OASIS

Jack felt a wet film trickling across his muscular chest. A stabbing sensation against the back of his calves traveled through his legs. He pushed his body up with his arms only to tumble back to the ground. His dark brown eyes moved from side to side. All he could see was a dull murky fog. Drizzle consumed the airspace around him, causing beads of cold sweat to form on his brow.
Where the hell am I? he murmured to himself. Did we crash into Bimini after that awful storm shook the boat to smithereens? Damn, Charlie warned me this trip was too far from Palm Beach...and dangerous ... something about a Devil's Triangle?

A streak of lightning flashed across the dark sky and he shot up like the spring on a trigger. Thank the Lord I'm not paralyzed, he thought as he rubbed the back of his leg.

He hobbled a few paces, surveying the area. Straight ahead he found that the rough ground disappeared and plunged about ten thousand feet down to jagged rocks and angry waves. He massaged the vein bulging from his temple and shook his head, eliminating that route as a possible means of escape. Turning away from the steep decline, all he could see was an endless fusion of thick green trees. The rest of the island was desolate.

Emptiness, he whispered. Oh no ... my family, damn ... where??

Suddenly a strong wind draped his body, swirling him to the ground. As he fell his eyes rested upon the slim figure of his wife. Her body was sprawled motionless on the ground several feet from him. Next to her lay their two small children, Alison, six and Danny, two. The wind innocently blew her long blonde hair aimlessly across her breasts.

"Naked! They're naked," he yelled.

He looked down at his own body. For the love of…I'm naked too! How the hell did?? In the storm .. ? How? No boat, no people, no nothing ... It's like a bad dream. He flew toward his family, his arms reaching out to them.

“Sue, it's me, Jack. Kids, it's daddy. Answer me, talk,” he cried.

Flinging himself to the ground next to them, he began shaking them gently. Their eyes opened and focused on Jack. Tearfully, they leaped into each other's arms, seeking strength and protection from one another.

“Whaa, What happened?” Sue asked, shivering. “It's so wet and cold. Where is this place? I remember a white light exploding in front of me, then floating through a tunnel ... and then nothing ... here ... gee it's cold.” She held her children closer to her.

Jack thought it strange that neither his wife nor children were disturbed by their nakedness. Too confused to care? or notice? He guessed it didn't really matter much.


“I haven't the vaguest idea where we are. All I know is that we've got to try and get out of here. The only way out seems to be through that jungle. The other way leads to a cliff. Let's move before we all catch pneumonia.” Grasping his wife's hand, he pulled her up. “Stay close together. Let's go. I hope there are people living in there,” he mumbled.

They raced toward the protruding forest and entered it. Vines and branches slapped their vulnerable bodies. As they penetrated the massive greenery, the rain stopped. The wind ceased and a vacuum of silence and darkness enveloped them. Only a ray of light coming from among the trees guided the way to a hazy path.

Cautiously he led the way, using the light as his compass. The beams of light began pulsating. Breathlessly they ran towards the brilliance. Closer and closer they came until they were being drawn out of the ominous void into the dawn. Their bodies slipped through an oval exit shaped by the trees and were thrust through the air, landing gently on a mound of silky golden grass. After a few moments of startled silence they began twisting their joints, checking for broken bones or sprains. Jack's attention drifted away from his body and he began looking around to see where he was.

“I don't believe it,” he said, his mouth hanging open. “We're in heaven! If I was having a nightmare before, I'm sure having one hell of a dream now.”

“Look, look, Sue, Alison, Danny.”

Wondering smiles lit up his family's faces. Overcome with the vision before them, they burst into tears of joy. The children shouted hurrah, hurrah, and clapped their hands. For as far as their eyes could see lay meadows gleaming like bullion. Fruit trees of every variety and shade surrounded them. Berries and flowers vibrated with moisture. A prism of colors framed the sun's rays. Jack stretched his arms and took a deep breath. Everything is so peaceful...so perfect.

“I feel like I'm floating on a cloud,” Sue exclaimed.

This is incredible, Jack thought as he leaned back on his elbows. Absolutely a paradise...or an oasis. As he lazily inspected the area, a tree filled with ripe, voluptuous apples caught his eye. Apples were a weakness of his, but he had inconveniently developed an allergy to them when he was twelve. Wiggling his toes in the grass, he debated with himself what to do. What harm could one apple do? he thought. I feel positive one of those succulent beauties won't give me the hives. Seeing that his wife and children were busy devouring wild berries, he quietly got up and tiptoed away. He approached the tree and reached out for one of the juicy red fruits that was swaying from the end of a branch, when a loud shrill stopped him.

“Jack, stop!” yelled his wife.

“Damn!” he said in a low voice.

“You know what happens when you eat apples.”

“Oh Sue, I don't think these apples will give me hives. And what would be the worst that could happen if they did? I'll have a bad case of the bumps and no calamine lotion.”

Sue frowned. “And who knows better than I how you'll bitch about it. Come on Jack, please don't. I don't feel you should. Why don't you have some berries?”

He waved his hand towards her, ending the conversation, and snapped the apple from its branch. He brought it up to his mouth and was about to take a bite when a chill went through his body, giving him the shivers. Holding the shiny round object out in front of him, he examined it and then shook his shoulders. Silly, he thought. Lines creased across Sue's forehead as she watched, twirling a strand of hair. Once again he lifted the apple and this time he gripped his stomach and fell to his knees.

“What's wrong,” Sue screamed, running toward him.

“Hunger pains!” he yelled. With one hand holding his belly and the other grasping the apple he bit down hard. Instantly a bolt of lightning hit the tree, blowing it into thousands of particles. Sue covered her head and dropped to the ground. The impact of the explosion sent Jack flying through the air. Everything blurred before him and Sue dissolved into a vague whirling glow. Slowly his sight began to clear. The muzzy brightness turned into four white walls. A bleary figure of a woman in a white uniform was sitting beside him. He began to feel the weight of his swollen body against a hard mattress.

A hospital? How did I get here? he thought. He gasped, trying to speak, but his throat was dry and tight.

“Wataa, wataa,” he fought to say. The sounds alerted the nurse and she jumped up.

“Be still, Mr. Beechum. I'll bring the doctor and some water.”

As she left the room he caught a glimpse of a folded newspaper she had left on the chair. Struggling to get a grip on it without falling from the bed, he managed to grab hold of its corner and pull it up to him. He fingered through it, hoping to find anything that would tell him something. Finally he found what he was looking for. The article read: After a 24-hour search by the Coast Guard, Mr. Jack Beechum was found drifting 75 miles off the coast of the Keys. Authorities are still searching for his wife and two children. An uncontrollable shrill burst out from his throat. His massive body jerked up and down. The nurse swiftly entered the room and tried holding him down by his shoulders.

“Doctor!” she screamed. “A sedative, fast!”

A bearded doctor rushed into the room and instantly stuck a needle into Jack's arm. It took immediate effect and his eyes fluttered until he fell into a semiconscious state. Thoughts slurred through his head. How Lord will...get there...got to real, so dark, light. Alive? Soon his mind was still and he drifted into a deep sleep. Poor man, the nurse clucked. Poor, poor man.

A Day at the Beach - Ruby’s Family Picture

Ruby stood on the oversized beach blanket and breathed in the salt air. The sparkle and curves of the big ocean rolled into the sky and made her skin tingle. She rubbed her arm. Ruby, all perky, her bouncy ponytail tangled in the wind wore her favorite yellow and pink-stripped bathing suit. She counted every blue and white-striped beach umbrella plugged randomly across the sand. A squawking seagull distracted her counting mission.

This was her last Sunday at Coney Island fun in the sun before beginning fourth grade. A wave of sweet relish and cherry ices brushed past her, she sniffed. A big hairy bowl legged man ate a hot dog and a red curly topped girl merrily ate away as they strolled by the rustling shore.

“This is so great, mommy and daddy. I don’t have to do any homework.” Ruby plunged her hand into the ice cooler and pulled out a coke. he gulped down a big slurp as the bottle dripped its dew along the slippery edges, devoured the liquid like it was her last drink ever on earth. She stepped off the blanket and buried her toes into the moist underbelly of the sand, listened to the soft splash of the ocean waves.

Her mommy and daddy laughed over an oily tuna sandwich and chocolate donuts. Her grandma greased up with baby oil prepared for her wade in the ocean. Her sister, Leah twirled in the sand. This was the part of her existence that showed her that life had goodness. Forget the night before when her mother hit with a hanger because she didn’t make her bed. The sun and salt air washed away all that was bad and made it good.

My Father’s Turquoise Socks

My father died of a heart attack when I was twenty-three. The night before he died I sat beside the hospital bed and watched him breathe. Half asleep, the stiff hospital sheets slid up under his neck, he opened his sad green eyes, pulled me close to him and said, “I love you.” My heart ached and I shook off the empty feeling in my stomach that told me he might die. But, at the same time, I couldn’t find the voice to reply back to my father, “I love you too.”

He then asked me to bring him his turquoise socks to keep his feet warm. Those socks were his prized possession. He wore them around the house and called them his blue feet warmers. Tired and late at night, he’d snuggled his toes into the cotton corners and devour a gallon of whatever ice cream was in the refrigerator. The turquoise socks brightened his day. On the days he’d come home early from a wedding or bat mitzvah he’d slip on his socks and my sister and I would sit at the kitchen table nibbling finger foods still warm in their platters. He’d tell us about the crazy bride who threw a dish at her husband to be, or the wild aunt who stripped down because of too much champagne. The blue socks and my father’s stories went together like the moon and the stars.

So when he asked me to get him his socks I felt the warmth of a story to come. His request made me feel safe that he was going to live. I drove home grabbed his socks out of the drawer when the phone rang. Hesitantly, I picked it up. At first I didn’t hear what the female voice on the other end was saying. Confused I just kept asking. “What? What?” Until my ears, woke out of the muffled fog of denial and shock, and I heard, “Your father died.” I sobbed until my eyes were sucked dried, grieved by the thought that I had never responded with an, “I love you too daddy,” before I left to retrieve his comfort socks.

A year after he died I took those socks to a medium. I wanted to contact my father from the beyond. Hear his voice one last time and give him the warmth of my love that I felt cheated of. The medium had dark black hair and was bejeweled with crystal necklaces. She reached out to the socks and said, “I’ll take those.” I held tight to them like a baby to her mother’s breast. The psychic stood with her hand out, staring through me. I placed them in her hand. As she cradled them, rolling them around her palms, she said, “Your father died of a heart attack. He knows he wasn’t the best father, but he loved you.” Then she glared straight at me. I felt her energy enter my psyche, “He says, he knows you loved him. You didn’t have to say it. It was enough you went to get his socks. You can forgive yourself. And he’ll know that you have forgiven yourself when you accomplish all the things he was against you pursuing. He says, Go for it.”

My breath stopped, and a well of grief and tears tumbled out of me. She gave me back his socks and I left. To this day I wear those socks on cold nights and feel the comfort of the love my father and I hold eternally.

Debora Seidman
http://www.writingtheprayer.com/

Trust yourself. Have I said this before? Let me say it again.

Trust yourself. It's one of the most important factors in your
own relationship with your ability to write.

And here's the good news, and the paradox: if it's hard for you
to trust yourself, writing will help you to learn how to do it.

The reasons why it's hard for us to trust ourselves are many:
perhaps you have a history of abuse, or betrayal, or
neglect....any form of trauma will shake your ability to trust
yourself. That's one of the most damaging results of trauma,
the loss of self trust.

Without self trust, it's hard to
relax and enjoy anything, let alone a creative activity, but you
can restore this ability if it's been lost. It's not a life sentence.

If you feel that you are someone who has a hard time trusting
your own self: whether it shows up like you can't trust your
own inner knowing, or you can't even hear your own inner knowing,
give yourself a great gift and dedicate yourself to your writing
practice. Let it be a bridge for you in your journey to
reclaiming your ability to trust yourself.

Write your own truth, once a day, and pay attention to how you
feel. You know when you're telling the truth to yourself and when you're
not. If you start to notice how you respond when you write the
truth, you can gradually learn to extend your self trust to
other areas of your life.

Staying Connected To Your Writing

Debora Seidman, my Writing mentor, spiritual sister and inspiration goddess... always keeps me in touch with my reason to write and keep writing:

Staying connected to your writing is a fabulous way to stay
connected to your self. I've said it before, but it's worth
repeating.

Like me, you probably write for different reasons at different
times. You may be working on a novel, or a collection of poems,
or perhaps your first play. Or maybe writing is your personal
spiritual practice and it's just between you and the Divine.
Whatever the reason you write, it's good to remember that writing
is a resource for you and can serve you.

If you're struggling with something in your life, sit down and
write it out. If you do this on a regular basis, you'll find
that you learn to trust yourself more and more, and the more you
learn to trust yourself, the easier it is to stay connected to
yourself, and to return to your self when you lose that connection.

Staying connected with yourself is the clearest way I know to
live a peaceful life. It's been said, "To thine own self be
true." And you can only be true to your own self, if you have a
connection to yourself. So....write write write, from you to
you, whenever you feel the thread between you and your true self
is running thin.

Blessings on all the songs and stories of your soul,

Debora
www.writingtheprayer.com

Quote from F. Scott Fitzgerald

"Never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat."