Tribal-16

“War has been the breeding ground for some of our greatest dreams of accomplishment.”

Holtzman, The Butlerian Jihad.

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TRIBAL

Chapter 16

Ancestors
BY Kyle Gray
 
The Warrior: Be fearless and stand strong
The Knight: Be brave and honest
The Shaman: Trust in higher forces
The Sky Father: Trust in the unknown

Arousing Thunder ䷲

Infinitesimal darkness outside the command center of the ESS Orca seemed like the ocean back on Eos on a moonless night. The stars floated in the dark, little beacons of light affording the universe depth and form. The Void was Admiral Ramos’ backyard where he roamed as the Captain of his ship and master of his fate and the fate of his 5000 crewmembers.

The command center was a plaza of activity. Monitors and gauges flashed their information as the command staff worked feverishly to ensure the wounded ship’s safety and security. The Admiral watched his dashboard panel of essential performance indicators progress from red to amber and finally green. He issued orders, and the staff distributed tasks and priorities to the crew stations.

Ramos recalled in his mind how The Orca had sustained crippling injuries in the battle over Manila. Orca had advanced to earth in search of Captain Rae and her ship, Aurora. On their approach, they detected a Western Alliance fleet over the earth’s horizon. The battle was joined with Orca giving more than she got, scattering the Western Alliance fleet and sending many of their expeditionary vessels crashing into the earth’s atmosphere, burning like stars in the Void.

Hypervelocity missiles rose from Manila just as Captain Rae’s AI had warned earlier. The Orca, outgunned, escaped to land on the dark side of earth’s moon to repair the ship and take care of the dead and wounded. It was what each person had signed on to accomplish. They all knew the risk and accepted it. “For Eos,” Ramos thought. Death here kept the awful burdens of war away from the homeland, so it was a worthy fate.

“G4, how are we on supply, The admiral asked his maintenance and logistics chief.

“All supply classes are green for 30 days operation, amber to return to EOS,” came the reply.

“What is the estimate for return to operational combat status? Ramos asked.

“Two weeks local earth time.”

Apprehension spread through the staff like the shrill tone of an attacking Eosian hawk. Admiral Ramos was planning his next move, and they would all have a front-row seat. Apprehension gave way to a subtle eagerness to take it to the Western Alliance for trying to colonize their ancestral homeland and recover one of their own. As fate would have it, the odds were stacked high against them. Just the way they liked it.

“Secure the bridge for war counsel,” the Admiral commanded. 

“Bridge Secured, Sir.”

Ramos collected his thoughts, turned to his staff, and let them in on his plans. “I want to attack the Western Alliance and at a minimum cripple their colony with the objective of as near-complete destruction of their remaining fleet as possible. We will use the attack as a screen to attempt a rescue of Captain Rae undetected, Ramos said. I want to execute this plan within three days.” 

The staff remained silent except to acknowledge the order. Each officer knew the Admiral’s famous father disappeared in the exact location as Captain Rae when Ramos was just a kid. To the staff, it was their duty to rescue Rae. To the Admiral, it was personal.

❂❂❂

Sgt Hughes and Carter kneeled in the water, laughing under their breath, trying not to make a sound and failing. The remaining squad secured a perimeter around the two men, who appeared to have lost their minds.

“Sgt Hughes, What in hell is going on over there,” one of the crew asked.

“See for yourself,” Sgt Hughes replied while Carter wiped the tears from the side of his face.

The team gathered around and looked at the bloody water lizard in the spacesuit.

“Damn, those Eosians are ugly,” the astonished team member whispered under his breath. The squad lost it, trying to remain quiet in this god-forsaken jungle that demanded noise discipline to keep them from giving themselves away to anyone that might be close by and unseen. To their advantage, the jungle absorbed their noisy presence and gave no hint of the danger heading toward Ezra and Rae.

“Whoever belonged in that suit appears to be long gone now, Sgt Hughes said. Saddle up, ladies; we have a date with destiny up ahead. Let’s get after it.”

The team took up their positions, and Carter, still trying not to snicker at their folly, felt his energy renewed as he hacked his way up to the gigantic waterfall ahead. 

❂❂❂

Zara made her way upstream and picked a place to swim across the river. She angled downstream and caught the current, rocking her shoulders from side to side, reaching and pulling with her arms as she moved through the water without leaving a ripple. Her long ponytail undulated from side to side like a snake.

At the far bank, Zara grabbed for a root and dug her toes into the slick mud. Reaching higher with handholds and toe holds in the roots, Zara was able to slither up the bank and into the forest. Kneeling and listening, she sensed she was alone. The newly freed half-breed moved as fast as she could toward the makeshift ladder the two natives had constructed to descend into the bowl of the waterfall.

Allowing

“I felt its warmth. Wrapped around me like a cotton duvet of comfort and love. It was not assurance, nor certainty. It’s just.. knowing. Allowing the sensation to be felt. Allowing the colors in my head to prove its magic. Allowing every piece unfold in its own intelligence. A feeling of observing. Of not holding anything in.  Of just, allowing. Opening up the gates. Receiving and believing. Coming up with ideas, expressing. And then writing—thru spaces in between, with no explaining. Clarity in the midst of complexity. No need for validation. No need for a guideline to follow. No need to restrict oneself with old rusty chains of death. No more. It’s ending.”

I worked out intensely a couple of days ago and my body still feels sore from it. My boyfriend told me that the culprit is this thing called “DOMS” (Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness), and that this is normal. I believe it so. It’s not the first time it happened. But, something dawned on me as I whined about it while I massage my shoulders and arms using my usual Chinese ointment—I am feeling. I am feeling and I know it’s quite a normal thing, but I’m celebrating. I am feeling and I am connecting. There were times I craved to put the heater of my shower on max just so I can feel that sensation. That hurting. The subtle pins of torture, but ones that were satisfying. Could hardly explain why numbness occurs. Maybe it’s ‘cause of too much suffering that it kind of loses its own purpose. Or maybe your dosage kept on increasing, as your pain threshold stretches, like the strong caffeine in my coffee that now makes me sleepy. How ironic. Like when you experience an anxiety attack and its frequency multiplies, then you become numb, clueless, unconscious, unknown. A dark void. Dark poetry written out of confusion. Dark set of words being dictated, unaware of its source. What’s going on? I wanted to talk about my body and how happy I felt to feel again. But the dark side of me wanted to own the spotlight, again. I’m allowing, nonetheless. I’m allowing myself bathe in these shadows. Because, this is the only way I could feel. The only way I could let light in. 

I say, jump and be embraced by the depths of your darkness. Fear not, for it is fleeting. Feel your skin as if you are your skin. It’s funny how my connection to my body mirrors my slow internet connection here at home. Every time I play my favorite FPS game Valorant that requires a low ping, it disconnects, then I had to restart, then it connects again. The cycle repeats. I need an upgrade. Both my Wi-Fi and myself. Would I also pay a higher price when I upgrade myself? Maybe. Or maybe not. But most likely. The point is, sometimes I am connected, sometimes I’m not. It’s more volatile than the fluctuations of the crypto market. I’m allowing, nonetheless. The meditation helps. But the inconsistency doesn’t. Often times during meditation I ask myself if I’m doing it right. Or I debate with my own inner dialogue that questions the idea of my feet touching the ground when I’m living at a high floor and the ground is way below me. It’s insane. The voice would say just observe and yes I’m trying. I’m getting there. At least, that’s what I think. A wise friend of mine suggested a book called Awareness by Osho which helped me exercise observing my thoughts. I haven’t finished it though but it’s cut-throat with a straightforward punch. I like it. 

And this is what I like about my allowing. I allow myself to tell stories completely irrelevant to the previous points and find my way to its connection to one another. There are some dots that do connect in here though, don’t you think? Nevertheless, I enjoyed releasing what this complex mind has to say today. And I’m glad I get to share it with you. I write everyday but I don’t like posting everything publicly here. But today it’s different. I am being called to post something here in my blog. Again, I’m just allowing. I don’t know why I wanted to talk to you today. It’s just, freeing for me to do so. If you reach the end of this nonsensical and complex maze of thoughts, thank you. Maybe it’s about time you do this too. Like having no solid plan of what to write, what to create; what to accomplish. And completely unattached to its results. Just allowing your fingers do its role, as it becomes the Executive Assistant of the CEO in your brain, and heart (if you write from the heart too). I’m writing, in the now. With no attachment of whether or not it’s grammatically aligned. The heart knows no rules. And in this piece of writing, my heart is the one who allowed me to be in this state of, you know it, allowing. I think my babbling have to stop here. That single-word title have already proven its point. Contradicting an old belief structure of having clear goals to hit. I do think that I enjoy more when I am not expecting to accomplish a particular result I picture in my head. I love it better that I don’t aim to be perfect nor the best. It’s fun to observe the process takes place naturally and to feel that sense of fulfilment, every step of the way.

Way back when i was four

Tears can’t help but fall,

For these wounds I’ve been trying to ignore;

All coming from a wrecked core,

That has been messed up way back when i was four.

That vivid part where i heard i wasnt enough and I wasn’t capable.

“It’s okay… It’s not their fault”

Lines i kept believing all along.

But heavens and hell do know,

How i wanted to blame them for it all.

But the heart, oh this heart, even though torn,

Keeps on choosing to see the beauty of it all.

I need to face this though.

This shadow of blame and frustration

That haunt me each moment i got stuck in this scary dark room of my emotions.

I need to face this though.

And stop performing well in this fake show

Of being okay with this situation.

I need to face this, and gather this black shadowy smoke,

Put it inside a bunch of colorful balloons,

Let go of its strings that i hold,

So they could fly above the sky,

And watch them fly away and become so tiny in my sight.

Looking above, I’d sigh and smile,

For choosing to face the shadow that got me terrified.

And only time, darling, give me time,

I know i will heal, at the right time.

Tears can’t help but fall,

But I’m not holding it in anymore.

Impromptu Story: What happens when you change and let go?

Finding beauty. Falling in love.

How odd, it seems. To feel so inlove over and over again. Maybe I don’t seem to learn. But giving up on love has never been my type of game.

What’s more odd is this: I don’t need someone just so i could feel this feeling. I don’t think of no one as i feel giddy just by this knowing—that I’m inlove… that I love life, more than ever. That i now love the face that smiles at me in the mirror every morning. That i accept all the flaws my body is showing. That i embrace who i am and who i am becoming. It’s odd, this knowing. But the oddness of it is what beauty really is. The awkwardness of loving oneself but not feeling guilty about it. There’s beauty in it. There’s beauty, in loving, in accepting, in embracing.

There’s beauty in the most peculiar of things. If you haven’t found it, it’s okay. You just gotta keep looking. ❤️🙏🏻

Note: I find this photo of me so awkward and my poetic prose is also awkwardly written so i think they matched 😜🥰😆❤️

Writing on a Blank Paper

Dance. Flow. Magic.

The sound of the nib as it merges with the blank paper, the friction it creates that casts spells of magic in all of its content and the ecstatic anticipation of what will occur as they merge into one: this… is my writing. Not my exact way of writing, but the writing that unfolds within my writing. Like bright speckles of light that glow in each words, as it flows freely from left to right, creating a symphony of rhythmic dance without even knowing that you’re already dancing your way to finishing a story, a piece of poetry or maybe just random lines like this one.

Allowing. You just allow it. This is how a writing unfolds within a writing. Something else that’s quite hard to define or label was commanding you to write in the most artful of ways that the confinements of your own mind couldn’t even fathom the depth it creates. Often times, you even surprise yourself.

How magical. How splendid. How ideal. Does it happen all the time? No, it does not.

That harmony sometimes goes haywire and out of balance. And more often than not, the more you want to write, the harder the words come out. The blank paper sometimes stay blank, and you stay staring at it for even hours. Clicking the head of the pen, watching the nib goes in and out of its body, with a soothing sound that calms your insides as you wait for the magic that usually takes place. But no, there are times when the fairy muse doesn’t show up to wave her wand of magical congruence unto your hand.

I know this very well. I had magical moments where a writing happens within my writing. A powerful manifestation of visions. A natural flow. A beautiful alignment that even surprises you with one synchronicity after another.

And there are “unmagical” moments too, where nothing takes place, where nothing seems to fit, where i feel stuck in my own head, but i write anyway. I get on with it. And i don’t give up.

You gotta keep writing too. Whether on a literal sense or on a metaphorical, more in depth way, it’s yours to take. Write your own life on a blank paper each day. Some days it will be easy-peasy and violà there’s your piece of story to tell. But some days it will be hard. You might be stuck too. You might even hate yourself for not knowing what to do. But there’s beauty in it. And I don’t need to elucidate for you what this beauty meant. You’ve got to find it for yourself—like how i constantly write on a blank paper—whether in the flow or not, learn to love it equally, as it both serves a purpose to our own personal mastery.