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Heiress to The Throne

November 3rd 2009 in I Made This Stuff Up

Here, you must take the crown now, my dear.

I cannot. Your shadow is too great for me to follow.

You are the only one left, my dear.

Don’t leave me! I can’t do this alone!

You can. And you will. You will do it nicely. I am old, I must pass on an heir.

No heir can be as magnificent as you.

Perhaps…

No heir can carry your reputation. No heir can give the people what they need. Only you…

No. Be strong, my dear. Be strong and carry yourself wisely. Be filled with grace and charm. I have selected you from all of my followers. You must.

I can’t!

You can. And you will. Take the crown. Blessed Be.

*********************************************

*wandering without direction*

The crown is mine. I must give you what you desire. If only I knew what you desired. I am lost.

It’s not about what they desire. You do what you do, remaining strong to your character. It is YOU that they wish for now. Your words, your trumpets, your stick. Walk softly fair child.

You, the downtrodden. You, the thrown down. Hear my words. Listen to what I say: You shall not be weak. You shall carry your head high. You shall follow your heart and you will behave with emotional maturity and integrity. You will not allow those who curse you to harm your spirit. You will fight a courageous fight and you will harm none. My will be done.

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Filled with Observations

I’m not discontent. I’m perfectly happy, going through the daily motions along the roller coaster track that is my emotional experience… I exaggerate when I speak of a roller coaster. My life is no more a roller coaster than a roller skating rink. Yet still I feel…

I feel deeply and fully.

And completely.

And while this relatively new experience of feeling has kept my mind consumed by the vicious energy-eaters that threaten to swallow me whole, I am calm. I would much rather experience the ups and downs of emotion than to be without emotion entirely.

Filled with ObservationsPrevious Entry

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She tells us that we sound like a herd of cattle running up and down the stairs.

She tell us to listen to our feet, to pay attention to the clamor it creates.

But that never crosses our minds as we run and jump and fly like birds up and down the stairs. We never consider that the pounding of our soles against the steps could possibly be like a pack of wild animals tearing through the house. Why should we consider it? After all, we are only children, not cows. Let the cows worry about sounding like cattle.

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