Butterfly Moments

We were caterpillars, once,

But we were transformed

By forgiveness and grace;

The first butterfly moment.

But we are holy butterflies,

And we transform more

Than only once.

A sudden understanding,

Or a broken wing;

Colors added and taken away.

Time reflected upon ourselves,

Hurts and joys alike.

Let us shed our scales,

May we flutter away, unbound.

With each new passing day,

let there be many new

butterfly moments.

Recreation In Progress

   I haven't written for awhile, and a lot has happened since I last posted something remotely meaningful. I had an entire summer of writing stories and then things got busy and I stopped writing. I stopped making movies. I didn't really read as much as I used to.
  Then stuff happened, and I was suddenly left completely empty inside, a mere shadow of who I used to be. A very tired and lost shadow. It was as though my entire being had been sucked out of me and the only thing left behind was a shell.
   So I began the quest of finding myself. It started out with jumbled, angry poetry that didn't even sound poetical. The poems were short, raw and bitter. Anger radiated from them. Words didn't even fit together properly, but the words had been locked away for so long that they all spilled out, quite jumbled.
   Days, weeks, two months later and I was still writing poetry, only poetry. But the words were beginning to flow again. Little rays of hope were beginning to sneak in among the bitter and angry creations. It became a game, "put in hope where you can". I still wasn't able to write short stories and planning a movie plot was out of the question.
  After a time, I began writing long, not planned out stories in my notebook. None of them got finished, but at least I was writing four or five pages worth of story. It was progress.
   Then my drama class and I filmed a movie, with which I had ideas for and helped plan. Though it was only a music video and there wasn't much plot, it was still something, and it meant a lot to me.
    So where am I now? Still writing lots of poetry, about to start some short stories (hopefully) and already working on a movie or two. Though I still don't feel like myself every day, I think pieces of myself have returned. But at the same time, I don't even want to be the same as before. I'm different now. Still myself, the old self, but also something new. Something hopeful. I am a Recreation, still in progress.

The Birth of a World

  A great ball of flame travels through the burning darkness. Hissing, spitting, flying at unimaginable speeds. Nothing else can be seen, nothing but the hot, red light. Hurtling through time and empty space, forever and ever….

…until it starts to fall downward, through a dark blue fog. Past the fog is a murky darkness, an ocean of black glass. The fiery sphere sinks into the blackness, engulfed and vanishing. For a moment.

Only.

  And then bursting forth comes a new thing, still on fire. A bird, crying out into the silent night. It flaps its’ giant wings, sparks and flames leaping off as if alive. The bird flies upward, rising far above the ocean. Fiery light shines, cutting through the formidable darkness.

 The light, the hot reflection, spreads across the dark expanse, farther and farther the higher the bird flies. A cry from the burning creature and dark shapes rise up from the water. Sharp towering land forms, cutting through the glassy sea. Pushing and fighting in desperation, spreading like fire.

  As the land continues to rise and spread, the bird folds in its’ wings and drops towards the land. Just before it’s too late, it spreads its wings once more and glides across the new ground. As it does, its fiery wings skim across everything. Little trails of fire appear and spread, forming together into strange shapes.

  The fire burns for a moment and then melts away, leaving behind green things. Some tall and some short, all alive and ready to live.

  Another cry from the now dark red bird causes more motion in the black water. Splashing and commotion, and shapes appear in the water, fighting to get to the land. All sizes, making all sorts of noises, two of each similar creature. Many make it to the land and decided to stay. Others remain in the darkness, finding comfort in the still calm. All of them start to discover things, enjoying this new life.

  But the darkness is still very foreboding, the water, and all around them as well. The flaming bird gazes at everything as it glides above them all. They are happy, but they need something. Two things.

  Great wings flapping one more time, rising higher than before, light shining across the entire world. All the animals watch in amazement at the shining figure. The bird gives a final cry, and then explodes into a billion drops of fire. Most of the droplets rain down on those below and they begin to dance in joy. Several of the droplets, however, form together into a perfect shining sphere, and hangs there in the sky, chasing away the darkness, and giving warmth.

  The animals finally begin to disperse, ready to live their lives, but then they stop when they see something else in the sky.

  A flaming feather, gently floating down to the newly created earth. As the creatures watch and wonder what it means, the feather splits in half and falls to the ground. As they watch, two new creatures appear and stand before the animals.

And so that world began.