The Lotus has its roots in the mud
Grows up through the deep water
And rises to the surface
It blooms into perfect beauty and purity in the sunlight
It is like the mind unfolding into perfect joy and wisdom
-The Buddha
She grew up an outsider and took pride in her ability to survive. No one really knew her. No one except me, of course. I knew her intimately from the first day I came into her life. I met her when she was very young, and I never left her side.
I was there when her father yelled and said that, for all her Mother’s tears, she was the one to blame. She told me he must be right. Why else would he accuse her?
I was there when her mother called her a liar, and her brother said it too. She pleaded. She proved them wrong. They said she should still be sorry. She begged me to explain for what.
I was there when she was sick and her Mother cared for her. She confessed that she loved to be sick. Despite the pain, she was happier. She couldn’t be bad if she was ill.
I was there when she screamed and punched the wall. “It isn’t fair!” she cried. Then she drowned the pillow with her tears. “Why am I a terrible person?” I stood and watched her pain.
I was there when they took her away. They said that she was sick. They said she needed care. But she wasn’t happy this time. “I am not sick,” she protested. Then sadly to me, “Maybe I’m just bad.”
I was there when she left. “You’ll never make it on your own,” they warned. Her face was dark, but her eyes glinted, “Watch me.” She turned her back and I followed her out.
I was there when her first lover began to call. She always did his bidding. When he called her names she was silent. “He’s right you know,” she whispered, and never shed a tear.
I was still there when the cops showed up and she told them what he’d done. “They won’t believe me,” she confided. But they did. On her way to court she fretted, “He will speak and everyone will know I’m bad.” But he never even showed.
The gavel struck. An advocate showed her a paper and said, “You’re a victim.” She stood up straight and tall. She looked him in the face and stated with defiance, “Not anymore.”
On the courthouse steps that day she asked me to leave. “But you need me,” I protested. “No I don’t,” was her reply. I stood, alone and unwanted, as she walked away strong.
So, here I am. Waiting for someone new. My name is guilt. Who are you?
Every Life is a Memoir 
Reflection on the Lake
Freeimages.com/Debbie Wogen
Standing here among the mountains, I intend to enjoy the pristine peaks, glacial waters and ancient pines until the sun disappears into the night. I find an open slab of granite overlooking the alpine lake. The warm contours of the rock feel luxurious in contrast to the frigid air invading my lungs. At this moment, I wish I could be a reptile and just curl up on this rock and sunbathe all afternoon.
After arranging myself comfortably in the sunshine, I allow my mind to run off where it likes and quickly become mesmerized by the crystal lake below me. The water is perfectly clear on the surface and then descends into deeper and deeper blues until it finally disappears into the black unknown.
It is still early spring, and the snow has not completely disappeared from the ground. Even the lake still flaunts a few remaining fragments of ice reposing on the surface. The sun continues to rise in the sky. Calmed by the bickering birds above me and the still waters below, I lose myself in contemplation.
I think back over the recent seasons of my own life – the woes that not too long ago inundated my life like a winter storm. Looking down at the ice decorating the water, I recall the times that, I too, froze over during my life. When winter comes, when the wind lashes against you, and those around you turn cold, what else is there to do?
Like freezing water, my mind slowed. I would lock my thoughts away. The natural fluidity of my ideas and hopes would harden. I became as firm and immovable as the glaciers that feed these waters.
In this state, no one could hurt me. I could survive. I could stand tall and hold my own through the long darkness of winter. But I too, like many glaciers, began to crack from the immense pressure under which I placed myself.
There is a time for strength and a time for serenity. I started to see that it was time for me to change. I let myself enjoy the sun. I opened up like the flowers around me. I chose to be happy and once again splash and tumble in the world around me.
I lie back on the rock now to ponder the sky. The granite beneath me warms my back, and the sun caresses my face. I am glad that spring has come again.
6 Comments | tags: Empowerment, Flash Fiction, Freedom, Reflection | posted in Fiction, Short Stories, Social Commentary