so I've learned...

Goodbye, 2001. In retrospect, I'm going to miss you. You haven't been pleasant, but I can't remember another year where I've grown so much, changed so much, learned so much, so fast. Or one where I've risked so much, lost so much, gained so much, that was and is so precious to me. And if the changes didn't come in the way I expected or wanted them to, then I have only to remember that nothing comes without a cost, and that the costs in no way outweighed the gain this time.

I began the year in despair, dealing with an ending and clinging to a thin thread of hope. I began it, too, with some very special people beside me. And while there have been some changes there, I ended the year the same way.

I learned a lot about hope and trust and faith, last year. I learned a lot about what's bottom-line important to me. I learned so much about myself... about the peace that comes when there's nothing left but just myself, and how just myself isn't all that small a thing to have, or to be. I learned that I'm stronger than I thought. I learned that I'm worth more than I'd hoped. I learned that I have more and brighter possibilities than I'd realised. I learned about grace... the thing that comes in when life as you know it is over, and gives life back to you. Almost never the same life you were leading, but sometimes that's all to the good. There are lessons you can't learn without loss. There are rewards you can't earn without the pain of going through the fire... and you never experience a moment of grace unless you've first had the moment of hopelessness before it.

I learned about love, and how terrifying it can be. I always thought I wanted, as everyone does, I think... to be known through and through, loved fully, understood fully. And yet I learned about myself that I've clung to the safety of knowing I could hide things. That not being able to hide things shakes me to the core, especially when the thing I'm trying to hide is something that will cause pain if I can't bury it and deal with it alone. I think it's much the same way that a kite must feel about the string. That connection sustains me, anchors me, lifts me, completes me, lets me fly higher than I could otherwise... but it's always present. I can tug against it, I might be able to break it if I pulled hard enough... but doing so would probably destroy me. I need, and I find that I'm still so very afraid to need... and somehow, knowing this, I still found the strength and courage to voice my feelings; I chose to nurture the bond instead of running as far away as I could possibly go.

I learned about standing alone, and how much of a necessity it is for me to feel complete in myself, regardless of any relationship. I learned that while I've always been able to tolerate my own thoughts and my own company, it's possible to enjoy them. I learned to like the person that I am. I learned that I can enter a bond thinking of myself as offering a gift of myself instead of being accepted in spite of the "fact" that I'm not worth the other party's affection and attention.

I learned to incorporate a great many other people into my life, last year. To consciously choose whom I wanted to include, the colours that complemented mine... and, conversely, to know which colours didn't work for me, and to avoid them. I learned that even though someone is woven into my life at so many points that I can't eliminate their influences without ruining the whole, still the threads that connect us can be snipped, and what's left is myself, better for their influence, but still myself and still whole. More than that, however... I learned that while I choose the pattern of my life for myself, still I'm part of a greater work. I learned that I'm not, and never have been, alone.

So goodbye, 2001. You were a hard taskmaster. You caused me more pain than I thought I could bear, and I shed more tears than I thought I had in me. But the lessons were worth learning. Welcome, 2002. I don't know what you have in store for me. But I know that if hard work and hope can assure it, I'll be happier than last year. I hope I'll grow as much... and I know that no matter what you throw at me, I'll come through it stronger for having endured it, and better off for the lessons.

So I've learned.

(no subject)

There's an edge to my thoughts right now. I've accomplished everything I set out to do today, which, admittedly, wasn't much. There isn't much else I can do any time soon, and I'm sinking into boredom. I can't sit still, can't concentrate too long on anything, and am burning through my regular amusements much too quickly anyway. I want to be doing, and don't have a clue what I want to do. I'm open to suggestions. What should I do to occupy myself right now?

(no subject)

The smile on her face was serene, self-assured, and Kyle stared at her in confusion. "Where are we?" She shrugged. "You'll see." The smile became slightly mischievous, and she turned to go up the hill. Uncomfortable but trusting her, he followed slowly. At the top of the hill, she paused, and grinning, pointed back the way they had come. He blinked, and then stared, unbelieving, at the multitude of small, shining flowers that had sprung up in patches along their trail. Looking down at his feet, he saw that he was standing in the middle of one such patch, and stepped aside, to avoid crushing the fragile things. The stifled giggle from behind him was the perfect complement to the astounded look that grew on his face as flowers suddenly appeared around his feet.

Shaking his head, he swung himself down to a seat beside a tree, and she sat beside him, leaning half against the trunk and half against him. Flowers continued to appear, dotting the hillside, and her grin never wavered. "All right," he said. "You've had your bit of fun, haven't you? Tell me what's going on. What is this place?" She smiled again, impishly, enjoying his discomposure. "Kylara," she responded. "I called it Kylara. As for what it is... well, that's up to you, mostly."

He raised an eyebrow. "Up to me?" "Yup. Do you remember the game?" She watched him intently, grinning as realization dawned. He did, indeed, remember the game. It had occupied them for many nights, over the years... truthfully, he couldn't remember now who had begun it, or when, but it had quickly become a favourite pastime. What would you do, if you could make a place all of your own? One would ask the other, and their imaginings would take them anywhere they dared to go, from ridiculous suggestions to truly sensible ones. "I want trees that grow fruit that shine like moonlight," he had said once. "Or a place with a dozen moons, each a different colour. And why does the sky have to be blue? If I could choose, I'd have lavender skies." He gave her a sharp glance, now, not daring to look up at the sky. "It can't be, can it?" he stumbled over the words. "I mean, it was just a game."

She sobered, now, and met his gaze straightforwardly. "It was just a game at first, yes. But then I decided, why not?" She watched, her expression guarded, as his eyes widened. "You decided? You're responsible for this? How?" He shifted away from her slightly, a trace of fear in his eyes for the first time. She sighed. "It's a long story, Kyle. And there's a lot to do now. I'll tell you all of it another time, is that okay?" He nodded, but didn't relax. She pointed beyond him, to the horizon. There were several globes of different sizes in different positions in the sky. The lavender sky. He shivered slightly, and turned back to her, intrigued despite himself. "Is it all here? All like I imagined it?" She nodded slightly. "Just the way you imagined it, and it changed as you did. You can still change it now, within reason." His glance was a question, and she answered the unspoken query. "You can add, or modify, anything you like. But you can't take anything away, once it's been created. You cannot unmake anything. So be careful."

He shook his head sharply then, as if to clear it, and she sighed and steeled herself for the incipient outburst. "How are you doing this?" His voice was incredulous; strain bordering on harshness showed in his tone. She looked at him calmly, and if she despaired as his features hardened, she did not show it by a single gesture. "I don't believe this," he said abruptly. "You're just Lyssa, you're the same kid who used to tag along behind me and whose bottom I spanked when you needed it. You can't possibly be doing this... what are you?" His voice rose alarmingly, and her jaw clenched momentarily, but her voice was still soft. "You wouldn't understand it if I told you." "Try me." It was a blatant demand, and she reddened with anger. Her tone was deadly soft. "As you like, Kyle. You're presuming on our friendship, but you'll get what you asked for. Hold my hand."

He hesitated, but she did not. Grasping his hand firmly, she closed her eyes for a brief moment... and Kyle screamed, as the ground beneath them fell away. Closing his eyes against the terror and the dizziness, he clung to her, until the sense of stillness and a change in the pressure of her grip on him induced him to look around.

They were floating in nothingness. No stars pierced the utter blackness around them, no sound intruded on the living stillness save for his breathing, labored and rough as it was. He was suddenly absolutely certain that all that sustained him was her will, her grip on his hand, and he trembled. Presently, however, a small, not unsympathetic noise from her distracted him. He looked at her, and a slight motion of her head directed his gaze downward. He caught his breath, then, and wonder replaced fear in his expression. Below them, a jewel more brilliant than any he had ever seen revolved in the silence, as though it took the infinite blackness as the only fitting backdrop for itself. He stared, fascinated, and was aware of drawing closer, his eyes locked on the wonder below.

Facet after facet came slowly to face him, and what he saw brought tears to his eyes. In each facet, as through a window, an ever-changing scene of life. Children, flowers, creatures, things he could not identify, things he had never seen before but which seemed to call to him... all these he saw, and though several times he made as if to hold on to one particular scene, Lyssa's grip on him was unbreakable, and each scene turned slowly away. Finally, feeling as if one more sight he could not hold and could not absorb would break him, he looked away. There was no sense of motion this time, just the feel of solid ground beneath his feet and the release of her grip, and they were back on Kylara. He sank gratefully to the ground beneath the tree, and tried to make some sense of what he had seen.

She allowed him silence for a time, and then said quietly, "There is still work to do. Will you begin it? It should be done soon." He remembered, then, and sat up, something new and unreadable in his expression.

He looked around him. "How would I change something?" "Imagine it," she said firmly. "Just imagine it, and it will be there." He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again and, standing, reached up to the tree. The branches were heavy with silvery globes, and he picked several of these, handing a few to her. When he reached for the last fruit, thinking idly how strange it seemed to have no creatures around at all, something brushed against his ankles. Startled, he looked down to see Lyssa scooping a tiny ball of fur into her arms. "Did I do that?" he asked in surprise. "Yes," she said quietly. "Of course you did." Plucking the fruit he'd been reaching for, he sat down again to examine the small creature.

(more another day.)

whee...

Timing is everything. I now have a story episode in mind... and just as soon as I finish dinner, I'll be back to try to write it out of my mind. *sigh.* See you all soon. :)

Update: I am still adding to the story, I'll edit the entry soon. But here's the beginning. :)

(no subject)

G'night, everyone, sweet dreams. *hugs.*