Blue Rose Arena: Raven’s Thousand-Wings

Me: What are your notions about the blue rose?
Andrei: Mysterious. Unpredictable. A journey. A goal. A dream. And something very real, even if it can’t be proven. And unconventional.

+ March 7th, 2017.

Vision: Late-December 2015

Aw hell, it’s already nearly October. Wow, I’m slow at fulfilling promises. Kekeke?

As the world pressed a cold morn, darkness so constant; I had no reason to believe it was day or night. I thought I forgot what light was. Life was only about change. Nothing stayed the same. My childhood dreams crushed because they didn’t “fit” a person like me. Why bother to go on? There were no music boxes with a dancing fairy ballerina. Mother began preliminary planning for my funeral.

I fell asleep one night, after the hospital went as silent as hospitals may. I was smiling. Didn’t think I’d survive this latest offense to my body. My eyes too damaged to shed tears, but one thought remained before my awareness went into darkness too.

“I wish I could see Eva’le’s smile. The one lie he did utter, I guess … I was holding out on an empty promise.”

A veiled and cloaked and robed, tall, male figure with the largest wings I’d clairvoyantly seen, passed one of those magnificent feathered graces over my body. There were so many wings, so beautiful. Black feathers, as dark as beyond the stars, and silvered stardust scattered amidst those feathers. Feathers I thought would cut with how sharp they seemed, but as that single wing of many swept me from crown to below my feet, these feathers were soft. Comforting.

Rest now, take this moment for peace from me.

“Ah, you did return. Are you here to take me Home? Thank you.” The lunar wind picked up, rustling the impassive veil. I hesitated to sink into my induced slumber. “You … you’re … are you sad?”

I didn’t want to think of it. How I had to lie and twist and turn my tale for everyone who would listen, and for what? To stop stirring the pot. To have a place at this table. To hear those words I wanted since childhood, “Welcome home, wanderer-as-snow.”

A glint in that ever-changing chroma, the veil pulled only the softly hued hint amongst shades and matrices. The room brighter than I’d seen it before. Ancient and revolutionary, familiar and undiscovered. There it was, the smallest upturn to a side of his mouth.

My heart gladdened. “Whaddya know, you are capable of smiling for me.”

Now I lay me down to sleep,
Knowing our soul is ever to keep.

When I woke, the morning staff were surprised. Clan had a fright. I somehow survived that darkest night. A recovery blazingly streaking across a twilit sky, I was discharged and attended the clan’s Christmas gathering. The first Christmas since age seven that held any significance for me.

We’ll change the story we were in.


Vision: Late-August 2017

Life and living and death and dying
Hail rebirth, songs of praise to alight the flame-tongues

A glimpse steals my breath.
A brush upon my skin brings life.

Whomever an endless shall touch, in their soul, may see Heaven.

“Light, light! Give us more light!”
Take this light, consume it all, feed upon another!

And another!
Yet, another!

“All I see is darkness, give me light. Please, wanderers, let us feast upon the light, be merry, and work again … yet again.”

The soul has free will when the endless draw close. If the soul desires, they shall see heaven. Should the soul reject the endless’ touch, hell follows, and the endless is sorrowed.

A price for the gift of a glimpse.
A weight of sorrow.
A gift. A blessing.
Right. Responsibility.

Rejection for sorrow. Acceptance for reconfiguration.
And wander, and wander.
Stories torn asunder.

Are you defined solely by the tales of your ancestors?

Rama called Kevat his brother and gave him the Sun. But Kevat couldn’t be God Incarnate. The tears of my ancestors flowed as the river whom Kevat carried Rama across. A song of sorrow that God couldn’t ignore forever. So, a sanskara was sent.

“Could I leave the temple without paying a toll for all of them?”

“I can change the sanskara,” you said to me.

The story given to the soul by the stars.

Beautiful, beautiful;
Black night dusted with silver and sparkles.

Scattering the nightlights,
Darkest luminarist, heart-caught sky’s wanderer.

Stardust and galaxies!

Carrying celestials upon raven’s thousand-wings —

— wings

Trust me, remember me.
Remember the lessons I impart.
Remember, I woke you at time’s start.

“You’re not taking my wings. I’m … trickling stardust on to you. I want to see your wings again. Fluffy and white, shimmering and prismatic; dove’s thousand-wings.”

You didn’t want to be a wanderer.
You can choose another way. You can change this story we’re in.
Will you ask?
Will you walk beside me?
Not behind. Not in front. Side as side.

A house is sanctuary.
A home is haven.

If the path to the stars is fraught with pain and suffering, how much more is the path for our Earth.

Stay here. Stay with me. Stay with us.

“It’s a promise ring. The story is changed. I came looking for you. Do you wish to stay?”


  • Phyllis, whose death of two years I learned a week past.
  • Glenna, survivor of stage-four cancer and Hurricane Irma.
  • Clan living in the Caribbean, the United Kingdom, and the United States of America. Clan frequenting Japan and other countries.


  • Music: “Haven” [album] — Kamelot
  • Leprechauns. ’nuff said.