Looking Back and a Little Forward (Karate-Related)

I'm not exactly bragging or complaining here, I was just shocked when I started running the numbers through my head this morning on my way to work of just how long (or short rather) I've been doing Karate and how quickly I advanced during that time.

I mean I was always aware of my start and end points but I never really set the two dates side by side and truly looked at them.

Here's how things lay out:

I started taking Karate in November(-ish) of 2009.
Nothing overwhelming about that: it's four and half years ago

However, I left class in June of 2011.
That means I was only taking classes for a year and a half.  In that time I had jumped up four tested ranks.  (There's a handful of ranks before that but you don't need to formally test for them.)  In fact I received the three stripes on my white belt rather unintentionally: after class one night I asked one of the instructors what one had to do to get the stripes.

"Well," he said.  "Get in a front stance."
So I did.
"Step forward and throw a stomach punch."
No problem.  Took three steps with three stomach punches and then he had me turn around and do some natural blocks; again taking three steps.  Next he asked to see a few groin kicks and then he had me do the first Kata.  And voila, I had three black stripes!  I hadn't even fully realized that that had been the "test".

I didn't have to wait long for my first formal test however.  I got the yellow stripe on my white belt in mid-December.
My yellow belt was achieved three months later and I got the green stripe on my yellow belt three month after that - right before the school year ended.

I was in no hurry for my next rank though.  In fact looking back I don't remember what drove me to work so hard to get my green belt (because I did work very hard for it over the course of a couple months).  I'm not sure if I was out and out invited to test since I'd had my present rank going on a full year, or if I knew I was leaving and wanted the next rank before saying goodbye to Karate for an indeterminate amount of time.

You see, I had started training for a marathon just a few months prior and I felt it'd be too much doing running and Karate at the same time.  I was also taking belly dance classes in parallel to Karate and had hit a point where I needed to choose between the two.  I chose belly dance.  Plus (to be honest), Karate just wasn't fun anymore.

So I took the test and was awarded my green belt in June of 2011.
Then I left Karate cold turkey.
I was content.  I'd made it as far as I felt I could get in a hard-style martial art.  More technique and "aggression" would be required in the higher ranks and I felt I lacked the mettle required to advance further.

So I ran my marathon in August of 2012.
I quit my job at the sign company.
Got a job as an in-home caregiver, then a job at a printing company.  (The caregiver job only lasted nine months; ending when the client passed away due to his illness).
I attended two births as a doula.
I got engaged.

In other words, a lot happened in the intervening years.  I did a lot of growing.

Then something changed: at the start of the 2013/2014 school year I was informed that an instructor I hadn't particularly clicked with had retired and the little gears started whirring.  I wasn't exactly sure if I wanted to go back, but I was curious.  Of course I couldn't just dive right back in anyway - I was working the evening shift at that point which had miserably destroyed my social life and extra curricular activities; so more waiting happened.

I wasn't able to return to class until March of this year.  At this point I'd been gone for two years, nine moths (or three months shy of three years as I prefer to think of it).

I'd really assumed I'd be demoted a rank or two because I'd been gone for so long, but Sensei kept me where I was and I was expected to keep up despite the fact that I hadn't touched this stuff in all that time.  Still, I was surprised at how quickly it all came back.  Yes, the first class or two were a little rough and I was pretty sore for the first few weeks coming back, but a spark had been reignited. 

I was having fun again!

Not only that but it seemed as though some things had soaked in during my absence.  I was throwing punches with some power behind them now.  My front stances were firmer and more grounded.  I was having an easier time keeping the Kata's straight.

I also realized that what was needed for the higher ranks wasn't "aggression" per say but a confidence of technique and skill.  That concept was far less scary to me than the idea of being ready, willing and eager to rip someone's head off.

Sensei must have seen this shift too because it wasn't long after my return that he asked when I would be testing for my brown belt.

That took me aback because as far as class-time went I'd only had my green belt for a month and a half at most.  There were people who stayed with the their green belt for years. 

I told him I'd need to think about it. I then went into a frenzied panic to anyone who would listen.  Slowly though I was convinced that maybe, just maybe I could make this work.

And work I did.  In preparing for my green belt I was only going to class sporadically and taking private lessons to make up the difference.  This test however I threw myself into heart and soul.  I went to EVERY class - showing up early, staying late AND taking private lessons whenever I could squeeze them in.

The results were a test where the performance was very lacking in technique (I haven't been at it enough yet for the muscle memory to soak in), but any black belt would have been proud of my determination and perseverance.  I was winded probably ten minutes into the test (it's about about a half hour, 45 minutes long), but I never once asked for a break.  I didn't cringe when the next section was announced.  Yes, I was about ready to cry when the Five-Man Circle section came up, but I pulled through (messy techniques and all).  I hit the wall during the two minutes of sparring at the very end and actually whispered to Sensei in the last 15 or so seconds, begging him to fight back because he wouldn't hit me (I found out later that he was concerned I'd collapse if he did so). 

Problem was I'd given all I had, I needed more incentive to keep going.  So he half-heartedly cuffed me upside the head once or twice, I threw in a couple more desparate, flat-footed kicks and punches and finally we were done.  Test was over.

Oh I thought I was going to be sick!
In fact I actually was quite ill for several hours after the test (my body doesn't bounce back well from being over-taxed).  About 1:30 in the morning though I was finally able to eat and drink properly and I felt significantly better after that.

Nope, my third degree brown belt test wasn't pretty (no third degree brown belt test is!); but it's not meant to be pretty.  It's meant to push you to your limits of physical endurance and then push a little harder and see how you react.  In that sense I passed with flying colors.

So now I have my brown belt. 
I've joined the ranks of "Junior Instructors". 
I'm someone the lower ranks look up to.

However, I have a lot of "growing into the rank" to do.  Most of my techniques are going to have to be deconstructed and rebuilt, but I knew that going in.  I'm no virtuoso, I just have good pattern recognition skills and pick up on the general gist of physical movements quickly (very handy in dance too!). 

The next test (yes, I'm already thinking about the next one!) is all technique.  I have a whole summer ahead of me to build up my endurance and improve my strength and flexibility.  Being unwilling to quit isn't going to win my next rank.  I now need skill and finesse.  The next test needs to be pretty.  In my opinion that's going to be far harder than what I've just been through!

Fortunately there's no particular hurry. (Of course I thought that with every rank I've had!)
Still, wish me luck; I'll need it!

Latest Opening to "The Kai'us Planet"

I've been trying to rewrite a story I wrote back in 1993.  In fact I've been trying to rewrite it for the past eleven years.  Fortunately every version has gotten better, but it was always flawed in the simple fact that influences from the first version (written when I was 14 years old) continued to "pollute" it.

After taking a lengthy hiatus from this novel, I've been trying to revisit it all this year with little success.  I've tried different starting points for the story, different points of view, but none of them held my interest long enough to continue.

I'm hoping this latest opening is what finally hooks me to write the whole thing "the right way".

I bid you enjoy!


The latest opening to "The Kai'us Planet" (working title):

Keith found it rather ironic that in this modern age of digital devices to be writing on a clay tablet.  His worry was that batteries died and devices broke or got lost.  Granted, clay tablets could break too but his hope was that this one—and the ones to follow—was large enough and would be stored carefully enough that it likely wouldn’t meet that fate before serving its purpose.

He looked thoughtfully at the smooth slab in his lap, tapping the unusual x-shaped, wooden stylus against his chin.  He’d gotten pretty good at its use despite the fact that it had not been designed to be used by human hands.

Finally he touched carved wood to soft clay, writing in a language that wasn’t his own but which he had learned to speak and even think in almost fluently.  The translation of which was, “My beloved son.  I am writing this account in case your mother and myself are not able to tell it to you.  It is not a history of the race of your birth, for those people you may never meet.  Instead it is a history of how your parents came to the world of your birth.  It is a telling of how and why we made the choices we did under the circumstances presented to us.  Know that we always tried to make the right choices.”

Sharren came in then and glanced over his shoulder, reading the little bit he’d written.  “Aren’t you being a little heavy-handed?” she asked, rubbing her gravid belly.  “Everyone hopes they make the right choices.  I know that I have no regrets over how we did things.”

Keith leaned against his wife but kept his eyes on the tablet.  “Sometimes I regret everything,” he said in quiet honesty.  “Sometimes I wish none of it ever happened.”  He turned toward Sharren now and kissed her belly where their son continued to grow.  “But this guy, he makes it all worth it.”

“You’re not going to have enough tablets to tell him everything,” Sharren cautioned.  She had never been a fan of this crazy project of his but had finally conceded to humor him and let him get it out of his system.  It didn’t mean she fully supported him though.

“I don’t think it’ll take more than twenty,” Keith mused.

Sharren raised her eyebrows.  “Oh?  This is going to be the abridged version then!”  She kissed him on the top of his head and said, “I’ll leave you to it then, my love.  Just let me know when to have the kiln fires lit,” and she left the room.

Keith watched her go before turning back to his tablet.  A dry breeze wafted in from under the door-flap.  He was impressed yet again by the clever recipe used to make these writing tablets.  It didn’t matter how long they sat, the clay stayed soft and pliable (for years sometimes!) until they were baked to their final hardness.  He had no worries of letting his mind wander as he wrote—the clay would maintain perfectly workable.

Pressing the stylus into the clay again, nimbly turning it as he worked, he continued his letter.  “Our journey to this world started three years before you were born on a world called ‘Mars’.  Your mother and I were space travelers who took people and things to distant worlds.”

The Bird Killer (TipsyLit Entry)

I actually had time this week to put an entry together for Prompted. (Pretty excited!)

Typically for prompts I set my story in realistic modern times, but I just couldn't make it work for this one.  Introducing magic was the only way I could keep the story from going dark (not that that's necessarily a bad thing, it just wasn't what I was in the mood to write).

So here you go:

"The Bird Killer"
415 Words


“You shouldn’t be using your magic to kill birds,” Ammie declared firmly.

Kiv jumped, having assumed he was alone.  “It’s none of your business,” he snapped at the wiry ten year old; though he felt an immediate pang of guilt that he’d been caught.

“You killed the chickens last week didn’t you,” she pressed.  “Daddy had to buy more you know.  He wouldn’t have needed to if you hadn’t killed them all.”

Kiv grumbled angrily and turned away.  It had been easy for their father to assume some animal had snuck into the coop and slaughtered the chickens – there’d been enough of a mess for sure.  To avoid suspicion though, Kiv had shifted his focus away from domestic fowl and instead continued to refine his technique by sniping birds off tree limbs.  He could finally do it now without making them explode.  It was wholly satisfying and he hadn’t felt the least bit bad about it until now.

“I’m eighteen,” he declared haughtily.  “I can do what I want!”

“Why are you killing them?” she countered.

“Practice.”

“For what?  For killing us?”

Kiv stopped and looked at his little sister, surprised.  He saw in her innocent eyes that she was only being abstractly philosophical, that she didn’t truly believe her brother would murder his family.  Still, he imagined the direction his little games could easily go if he continued and the wind instantly wafted from his sails.

“No,” he replied humbly.  “It was just something fun to do…” and he realized how empty his words sounded.

“You have all that magic and the only ‘fun’ you can think of to do with it is killing birds?” her hands were on her hips now; so like their mother.

The young man smirked and caused a puff of air to kick up a moat of dust in front of his sister.  She sneezed, as he knew she would, and they laughed.

“Well,” he replied.  “What fun do you think I should have with my magic?”

Ammie thought for a moment, giving the matter serious consideration.  Finally she suggested, “Daddy was thinking about felling some trees at the north end of the wheat field.  I bet you could blow them up right at the base and make them fall down easily.”

Honestly he’d never tried using his powers that way but it was in line with how they worked.  “Alright then,” he replied with a chuckle, taking the hand of his ingenious sister.  “Let’s give it a try!”

Totally Not Writing (Life Update)

Ah! I’ve hit that lovely place that every writer knows and dreads: that place where I just don’t want to write.

It’s not for lack of time.  Lately I’ve had a couple hours every evening (apart from Karate nights) where I’m all caught up on Facebook and have some enviable free time.

It’s not for lack of projects either (there’s so many kicking around!).  But once I open a file and try to start working on it I’m like a nine year old picking at their overcooked green beans.  I just don’t wanna!

Still, writing needs to happen so why not a blog post about why I don’t want to write right now?

I honestly think it's because my not-free moments are chocked-full of intensity.  I mentioned Karate and that certainly is a biggie presently.  I’m testing for my next rank on the 27^th.  This is after only being back to class for three months after taking nearly a three-year hiatus (shortly after receiving my current rank).  I’ve been bustin’ my ass every Tuesday and Thursday in class as well as any Sunday I’m available for private tutoring getting to a point where I might juuuuust squeak by on this test next week. 

Why even go through all that effort then?

Because my Sensei asked me to and if he thinks I can do it then I’m going to do my best to do it!  

Plus it’s a hell of a lot of fun.  I enjoy challenging my limits (examples of which could easily take up a five-part blog series no doubt! <- which I don’t want to write btw. lol). 

The cherry on top of this flaming pile of “Why?” is that all this hard work has a foreseeable end point: that test next Tuesday.  This means there’s a clearly defined finish line to shoot for.

If I pass, I’ll have my third degree brown belt (yeah!)

If I don’t pass, I’ll have the summer to brush up on my skills some more and try again sometime next school year (these classes are tied in with the local school district – they even take place in the school gym – and are only in session during the school year).

On top of obsessing over Karate, my business partner and I are ramping up our small crafting business.  We got our DBA last Friday and are working on getting our Tax ID Number so we can open a joint business account, wave around a Tax Exempt form when buying supplies, and attend larger craft shows and conventions without being harassed as to whether or not we’re properly collecting and reporting sales tax.

Of course with taking our business to the next level it means we need more inventory, so we’ve been signing up for beading classes and making so many pretties to sell.  It’s certainly raising interest in those around us, and hopefully the floodgates will soon open and we’ll be busy selling things!

Let’s not stop there though!

Said business partner is also helping me plan my wedding which will be happening in the fall.  Fortunately everything is still on target in the planning department, but there’s a lot of ducks to keep lined up and a lot of money will being getting thrown around soon.

Speaking of money, I’m also trying to find a different job!  Not that I don’t like my current employment – I couldn’t ask for a better place to work.  The vector work I do is most satisfying and I never tire of it.  I’m good at it; I’m always improving at it and I’m appreciated.

I’m also making entry-level pay.  For someone whose been in their field for over ten years, who owns a house and will need to replace their car within the next year or two, this is not a good arrangement.

I could make more money as a desk receptionist somewhere (which is what I’m applying for honestly as I can’t seem to find decent-paying work in my field).  Of course I’m trying to get a receptionist position at a medical office as I’d like to go to nursing school at some point and such a job would (in theory) help move me in that direction.

So yeah.  I’m busy.

Though these lovely couple hours at the end of the day really should be devoted to any one of my many writing endeavors, once I close Facebook and stare at attempt number five at the start of my novel, or edits to my Tree Mage story, or yet another week of Prompted on TispyLit, I’m that kid picking at their soggy vegetables.

Can’t I work on something else? I whine inside.

Yes, you just did!

Pooh-Pee Power (Short Story)

I had wanted to participate in Tipsy Lit this week, but my first attempt was steering in a more morbid direction than I wanted to go and attempt number two was getting too preachy for my liking so I bailed on this week's prompt.

Instead I'd like to share with you all a little story I submitted to "Lightspeed" magazine for the "Women Destroy SF" issue.  Sadly it was rejected; but as it was my first real rejection letter I was actually quick thrilled about it!  As I have no further plans for this story I figured I might as well slap it up for for others to enjoy.

It's more speculative fiction than sci-fi.  The intent also was to be satirical but I don't think it swings far enough into the chuckle-realm.  If anything it's a cute idea.  Enjoy!

"Pooh-Pee Power"
Word Count: 1,034

“Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom!” Annette whined.

“Really Annette?” Jackie whined back.  “Can't you hold it?”

“No!” the eight year old declared with a pout.

“Fine,” the frazzled mother sighed, steering her shopping cart over to the nearest wall, wishing Annette would have waited till they were home.

Gone were the days when grocery store restrooms were tucked in the back of the warehouse or in some obscure corner, maintained in questionable states of cleanliness.  Now every business establishment larger than 5,000 square feet had at least one set of gloriously clean, publicly accessible restrooms located along every wall.

You no longer needed to leave your cart outside, you could take right into the stall with you if you so desired.  The contents of one's cart was registered by indifferent scanners before entering and double-checked upon leaving.  Contents could shift around in the cart, but if there was a discrepancy between the two scans, an associate would quickly come over and ask why something was added or removed.  Honestly it was rarely an issue though - people didn't use bathrooms for nefarious purposes anymore.

Jackie led Annette into the spacious ladies room.  She waved her phone over the reader on the nearest stall door and the girl quickly dashed in, leaving Jackie to park her cart in a little nook supplied for such purposes.  The mother flopped herself down on the plush couch next to the nook.  She noticed from the lower placement of the doors on the last two stalls in the row that this store even boasted a couple Eastern-style toilets – nothing more than a hole in the floor with a textured surface on either side so your feet didn't slip when you squatted over it.  This was reportedly a healthier way to relieve oneself than sitting on a pot.  She sighed at the one-upmanship that dominated the toilet industry.

“Are you done yet?” she called to her daughter after a few minutes.  Toilets no longer held water so you couldn't tell if someone was peeing or pooping.  Instead, the said waste products were caught in a beam on the way down and immediately vaporized - turning them into energy.  Yes, the world now ran on “pooh-pee power” – as it was jokingly referred to.

“Yeah,” Annette replied with a little uncertainty.  “There's no toilet paper though.”

Jackie sighed again.  “They're not going to have paper, hon.  There should be a blue button like the bathrooms at school.”

“Found it!”

It was hard for people used to cleaning themselves with toilet paper to give up the habit – Jackie and her family still used paper at home.  You could chuck anything you wanted down modern toilets; anything that wasn't human waste (or menstrual blood) would collect in the bottom of the toilet.  In commercial toilets, the contents would be quietly and instantly incinerated once the stall was vacated – the meager fumes and smoke gently wafted away by a built-in ventilation system.  The collection bucket for home-use toilets however was removable and had to be emptied by hand.  The die-hard toilet paper-users of the world would have their paper cleaned of poo and damp urine once it passed the beam, leaving the discarded paper to fall into the collection bucket, perfectly dry – in theory it was clean enough to use again.  Jackie had never tried that though.

The modern way to clean one's self was to hit a button which turned the beam upward where it would make quick work of any "remains" clinging to one's nether regions.  There was an odd tingling sensation when the beam hit something it could dissolve, but it was deemed safe and no studies had yet to conclusively prove that any harm came from direct contact with the toilet beam.  In fact, Jackie had to reach into a restaurant toilet once to retrieve her dropped phone with no ill affects to her hand or the phone.

“Annette!” Jackie warned after a bit more of a wait

“It's still tingly Mommy!” the girl called back cheerily.

Yet another long-suffering sigh escaped her lips.  “Open your cheeks a little so it can get everything.”  She actually kind of needed to go too, but she was going to wait.  Jimmy was away at summer camp so there was one less person using the toilet at home.  The house batteries were doing fine, but she really hated pulling off the grid any more than they needed to.  She had heard that cases of kidney, bladder and bowel problems were on the rise because people would only use the bathroom in specific locations (like home).

“Done!” Annette announced, leaving the stall and returning to her mother.

“Wash your hands,” Jackie said.

“Why?” the little girl asked, annoyed.

“Because it's a public bathroom; wash you hands!”

Kids weren't even taught hand-washing in school anymore.  There simply wasn't a reason to since hands never got near excrement.  Jackie was old-fashioned though and always insisted.  Sinks were still in bathrooms just in case a woman got some blood on her hands when changing her tampon.  People did still like to wash their hands before and/or after a meal and food prep workers also still needed to wash their hands before returning to work – though Jackie had a feeling that law would die out within the next decade or so.

Once Annette's hands were washed and dried, Jackie retrieved her cart and returned to her shopping.  The one consolation of the detour was she'd get a small discount on her purchase.  Businesses wanted people to use their restrooms as the energy produced went straight towards the onsite power.  Places that used to post signs sternly declaring “Restrooms for paying patrons only”, now displayed cheeky invites like “Get your butt in here”, or “Stop here if you gotta go”, or “We'd love your business after you do your business”.  To encourage restroom use, businesses almost always offered discounts for “contributions” – tracked via people’s phones.  When Jackie paid for her groceries by waving her phone over the payment node at the register, Annette’s use of the stall would take a few cents off Jackie’s total.

Kind of strange how commerce had changed so much because of pooh.

On Gossip and Bullying (Observational Musings)

Today I'd like to tackle an observational topic: Gossip and bullying.

Everybody knows that gossiping and bullying are bad things.  They can poison an otherwise pleasant work environment; they can thoroughly turn an otherwise eager child off to going to school.

A local television network in my area has been running an anti-bullying campaign for well over a year now.  They talk about how children should report bullying to a trusted adult; they run stories of kids who have "risen above being bullied"; but never, NEVER do they ever clearly define what bullying is.  Kids are just supposed to know it, name it, and take appropriate action.  Hmm...

In the adult world I've worked for two large corporations: one a major defense contractor, the other a much smaller printing company.  Both do regular harassment-awareness training where their employees watch videos of overly dramatized scenarios of various forms of harassment.  In the most recent awareness training I attended, my suspicions were confirmed that people (even adults) don't have a clear idea of what gossip and bullying are.

We had just watched a video of a new guy on the job being mercilessly picked on by his fellow co-workers.  The woman sitting next to me asked very honestly, "Was that bullying?" (Perhaps assuming that such activities could only be found in a schoolyard.)  I leaned in and whispered an emphatic, "Yes!"

People - child and adult alike - just don't know!

I'm still at a loss as to why such negative behavior is not clearly identifiable to most people the way sexual harassment is; but I'd like to offer up my definitions and views on the subjects.

Gossiping: Talking about someone who isn't present; often conveying a story with a negative or demeaning overtone or which places the person in a bad light.  It can be as innocuous as complaining your husband never takes out the garbage and all he wants to do is watch TV or as potentially harmful as whispering to a co-worker, "Did you hear Jessy in receiving is having an affair with the boss?"

Gossip can easily turn into one-upmanship where people exchange stories that are embarrassing at other people's expense.  Lord knows I've been guilty of this, but once I made myself aware of what I was doing I've focused on shutting down such behavior and keeping my mouth shut as much as possible when it comes to talking about others.  It undermines people's opinion of others - even others they've never met - and perpetuates negativity and disrespect.

Bullying: Making another person feel inferior; this can be done through words, actions to even how you present yourself in the other person's presence.

There's a fine line between "innocent joking around" and downright bullying, but their is a line and it's one you can feel.  It's that moment when a person is no longer an equal but one who is beneath you.  A person never bullies someone whom they feel is "above" them nor do they bully those on equal footing.  It's the one we look down on who gets kicked because they "deserve it", are inferior in some way, or too [fill the blank with something you don't agree with].

That is bullying and it's hurtful, it steals energy from others and makes them realize you are not a friend (or at least it should make them realize that!).

Something that I find endlessly frustrating is those stories where a bullied child finally snaps and either strikes back at their harassers or kills themselves.  In the former instance this retaliatory action is often the first and only action to be taken seriously by adults despite any prior attempts to call awareness to the existing issue.  Usually it's the bullied child who ends up being punished or humiliated in these cases.  In the latter instance people mourn the "loss of a good kid" and more breast beating happens of "We must save our children from bullying!!!" but nothing effective ever happens.

Honestly I think there needs to be more awareness of these two social vices.  Both gossip and bullying need to be clearly defined at an early age.  Kids need to not just be told, "That is bad!"  They need to be told "Why".  Yes, I understand that part of childhood is exploring boundaries and the power of words, but I think we handle this transitional time too lightly.  "Oh, kids can be so mean sometimes," and then we shrug and move on.

Yes kids can be mean and they need to be told one on one that such behavior is unacceptable; that no one is beneath them and no one deserves to be disrespected with name-calling to their face or among their friends.  I do understand that schools have tried various techniques in the past: the whole "self esteem revolution" in the '90s.  Yeah, that did a lot, right?

Why did it fail?  Some great motivational speaker would come in and give their spiel and you'd feel so good afterwards, but nothing changed outside of the auditorium - teachers still looked the other way as the "popular" kids looked down on and bullied the weak; and the weak and skittish children were continually encouraged to keep quiet and keep their heads down so they could pass the next test.  There was no follow-through on the part of the adults - the children were expected to straighten it all out themselves.

We as adults though need to set the example.  Don't tell those funny, but embarrassing stories.  Don't laugh at other people's misfortunes.  Don't act all haughty and holier-than-thou when you run into someone you don't like at the grocery store.  Point out instances of gossiping and bullying in TV shows and start a dialog with you child (if you have one), or with yourself if you don't.  "How do you think Jimmy felt when Jenny said that?"  "I know that line was meant to be funny, but that was a really hurtful thing to say," and so on.

Catch yourself in the middle of bad behavior so that next time you can catch yourself sooner.  It's easy to change the world if each individual takes responsibility for their own actions.

The Journey Through Transition (Short Story)

Okay, so it's several weeks late but I finally finished typing up the story based on a dream I had the morning of March 17th.  I had used a shorter version of this for my Tipsy Lit entry that same week (see previous post), but I really wanted to get the full thing up for your reading pleasure (as several people seemed interested in reading it).

Please note that this isn't a direct recording of the dream, I've taken some creative liberties, fleshed out some elements, and dropped or glossed over other things.  I'll explain at the end of this post what changed and what didn't, so without further adieu, I bring you:

"The Journey Through Transition"
(3,012 Words)

Jenny knew she was dieing from the age of eight – an incurable illness that would likely kill her before she turned twelve.  Her parents had her make up a bucket list and they were able to tick the major things off before her funeral on her ninth birthday.  She wasn’t dead yet, but from that day forward she would be to all who knew her.  Her parents mourned and clung to her as she cried too. 

She then said goodbye to her friends and family and was sent off to the Marlayna Children’s School for the remainder of her corporeal existence.  Part hospital, part boarding school, part monastery, the Marlayna School was part of a vast nationwide network of centers where the dieing learned how to do so peacefully. 

When she arrived at the School, she touched the Soul Bell to imprint her life-signature upon it – this bell would toll the instant of her death.  She smiled when she felt the tingle in her hand as she touched it – knowing that she and it were now linked, she was now part of the school!

Jenny liked her new home and made friends quickly – all were terminally ill like herself and all were between the ages of six and fifteen.  There was one caregiver to every six children and they watched their charges diligently.  The children had a couple hours of academic studies each day (just in case they miraculously pulled through and needed to reenter society).  They had music, dance and art classes as well as copious amounts of play time.  They learned yoga and meditation, as well as an ancient Buddhist technique called “Chod”: a highly supervised meditation practice where one calls up their fears and lets those fears “devour” them.  When one realizes that the self remains after such an ordeal, the person is greatly empowered and eventually set free of worry and care.

When Jenny was ten years old, she noticed she was getting weaker rather than stronger.  Her caregivers took notice as well and paid her special attention, reminding her of her breathing techniques when her heart fluttered.  She practiced her mindfulness and letting go of tension.  Finally the moment came during reading time – she felt a shudder rake her whole body as her heart skipped into an arrhythmia that no amount of coughing would reset. A strange sense of disorientation took her and she distantly heard a bell toll twice. 

It was said you never heard the bell toll for yourself and she was thrilled to have heard her own as well as that for someone else.  For some reason people in the same dieing group would “soul-synch” and die in clusters – one of her friends had died with her!

When Jenny’s senses settled, she was still sitting in her chair, though she knew she was now dead.  She looked over and saw it was Sally who had died as well.  The girls smiled and waved excitedly at each other, happy that they’d be soul-partners in their final journey together.

Their caregiver, Margaret set her book down and said, “Well done girls, you handled the start of Transition beautifully.  Now stand up and look at your bodies.”

The two complied, getting up easily from their seats and turning to look at their shed physical forms – who could just as easily had been sleeping.  Jenny felt no sadness at having been permanently dislodged from her body.  It would be handled by the school staff.  This was her final chance to say goodbye to it.

For the next few days living people would still be able to see her and she’d still be able to interact with the world around her before completing her Transition and moving on to the Next Plane.

When they were finished inspecting their bodies, Margaret led Jenny and Sally to their rooms.  The girls followed their caregiver just as they though were still alive – they didn’t float, they weren’t transparent per say, though it was obvious they were no longer fully corporal.  Their forms would become more nebulous as they moved through Transition though.

“I heard two chimes!” Jenny declared triumphantly.  “I heard my own bell!”

Margaret shook her head.  “You never hear your own bell Jenny; the bell tolled three times.  Dylan Transitioned as well.”

Dylan!  He wasn’t even in their group!  Still, it meant he was now their soul-partner too and they’d be spending the next few days in each other’s presence.

“Where is he?” Sally asked.

“He’s struck with his body at the moment,” Margaret explained.  “So you won’t be traveling with him; but don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him.”

“Is he alright?” Jenny asked, feeling an odd sense of responsibility for her soul-partner.

“Oh yes, he’ll be fine.  He just experienced some pain during his Transition and he needs to work through it before separating from his form.  Let’s get your things together now.”

Ahead of time the children all made up lists of items that were important to them that they’d want to take when they went back home.  Margaret went through each item on the girls’ lists with careful quickness to make sure each child still wanted to take them. 

“How about this one?” she asked, holding up a stuffed elephant.  “Yes!” Sally declared, taking it and giving it a big squeeze.

“And these socks?”

They were Jenny’s.  She contemplated them – still loving the color and pattern, but she realized she wouldn’t be able to wear them.  Her garments were now the product of her self-image – she actually wasn’t and couldn’t wear anything corporeal.  Instead she touched the socks, dully feeling the soft texture that had once been so enticing.  She looked down and grinned when she saw she was now “wearing” the socks.

“I don’t need them now,” she said proudly.

Margaret smiled and continued going through their selected items.

With their bags packed they were escorted to the door where a Traveling Companion waited for them.  Mike was a grandfatherly old fellow with a push-broom mustache whose sole job it was to escort the dead children of the Marlayna Children’s School back to their parent’s for their final send-off.

“You ladies ready?” he asked jovially.

The two grinned and he led them outside to a waiting car.  It was all black with a violet light on top to identify it as an escort vehicle for people in Transition.

“Sally’s family lives closer,” Mike offered as he pulled away from the curb.  “You ladies have any objection to starting there first?”

Neither did and so off they went.

Transition Escorts always had right of way in traffic and could go as fast as conditions allowed.  The girls laughed hysterically over each bump because their soul-bodies were already getting lighter and they could bounce much higher than when they were corporeal.  This didn’t last too long however as they were at Sally’s place in less than an hour.

Her parents had been told of the girls’ arrival in advance and they greeted the two warmly and with open arms.  They had said their goodbyes to their daughter several years ago so this visit – though friendly and welcoming – had a sense of detachment the girls were already expecting.  The point of these final visits was to show the newly dead that this was no longer their world – that it no longer held anything they needed to remain attached to.  They were encouraged to explore and experience as much and whatever they liked so there’d be no lingering questions, worries or regrets when they completed Transition.

Sally and Jenny were offered sweets that were customarily provided to the departed.

Jenny had had these before and eagerly popped one in her mouth expecting the delightful sweetened coffee confection she remembered.  Instead her taste buds met only bland, powdery corn starch.  She looked over at Sally and knew she was experiencing the same underwhelming sensation.

They had of course been taught that their senses would not be as they once were in this state; that the things of this world would no longer excite the senses as before, but it needed to be experienced to be believed and that’s what this trip was about.

Per their training, they mindfully finished chewing the confections and swallowed dryly.  The food would dissolve into dust that would drift from their soul-bodies as they became less corporeal.

“Would you girls like to get into the hot tub?” Sally’s father offered.

“Oh yes!” they said in cheerful unison.

He led them to the basement where the hot tub whirred away invitingly.  Sally and Jenny “thought” themselves into swim suits and climbed in only to be disappointed yet again.

There was a vague awareness that the water was warm and the bubbles should have created a delightful sensation against their skin, but they felt only the pressure of the water against their forms and were aware of the density difference between that and the air.

They halfheartedly splashed about a little but even getting water in the face elicited no reaction or excitement.

Far sooner than they had thought imaginable, they got back out.  Sally’s father had stood by waiting – knowing they wouldn’t be long – and lovingly wrapped them up in towels.

“What would you like to do now girls?” he asked.

“Could Jenny sleep with me tonight?” Sally asked.

“Of course!”

The girls giggled, their excitement returning.  A sleepover was fun no matter what state a person was in!  However the girls had forgotten that they couldn’t sleep while in Transition – they weren’t even tired.

“Sally,” Jenny whispered to her friend that night after they’d lain in bed for a while.  “I miss being alive.”

“I do too,” Sally confessed quietly.

These feelings went contrary to their training.  They’d been taught to accept their deaths and eventual ascendance to the Next Plane.  Of course they didn’t really feel sad about being dead – it was more remorse that they’d no longer be able to enjoy the pleasures of the senses from being alive.

They spent that night meditating on their emotions and contemplating the completion of their Transition.

They weren’t hungry in the morning – Sally’s parents hadn’t expected them to be – one didn’t need food after death.

“Mom?” Sally asked hesitantly after the family had eaten breakfast while the girls had played with Sally’s old dolls.  “Is it okay that we’re not happy that we’re dead?”

“Well of course dears!” her mother replied.  “Living is a very fun thing – something to be enjoyed and cherished.  It’s perfectly normal to miss it.  You’ve already said goodbye to all of us, but you can’t say goodbye to living until you’re dead; that’s why you’re here on this trip – it’s your last goodbye before you complete your Transition.”

“But we don’t think we want to Transition,” Sally said, crying tears that weren’t flowing.  “We want to live again!”

“Oh girls,” her mother said tenderly, gathering her dead daughter and soul-partner to her and rocking them comfortingly.  “You can go back to being alive on this Plane no more than a chick can crawl back into the egg.  Transition isn’t supposed to be fun – it’s a time of change, and change is always scary and uncertain – that’s why we send those who are dieing to schools to teach them how to handle our natural responses to change. 

“But know that you two are not alone in this – you have each other and you have our thoughts and love.  You’re no less loved now than you were when you were still with us.  We’ll think of you always, but with joy that you have gone safely to the Next Plane and that we’ll all be together some day there.”

“I’ll miss you Momma!” Sally sobbed.

“I’ve missed you for a long time, my love.  And I’ll miss you some more; but we’ll see each other again.  I promise!”  She kissed both girls and they ran to hug Sally’s father as well.

They left later that day after Sally showed her friend the tree out back she had loved to climb before her diagnosis, as well as the view from the attic window.  They arrived at Jenny’s house before dinner.

Jenny was noticing that Sally was looking less “solid”, but more serene.  She privately wondered if she herself was becoming equally see-through, but she had a feeling she was falling out of synch with her friend and that saddened her greatly because she didn’t know the cause of it. 

Jenny’s parents welcomed the girls just as Sally’s family had.  Treats were given which the girl reluctantly accepted, knowing how they would(n’t) taste.  Happily they were only expected to take one apiece. 

She had thought she’d feel more excitement at seeing her family again, but instead she was just numb.  It would have worried her if she hadn’t been thoroughly drilled on the feelings and sensations of the dead.

The evening continued with pleasant small-talk, Jenny growing more morose until her mother asked, “How have you girls been handling Transition?” 

“Good.” Jenny replied evenly.  “But…but I think we fell out of synch somehow.  I’m afraid Sally will move on before me.”

“Well,” her mother said with quiet compassion.  “You must move on when you’re ready.  People can stay in Transition as long as they need to.  Don’t feel rushed just because your soul-partner is ready.”

That was an odd thought.  She had always assumed soul-partners traveled together and completed Transition at the same time.  “I don’t want to be left alone!” she said, surprising herself at the emotion that leaked out around her words.  “Sally and I are friends, we should move on together!”

Her parents hugged them both.  “You won’t be alone,” her father assured her.  “We’re here for you, ready to help in any way we can.”

Jenny was comforted, but there remained the nagging feeling that something was still amiss.  Then an idea suddenly struck her.  “Dylan!” she said, brightening.  “We can’t move on without Dylan!”

She briefly explained that one other child had died with them, but had been left behind.  Her parents were surprised and tried to tell her that he must have fallen out of synch at the very beginning and surly his status had little to do with their ability to complete Transition.

“No, no!” Jenny insisted; Sally was picking up on her excitement too.  “We need to go to him.  I see that now!”

Sally quickly agreed and Mike was called in and asked if he knew where Dylan was presently.  “Oh sure,” he replied.  “He was able to start his Transition properly after I took you two out and he’s with his family now, a little south of here.”

Jenny hugged her parents and kissed her little brother, Tommy.  Sally gave him her beloved stuffed elephant and they were back in the car despite the late hour.  Jenny knew that it was perfectly normal and acceptable for Dylan to work through Transition on his own, but she was absolutely certain that she was out of synch with Sally because Dylan was out of synch with them.

They arrived at his place after dark.  The dead boy was rather confused to find the radiant girls show up in his living room, but they were welcomed all the same and again Jenny explained the reason they had come.  

“You see,” Jenny elaborated to Dylan.  “When we learned you had died too I was worried about you.  I didn’t realize it then, but Margaret tried to distract me so the bond wouldn’t form, but it did and you stayed our soul-partner even though you should have been able to Transition on your own.  We’re here now though.  We’re here for you!” 

The boy smiled with great relief since it was obvious he was not nearly as far along as Sally, or even Jenny.

The girls sat on either side of him, each taking a hand and encouraging him on.  His family sat at a respectful distance, honored by the presence of Dylan’s fellow deceased peers. 

“What was it like Dylan?” Jenny asked with all the curiosity she had felt when they had learned of his death.  “Were you okay?”

Dylan was a shy boy and a little flabbergasted by all this sudden attention and interest, but he replied reluctantly, “It was scary at first.”

Gaining some confidence when he saw they weren’t going to berate him for his assumed weakness, he continued.  “It was all dark.  I didn’t know where I was or how I’d gotten there.  I knew I wasn’t dreaming, but I didn’t think right away that I had actually started Transition. 

“Then I heard my caregiver – Emily’s voice.  I couldn’t understand her at first, but I focused on her voice and slowly realized that I had died.  After that it was easy.

“I found out you two had died too but had already left, so I came home and have been waiting to finish Transition, but I seemed to be stuck here.”  He shrugged, then smiled and looked at them.  “I was waiting for you I guess!”

Jenny and Sally hugged him, and when they parted they were all shimmering brilliantly.  His parents beamed proudly.

“Do you want to do it now?” Sally asked excitedly.

“Let’s go outside!” Dylan said.  “We have a pond out back.”

Eagerly the three children ran outside – their bodies now feeling light as feathers.

The moon was shining brightly on the flower-rimmed pond and Jenny realized she couldn’t think of a better place to ascend to the Next Plane.

The children held hands in a circle and smiled back at Dylan’s family.  His parents waved and his siblings giggled with happiness for their brother.

There was no need to take a deep breath since the dead don’t breathe, but Jenny did anyway.  Enjoying the feeling of closeness with her soul-partners and the quickly growing vastness she felt within her.

Looking up at the moon above, the children’s forms became increasingly less corporeal and finally dissolved into the night – their souls having finally ascended to their next level of existence. 

*  *  *  *  *

Okay, so in the dream I was Jenny but I don't remember anyone's names from the dream so all names are fabricated.  There was a name for the disease she had, but I don't remember it and felt no need to name it here.  It was a common ailment in the world this dream took place in though and most of the children at the school had it.

I fleshed out the Soul Bell concept for the story.  In the dream you just distantly heard a bell toll and knew someone had died with you.

The bit about them taking academic classes actually harkens to a fellow student in the dream who was turning 18 shortly and it was uncertain as to whether he should be given a job at the school or sent off into the world since he was "the boy who lived" and all that jazz.

There was no Transition Escort in the dream - the girls actually traveled alone using mass transit.  Since there was no point in messing with a couple dead girls, they traveled just fine completely unsupervised.

The coffee-flavored confections did indeed taste bland and boring in the dream! (It was a very tactile scene that really stood out to me).

The dream ended shortly after the hot tub scene - I had to take it from there for the story's sake.

So there you have it!

Thanks for reading all this and I hope you enjoyed it.

It really would be a good way to go!