forest to die alone.Those that do not,and there are few exceptions, will never come anywhere near it again. Like many poisonous things, the most toxicity is found in the small seeds and the outer bark.  It grows on the  edges of cultivated land and in stagnant pools of fetid water. It flourishes just as well when it is ignored as tended, ad provides no more or no less of itself in either case. It is simply whatever it wishes of itself. And, not to sound as though I didn't address every aspect of this 'tree' to you, it is hollow on the inside and has a smell that has been compared to parsnips or mice.

"Well that doesn't sound very agreeable at all! Why didn't anyone tell me that this is what a Hemlock was? That's just not fair!" And why didn't it tell me that it was all of those things?

     "No. No it isn't fair at all. Those who could have told you didn't know at all. Those who did know were driven away by its very nature. But how would anyone else have known what to warn you of if you were so sure of what it was you were seeking anyway? And once you found it to be a far less agreeable than you expected, what was done by you to tell anyone else that what you found was not what you hoped?"

"I'm not quite sure I understand the question."

The large shade tree waved in the wind for just a moment before starting again.

"Who, other than me, knows  that what you have here is not now, nor ever will be, an Oak tree?

"Nobody knows. They can't. I simply can't tell anyone who could help me with  what it is I have found. They would be appalled"

"And why not?"

"Because if they knew that I tended for this then I would have to admit that I was misled and that I was wrong about what it actually was. If I just keep telling everyone that it is an Oak tree, or tell them nothing at all, then I won't have to do anything except what I am doing now.."

Who exactly will that benefit?"

What?"

"Who does that idea serve the most?"

"Me, obviously."

No it doesn't. It serves that Hemlock tree. Which is exactly why it has sat there silently as a Hemlock while you tend to it as an Oak. Because it is your labor that makes it  a respectable productive Oak that produces nothing  with all of the accolades a tree of that station deserves when what it really is is a very overly productive Hemlock. It is not what it is. It is what you made it because of what it could not be on its own. That idea serves him, not you."


     The maiden seemed to stare at the little tree with a duplicitous expression of both frustration and pity for the Hemlock tree combined with anger at being misled  that accomplished both without it ever saying a thing.


"I am going to ask you a question,fair maiden. Do you remember what your purpose was to come to this glade in the first place?"

     The maiden stared in disbelief at the enormity of the question as much as the shock and surprise that she had, indeed, completely forgotten what it was she was to be doing here in the first place.

"I was to come here to learn the secrets of the trees...and then...take that knowledge back with me to find....

     The great shade tree finished the sentence for her.

"...A man".

     The lives of trees are so much longer than humans, little maiden. We have the benefit of eons to contemplate our lives. Humans are so much less in the span of their lives but burn greater with all they can do beyond the limits of roots. You have learned all that you need from this forest and from these trees. Take what you know and make a life for yourself. Do not spend that short and precious life attempting to make worthy what you already know to be false. Instead, take what you have learned and go find a man.

"But how am I to find a man if I spent all of my time with one I don't want to be with?  What do I know if I didn't learn it from that?"She pointed at the Hemlock tree.

     "The shade tree replied quietly "You may not know what you want, but you know what you do NOT want. Perhaps that is a far better gift.  We trees, and the women who rely on us to tell the truths of man, have unfairly given you the right to the knowledge of men, but we have done so by having you believe you must work, in one way or another, to get the benefit of those you care for. In many cases, that is fair and brings women happiness. But in other cases, it teaches women that in order to be happy they must still conform to the wishes of the trees, and to men as a result.  Perhaps it is time for us to send a new message to women.

"What do you mean?"

     The great tree suddenly groaned and the entire length of its trunk shuddered as jerked free from the ground. Large roots snapped out of the earth on one side and the shock sent bright  leaves tumbling from it's branches. The sound was like a great ship splintering on rocks.

The maiden stared in disbelief and then realizing what was happening, screamed.

"What are you doing? Why are you doing this?" The tree stopped for a moment and began to speak again, but more slowly and in obvious pain.

"It is not the responsibility of women to learn the secrets of men in order to make them satisfied or  happy. The fact that generations of maidens have come to this forest to learn the ways of man has shown me that it is within all women to do this simply by their nature. A woman will provide for any tree she feels is what she deserves.  It is, however, the job of the trees, and of men, to do more for the maidens who love them, then to simply see how well they will work. The time has come for women to not only find these secrets on their own, but to expect that the men will no longer be tolerated if they should not live up to the expectations of the maidens who love them. There is simply not enough time for a human to learn AND to love. She must do both at the same time. Men do not have the right to exact the time from women to learn their ways if they can not repay the women with the time it takes to do so. Theft of time is theft of lives"

     The great tree shuddered again and the other side of the trees roots tore from the ground. Huge twisting legs covered in soil and dangling with moss left gaping holes in the earth.

     "The time has come for the trees, all the trees, to do what must be done and to show one last maiden that it means more for them to show her what she is worth, than for her to show the trees how long she can do it without benefiting from it.

     The maiden still did not understand what was going to happen next, but realized that today she would be leaving this forest and go away from this giant tree that had cared for her for so long. She had learned a great deal from this quiet sentinel and never even realized how much it had been there for her while she spent year after year here in the glade. Suddenly she knew exactly what she needed to ask it before she could do anything else.

   "I understand now what it is you have tried to tell me for so long" she said to the tree. " I know exactly what it is that I need from a man. I do not need anything else or any  different than what I wished for in the beginning. I simply need to have that man produce for me what it is that he does, but watch how it is that he gives it to me and why. It isn't what he will gain from me but what he is willing to offer of himself. And it isn't what he can take from me but what I am willing to give. If those things are true, then there is no need to know the secrets of man. Of true and honest men and women, there are no real secrets."

"I don't think I have ever asked this, but...what kind of tree are you?"

    "You wanted to know that there was something inside of a tree that would make it all worth it. You wanted to be able to be  provided for with something you could see and touch and feel and taste, and even to smell. Inside of me is the sweetest golden sap, but it does not come without a bit of pain. Pain that is worth it for you to have it, though. You wanted to be kept cool in the summer  and needed everyone to see how well you could grow a tree of your own. I am that tree of your own.  When I needed water I got it myself, but what came from that water was given to you in the way of leaves and shade.  I made myself grow. When I didn't need water, I grew moss around me and gave you a place to sleep. My branches became unruly at times, but always there was fuel for a fire to keep you warm.Most of all you needed to know that something that came from inside  of me would benefit you and be worth as much as  as I put into it. And for that, I have been with you every single day."

    The air was completely still in the glade as the tree looked down at the beautiful maiden he had loved all these years. He was proud of her and all that she had done. Not because he had anything of them at all  but because he knew that what he needed to know of her she showed him regardless. All he needed was to be near her when she needed him to be.  She was everything he expected her to be and would do anything for her.

     The tree gave an almost imperceptible shiver as he finally answered her question.

     " I am going to show you what makes me a tree different from a Hemlock or any other tree in the forest. It is true that there are many other trees that  believe they can offer what a maiden such as yourself is worth, and many more who believe maidens can be made to believe they are worth less to be had by them.  I have never said that I was the best and I never said I could give you what you wanted. I can only give what I have. There are many trees that are prettier, and those that live longer.  There are trees that give far better fruit off their limbs, but only one that gives from the inside. The trees that give from the inside have something else even the mighty oaks do not possess. I have weight. Go and find your man, fair maiden, but before you do, I will show you what I am and hope that what do will show you what you need to know. Do not wait for secrets to be told by those who will not speak. See the worth of men by what a tree would  do, and decide for yourself.

"I am a Maple"

     And with that, the tree very gently shifted against the breeze. Its uppermost branch waving like a pennant as the trunk heeled over spreading the entire width of the tree open like a fan . The massive branches underneath swinging upward and out seemed to scratch the blue off the sky. A massive crack broke through the air and the birds on every side shot into the sky as the great tree toppled from its base and crashed to the earth on top of the Hemlock.
     The maiden was knocked off her feet by the impact of the tree striking the ground and the now invisible hemlock.  She stood carefully on shaky legs to get back on her feet but doubted she had the strength to do so after what she had seen the tree do. 
  The trees eyes were still open, as it takes a very long time for a tree to die even after it falls.  It noticed the sky for the first time in a way it had never been able to before. The sky always had a horizon to it. This was bright blue everywhere.
     "Why did you do that?" the maiden said quietly as tears began to pour down her face. "I would have stayed here and tended to you instead if only I had known. If only I had been told."

     The tree could not see her, but as always, knew where she was and that she could hear him.

"I did it for three reasons. One is that I knew  would the hemlock would never give you so much as a single acorn. The second is because I know you were the type of maiden who would never stop trying to make acorns appear where there would be none,  and the third was because I knew that after knowing those two truths, that you would be the type of maiden to stay with me."

    "But wouldn't you love to have me take care of you the way you take care of me?
"Of course I would, but that is not what you are here for and that is not why I am on the ground now. You were here to learn and become what you are from a tree for a man, and what a tree can show you what you should expect from a man when he loves a woman.


this has to do with you on the ground dying though.

"If I was not here and had not told you of the hemlock, where would you be tommorow?
      The maiden answered as plainly and honestly as the question sounded.

"I'd be here"


 " When you knew you were unhappy and had worked longer than you should have, where did you think anyone who would care enough about you would find you?"

     "Again, I'd be here."    
    
"And lastly, if he had admitted to you that he was a hemlock and left this glade and that I was more worthy of your labor and work, where would you be?

"And again, I would have been here.
"Then I did the one thing I had left. He would not stop taking. You would not stop giving. And I could not stop forgetting that you are not to be wasting your time with trees at all. You are supposed to be living your life with all you desire for all you can give. Not tending to trees. Not because one can take from you, and not because you would give to another."

  The maiden left the glade shortly after the giant Maple had fallen to the ground.  Beneath it, only one small  lacy leaf of the Hemlock remained. The rest had been completely obliterated by the mighty trunk of the Maple tree

EPIPHANY ON A BUS STOP

   


Her boyfriend had called late last night after she returned home from work and asked her to come see him. The entire day she had felt as though she had feet made of lead and looked forward to nothing but a good nights sleep before her afternoon shift the following day. That wasn't going to be possible if she went to see him,though, as she needed to switch shifts and pull half the hours and then give the other 4 hours to another girl. It would have been easier if he came to her, but she would take any time she could get no matter how it needed to happen.
    Everything was going perfectly for her, though, and she had managed to get in just after work to have her hair and nails done before running back home to change into her dress. She was hurried, but still getting everything accomplished.  She walked down the hallway of her apartment and stepped onto the elevator to the first floor.  She listened to the small bell as she passed each floor until the car made a gentle bump and came to rest on the ground floor before the doors clicked open.  The doorman smiled at her and she checked her hat one more time in the lobby mirror before walking outside and down the sidewalk to the corner.
     The heels of her shoes clicked a staccato as she walked down the street towards the bus stop. She glanced at the small silver watch on her wrist and smiled to herself that she had managed to accomplish everything and still had the right to claim that she did so with twenty minutes to spare .

     The usually quiet street was bustling with afternoon traffic rushing either to or from work. She sat at the bus stop and rechecked her lipstick in a small silver compact and then folded it back up to put inside the purse on her lap. A man in a dark blue suit with one of those old fedora hats was sitting on the opposite side of the bench quietly reading the newspaper. He held the paper in front of him in a way that seemed impossible when she tried to do it. The wind always blowing over one edge or another making managing the paper as much effort as the reading in the bright sun.  His right leg was crossed over his left and he casually swung his foot back and forth as he read.  She glanced at her watch again. The bus was still ten minutes away. She looked up the street just as anyone waiting does, somehow believing that by looking it would make the bus appear in the distance and that we could somehow pull it towards us faster than if it did it all by itelf.  She glanced again at her watch. Only another minute. She grimmaced slightly realizing that she couldn't decide which aspect of time was more irritating; the feeling that she didn't have enough, or suddenly confronted with the reality that she had more than she wanted at the moment.
    
     The silence was driving her crazy and as her frustration built inside of her she grasped for anything she could find to pass the time. Simple conversation might have helped, but the only thing she could think to talk about was the bus that wasn't approaching.

"I hate waiting for things I have no control over. I don't know how you can stay so calm and I feel like I am coming apart all over."

  "Mmmmhm"

     "That's it? Mmmhmm?? That's all he could think of? She didn't really feel like talking anymore, but her mouth snapped open before she could stop it.
"Well how is it that you can do it and I can't?"

"What do you mean exactly?"

"Well how is it that two people in the exact same place  and doing the same thing can have such completely different outlooks? I mean...We've been sitting here for 45 minutes waiting for a bus that isn't coming. And the longer I sit here the more irritated I am becoming and you seem to be becoming even more relaxed than you were when I got here."

"Well , why are you irritated?"

      The opening was surely not intended for her to launch into a self vindicating diatribe, but her thoughts let loose the reigns of her tongue before prudence could ensure the saddle of restraint was tight around the horse.
  
"I'm irritated because I left work early to get my hair and my nails done before I got on the bus and spent more time than I can afford to lose from work making sure I had a nice dress on and was here early. It pisses me off that I spent all this time to prepare so that I can sit here in the sun in a dress that's now all sweaty. I feel like I wasted all that time looking no better than when I started."

"Wow. I can see how that would be rather irritating"

    She glanced again at her watch for what must have been the tenth or twelfth time.

"So how is it that you aren't as mad as I am?"

     He turned the page of the newspaper and replied casually "That's because I'm not waiting for a bus"

"Wait. You mean to tell me that you are aren't waiting for a bus at all?"

"Nope"

"Well that doesn't make any sense at all. Why are you sitting at a bus stop if you aren't waiting to get onto a bus?

"I could say the same about you, you know"

"What's that supposed to mean? I AM sitting here an I AM getting on to a bus!"

"Well that's all a matter of perspective,now, isn't it?"

     She looked at him the way a person peers into a display case and can't quite focus on the contents through the glass.  What was underneath she had no idea if she even wanted to buy , but still felt the need to taste it or try it on. He continued slowly as she pondered him curiously.

     "I sit on a bus stop and yet I am not waiting for a bus. You wait for a bus, and yet one is not here while you wait on the bench. Is one any different or more correct than the other?"

"Well so what's it to you what I am doing on this bus stop? I mean, who are you to question what I am doing here"
     The man looked at her with a very placid stare and replied. "Im not. YOU are the one seeking the answer to something. Not me."

     The statements bluntness took her aback for a moment, but she had to admit it was totally true. He had asked nothing of her whatsoever and it was herself who was looking for a vindication for a behavior he had already refused to have to deal with. That irritated her even more, however.

"Who in the Hell sits waiting for a bus if they have no intention of getting on one? That's...illogical."

"Any more illogical than to presuppose one person's perception is more logical  than the other by applying their own sense of urgency and relevance  to something that is not what it seems?"


"Well that's obviously not the same thing, now is it?. If you are going to be doing something that looks like what other people expect it to be, then you should be wanting what it is that it looks like what you are doing?

     "Isn't it?"

     He took the brief pause she afforded  him as she tried to collect her thoughts for a response  before the moment was lost.

"You've  decided that there is  a difference between the two of us that is, somehow, critical  to who is more rational. While it appears we are both doing  exactly the same thing, it is simply your view of what you believe I should be feeling while I  do exactly what you are doing that has you making the judgement. It is very true that I sit on a bus stop with no intention at all  of going on a bus today. I will give you that.  I have absolutely no intention of doing what it is it appears I should be doing or what others think, But it is not what I am doing that makes it illogical. It is that you have every intention of getting on to a bus and yet there is no bus to be found. It is not what we are doing that is relevant. It is how we are percieving what it is that we are doing, and what may or not be implied by seeing it that way.

"So if we are both in the same place doing the same thing, then there must be something completely different about how I percieve what you are doing that has you so calm and relaxed and has me spun through the roof"

"Yup. Young lady, THAT is the first thing you've said that is completely logical. So what is it?"

"But you are doing nothing."

"What does it matter that I am actually doing nothing if everyone thinks I am?"

"Well then why do it?"

"Because I can and it's no ones business other than my own why I am here at all."

     She thought for a moment realizing she was both fascinated with this conversation as much as she was perplexed and frustrated by it.  She opened her mouth to speak and then lowered her head to look at her shoes again. One deep breath passed and then  she looked across the street to a point in space where she thought she could ground herself before answering him.The man returned to reading his newspaper as nonchalantly as he was before while the woman juggled thoughts.

     Her mind swirled back and forth between what she was doing and what she had intended. It was as though she never gave a second thought to idea that getting on to a bus could be anything but exactly what was stated, and yet as she sat there in the sun, it was beginning to seem as though nothing was as inconsequential as it seemed. Her entire day and everything that had led up to this event went exactly as she had expected and the failure of this one bus to not show when and where it was supposed to could have been such an easy target for the cause of all her frustration. It had been so very easy before to look at the one link in the chain that failed to hold and apply the blame to it as a way of justifying the activities that led up to it. And the bus wasn't the only one. She did it all the time with almost anything. And yet here, this time, she sat feeling nothing for the bus itself and began questioning the overzealous actions that gave more creedence to the importance of the bus which wasn't even here,rather than to what she had done.

 "What kind of person is he to put my life into such a spin when , when he did nothing but sit on a bus stop?" she thought to herself. It wasn't he who did this to me, it was me. She sat and brooded and thought about asking him  if he was an angel or a devil.

      The man stood up and folded the newspaper before putting it under his arm and then adjusted his hat. She hadn't even noticed that he was no longer in the front of the bench. She caught sight of his shadow that passed over her as he put his hand onto her shoulder and whispered  "An angel", and then he turned to walked down the street.

     She watched him pass between the shop windows and the trees on the side of the street before turning the corner and simply walking away as though he were no more real than a thought or a dream.

     What had just happened? What was she actually mad at? Was she mad that she was the one who was required to come instead of her boyfriend??  Was she mad that she had spent time getting overly prepared or was she mad that what she attempted to succeed at was ruined completely simply by the innability of a bus to show up?  Was she going to be seen as doing less than was what was expected of her solely because of the bus, or was there some form of recompense and appreciation for the effort even if it didn't show?

     Suddenly her entire day, and her life, was a swirling mass of questions caused by an unassuming little man who made an impromptu appearence in her life, and a bus which should have been there and wasn't?  Are all things really this connected?  The bus still had not appeared when she began to assemble everything into a cohesive string of thought.

      She had lost sleep for a person who asked her to come when it would have been easier for him to do so. Not just this time but every time. It took more out of her in every way to make these meetings possible than he cared to worry aboutf. Maybe that isn't his fault directly, but he was aware of it. But I did it anyway. She had lost a half a day of wages working, and spent another half looking the way he expected her to? That,again, not his fault, but it was important for him to have her look good. Maybe that is just a little too much to put upon herself if he isn't happy with the way she is.  And now, she is feeling the pressure of not being where she is supposed to be when she is supposed to be there and becoming agitated at a bus that has absolutely no bearing on her life any more or less than anyone else.

     Is this how we become? Making excuses where we don't need them at all and then applying others to things that are usefull to justify them but irrelevant? She had the overwhelming feeling that all she needed to do was simply excuse herself by saying the bus didn't come, but she knew it wouldn't fly. No matter what is done, no one would even care what the effort was or the intention as long as everything, even those things beyond her control, weren't present. She would fail.  And it wasn't the failing that was so bad except that it was her exact opposite intention that would fall to the floor. It would be seen as not enough.
     Things needed to change. Not just with the bus that would not show but with everything that she put an undue amount of effort into to be exploited as the excuse for others not doing what they should have.

    At that moment a large bus turned into the spot in front of the small bench. The brakes pads squeeled and it lurched to a stop with a large hiss of air that blew dust from the gutter into the air. The driver grabbed onto the side of the steering wheel as he reached over to pull the door latch open. His hat was cocked on the side of his head and sweat poured down his cheeks.

"You waiting for a bus, lady?" he asked in a dull monotonous tone the suggested he had done it far too many times. For as many times as he had said it in the past however, there was never a time when it had meant so very much.

"No" she replied. "I'm not waiting for a bus. I'm just....sitting."

"Why are you on a bus stop if you aren't waiting for a bus?"

     The woman smirked inwardly and then remembered her new plan.  She eyed the driver cooly saying
"What would it matter to you whether I was waiting for a bus or not. You are late anyway."

"Hey lady, I can't help it if the bus runs late. I'm just a bus driver. Things happen."

"I know, and I can't help it if I am not waiting for a bus anymore. I'm just a woman on a bus stop. Things happen."

     The driver looked at her with an expression that suggested the very same response she or any other person would have made had they not just had a conversation with an angel.  He resignedly leaned back over and pulled the doors shut. She looked at her reflection in the doors for just a moment. Same woman. Same dress that was still too hot to be wearing in sun so bright. But her face had changed. She wasn't anxious anymore. The small crease above her forehead she had always assumed was an aspect of genetics was absent.
     The bus turned into the street and trundled past her leaving a cloud of exhaust to continue on its day.

THE BASKETBALL AND THE BICYCLE

                                        

     A basketball rolled down the sidewalk at the park. Not in the way a usual basketball rolls that is impelled by force in its path by someone else until it loses the battle with friction and gravity. This was a very unique basketball in that it moved under its own power and influence wherever it chose to go.  He had been a basketball for as long as he could remember, but had never quite found what it was that he was looking for. What he really wanted was a basketball player who knew exactly what to do with a ball. Not to give himself the ability to have what he could not on his own, but a person who could take what she was and have what they achieved together be something they could share. So far, he had never found one. Oh sure, there were plenty who said they could, but they mostly bought the basketball to put on a shelf to claim they were basketball players, or to people who believed that all they needed to do was hold the ball and wear the uniform to be basketball players. Not one actually wanted to do both. So he kept looking.  Today, however was a very different day.

   As he dribbled and bounced his way along, he caught notice of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.    She was tall and thin, and undeniably very athletic, but she was exhausted with the effort of what looked to be an absolutely futile endeavor. As she approached him slowly, the woman attempted to work the strong lean muscles of her arms and legs to lift a bicycle a foot off the
ground and then slam it back into the sidewalk with immense force, over and over. It must have hurt her more than she would ever admit to him, and with every leap, she would bite her lip and wince as she inched forward. She was winded and sweaty and fatigued and for all of her diligence was obviously losing the battle. She stopped under a tree, threw the bicycle against the fence and stomped dejectedly away from the fence and toward the park bench at the side of the walk. Her brown hair hung in her face to the tip of her nose and her bangs on both her cheeks stuck to the side of her face in wet strands.

     She was all by herself, and he watched her as she tried to gain a bit of strength in a place where no one would be able to see her. Just a few minutes would be enough to let her get right back to it, but it was perfectly clear to the little ball, that the muscles were not what needed to be rejuvenated. Inside her was a completely different battle. One that had no need of the muscles to which she had formed perfectly to the task she applied herself to. He continued to watch her and was amazed that he felt a pull to her in a way he simply couldn't quite put his, for lack of a better word, finger on.

The ball rolled slowly and carefully over to where she sat. 

"Hi"

     She jumped visibly as though all of her attentions had been consumed by who she was and what she was doing, but completely forgot about where she was.

"Oh. Hi. I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting to find anyone here and you kind of... caught me off guard."

"It's okay. I didn't mean to startle you. You just looked a little..."

 The word 'crazy' nearly popped from his head as he recalled what she had been doing just prior to sitting here, but he stifled it.

 "... upset."

Well I am having a bit of difficulty today.  I am very frustrated and .....tired.  I know its my all my fault and I am just not as good a basketball player as I should be. I try and try and I can never get to where I want to be. 

"Why don't you stop doing what ever it is you are doing to do and be something else?"

"Why? I'm not a quitter. Does it look like I am a quitter to you?"

     The ball was very careful here as he knew quite well that what she looked like as she labored down the path was ANYTHING but a quitter. What she was, however, was a complete and total mystery,. An undeniable paradox as he had never seen anyone do something so unusual as this and have it seem as though it were perfectly normal.

"Well, no, you don't look like a quitter at all. As a matter of fact I've never seen a person work so hard for anything in my entire life... but since we already both agree you are no quitter, then what exactly ARE you and what were you doing?"

     She wiped the sweat from her brow and seemed to stare off into space and crumpling into a memory before trying to cement into her own brain what it was she was doing. It obviously was not a pleasant experience, and a sadness crept into her before she collected herself again and gave the well versed answer she had memorized by rote.

"I am a basketball player. And this is what I do. I play basketball"

The ball stared at her in absolute amazement, and had he actually had a mouth, it would have gaped open like the maw of a carp. It was true, she looked very much like a basketball player. Her clothing, although completely irrelevant to an athletes abilities, was just like anything else he had ever seen being worn by a person who played basketball. That is to say, that her shoes were of the right kind for basketball and laced well. Her jersey was crisp and clean with the numbers 29 on it, and her shorts were very nicely fitted to her body to allow a full range of motion but still be form fitting and sexy. Her body, even without the uniform, was designed to accomplish the sport to a degree that would make her not only a very good one, but undoubtedly one of the best. What it was she was actually doing,however, was so unlike, so unnecessary and overworked, as to take any skill and innate ability she may have inherently had and wasted it all on something completely different than what she described as being defined by.

The ball said absolutely nothing as he took in everything around her and tried to fit all the pieces together into one cohesive picture.

   She suddenly realized that for once in her life, someone was actually listening to her for what she had to say and not just as a matter of course. Playing basketball as well as she was supposed to needed to be seen as effortless but leaves little time for anything else except doing just that, and distracted people who simply don't have their head in the game tend to be....losers.

     "From as early as I can remember this is what people told me I am and that this is what I should  be doing, but it seems like it takes more out of me with each passing day than it does from other people. I think it's more me than the ball because everything else works just fine as long as I put the extra energy into it, but I really didn't expect to work so hard for something they said I would be so good at. I dunno...maybe it's how I hold the ball. It never seems to want to go into the net no matter how badly I want it to, and no amount of planning ever makes it easier. If anything, It's getting harder and harder to play ball and more and more people expect me to have gone pro by now. The best strategy I have now is to just learn where the ball expects me to be and then be there when decides to go where I hope it would."

She kept mentioning the ball and yet there was not one to be seen anywhere. It was obviously intrinsic to herself so its presence should have been blatantly apparent, but it wasn't. He decided he'd pose a question in the hopes that her answer would help him to look for it without asking its location directly.

"Doesn't a basketball player need...a ball?"

"Well, Duh! Of course a basketball player needs a ball,  I have one. It's right there.

   The ball rotated slightly to look in the direction where she pointed. There was no ball to be seen anywhere of any kind save for himself. There was a walkway, and a bench, a tree, and a long white picket fence, but no ball. Leaned up next to the fence, however, was an orange bicycle.  For a moment the ball questioned if perhaps he had asked a completely different question than he believed he had.  Try as he might, though,  he simply couldn't find any other way to solve this visual dilemma except to charge right into it and state the obvious.

"You mean THAT right there leaning against the fence?"

"Yup, That's called a ball in case you were wondering."

"But... that's just a bicycle"

 He stated the small sentence quite plainly, but kept his eyes locked onto the bicycle just in case, perhaps, a trick of light and shadow had made him perceive a bicycle. No sooner had the thought entered his mind than he completely dismissed it as utter garbage. It would take a trick of light as large as an atomic blast or a shadow as large as an eclipse to blur enough features to make a bicycle resemble a basketball or vice versa.

"No it isn't."  "That's a basketball."

No, I am fairly certain that...that's a bicycle."

"And how are you so sure?" She asked in a curt tone, as though every word had been snipped to the quick like an overly manicured fingernail.

"Because I am a basketball" he finally admitted.

The woman rolled her eyes skyward at the comment."Don't you think I know exactly what a basketball is? I AM a basketball player you know. We've been around basketballs our whole lives, so I think we are perfectly qualified to identify one when we see it, don't you?.

"Well yes, I would ASSUME a basketball player is, under normal circumstances, perfectly aware of what a basketball is, but since I AM a basketball, I think that trumps your authority on the matter,don't you?"

"Well so what do you have that it doesn't? What makes you think what you are is better suited to say what is or is not a basketball or about playing basketball than what I have been using my whole life?"


"Just because you've done it your whole life doesn't mean you are doing it for the right reasons. I know plenty of tether balls that are used by fat kids as seats, but that doesn't mean they are masters at tether ball. And not to lose the main point, but a basketball is round with a place to put air into so that  it will roll and bounce."

"Well my little round friend" She glared at him while pointing with her finger, "That basketball ball is round too. In not one but TWO places, and BOTH of them have air in them. As far as rolling is concerned, Yes. Yes it DOES roll. So what's your point?

"A basketball bounces."

"My basketball bounces too...if I work at it."She seemed to visibly cringe at the recollection that she does, indeed, need to work at it.

"So you're saying that as long as you put an undue amount of effort into it on your own, it will perform to the minimal expectations and criteria of a basketball?"

"It isn't undue at all." She said as she rolled her eyes in an overly tired and exaggerated, albeit obviously irritated manner " It is what is required of all real  professional basketball players to make the ball do what I need it to do. Everyone I know says so. It's a skill. You have to learn it and even when you do learn it, it doesn't mean much unless you were designed for it,too. It's a mastery that I have, mind you, and I have everything I need to be great at it."

"You mean by people who were master basketball players themselves?"

"Yes"

"Forgive me, but a basketball is designed the way that it is to enable the skill and abilities of the basketball player to be defined and recognized by how he or she maneuvers the ball into the net, not defined by how well he or she has to work to maneuver the ball. Getting the ball to do what a ball is supposed to do is not the objective of the game. The net is. The ball and you are supposed to be two parts of a whole to get to the objective of winning the game.

"What do you know? You are obviously not a basketball player, are you?"

"You're right, I stand corrected. I am NOT a basketball player. What I meant to say is that a ball is spherical. That, over there, is not spherical. Parts of it are indeed round, but a basketball is WHOLLY spherical. Come to think of it, that is mechanical which is very UNLIKE a basketball."

The woman stared at him incredulously and replied "Don't be silly. Basketballs aren't mechanical."

     The poor little ball was stunned at the illogical disconnect between what it obviously was and what it was NOT being perceived as. As though by not recognizing the components, it was fair and true to say it wasn't a machine at all. Nothing better than disproving a valid point with a misplaced definition.

"Look, I understand that you are a basketball player, and that you do, indeed, believe that that is a basketball, but there are certain qualities to a ball in general, and a few very specific qualities to basketballs in particular, none of which that....thing possess."
.
"Well go ahead then, Mister. Since you are obviously the authority above a true basketball player, you tell me what defines a basketball."

"A basket ball is orange."

"Hello? Mine ball is orange."

     She motioned over her shoulder with her thumb as though she were hitching a ride. It was, to be quite fair, a very dull Orange. Much like....well like a basketball would be to anyone else. The ball remained steadfast and attempted to ramp up the technicality of the conversation to prove its point.

"A basketball is designed to be held in either of the hands with the aid of small plastic projections protruding off the surface that allow it to be controlled and to react to the surface to which friction is transmitted."

Well, DUH! My ball has those too. There's one on this side and there is one on that side and they are both plastic and they both protrude ,and when I hold them I control the ball."

"Those are handle bars"

"Oh no you don't. We're using YOUR definitions here, so don't go twisting this all out of perspective by trying to lead this argument in a different direction. I don't know if you are aware of it, but basketball players are very aware of being tricked. It's part of the game, you know".

"Okay, I am sorry. Let me see If I can be a bit more blatant.  A basketball doesn't have a CHAIN!"

"Oh, So now you're going to criticize what I do have hoping to use it to prove an argument for what I do not?  

"No, I guess I am not."

     The little ball had a new idea. One that had nothing to do with wordplay and semantics or with definitions and perceptions skewed into incoherence.  He decided there was a very good way to show the difference between a basketball and a bicycle. Ironically, it involved the two of them operating simultaneously in a way that would appear totally normal to the outside world, but as unreal to her  as what it is she did on a daily basis, and believed otherwise.

"Listen, I know you are a busy, hard working athlete, committed to your sport and profession, but what do you say we put aside this game for a few minutes and let me show you something really special. You in?"

     The woman was more intrigued than worried and decided that a few minutes wouldn't do her any harm. Who knows, she may just learn something new about herself. She agreed, and before she knew it,  the little ball asked the woman to lift him up and do the same things to him that she expected to be accomplished with her basketball.

     As soon as she touched his skin, she noticed that he was the same color as her basketball, but felt the small  nubs for the very first time. She thought to herself how much more efficient these would be in the palm of her hand as she bounced the ball against the pavement and noticed how her fingers curled off the ball, spinning it slightly to remove some of the work. With only a moments practice she realized that it could be moved slightly to come, not only right back to her, but to a place she expected it to be and could rely on. The muscles of her arms and legs worked as much with this round thing as with her basketball, but without the fatigue and bone crushing repetitive pain caused by first exerting the force to lift it, and then the impact of the consequential return. It was as though the round sphere was trying to make the whole sport easier.  For the first time, in a very long while, she smiled. In five minutes, she was laughing as the ball was propelled into the air toward the net over and over. Score. Another two points. Half court for three. The points mattered nothing to the little sphere, but he enjoyed the fact that she needed them. All he needed was to have capable hands catch and release him as he needed and to know he could concentrate on how he moved through the air to give her the happiness.

     It was basketball, but never what she had been shown or taught. Sure it was a bit different, and nothing that another person would expect or even possibly understand. But to feel the elation of watching it slip around the hoop and drop in the basket when she had become so accustomed to having to push and squeeze and jump upon that ungainly basketball was amazing. She wondered to herself why the hoop wasn't designed to fit the dimensions of her basketball and that it was so ironic that it had the exact dimensions of what she now held in her hands. Even more unbelievable was the fact that so many more things could be done that were previously thought of as impossible. Other basketball players could do them but she could not, and she had always attributed that to a lack of perfection on her part. She realized she was no longer looking over her shoulder hoping someone wasn't waiting for her to fall or fail. She was simply moving and relying on the ball to react exactly the way she needed it to.

     Five minutes turned into fifteen, then an hour, and then two hours. All the while her legs and arms working back and forth and the small orange sphere dodging and weaving along with her as though they were two parts of the same thing. Amazing and wonderful and nothing she had ever thought it could be. And it wasn't a game to be played. There was no winner or loser. There was just her doing what she needed to feel and the other half ,the ball,wanting her to feel it. Even without a score, she was winning, and winning big.

      The sun began to dip low into the sky and she realized she needed to get moving again.  Her hair was no less sweaty than it was before, and she was out of breath, her muscles ached, but they were filled with an accomplishment she had not felt in a very long time.  She wondered if maybe it wasn't really the game itself she wasn't good at,but how it was she expected to be seen playing it.  If today was any indication of her skill, she was already better than she ever imagined. With a simple adjustment, she suddenly felt like a basketball player. Not a struggling one, or a mediocre one, or a good one that was ignored. She IS good at it.  They sat on the bench laughing and talking about how much they enjoyed each other and how they couldn't wait to be together again.


The woman sighed loudly and contentedly put her hands on her knees before pushing herself to her full height again. She had obviously grown extremely fond of this odd little object that was on the ground at her feet and had turned into something that didn't define her any differently than she had always wished, he simply made it possible for her to be those things. She felt happy and excited and with a new found purpose to what she was always good at. She realized she had no idea what he actually was. She realized she hadn't asked that question at all.

"Just out of curiosity, what are you? I mean what do you do?

     The little ball paused for just a moment. He knew all too well that what a person is and what they do are almost always two distinct things. He also knew that people believe they should define themselves with what they do, not define what they do by the kind of people they are. He hoped that this woman of such obvious and newly realized potential was going to persevere with the intent and belief that she, herself, was better and more perfect when the true agents of her perceived failures were revealed for their own inabilities, and that from now on, they would come externally of her and simply refuse to make  their weaknesses dwell within herself.
     Knowing full well that the correct answer was not one that she would believe nor tolerate with what she was made to know and believe in the past, the basketball replied in the best and most noble way he could. He looked at her with what was, for the first time,love, and said..

"I am a bicycle"

     The woman did not expect to be so defined by a bicycle, but if that is what it took to make her feel like a basketball player, then she was not going to argue it. She happily smiled and said that although she thoroughly enjoyed the company and the brief time to just be herself, that it was a good thing no one else saw her playing basketball with a bicycle.  "What would the neighbors say?"

The little round sphere looked at her and said as honestly as he could  "They would have seen the best basketball player in the whole world".

     And with that he rolled on his orange-skinned, textured, protuberant, and inflated bicycle of a body onto the walk and waited while the woman climbed back onto her "basketball " and dribbled it down the path and into the street. Her long smooth muscles beating fresh but now irrelevant holes into the pavement. The little basketball was a bit frustrated, but he did the one thing that he was happy to do. He rolled himself toward the basketball player and bounced happily along at her side. He may not be able to ever convince her that she doesn't have a ball, but he did hope that this basketball player would decide to be something else entirely, and wind up being exactly what she desired most of all in the first place, with a completely different kind of  ball.