Musings

I sit here rocking back and forth,

my mind racing with thoughts

of things that are, things that have been

and wondering of things to come.

What will be my fate?

What is my true purpose?

Why do things happen as they do?

I wonder about the flow of events.

We think we have control

or at least hope we do.

Is this really so-

or are we being moved around blindly,

like pawns on a chess board?

Fate can be cruel I've learned,

putting us in situations of no control.

But still, we learn from this.

We grow and we strive,

to become better, to overcome,

to be stronger in character and virtue.

So perhaps what we think of as cruelty

is merely just another process

of knowledge, growth and wisdom,

a special insight into ourselves.

Yet we continue on blindly,

believing we have been wronged,

listening not to instinct, listening not to our heart,

but to the voice in our head

that continues to lead us blindly,

away from our path,

away from our true purpose,

along the road that leads only in circles,

taking us back to the same place,

to continue to make the same mistakes,

over and over again.

Dream Walker (working title) Chapter One Excerpt

I blinked my eyes open, disoriented at first, unsure where I was or how I had gotten here. The golden brown eyes of my tormentor haunted me again through the night, gazing into my soul, breaking through the blackness of my dreamless sleep, waking me again. He had to be a dream. How could a man so hauntingly beautiful be real? He seemed real though. I could still feel his presence, his scent still lingered faintly in the air. Was that just imagined too?

I looked around slowly, realizing finally that it was my home I was in. The forest green curtains hanging over my bedroom window billowed slightly in the morning breeze. Odd, I didn't usually keep my windows open at night. Before the sun went down, I always went through the house meticulously making sure everything was locked up. Was I too preoccupied with that phone call I had received last night to remember to do that before I left? How had I gotten home anyway?

The phone call had been from Allen, the FBI agent I had called in to with an anonymous tip about a missing child months ago. He said only that he needed my help again and that he would pick me up at six. So much for anonymity. It all seemed so secretive, the perfect distraction to take my mind off the golden eyed man that had been haunting me since, well, since after I had used my unique abilities to locate a missing child.