The Blaze (Happy Birthday, Joshua)

The Blaze decided about three hours back that he'd rest when he reached the small group of thin trees ahead and he was now nearing them. Looking back, he reckoned he'd covered ten, perhaps twelve miles. With only momentary regard, he saw the tracks of his footsteps trailing off behind him. Each footprint stood out a full shade lighter that the yellow dust-color of the hard pan ground around them.

He supposed he would press on after resting for an hour or so under those trees. He spotted them from a hilltop back beyond where his footsteps now almost faded completely. And from that same hilltop, he saw beyond the little group of trees, the dark edge of an area more densely populated with trees. Those trees were larger and stronger without a doubt, but he was still not sure if he'd actually call it a forest at this point.

But a forest would mean there was plentiful water. And where there was water there were animals. There was meat. He didn't want to think too much about that now and trick himself into planning for too much and finding far too little. He would find out another twenty or thirty miles past the trees that are his current goal. He had seen, in his days, several large expanses of deep forest that held plenty of water, but not another single living thing could be found. Not so much as an art or a bird or a worm.
Experience has taught him that looks can and will be deceiving.

Even though his shadow barely leaned out in front of him, he knew it was not likely that could reach the forest (if that's what it truly is) by sundown. Tomorrow he would reach the first outcroppings. And they would be, he hoped, the end of the hardpan and the beginnings of a lush land full of life.

To his right, in the distance, the horizon was little more than a jagged purple line where the foothills of the Northern Mountains began and then spread up and away for more than five hundred miles of dangerous and inhospitable caves, cliffs and ravines. Some almost immeasurable time ago, he had almost lost his life in those mountains. And it was there where he lost many of his friends. They were friends who were fighters and they stood true, but in the end, they were friends who fell just the same. It was in those mountains where his remaining innocence was also lost.

While making his escape from those treacherous cliffs, along with his friends and his innocence, he also lost a true love. The truth is those last two things were lost together. Her escape route went just along the Front Range and his route went south.

He had almost pleaded with her to stay with him and travel on his course, but she did not. So, with a kiss and a long embrace, he turned and began to walk in the other direction.

Years later, he had heard that she (and most of her party) had survived and they had returned to a more civilized part of the world. They moved to a better neighborhood, if you will. And as far as he knows, they are still living still there and living well.

He looked away from that painful horizon and away from those times. Then he looked ahead again, as he always did. Closer now, he could see there were five trees that made up the outcropping. They weren't very tall and their branches and leaves looked a bit sparse, but, he didn't care. They were trees all the same and where there were trees, there was life. And shade.

He had first believed there to be only three. That was because first, there was quite a difference in their sizes and second, the angle of his approach masked the smaller ones. It was now obvious that the two larger ones had taken the lion's share of what little nutrients the selfish ground gave up. The larger one's height also ensured that they received the majority of the rain that passes through this region so seldom. The smaller ones have survived on was left in the dirt and on what dripped onto them from above. They did not look unhealthy. It was survival of the fittest.

Thinking about rain now, he looked up, but the sky showed no signs of bringing rain anytime soon. That would make his travel easier and even though he had water left, still, he wished for it to come just the same. The sun was still hot even as autumn was setting in. He can't recall the last time he rested and the sun had not yet reached its high point. By the time that it did, The Blaze hoped to have his boots off and his back against one of those trees. Made in the shade. Wasn't that an old saying, old even when he was a boy? He remembers it to mean how you feel when your day was an easy one or how you feel after the hardest work is done? Either way, he would be made in the shade soon enough.

He looked South across the vast colorless expanse. The landscape was peppered with small scrubs and patches of weeds here and there. There was the occasional flat cactus or an evil-looking plant with tough pale green skin and spikes on its tips. If there was beauty to been seen here, The Blaze no longer saw it. Perhaps in the year to come he would. But now, it was really just a patchwork of hard fights, hard disappointment and even harder miles. He had learned that very few animals outside of snakes and few hares inhabited this place with any regularity. His grandmother used to tell him that animals had always been smarter than men, mostly because they only did the things that nature has them do and not the things they decide they want to do. It was quite possible that the majority of animals simply had the good sense to stay away from this difficult area, but The Blaze's choices were not always his own and he moved forward regardless.

The few birds that ventured into this area, either lacking good sense or merely very hungry weren't good to eat, but if you were desperate enough they could sustain you for a while. This The Blaze knew from experience.

With the little copse of trees seventy yards ahead, the ground began to slope gently upwards. The rise was almost invisible to the eye, but after countless miles, The Blaze's legs noticed even the slightest change. He wanted desperately to stop and take a drink of water, but he was close now. He pushed on. He didn't so actually decide not to stop, it was more his nature not to. Walk now, drink later. Work now, rest later. Besides, he imagined that the water would feel cooler and taste sweeter when drank in the shade. And he was right, because just a few minutes later, he had arrived.

The trees were better in better condition than he had originally thought and from the West side of the little hill he could indeed see the larger forest in the distance. If it held life in abundance, he would find out eventually, but for now he would focus on his new surroundings. He scanned the area and the ground for signs of animals and was pleased to see several tracks made by small animals, two maybe three. The tracks where days old for sure, and probably those of rats, but this small standing of trees was not too far from the real forest to attract a few animals to their shade and possibly take a quick meal. If his luck was in, he may just be the taker.

He carefully walked around the bases of each tree and then craning his head back to inspect the branches. This was too far away from the forest to expect a squirrel, but one never knows. He walked a small perimeter and checked under a few of the larger rocks that were scattered about. He had learned as a boy that it was easier to deal with a snake while standing than it was to deal with one after you'd taken a seat or turned in for the night. Satisfied, he walked back to the biggest tree and its plentiful shade, he shook off his pack and his two water skins, sat down and eased back against the trunk. He winced at the bite marks the cords of the water skins left in his shoulders and rubbed them for quite some time.

Thirsty, he pulled one of the water skins over to himself, pulled the plug from it and raised it on his elbow. He drank deeply. He looked up and marked the sun through the moving branches of the tree. He lowered the skin, reached for his pack and opened it. He rummaged in it for a few moments and finally brought out a piece of paper and the stub of a pencil. The paper had been folded and refolded so many times you could see the softness of the linen that it was made from. The pencil was no longer than an inch and difficult to hold in a hand larger than a child's.

Carefully, The Blaze unfolded the paper and gazed at the tiny tick marks that covered it fully on one side and almost completely on the other. Holding the pencil with the tips of his fingers, he added another tick mark. He was unaware that whenever he wrote, even if just making a mark, his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth in a display of concentration.

With that done, he looked back the way he came. The footprints now only a light line in the dust leading back and disappearing out of sight. He looked to the paper, preparing to fold it and place it back in the pack, but instead studied the neat little tick marks covering it. The days and weeks and months and years marched across it like a line of never-ending soldiers. One after another and followed by another. It was a poor calendar that showed none of the long history it had seen.

And even though it was not his habit, he sat and reflected upon the marks and he was sure that he remembered them all. Not each mark as it was made, so to speak, but he remembered each of his days. Some of those days were the ones that were so good you wished at the time that they would have never ended. Still yet, some of those other days were so bad, you wondered how you ever got through them or you wondered why they ever came to be in the first place.

He took another long pull from his water skin and just as he was lowering his arm, he froze. With the water skin still balanced on his elbow, he let the paper fall from the fingers of his other hand and then he slowly moved them toward the handle of the pistol on his hip. Staring across the top of the water skin, he waited. He didn't have to wait long because the moment as the hare moved one of its sandy brown ears again, The Blaze’s hand flicked down and forward almost too quick to see and instantly with a flash of powder and a thunderous crash, twenty-five yards away a headless rabbit fell over.

A scrawny bird shrieked and exploded into flight from a branch far above him. The Blaze had missed the bird while surveying the area earlier, but with another flash of his hand and another huge report, he did not miss it a second time. Even as it fell to the ground followed by its raining feathers, The Blaze didn't think that it would make for a good a meal. Especially not with a rabbit already bagged, but an opportunity to eat must be taken. All of this, he had done in a matter of seconds, never lowering the skin from his arm. Noting this, he tilted it up and took another sip of water and stepped off into the brush.

He collected his prey and collected an arm load of good-sized sticks from beneath the trees. Then he felt around in the pack again for the makings for his fire. He noticed the paper still lying where he had dropped it and picked it up. He regarded those neat rows again and as he did, a smile began to slowly form on his lips. For he had realized, with some amusement, and if the marks were to be true, then today was his birthday. He counted several blocks of the marks and his smile grew. “Well what do you know?” he thought.

When the rabbit was sizzling on the spit (he discarded the bird because it's flesh was greasy and it's eyes were diseased), he looked West to the forest and it's great distance and decided that in celebration of his own birthday, he would make camp here tonight and sleep under the trees and the stars with a full belly. It was true that in very recent years, he had completely forgotten his own birthday only to realize he had the following year...or two.

As he cooked, he used a small sewing kit and mended several tears and loose seams in his clothing. Every once in a while, he'd place the needle between his lips and reach over and turn the spit a little this way or that way. When the meat was ready, he put away his sewing kit and removed it from the fire. He he ate slowly, savoring the smoky flavor. He had remembered earlier that he had a small pouch of salt too, but he refrained from seasoning the rabbit with it for there were far better and more important uses for salt in this place, Birthday or not. Besides, the meat was simply delicious! It was tender and juicy and the skin was crisp and well browned.

He chewed until there was almost no flavor left and he washed down every third or fourth bite with a sip of water. He did not want to over indulge in his water, but with the rabbit, he felt no such restraint. That forest was still far away and he was sure there would be water there, but he consciously spared it anyway. Old habits die hard.

As evening set in, he leaned back against the tree with a blanket draped over the front of him. He thought about tomorrow and his inevitable arrival at the forest's edge. He thought about what may lie beyond even that. And then, he imagined what may lie even beyond that! One thing he knew for certain was that there was work to be done. There was always work to be done and he imagined that there always will be. He didn't feel that was either good or bad, but only the way that things are.

With his belly full and the warmth of the fire (he had stoked it up to last through the night), The Blaze began to doze. Sleep would come fully soon enough and that would be alright. That was good. Like rain, sleep didn't always come when you wanted it to. But for the time being he was happy to doze with the calmness of his own mind and the crackle of his fire. He he opened his eyes and looked up at the stars.

They were much brighter now in the darkening sky. They looked like tick marks to him. There are billions of them, up there in the heavens, each one marking its own time, just as he was marking his time down here. Tick, tick, tick. He closed his eyes and thought about the stars and the blackness between them and his breathing grew slower and measured. Another smile grew on his face again and said quietly to the night "Happy birthday." Then he laughed a little laugh and drifted off to sleep and into that blackness in between.

Imagine, if you will...

How real is your imagination?  There are those that would argue that imagination is not real at all and that it really doesn't exist because it's all in your head.  I do agree that "it's all in your head" because everything is all in our heads.  Everything that we touch, see, taste, smell happens in our heads as our minds process the stimulus.

I do not agree that imagination is not real, for the simple truth that it makes you feel.  What's more is that our imaginations create measurable physiological changes or responses.  To me, that is real.  Human beings naturally use their imaginations constantly and for many reasons.  One of those reasons is a form of mostly unconscious training.  When we imagine ourselves in a situation, whether it's a pleasurable situation or an unpleasant one, we're test driving our responses to that imagined situation.  Producers of motion pictures know this all too well.  But I digress.  

Slogans such as "Think Positive!" and "Look on the bright side!" and even "... walk a mile in their shoes!" are all tips to exploring our own reactions and responses to any given subject.  I also find them to be good advice, by the way.  Exploring in such a manner is something that we all do and many of us are very aware of the benefits of doing so.  Relaxation techniques, meditation, or simply finding our "happy place" are all just other words for guided imagery.  The beauty of practicing your own imagery is that the only limitation is your own imagination!

There are countless sources available to help us discover the deeper abilities of ourselves when we use our imaginations actively and for a targeted response.  Dreaming works in much the same manner, but are much harder for most people to direct to any degree.  Our minds have trouble sometimes determining what's real and what is not.  Have you ever had a memory that you were absolutely certain unfolded just as you remember it to have happened and only later to find out that you remembered incorrectly?  That was the way that it happened.  Then it changed.  What if we apply that line of thinking to something about ourselves or to an opinion we hold?  That's right!  We can change.  We can feel better, perform better, and even physically feel better simply by imagining those things and exposing ourselves to the real physical effects we encounter.

As a statement of proof, I can tell you that I can control the speed of my pulse simply by thinking about it.  Faster or slower, up and down, it's an interesting ability.  I can also raise the surface temperature of my hands by a few degrees in the same manner.  I have no idea what benefit being able to do this is, but it's neat all the same.  Of course, you'd have to either see it to believe it or maybe do it yourself.

As a result of our busy society and our busy lives, we see the majority of guided imagery focusing on reducing stress, unwinding, relaxing, but we can use imagery to excite ourselves.  We can use it to overcome fears and apprehensions (by first experiencing them safely and controlled by us).  We can boost our self-esteem, confidence and performance, relieve pain, and have a positive effect in just about any scenario we can imagine.

If you already don't use your imagination in such a targeted way, challenge yourself to try and see how you feel afterward.  I think that you'll find that when it comes to yourself, even the sky is not the limit.

If you'd like to read a thoughtful life lesson my son Lucas taught me many years ago about the importance of imagination, I'd would love it if you read http://tim-buckley.blogspot.com/2011/09/big-lesson-from-little-boy.html too.  It's an underlying thread in almost everything that I write.

With love,

timmy