Archive for the ‘Daniel Braum’ Category
Ibis Rises
Friday, January 18th, 2008
After a lunch of chicken tikka masala and palek paneer washed down with the most fragrant rose lassies from that little red place on Bank Street, Maia and Jocelyn were walking to the bus stop heading back to their dorm. Jocelyn, having grown up in Brissy, paid the sticky heat and everything else no mind. Maia was quite happy not to be in the London winter and was taking in the Jacarandas and cute houses on stilts when she spotted an elegant white bird. It rummaged through the trash with its long, hooked, black beak, dwarfing the pigeons poking around alongside it.
“Wow, what’s that?” Maia asked.
“You mean the Ibis, love?” Jocelyn said.
The word Ibis conjured images of ancient Egypt into Maia’s head.
“I’ve never seen one before,” she said.
“We have birds from all over.”
“Ha. This is the closest I’ve been to Egypt.”
Powered by Maia’s focus and belief the Ibis’s attention shifted from picking apart the rubbish bags.
Where am I? Where are the pharaohs, it thought. These buildings are not the glorious works of Thoth. This river is not the Nile.
Filled with god-consciousness, the Ibis lifted its head, sensing how the energy of world had changed since it last manifested and letting knowledge flow into it.
So many new mysteries to learn. Such great wonders to uncover. To protect.
The Ibis noticed Maia and Jocelyn watching. It gave a little squawk and thought,
All this time and their kind is still just stuck in the muck.
Then it craned its head higher.
I sense so many seekers, so many yearning to worshippers, just waiting for me to rise and lead them. I shall start by-
Maia looked away, her attention caught by a big Jacaranda near the bridge over the Brisbane River.
“Can I take your picture, Joce? Its so lovely,” Maia said.
“Yeah, they’re in full bloom this time of year, doll.”
With the power of her focus and belief gone, the god-aspect faded from the Ibis. The bird went back to picking garbage as if nothing had happened, while Maia snapped a picture of Jocelyn under the purple Jacaranda.
-END-
Boon of the Monkey God
Wednesday, January 9th, 2008
The road to the shore winds down the mountainside, a narrow snake covered by lush green canopy, alive with birds and butterflies. A troop of monkeys swings above paying us no mind. Our little hotel room offers nothing but a ceiling fan as respite from the midday Costa Rican heat. So we trek to the beach, a bag with left over fruit for the monkeys that live there.
A resonant howler cry joins the song of the lazy afternoon.
“Make a wish,” Connie says. “They don’t do that during the day!”
“Ok.”
“So?” she asks.
“I’m saving it.”
She smacks me, playfully.
We’re just about at the bottom when a four hundred horsepower roar decimates the tranquil buzz of animal sounds and gently breaking waves.
A candy-apple red sports car speeds down the hill, convertible top up. The tinted passenger side window rolls down revealing the innocent face of a pretty Costa Rican teen. She’s done up in god-awful make up and wearing a whore’s dress. A man in a dress shirt and tie leans over.
“How the hell do I get to the beach?”
“You can’t,” Connie says.
“Come on. She wants to see the beach.”
This ass makes me ashamed to be an American.
“No vehicle access,” I say. “Cars aren’t allowed.”
We leave him to spin his wheels, literally, and go for our swim. We move farther and farther up the beach but we can’t escape his shouting and revving engine.
“That arrogance must serve him well in his life, but its not going to do him any good here,” Connie says.
Not yet. I think, afraid of what the future might bring.
We take another dip then trudge to our room. A breeze from the waves below blows the thin drapes. I turn the ceiling fan on. Its lazy spin accelerates and then it is rocking in its loose anchoring. We lay on the bed. Kiss. Take off our clothes. Soon we are matching the fan’s rhythm.
As sleep takes us, I hear the sports car on the road. A monkey howls. This time I make my wish.
Connie is still asleep when I wake. I go outside to the communal kitchen to find ice crackling in glasses on the patio bar, but no patrons. Our host is gone from her eternal post, lip-sticked cigarette still burning. I glance down the mountain to the shore, not a human in the waves or the beach. A boat, unguided, crashes into the rocks.
A howler jumps from the canopy to the table and joyfully smashes an empty glass. His eyes full of acknowledgement of my selfish wish.
I walk back to the room, with a mischievous smile.
“Hun, want to go for a swim?” I call.