There was an old man in the pizza shop who ordered a thick Sicilian pizza instructing the employee to heat it up for only 15 seconds. That would be plenty hot. Are you sure. I'm timing you. 5 seconds. He stuffed it in a bag and went on his way, but first - a pause. I wish I could stay and enjoy your smile but I have to run.

“Hey, you’re back! I didn’t expect you so soon, how did the scavenging go?”

I twitched, sending the vile of fizzing liquid shattering upon the laboratory floor tile where it began to smolder into the cracks. I hadn’t expected her either. Her energetic voice had caught me off guard.

“Oh Blake, what did I tell you about playing with the liquid nitrogen again?” she giggled. “You could kill yourself!” she joked, but I had lost the ability to laugh for a while now.

With a dreary gaze I looked at her, my gray eyes pitiful against her bright green. I had only known Shanna for about a week, but she had this unique quality of causing my tense muscles to relax as she carried with her an air of tranquility wherever she went. I murmured,

“There was an 8.2 in Egypt today – killing hundreds of innocents. The tornado in Russia…”

My voice trailed off as Shanna stayed quiet raising an eyebrow. She pursed her lips. My mouth gaped. It opened and closed but no sound escaped as water welled into my eyes. I think it’s important to note that I’m not a sentimental person at all – but the thought that I’m responsible for thousands of deaths in our already dwindling population is not something I can take lightly. So I found myself telling her.
I told her of the abandoned Alaskan village I had travelled to a few months before, the boarded up shacks covered with snow looking like gingerbread houses that children had forgotten to eat and the loot that they had inside. Cans upon cans of food, flint, and seal fat – the necessities we needed; but also some luxuries. I told her of the harp that I had miraculously come across, lodged in between two cliffs of ice so brilliantly that if the sun hadn’t caused a flicker of gold to catch my glance, the jagged ice would have cradled the treasure until Judgment Day, but that I – clever as I am – had found it. And I took it. And how I ran, quickly bounding from one foot to the next as if someone was watching me, and how it turned out that someone was. She had appeared in a bright light that blinded my eyes as its beam bounced off of the ice precipice – Blizzard. The Goddess. I told her of the Blizzards’ silver hair moving sinuously about her skin glittering a pale color of death. And her booming voice that demanded I return her precious musical instrument before I had caused any more trouble. ‘Trouble?’ I had asked, flashing a grin before tauntingly stroking the harp strings that resonated a scale of high pitches about the ice, and how Blizzard paused, mid-glide with a look of devastation.

I told her of the vibrations of the harp strings that grew larger and larger after I had played them until the entire body of the harp had begun to shake, until the very earth below the harp and I began to shake, until the gingerbread like houses began to shake, until the jagged ice cliffs began to shake and caused a mount of snow to fall upon Blizzard, and buried her beneath it. I told her of how with a small sneeze the harp had come to life, quivering and calling out for the Goddess with its small soprano voice, and how with each frightened shaking of its golden limbs the ground shook, or the sky flashed bright sticks to the ground, or the oceans swelled, and I had known that I had birthed a very troublesome thing indeed. I told her of how I had dropped the shuddering harp right there, and I had ran, until I stopped here, a mile underwater in the safest place I could think of, away from quivering harps and angry ice queens.

And that’s when I told Shanna of how I had planned on drinking that vile of liquid nitrogen, or of any concoction for that matter, to end my guilt of the talking disaster-causing-harp – when Shanna laughed. She was always doing that, laughing.

I held the foreign fruit in the middle of my palm, curling my fingers to give it a tight squeeze. I examined its dark red color, highlighted by splotches of yellow and traced my fingers across its rubbery skin. I brought the round produce to the edges of my lips and let out a soft sigh. My stomach lurched, aching for the only available substance I might come across in a long time. Despite my hesitation, I dug my teeth in. The sweetest taste began to flood my mouth as the first bite stimulated an automatic second, third. Before I was aware of it the fruit was half devoured, exposing a dark rough seed in the middle. I grabbed the pit and wrestled it out of the center so I could enjoy my delicacy without interruption. Its sticky juice trickled down my forearm with each bite. I would later learn its Adam-given name, Nectarine.

Peering out the window, the evidence was clear. Somethings changing. In me - in the air. It hurts and is exhilarating all at once. It is continuous with the weather...

There is a curious paradox that no one can explain: Who understands that spring is born out of winter’s laboring pain, or why we must die a bit before we grow again?

I can see the trees dieing, yet soon they'll emerge stronger than before. I step outside, I can feel the whisp of cool air brush my skin and it feels good. With it brings the memory of cold winter love. Isn't it all so romantic? Even with the lack thereof... it carried with it a hope of tomorrow. I try to take it all in. I run - pleased with my own energy, my own effort. I feel powerful. My voice rings out loud as I trace the lines in the concrete, I spin. I leap onto to work truck, imagining the cold black rack as my own personal scaffolding for my performance. I imagine my audience, picking out certain faces, singing specific lines just for them. They are thrilled as the content ranges, The Last Five Years, Legally Blonde, Les Miserables. When they see my dedication to our circumstances, they can't help but forgive. I sigh, remembering that I am, in fact, alone. Smile, and run inside.

Almost methodically, instinctively, I run upstairs veering left at the first door way. My old room. Stained and rustic brown holding memories... initials etched into the walls. I slide open the window and jump out onto the ledge, one hop to the right a couple of steps and a leap and in a matter of seconds I'm above everything else. The closest mountain I can find on my roof. I breathe in the cold air as it blows my much too long bangs against my cheeks. I smile.

From this height I can see everything. The amount of green astonishes me - its been a good year and a half since I've visited my own sacred place and so much has changed. In the distance I can see the blue and green of my old school. The stadium, and with it the memory of excitement and high school naivety. The toll road, cutting through the landscape. These hills flattened by machina that used to be covered with cows versus new suburban track homes. In the North east lie the mountains, the tips drowned by thick gray clouds. I remember as I child my mother telling me of the princess that lived in the castle atop of Mount Miguel. Never questioning that this fortress was infact merely a power plant. My mind flickers to the image of that same mountain in the darkest night covered with a trace of red. Fires. I shake the memory.

Looking around I sigh in contentment. This never fails to make me feel better. I put everything into perspective here. How small I am compared to that around me. I'm merely one person - yet this world can't contain the amount of will, power, and passion that I contain. I was born for love. I remember... this world needs me.

And that I, am infact, the princess.

I can't change the world by myself.
Be there.

From the outside, one would see a large rounded wall. One so high it would take days to scale. It was tough too. Fabricated with every armor a girl could come up with to protect herself. It did not look like much from the exterior, but oh, if you were allowed in. The castle was luminous amidst the rolling green hills and bustling brook that ran nearby. A pathway of squared cobblestones lit the short path to typical wooden double doors. Off to the side there lay a slain dragon, with a bag of ninja stars and marshmallows, respectively. Looking overhead one could not help but notice the tower, it was beautiful to make castle walls shimmer so.

Suddenly I awoke, will little recollection of the most recent events. I was in a circular room drowned in pink and purple. An armiour, chest and vanity elegantly decorated the place. Fit for a princess. I couldn't help but draw the curtains and look out the window. And was not surprised to find the landscape just described. There was however a missing detail. You see, the tower was constructed perfectly on the outskirts of the castle rather than the center, just tall enough and deliberately placed to be able to peer over the outside wall. It was there that I saw a chivalrous knight on his stallion of gray. He too was clothed in gray. Strange I thought, for I had ne'er seen a man in such a color. He called up to me "What ho! The princess with I doeth speak!". I stared and him and shouted how I must be a simple princess because I didn't understand his old english talk. He described his intentions of slaying the dragon that kept me locked up in the wondrous castle and rescuing this damsel in distress. I assured him that I was in no distress and besides, my dragon had already been slain. "Yet you have no prince?" he asked. "Aye, there is no prince here". He was a very persistent knight, and despite my assurance that I was indeed content attempted at knocking my wall down so that he could get inside. He tried poetry, gifts, and care - but deep inside I knew trouble would be lurking if I let my guard down. After all, he was a gray knight. I did not trust his intentions nor his heart, but through the months that he stood there, a gentleman, we became friends. Still, I did not let him pass.

Suddenly there was a knock on my inside door. Confused, for I thought I was alone - there was yet another knight, only clothed in white, his face almost recognizable... He said he had come to visit, and I, beginning to miss company, agreed to accompany him to a walk. I showed him around the castle, we fished at the brook, and wandered through the meadow. I asked of him the color of his horse. He had replied that it was black. I turned angrily at him, arguing why a white knight wouldn't ride on a horse suited for him. He rebutted that he was not a white knight. I began to feel angry, of course the man in front of me was white, if you saw his heart; yet he refused his very essence. I held it in, and eventually forgot it. I then said my goodbye, a reassurance to meet again, and skipped back up to my tower. It was only once I had left that a spell must have fallen upon me. For I felt anxious, confused, and worrisome. I was at a loss of what to do and settled for wandering about my room. But the spell did not cease. It continued for days as that black knight did not knock again. In distress I looked out the window to still see the gray knight standing. Never resting. I called to him and inquired of the cause of my pain. I asked him of the cause, and he replied that of the black knight. But I argued mentioning how I built a wall, an assurance that no other would get inside. This knight replied that the familiar black knight had already been inside before... and never really left like I dreamt he had. The gray one offered to duel said black knight. In a fight over heart. The winner would achieve the ultimate prize, if only I let down that wall. I argued that it was not necessary, and for the first time in what seamed like ages, I drew that curtain back, and was alone.

I was at a loss of what to do. There was no cure, remedy or antidote that I could conjure up myself, and I was in no position of power to change any circumstance. Thus, I called up my father. For I knew his wisdom surpassed all, and he would know what to do, what to do with the black knight. He told me of a white knight, on a horse of the same color, and he spoke these words to me

"But that's no life for you. You learned Christ! My assumption is that you have paid careful attention to him, been well instructed in the truth precisely as we have it in Jesus. Since, then, we do not have the excuse of ignorance, everything—and I do mean everything—connected with that old way of life has to go. It's rotten through and through. Get rid of it! And then take on an entirely new way of life—a God-fashioned life, a life renewed from the inside and working itself into your conduct as God accurately reproduces his character in you.*"

Suddenly the knocking on my door commenced once more. I first ignored it, the pounds became somewhat melodic... as they built up, as if encouraging me to do what I needed to. Finally, after I had ignored the black knight long enough, I told him to leave. It was simple, I had worried for nothing. And as I saw him walk through those doors, and scale down the wall, not bothering to even glance back, and I saw that he had no horse at all. I sighed at the irony... A prince with no horse, and a princess with no dragon. It seemed like a story told wrong, a skeleton of a once happy ending... still I couldn't remember... just some place called Montauk.

The gray knight summoned me to my window again, again asking to bring the wall down. I replied that I must be fair to him. And assured him that I would not, and would never let down that wall for him nor his gray horse. That he was a wonderful companion but still would not be allowed inside. He then scrawled something profound on a piece of parchment that I would later share with all of you. He sent it up by the wings of a dove. I drew the curtains, yet he still stands there till this day. He had written,

"One day someone will get through; knock that wall right down. And not sieze your heart, not to take it; for being tyrant of your heart will never do. For the rule of despotist is for a mightier king but he'd breach the gates to give you his, and accept whatever is offered in return only hoping that you'd find happiness in his gift. One day you'll meet him. I'm sure of it."

I was content again, spell lifted. Climbed into bed, and fell asleep once more...


*Ephesians 4:22 (Msg)

I listened intently to the sound flooding out of the speakers. Silence filled the work truck of my dad as we drove back from my last hospital visit per my corneal ulcer. It struck me that I had never listened or payed attention to a presidential inauguration before; either way, Rick Warren stepped up and prayed as follows.

Almighty God, our Father, everything we see, and everything we can't see, exists because of you alone. It all comes from you, it all belongs to you, it all exists for your glory. History is your story. The Scripture tells us, "Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is one." And you are the compassionate and merciful one. And you are loving to everyone you have made. Now today, we rejoice not only in America's peaceful transfer of power for the 44th time, we celebrate a hinge point of history with the inauguration of our first African-American president of the United States. We are so grateful to live in this land, a land of unequaled possibility, where the son of an African immigrant can rise to the highest level of our leadership. And we know today that Dr. King and a great cloud of witnesses are shouting in heaven. Give to our new president, Barack Obama, the wisdom to lead us with humility, the courage to lead us with integrity, the compassion to lead us with generosity. Bless and protect him, his family, Vice President Biden, the Cabinet and every one of our freely elected leaders. Help us, O God, to remember that we are Americans, united not by race or religion or blood, but to our commitment to freedom and justice for all. When we focus on ourselves, when we fight each other, when we forget you, forgive us. When we presume that our greatness and our prosperity is ours alone, forgive us. When we fail to treat our fellow human beings and all the earth with the respect that they deserve, forgive us. And as we face these difficult days ahead, may we have a new birth of clarity in our aims, responsibility in our actions, humility in our approaches and civility in our attitudes – even when we differ. Help us to share, to serve and to seek the common good of all. May all people of good will today join together to work for a more just, a more healthy, and a more prosperous nation and a peaceful planet. And may we never forget that one day, all nations, and all people, will stand accountable before you. We now commit our new president and his wife, Michelle, and his daughters, Malia and Sasha, into your loving care. I humbly ask this in the name of the one who changed my life – Yeshua, Isa, Jesus, [Spanish pronunciation], Jesus – who taught us to pray: Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.

I still can't get over how wonderful the feeling was. To hear the words of truth broadcasted through every form of technology known to man today. Television, Radio, Trees. Yes - even the singing trees at my school played the inauguration rather than its usual music. I think he did wonderful, and amidst the smiles and praise remarks of my dad, was overjoyed. =]