Sunday, May 8, 2011

Fable/Memory/Faith

FABLE/Michael comes to palace in rags. Through luck, a well-placed uncle, and his mouth he tricks himself into a high position within the first day. Then becomes incredibly wealthy, betrothed, wearing jewels, and fine silk. And a wise man warns that he will lose everything. But he proceeds, he gains the ear of the king, people in the palace begin to fear and respect him. Then he hears that his parents are dying. The long road will mean they might be dead by the time he gets their. The short cut is filled with bandits and robbers. He takes the short-cut and is piece-by-piece stripped of his clothes, robbed, has his royal seal stolen, identity stolen. He arrives back home in rags. His parents are sick but manage to make a recovery. He's back to rags and trying to tell people how he lived but no one believes him. He's cleaning out the horse stalls, and throwing slop to the pigs. He's covered in mud and his wife comes to visit but doesn't believe it's him. No one from the palace believes its him and treats him like a peasant. No one knows except for the wise man.


The wise man laughs and shows through some special article of clothing the minister forgot to take off that it is him. And they try to welcome him back. He's back in the palace, his wife is by his side, the clothes are laid out for the day. His gems are on his finger. In the middle of the night, he slips out of the palace and walks back home. He gives his seal away to a village idiot who is shipped back to the palace.

And the man walks back home along the road.

MEMORY/A few Aunt Dolly she said a homeless came up to her on the street and said 'I know you.' And my aunt said 'I don't think so.' And the homeless man insisted 'yeah I do.' Well as it turns out they did. Back in the days when people used to ride train carts across the county there were halfway or safe spots like the underground railroad. My aunt's mother was one of those famous spots where hobos were told what to do: When the train pulled into the sleep rural Florida town they would jump from the front car and race down the street a few blocks. On the side kitchen door would be a tray of coffee and biscuits. You were told to drink the coffee and take a few biscuits and then race back to the tracks to hop back on the last car. And many people did this and this became sort of the ritual to do. My great grandmother was never robbed or beaten by any of these people. Quite the opposite, she was a brief spot. And on that particular morning that train rider ran up to the kitchen door, grabbed the coffee and was chewing on a biscuit when he saw my Aunt (as a little girl) eating her breakfast in the kitchen. And that's how they knew each other.


FAITH/Helping my Dad walk he's so paranoid when I tell him to reach back for the wheelchair b/c he's mostly blind and can't see. He's very scared of reaching back so he usually just flops backward which is very dangerous and how people get injured. So the last few days I've been refusing to let him sit unless he reaches back. I hold him with my hand while he protests 'no, no, no!!!' And I calmly try to whisper into his ear: why don't you trust me? There is a chair behind you. I am holding you. No one is going to let you fall. Just reach back.'

I try to pry his fingers from the walker as he yells 'no, no, NO!' and continue to tell him 'just reach back. Trust me.' I suppose I'm like that. Gripping on to the walker and the angels are screaming 'let go! JUST LET GO!!' and I'm saying 'no, no, no!!' like a child afraid to lose his blanket.

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