Birthing the Lucifer star

by donna bartley

  *****

  In the early-morning twilight, streaks of aquamarine spilled into the lavender horizon, coloring the floating clouds with faint tracings of the rainbow between the shimmering sheen of silver outline. On high, gentle breezes lightly powered the lovely formations to the west, and they sailed like majestic pirate ships described in tales of old. Upon the distant, crimson-faced cliff, just beyond the rise of a great mountain with its peak hidden in the thick of clouds, was a faint crack in the ancient maroon rock. This was where the mature eagle made his home.

  White feather down had been buried deep beneath the drab-colored plumage of the bird’s aging. So as he had begun, now he returned—yet larger and stronger, with attributes gifted to no other, for he had partaken of amrita. Food of the great serpent had never before been tasted by one of his kind. Eagle Flying Bye had grown large and powerful, attaining a gnosis that heretofore had not been possible in the world of men.

  Awake at the crack of dawn, the eagle looked out upon the world. This was the same view that he had held for over eighty-four years. Despite the experience of time, Eagle Flying Bye was still young.

  With a wingspan greater than that of the largest maritime birds, it seemed impossible that the eagle could fit through the little opening that acted as a doorway to his home. Softly, he began to sing the song of freedom. Slowly, the crevice widened under the spell-song as Eagle Flying Bye rang out the notes he knew so well. Leaping forth and going into free fall, he spread his massive wings and glided effortlessly down the sides of the cliff.

  As he sailed along, delighting in the sensation of pure, unadulterated pleasure, the widened crack closed again behind, barring any other access to the great eagle’s home. Turning and making the slightest motion with his wings as they gleamed with an iridescent aura in the sun’s rays, the bird checked to make sure that the fissure was shut once again. Chirping happily, the eagle turned toward the great river, where he knew there was rainbow trout aplenty waiting for him.

  The clouds parted above, giving full vent of the sun’s light to the eagle. A trail of misty steam tailed the bird as he flew happily along. This far out, no other manner of beast or person was about to hinder him in his delightful pleasure. Truly, this was the greatest of all freedoms: to fly high above the bright blue marble and see all there was to see below. He was diving now, in and out of the billowing clouds, leaving streaks of violet behind. Just like some earth-born fireworks display running playful patterns, the eagle made symbols in the sky, all the while singing out a mighty song of cheer—one that would make even the most sullen of the angels lighter in spirit. Eagle Flying Bye spotted Eastmont Hospital for the Mentally Insane and swooped easily to the macadam driveway below.

  Perching on the windowsill to Shirley’s chamber, the bird sang a love song that was so sweet, it brought tears to her eyes. When his song was finished, the eagle tipped his head and gave an inquiring chirp. A gentle hand stroked his feathered breast, touching his warm feathers. Eagle Flying Bye had suffered much roughness in his youth—or was it his former self’s youth? This touch was so different. There was no malice, no evil in the touch. The bird happily sighed; she was one of the few he would ever allow to lay a hand upon him. She stroked his chest and offered him food, which he eagerly accepted.

  After he had eaten and then sung once more, he didn’t fly away, as per usual. Rather, he sat upon the sill, chirping away. Unused to the speech of eagles, Shirley knew not what he said, but called upon her borrowed light to translate.

  Eagle Flying Bye chirped out thanks and farewell after a long silence. As he rubbing his beak against her cheek, a gleam formed in the bird’s eye to mingle with her own. Taking to flight, the eagle knew that a little loneliness was better than many of the alternatives, but he knew the feeling of being loved. He slowly walked toward the front door of the hospital, putting the escape plan into action. …

  As the catbird flew behind the eagle, the winds shifted, and suddenly Shirley’s wingspan grew until she was almost as big as Eagle Flying Bye. She would need the strength and speed to reach Cape Canaveral. Abruptly, she turned south. The eagle noted that there were no clouds above; the water below had turned to pure blue; and the breeze was so light, yet cool against the fire that silhouetted his spanning wings. Eagle Flying By turned to fly in ever-widening circles, making a sky-born whirlpool of jet-stream clouds, waiting to see what her next move would be.

  He sang a new melody, even more powerfully sung than before, his long, slender beak moving gently as the flow of notes lined up in perfect outpouring of spirit. Even the sun gleamed brighter with each note that flowed outward; the seas were calmed to near stillness, and even the winged creatures of the air ceased flying to give full center stage to the mighty crooner in the sky. An answering song came from behind him, with notes so matching his own; at first he was startled by what he heard.

  Turning with wings moving slowly, he looked back, his eyes growing large in amazement. There, flying toward him, was the most beautiful young wanbli he’d ever seen. She seemed to be made of heavenly down, yet had the pure white of untainted marble. Her feathers danced lightly on her wings as she glided. Her feathers stood up on end in a twirling motion; he would call her Dancing Feather.

  So it started: a new beginning. After the self-doubt and imprisonment, Shirley realized that an overwhelming feeling of happiness and contentment led to an equilibrium effect. To balance life, the pleasure had to return to equal the bad. The cup of life was filled: half lose, half win.

  The clarity of life was before them. They could see all of life’s colors shining in their true magnificent brilliance: the carmine reds, royal blues, midnight blacks, and envious greens. All were distinct, converse to the mélange of one indistinct, gray, depressing world of human routine. Some people saw only black and white, while the rest stepped outside the boundaries of slavery to observe the surreal shades of gray that the watchers wished them to perceive.

  The eagles, on the other hand, had reached another level of vision color—not the type of color on a television screen or a painting, but the colors of life, which could not be comprehended by just anyone. Even the most famous artists could not paint these colors. They could not be created, only visualized, which was why the truly great artists were tormented beings. They could not convey the beauty they had discovered, only a mere interpretation of true emancipation.

  Now the two graced the sky—one with the luminosity of life’s passion, and one who held the purity of heart with the sure perception of unadulterated love. With a depth of compassion, Shirley vowed to make a commitment, giving up all for one blessed, perfect love, letting go of the mere earthbound things, letting the wings grow from the heart—from the soul—with unmatched feeling. Then, at last, the two became one spirit, soaring, diving, catapulting, flying free—a moment in heaven.

  Life’s dreams

  A miracle to me, it seems,

  that I have touched upon life’s dreams.

  Now the happiness I thought I’d find

  lies so impressive upon my mind.

  My thoughts of death, a vicious scheme

  have left me for some time.

  Rejoice—I’ve found life’s dreams.

  Defeated heart and tattered soul,

  I suffered all to reach this goal.

  This drove me from my childhood

  to strive for the rights of womanhood

  while more worldly men still controlled

  incidents—some bad, some good.

  My piec-ed body reached its whole.

  Such happiness do I deserve?

  And does it really take some nerve

  to tell the world that I’ve found love?

  Or should I curse the stars above

  for pleading with my mind to curve

  to my inner self to seek the dove

  to which my heart could serve?

  Enough of foolish thoughts, my friend;

  it’s time your sadness found an end.

 
Shout to the world that you found your dream,

  forget that foregone blackened stream

  for you have found what God does send

  to darkened stars to make them gleam,

  and the joy that’s yours shall never end.