Amy Souza
photography
Inspiration piece

Overcast
By Kamika Cooper
Response

“What are you doing here?”

Gretchen sat cross-legged, making swirls in the sand with her fingers. She had been sitting peacefully at the ocean’s edge for the past hour, the currents and birds providing a soundtrack for her brooding.

Jack looked down at her, trying to quell his excitement. “I came to be with you, maybe take you to lunch.”

“This is where I need to be right now.”

“I get it.” He sat next to her, wanting to put his arms around her. Instead, they sat in silence, the ocean mist kissing their faces. For him, the news was cause for celebration; This is what he wanted from the moment he laid eyes on her.

Gretchen looked up with tears in her eyes. “I cannot believe I allowed this to happen. I can barely take care of myself! What am I going to do with a baby?”

Jack wanted to respond and reassure her, but he remained silent. She had been distraught since taking the home pregnancy test. She came out of the bathroom, handed him the positive test stick and walked out the front door.

“I am no one’s ‘Mommy’. The very thought of it is absurd. I did everything right. I didn’t miss any days of birth control, we used extra protection… I just don’t understand. I can’t explain it, but I know that I am not meant to have kids.”

As far as Jack was concerned, Gretchen had simply under estimated herself and he was going to help her to see things differently. After poking holes in condoms for the past five months, his dream was coming true. He was going to be a father, have a family. He was thrilled and knew that Gretchen would come around.

“I know this is not what you wanted and the timing is bad, especially with your new job. But I love you and I am going to take care of you and our baby. We can get married, be a family.”

“Married?!” She laughed through her tears. “Listen, I love you, Jack. I enjoy what we have had over the past year. But as I told you when we met, I am not the marrying type and never will be. It is not my intention to hurt you, but I am no one’s wife or mother.

“So what, are you planning to abort our baby?”

She went back to making swirls in the sand. “I don’t know.”

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Jonathan Ottke
“Cherry Petals on Water”
Photography
Inspiration piece

Abandoned
By Kamika Cooper
Response

you heard what they said about me
and you believed every word
shook me right off your tree
like the fruit I grew was just for the birds

it rained hard for days and days
after that random evening storm
we each went our separate ways
so i had no choice but to fall and float on

i don’t know what they said about me
but i was left alone on the forest floor
a creek formed and set me free
i will never be what i was before

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Chandra Achberger
Inspiration piece

“Will You Come?”
By Kamika Cooper
Response

The journey to Restoration Valley had taken two and a half days. The weather had been perfect: clear skies, pollen-free breathing, and the temperatures reaching a high of 65 degrees during the day. Amina and Fir had packed just enough food and water to sustain them along the way. But sustenance and weather were never the paramount concern. Every time they thought they found a new, safe place to live, they soon found themselves among the hunted, requiring them to go on the run once more. They wanted the safety, and freedom Restoration Valley was rumored to provide. Though they had no idea what that meant – there were only rumors – anything had to be better than their current reality.

Amina, Fir, and some 40,000 other people who looked like them were in grave danger. They had been for some time but were blinded to the truth when the hunting began. They were among those who, for a few generations, were lulled into a false sense of safety by their wealth, privilege, and education. Believing themselves to be equals with the very people they were running from now, they allowed themselves to become too comfortable, letting their guard down too soon.

They cleared the cover that the trees had provided for the last day of their journey and exited the woods to find the lush, steep green hill said to be the valley’s entryway. It was so tall and wide; It looked as if they would need to reach the sky before descending. A reassuring voice entered their minds: You only need to make it to the top. Once there, you will be safe.

They heard yells behind them; Hunters were near. Tired – so very tired – and nearly out of steam, they began to run up the hill. They were halfway up when the first shot rang out. Fir looked as if he might give up. Amina pulled at his elbow, nudging him upward, knowing that she could not descend into Restoration Valley without him. Fire spread across the back of Amina’s thigh. Though she had never felt a gunshot before, she knew this is what had occurred. Fir’s arm abruptly wrested from her loving hand, and all hope was lost. They were in pain, bleeding, vision blurred, and gasping for air when they reached the valley’s top.

All the gunfire stopped.

Light surrounded them, lifted them, and carried them down into the valley. Their wounds began to heal, and as they regained their vision, they saw the most beautiful, smooth structure before them. It looked to be constructed from hematite. The benevolent, soothing voice entered their minds again.

We have healed your injuries, but we understand that some scars do not heal as swiftly. You are free to return the peak if you wish, but know that you are welcome on our ship and our planet. If you are willing, we have come to take you to your new home. There may be many new challenges, but we can promise that they will not be the ones you are facing now, and you will never be among the hunted again. Will you come?

_______________________________
Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Susan B.
Inspiration Piece

Altars Inside of Me
by Terah Van Dusen
Response Piece

There is an altar inside of my heart. It is as large as the Pacific ocean, as big as the universe. It will contain all that I could ever offer up to it. Everything but the negative, but the bullshit.

When I was a young girl my father taught me the in’s and out’s of the altar. He taught me this like any good parent would do, through example and not lecture. My father showed me that in our home, instead of a big screen t.v., or a t.v. of any size we would center ourselves around a small wooden shelf set a top a clean woven rug, the shelf neatly displaying framed photos of Lord Krishna and his wife; Radha, photos clipped from Back to Godhead magazine including one of of Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, the guru saint who brought eastern Hindu religion from the banks of the Ghanges to the eastern United States and then eventually westward to us  in California.

In addition to photos the altar held a dish of uncooked brown rice containing the stickends of incense, fat ends lit at the start of every daily worship, a deity of Ganesha, perhaps the most kid-friendly of the Gods, and offerings of warm milk, apples, or blossoms plucked from the native shrubs outside our cabin door. With these memories in mind, I build altars inside of my body.

There is an altar inside of my heart, an altar inside of my head, my face, there is an altar inside of the soles of my feet and inside of the parts that make me Woman. Upon these altars I place sea shells, I place moss and twigs and the burnt orange peels that my dad would place on top of the woodstove to produce a fragrance.

I build a Ganesha out of clay and place him squarely at the soles of my feet. I fashion angel wings out of raven and dove feathers and with them I create two angels and name them Constance, and Gladys. I outfit the Goddesses that guardian my altars and I dress them in saris, princess dresses, and kimonos…a blue gown for Yemaya, the goddess of the sea, coral and jade for Radha, Krishna’s wife, who reminds me to be more patient and selfless in love, red for Venus, the very goddess of love, and yellow for Mary, mother of Christ.

There is an altar inside of my heart. It is as large as the Pacific ocean, as big as the universe. It will contain all that I could ever offer up to it. When I was a young girl my father taught me the in’s and out’s of the altar and with these memories in mind, I build altars inside of my body. There an altar inside of my head, my face, there is an altar inside of the soles of my feet and inside of the parts that make me Woman. Upon these altars I place hope. I place self-love. I offer up my potential and surrender my sorrow. I build altars in my body and in my home. I build altars inside of my heart.

Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Lauren Rutten
“Of the Body/Not the Body” series – 001
Photography
Inspiration piece

Self-Healing
By Kamika Cooper
Response

Here in silent warmth
I try to understand where I begin and where I end
Trying to ease this pain, tracing these lines to make the mends
Ja-ja-jagged in my breathing, st-st-stunted in my believing
But it’s true: there is power in this thing, power in my being

Here in healing waters
Sea salts, olbas and lavender force the toxins through my skin
Breathing out these dying cells, breathing in reborn within
This dis-ease, these injuries become fixable and tangible
I can see them healing before me and know that I am able

Here inside my body
My ecosystem, pushing toward restoration
This blood, these bones healing through visualization
This mini earth spinning on its own axis and resetting
There is power in this thing, meditating on my mending

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

.

Found Button
By Amy Ludwig VanDerwater
Inspiration piece

Inspiration Piece

Meriosis and The Remnant

Nancy Claeys

Response

Transgression

Meriosis was born the son of Zeus and Nelipita, a mortal.  Believing that her son was the true heir to Mount Olympus, Nelipita begged Zeus to bestow upon their son a section of humanity to watch over, to prove his worth.

BR Belletryst
Eidola
Response

Untitled
By Tom Lewis
Inspiration piece

Crème anglaise. Crime
Against humanity deepens
The soul’s Black Arts. So
White as dairy dessert.

Or fondant. Fond to think
We have done it again,
Funny that England blanches
But is already so pale.

Letters and comprehensive angles.
My apostrophe blossom’s white.
Oh, run the lightshow.

BR Belletryst
Offering
Response

Tropical Memories
By Urmilla Khanna
Inspiration piece

The ten-month-old infant had become very agile. He could crawl across the room and go rolling off the steps before you could say “No!”

It was a sunny summer morning in Jabalpur, India. Everyone was absorbed in the hustle and bustle of preparing the house for an evening party. Twenty top officials and their wives were coming to dinner. All the servants were scurrying back and forth, as Mother walked around in her supervisory role. Furniture was being polished, tablecloths starched and ironed and silverware sparkled. Amidst all this, I being nine at the time was asked to watch my baby brother and keep him out of danger.

I set him down on the large, open patio in the backside of our bungalow. The patio, just hosed off, was spotlessly clean, moisture rapidly evaporating in the morning sun. I considered it a safe place for little brother to crawl around and explore. I watched him dash off from place to place , stopping to scratch at or pick up with his tiny pincer grasp, the little ants that always lived in the crumbling grout of the slate patio. We often fed these dainty creatures with sugar and followed them as they carried off the granules to their distant dwellings.

I was looking at my brother as he sat in the middle of the patio, a small rattle in hand. From the back, his soft curls took my attention as I sat on the nearby steps. Dressed in a cotton romper he looked so cute. Lost in thought my gaze went a little farther. I saw a stately, well-poised cobra at the far end of the courtyard, slithering his way towards my brother. For many long moments I sat there, stupefied. The beauty of this creature mesmerized me. I felt paralyzed.

Cobras were a common occurrence in the underdeveloped areas of my childhood. We did not kill the Cobra, it being considered an incarnation of Siva himself. In fact, mother felt blessed that the distinctive Cobra had chosen our property to build his shrine. She often took a bowl of milk and placed it in the woods to satisfy his wrath. She said a silent prayer for our safety. If the bowl was empty the next morning, she felt her prayers had been heard and our family had been blessed. Full moon nights were particularly sacred. Cobras were sure to be out and about on such nights.

We had been indoctrinated about Nag, the cobra. Nag can slither on land, climb trees and even swim in water we were warned. It can kill an elephant with its venom. Though it cannot hear, it has the ability to register the slightest movement. It has a third eye on the back of its hood. So do not ever try to trick the cobra in any way!

We were taught to be aware of his rights; and we were to mind our own business. He lived in the woods near the little creek at the end of our compound.  I had never seen him. I was always curious about his existence. Now, here he was. I finally saw him.

Suddenly, I came out of my reverie and panicked. What should I do? Little brother is in danger! The mighty cobra is slithering his way across the patio. My instinct was to scream, “Get out of the way, you silly,” but I realized little brother would not understand my command; he was just a baby. He looked at the glistening, black, and beautifully patterned rope as a new toy coming his way. He began to crawl further to grab the toy.

Stay calm, I told myself, and asked my brain for quick guidance. In that split second, my brain responded. I had been taught that if ever a snake confronted me, I should calmly walk away in the direction opposite to its path. A snake cannot turn around.

I tip toed across the patio, quietly collected my brother and walked away. I brought him up the steps and on to the adjacent veranda. I gasped with relief. My brother and I were safe.

“Mother” I now screamed “the cobra….”

Before I could finish my sentence, mother came running to the scene, “Dear Lord, dear lord,” she said. She kissed us over and over, reciting her prayer as blessings for our safety. Then catching her breath, she said, “Where…where is the cobra?”

“There,” I pointed.

I stood shivering, holding my brother tightly in my arms. I saw the cobra slowly slithering on and coiling itself right where little brother was playing. As I stood frozen and speechless, my glance shifted to the far end of the bungalow.

I saw relief. I saw our Mongoose, the “Naola” coming down the side of the roof.  He waddled gracefully across the yard, climbed the steps leading to the patio and stood before the reptile. The predator of the cobra had arrived.

I was familiar with the existence of the Naola as well. He lived on the rooftop, for that is where I often saw him. He came down to find his food. Occasionally, he followed Mother into the dining room and ate a piece of toast, sitting beside her chair. I loved to watch this dainty little animal with its piercing dark eyes, sleek pointed face and striped furry body weaving in and out of our house. We had been trained to respect his rights also. If we left him alone he will never bother us, we were told. We had learned to admire him from a distance.

As the Naola stood face to face with the cobra, my fears began to melt. My little brother and I were both safe. Naola had taken the defensive. He will now be in charge.

I hailed my sister and brothers to come see the cobra and the mongoose face to face. Soon, there was an audience of ten or twelve. All the servants stopped in their heels and joined us sitting on the steps in pin drop silence.

The mongoose attacked the snake. The reptile was not to accept defeat readily. He hissed ferociously, rearing up and flattening his ribs into a hood, threatening the mongoose. The mongoose in his turn ferociously dodged the cobra, he swayed from side to side angrily, his forked tongue protruding back and forth.

Being at a safe distance, I was now amused , my eyes focusing on the majestic cobra raising his head higher and higher, exposing the beautiful yellowish white rings around his neck and flaring his hood bigger and bigger. He looked even more beautiful as the rays of the morning sun shone on his skin, giving an illusion of a freshly bathed glistening wet body.

We were watching the fight between the Cobra and the Mongoose.

Suddenly the mongoose jumped way up in the air and landed on the cobra’s upright neck. Blood streaked down the patio. The mongoose was going to win.

I do not know what happened next and how long the wrestling lasted. I became woozy and averted my gaze. Then, everyone was clapping and the action was over. The mongoose had killed the snake. The eight-foot long creature lay lifeless, guts ripped open. His last meal must have been a hefty lizard, still undigested.

Everyone rejoiced at the victory of the mongoose over the cobra. There was a big commotion.

Mother, however, had mixed emotions. She would no longer have to worry about our safety when we played by the creek.  On the other hand, she wondered if the protection showered by Siva on our household had been withdrawn by the death of the cobra.

“It was an act of God. It was an act of God,” she muttered repeatedly under her breath. “We had not killed the cobra.”

After things calmed down decisions had to be made about the disposal of. the dead reptile. Hindus do not touch dead animals. After some tete a tete between my parents, it was decided to call the chammar. He is the village shoemaker and by virtue of his profession, he is exempted from the rule.

The chammar arrived and skinned the reptile. The skin was sent away to Calcutta to have a handbag made for mother. The carcass made precious manure for an orange tree that had not borne fruit for many years.

In years to come, we did indeed enjoy fruit from the orange tree and mother was convinced it was the sacred manure!

The cobra is known as the deadliest of all poisonous snakes. It is often referred to as King Cobra. To this date, I have wondered how the mongoose had been able to avoid the poisonous bite of the snake.

BR Belletryst
Photograph
Inspiration piece

La nuance qui a siffle ses yeux
By Tom Lewis
Response

The nuance that whistled its eyes
Crossed the bell shade
That night. Time was delayed.
Passions like a bell shaking
In the wind. In that room
The light-dark footbridge
She was moving over
Being there so beautiful.
And she whistled to the moon.
What was sleep to her?
Almost an architecture
Where none of the passions
Was delayed. The bar across
Time was widening.
And the wind, a bar to the time.
She looked out.
She steps on air with her eyes.
A possibility darkening,
All nuance, whistled, and gone.
Her whistled nuance
Looked into for what it lacks
By night wind,
By structured sighs.