Alysse Aallyn

Category: #Goddess

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 7 – Bride & Seek

    In the elevator Verne requested: 

    “Game face only.” I was bemused.

    Which game is that?

    “Bride and Seek” – the ancient

    Party game – requires someone 

    Getting locked in an airtight trunk

    Does not end well, as I recall.

    We decanted on the penthouse floor.

    Battle of the Rich Men, I thought,

    Who knew that’s how my

    Weekend would devolve?

     But this man’s apartment seemed really his

    As opposed to Verne’s

    Antiseptic rented rooms – 

    Each gaudy piece carefully curated, 

    Trucked in from God knows where

     Art deco friezes,

    Naked ebony statues –

    Bows & arrows –

    Lots of brass and torchieres.

    And that’s just the hall.

     Leather paneled, copper nailed door 

    Opened before we even rang the bell and 

    A handsome, shorter, older man

    Stood before us in bathrobe and slippers.

    Mirabel with this guy?

    What is the use of beauty

    If this is all it gets you

    Verne’s at least good-looking. 

    “Why, Verne,” he said in a voice even I

    Recognized as jovially false: 

    “What brings you at this hour?

    Please come in.” Bizarre foreign accent

    I couldn’t place.

    He took my hand, mauling it like many

    An unbalanced teacher at my Special School

    for Introducing Adolescents to Adult Subjects

    Long Before They’re Ready.

    I am practiced at closing my mind

    Against these guys

    Even as they woo me.

     “You can only be Mirabel’s lost sister.”

    “That’s just it,” I said, “It’s Mirabel who’s lost, not me.”

    “I’m Ravi Kruptupian,” said the man, 

    Refusing to let go.

    Subtle power struggle – your manners make no

    Purchase here –

    My first flicker of

    Actual fear – alone in the world

    With two strange men who wore

    Compulsive need like ad logos.

    I can’t fault Mirabel for deciding 

     Better disappear than marry amongst this ilk but

    Where does that leave ME?

     “Welcome to my enchanted forest,”

    Said the man in the bathrobe.

    “Please leave your shoes by the door.”

    He slid the bolt as

    We came through.

     “I know it’s late,” Verne began,

    Ravi said, “Never care about the time. Drink?

    Pot of coffee?”

    Kruptupian’s inner rooms did not reassure.

    Dark, hand-carved, certainly fake

    Tree branches projected from the walls

    Displaying riots of glittering glass objects.

    Coffee appeared from

    A wall recess. Why not? 

    Spiked mine with hot milk and brown lump sugar.

    “Where exactly did Mirabel SAY she was going?”

    Asked this man as if he and Mirabel’d never met.

    “Aren’t you supposed to be

    Honeymooning?”

    Was that a tinge of glee I heard?

    I’m sure Verne heard it too.

    He might go off on any moment –

    I didn’t think he was coping well –

    Game face was NOT in evidence.

    We sat in an upholstered leather booth

    Highbacked –

    Plundered from some café.

    “She didn’t say,” said Verne.

     “She was joining us for dinner,”

    I told this strange new man.

    “I just arrived on the six o’clock train.”

    “Sisters can be difficult,” said Ravi.

    “Or so I’ve heard.

    Your relationship was good?”

    Wow! Mirabel wasn’t great at telling folks

    The basic facts about her family.

    Was he implying

    Mirabel left because of ME?

    Two Marshott girls never breathe at once?

    I decided not to get into it.

    “She seemed fine when we tried on clothes together,”

    I began to feel hopped up on coffee.

    Quit that stuff

    Before the shaking hands. I

    Banged my mug upon his shiny table.

    “I heard you knew her well.”

    Let him think she’d squealed –

    I smiled in a way that forecloses

    Further questions and

    He blinked indulgently.

    “I haven’t heard a word 

    Since her going away party.”

    Ripple of surprise from Verne.

     “Going-away party” unknown to groom?

    Ravi kept smiling. 

    He had a lot of teeth.

    “Maybe she needs a honeymoon alone

    I heartily recommend 

    Fall in love with your SELF first.”

    We did not believe him for a minute –

    He was needling Verne.

    This bad conversation somehow seemed

    To be endlessly getting worse.

    “She certainly had the means –

     I gave her a generous parting gift

    Then found out she helped herself to more.”

    His face hardened, steely-eyed.

    “I didn’t know until she tried to fence my stones.”

    “Mirabel stole from you?”  spluttered Verne.

    “Who knows what went through her mind,” 

    Ravi spread his hands in apology.

    “She may have been confused about my gift.

    No harm done.

    Jacobson returned the stones.”

    What did all this mean? Don’t worry about Mirabel,

    She’s just a little thief?

    Disappearing from humiliation, exposure & shame?

    I felt surge of prosecutorial passion:

    Was it possible to get to the bottom of this?

    Never had “game face” seemed so

    Dangerous and unappealing.

    “She worked for you?”

    I tried to clarify.

     “She was my scout. She brought me – 

    Things I might want to buy.”

    Verne’s boil burst.

    “She never for anything with me!”

    He sounded ready for a fight

    But defending his money, his charm or

    My sister?

    Ravi skirted the issue

    With old-world politesse.

    “Women keep some expenses private.”

    That’s true as dirt;

    My mother calls it “mad money”.

    A hundred dollars tucked inside

    Your bra. Verne would never best this man

     Except in hotness and

    Eligibility. Someone

    Needed to tell him he was “enough”;

    Probably that was Mirabel’s job

    And she got tired of doing it.

    I was not the one to explain to him.

    I pursued investigation.

    “Did she call you?”

    Ravi pulled out his phone. 

    Flicked through content. “I don’t see it.”

    “She took a car to the wilds of Brooklyn,”

    Verne asserted, coming back up

    Like a Bobo doll.

    “Know anything about that?”

    He was overly combative – this

    Wouldn’t get us anywhere.

    “What address?” At least

    Ravi seemed interested.

    Luckily Verne recalled it.

    Ravi remained impassive.

    “I’ve got no information.”

    Verne stood up. This felt bad.

    “Sure she isn’t hiding here? Using some old key?”

    Ravi rose too. 

    Short but still impressive.

    “She never had a key. She couldn’t enter

     Without my knowing. I’d rather

    My house guests weren’t disturbed.”

    Verne veered away. Fisticuffs avoided.

    Ravi walked us  – miming helpfulness

    Towards the door.

    “I suggest missing persons.

    Get police involved.”

    He seemed to know this would insult Verne further

    And it did but Verne shook it off, 

    A punch-drunk fighter.

    “What good are they?”

    Ravi pushed his luck.

    “Troll the basics – hospitals and morgues.”

    Verne’s face melted into gargoyle. 

    Turning to me Ravi backtracked –

    “Likely bridal nerves?  The engagement was

    So sudden.”

    “We’ve been together forever!”

    Verne barked. I took his arm.

    “Sorry if we’ve inconvenienced you.”

    Somehow the door got opened.

    “No problem. Let me know if she turns up.”

    I shoehorned Verne outside.

    “You’ll tell us if she calls?”

    “If that’s what Mirabel wants.”

    I got the door shut before Verne

    Attacked him.

    “I hate that guy! He’s so disgusting!

    How I wish we hadn’t come!”

    I thought he might weep.

    The elevator opened without a

    Summons. This whole place seemed

    Intent on ridding itself of us.

    But Verne resisted. “I bet she’s in there.”

    He looked back longingly.

    “I bet she’s not.” I muscled him

    Into the elevator.

     “How do you know?”

    He looked at me as if I had

    Magic powers.

    “He accused Mirabel of stealing!”

    Verne blew that off.

    “Mirabel’s light-fingered.

    He steals from the world, she steals from him.”

    He didn’t seem to realize 

    This philosophy could apply to him.

    Why marry someone you can’t trust?

    One more thing I still don’t get

    About Adult World.

    I reassured him.

    “She burned that bridge. I could tell.”

    Verne taxed me with how I knew –

    Sneering, “Woman’s intuition?”

    Since he couldn’t trust Mirabel

    How could he trust me?

    Needing me made him hate me.

    I would have to manage him 

    Like a parent. Like poor

    Mirabel herself. Luckily

    He relaxed into the car without more fuss.

    I said, humoresque – “I’m psychic.”

    I say that to my folks because

    They’re just so clueless about

    Others’ vital signs –

    How else explain the obvious? But

    Verne’s whole face changed. He became

    Pathetically excited.

    “Of course!” he said.

    “The sister thing! It creates

    A Psychic link. I have no siblings. 

    Tell me what you feel?

    Where’d she go?”

    The driver also needed to know:

    Where to?

    We put him on pause while

    I equivocated. 

     “I haven’t seen her in so long,

    The connection’s fogged.”

    The only thing I knew for sure was

    Mirabel must hate Ravi just like I did.

    “I need to get to know her again.”

    “Tell me where to go,” said Verne.

    Then he invoked the magic words.

    “I’ll do anything.”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Mirabel’s been hard to pin down lately. 

    Then suddenly she changed. This marriage idea.”

    Did he blush or blanch?  I couldn’t

    See clearly in the darkening light but

    His throat trembled raw

    With pent emotion.

    My face must have betrayed 

    My distaste

    Because he hurried to explain.

    “She’s been trying to

    Talk me into seeing her family. 

    A wedding to erase her

    Great Silence. I thought we were 

    Two avatars alone. I imagined 

    A woman to stand with me against the world.”

    How rich, I thought, literally, 

    For a man with a title based on family 

    To disown that very concept.

    But to quarrel seemed

    Perfidious, and once again,

    The youngest person in the room

    I was silenced and shamed.

    He leaned back in his chair

    As beef wellington arrived.

    “I’m amazed you existed, frankly.

    I thought the little sister

    Was another of her stories.

    Kudos to your parents.”

    I stared nauseated

    At beef wellington –

    Perhaps I’m vegan after all.

    This party made me gag.

    “I’m so glad you’re you,

     Just like her but so

    Unspoiled.”

    Never had a compliment

    Felt more like an insult.

    What kind of talk was this from

    A prospective groom?

    And any idea that my parents “made” me

    Is creepy and revolting.

    “Mirabel and I are opposites,” I stressed

    Too angrily before I considered.

    “How can THAT be?”

    He was smug. Superior.

    I schooled him.

    “She cares what others think and

    I just don’t.”

    That should have stopped him but –

    It didn’t. He smiled

    Indulgently.

    “Sisterhood is powerful.

    I see she’s got “the drop”

    On me,” he emphasized the slang

    Like any English lord raised on 

    American movies.

    Unable to be me;

    Unable to read him,

    Know him, change him.

    Is this the dawning of

    Despair? It makes me hate

    The grown-up world. 

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 3 – The Lost Sister

    I realized with horror that

    I was going to cry.

    Seemed I’d never expected

    To actually see her

    She was a scam  – a myth –

    Like so many ones

    She pleasured to perpetrate

     On our poor parents.

    “Darling!” Threw her skinny arms out

    And kissed the air.

    “You escaped!

    You’re all grown up!”

    She was shorter than me now –

    A tiny person-

    How I laughed.

    Laughed with relief – 

    Suddenly I was initiated into

    Her exclusive club

    Two of us against the world

    Superiority & sisterhood.

    She’d always known – none better

    How difficult parents are.

    They didn’t need me to protect them

    Running my own modest scams

    To engineer breathing room

    Took all the help I could get.

    Could it be time for Mirabel and me 

    To grow up together?

    I’d have a New York City sister –

    Married to a lord 

    Providing escape anytime.

    Mirabel tossed Verne a burning look –

    “Get us drinks?”

    And dragged me –

    Literally DRAGGED me –

    Into a double-doored bedroom where she

    Swept me down upon the white flokati rug

    And gazed deeply in my eyes.

    I felt a bit of a hostage at that point

    To tell you the truth.

    She seemed more desperate for ME –

    A nobody fourteen year old –

    Than I was for her.

    How could this be Mirabel?

     So much smaller than my memory –

    Disappearing before my eyes in fact,

    Running away

    As she had seemed to do 

    The whole of my existence –

    Shoulders folding together

    Over her knees –

    Dress size diminishing

    Smaller, ever smaller.

    How could this tiny thing

    Ever strut a catwalk?

    Blondness was history

    She was a redhead now.

    She caught me staring at her scarred

    Upper lip and covered it

    With a gesture I recalled

    As if moving her hand fast enough

    I wouldn’t see it. “Too many

    Piercings gone haywire,” she explained.

    Apologizing to me

    For the ruin

    Of her beauty.

    Something rattled at our door – Mirabel called –

    “We’re naked!”

    Pulled me into giggles –

    “Leave it outside!”

    She covered my mouth and signaled with 

    Humongous eyes –

    Crawling to the door she –

    Peeked out low –

    Pulled in a

    Champagne bucket and a pair of flutes.

    My face must have showed

    Surprise at his exclusion; but

    She said: “Grooms get in the WAY 

    Of weddings! No one wants them!”

    She lifted an unsteady

    Rock-wearing hand to toast –

    “Men! You know! They want to

    Decide everything but weddings are the

    Bride’s-” She gasped and gagged 

    As if from desert thirst – as if

    She’d never had such wine.

    “You can’t think what pleasure it is

    Finally getting rid of him – too much

    Togetherness destroys

    The hardiest relationship.”

    I sipped sedately, even though

    The brew frothed my sinus

    Parked burning foam

    Behind my eyes.

    How COULD this be Mirabel?

    The way she looked at me –

    Something stank of 

    Imposture and deceit.

    I just can’t say –

    I’m far too new –

    It’s just too weird.

    She was my sister and yet not.

    She leaned too close to

     Touch my hair.

    “They should have named you

    Maribel so we’d be twins.”

    The door opened and Verne stood over us

    Looked reproving as

    Mirabel fell away.

    But he was mild enough 

    Laying dress bags on the bed.

    He winked and

    Then was gone

    Door slightly left ajar –

    Pointedly, I thought –

    Mirabel closed it with her foot,

    Called, “See you at dinner!”

    I felt sorry for the poor groom –

    Then we heard the outer door slam and

    Mirabel unzipped bags briskly after

    Topping off her glass with

    Vodka from a bottle by the bed.

    “Bad champagne,” she excused herself,

    “In Europe, babies drink this stuff.”

    I studied the bottle –

    Beau Joie Brut Special Cuvée –

    “Brute” champagne 

    Sharpened me like

    Winter air when you can

    See farther, fly further

    Or think that you can.

    Mirabel offered her bottle.

    “No thanks.”

    And drained her tulip glass

    And spoke my words.

    ”You’ve changed,” she commented.

    Did I drink vodka at eight years old?

    I said, “So have you.”

    “My hair hated being blonde.”

     “Is he really a lord?”

    Mirabel rolled her eyes.

    “Unfortunately.” At my surprise she added –

    “It’s a cruel trick if

     You can’t do anything you want.”

    Shrugged.

    “At least the restaurants like it.”

    “And you’ll be –“

    “Lady Verne.”

    Unexcited at the prospect.

    Opposite of what

    Old Mirabel would have thought

    She followed the doings & undoings of

    European princelings in 

    Vogue magazine.

    I probed deeper.

    “You just met?”

    “God no, we’ve been together FOREVER –

    And only now we tie the knot. But you!”

    She spun me all around.

    “You’re so tall! And thin!”

    I found myself apologizing.

    “I can’t stop eating –

    “I must grow so fast because I eat

    Whatever I can find.”

     “After the wedding,”

    Mirabel promised

    “We’ll do a purge.”

    Sounds like a great honeymoon

    I thought but didn’t say.

    She was not making out a

    Great campaign for aristocracy &

    Marriage.

    “Think you’d fit a four?”

    The dress she flourished was pale gold,

    A fairytale gown with an endlessly flounced

     Puffy skirt. My gasp 

    Relaxed her. And she smiled.

    Most beautiful dress I’d ever seen.

    “Let’s find out!” I

    Almost dropped my wineglass in

    Excitement. Rapidly

    Stripped to totally unsightly sports bra

    And cartoon briefs.

    I knew we’d try on clothes

    But I owned no decent lingerie.

    “Can’t wear a bra,” said Mirabel.

    “You don’t need one anyway.

    I’ll cinch you in.”

    She gazed too long at my sad breasts

    A man’s gaze I thought –

    This dress had ribbons for corset strings 

    and Mirabel cinched me tight.

    “There!” The mirror exposed a stranger. 

    I was a new person.

    “A little short, maybe” said Mirabel,

    “With the right shoes…”

    From the closet she threw out flats.

    Disappointing – but –

    Bridesmaid shouldn’t tower over bride! 

    Maid of honor harnessing

    The clashing egos! 

    In weird familial telepathy

    Mirabel said,

    “Princess Richenda

     To the Dark Tower came.

    Just like in the

    Tarot cards.”

    In the mirror

    I admired my nude

    Beribboned back.

     “How about your dress?”

     “You’ve seen it.”

    It was like the breath went out of her.

    She tossed it out – they were identical.

    How could that be?

    Wasn’t that too strange?

    I was gobsmacked –

    Never heard of bride and bridesmaid

    Wearing the same dress –

    Think of the confusing pictures – 

    People getting entirely

    Wrong ideas. 

    Sounds like bad luck-

    Guaranteeing

    The groom will see the gown

    Before they’re hitched

    If you believe in that sort of thing.

    Mirabel’s dress was

    Smaller – size “zero” –

    Competitive,

    Combative Mirabel.

    She knocked my phone right out of my hand –

    “No pictures till the wedding.”

    Her pressured speech rushed on –

    “We’ve got to dress for dinner.”

    She checked her phone.

    “What will you wear?”

    I looked embarrassed at my

    Corduroy skirt

    Discarded like a 

    Shriveled carapace along the floor.

    Mirabel threw open mirrored

    Doors to reveal another bedroom –

    This one stocked with girlish stuff.

    “This room is yours -”

    She told me –

    “He’s staying at The Stanhope.”

    I blushed – I don’t know why

    He’d called it “his” place –

    And these closets were packed

    With Mirabel clothes so

    Where did I fit in?

    My sister unbound my dress –

    I’m not used to

    Clothes that need assistants.

     “You can borrow anything.”

    Tossed out a slinky gown green with

    Scales that matched my eyes

    Still with price tags –

    I’d never had a dress this costly.

    No bra here either –

    I dangerously chose heels that made me

    Six feet tall – but Mirabel

    Didn’t seem to mind –

    She gave me smoky eye, nude mouth and

    Emerald glitter.

    “Verne hates lipstick.”

    But she wore plenty –

    Cherry red to match her dress –

    I felt lucky anyway

    To be transformed.

    Now I was an impostor too.

    “He’s waiting at the Stanhope Bar.”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 2 –  @Valerian

    Once Mom had exited

    I fell contentedly into

    Wondering:

    Who would Mirabel be now?

    When I turned ten

    I followed her face &

    Body through

    Inter-space but in

    Three long years  

    But there’s been nothing to see.

    I fully comprehend

    That shiny airbrushed people

    Don’t resemble that really. But

    Mirabel was always gorgeous;

    Swimming through some

    Different air; her

    Huge eyes and Roman nose teased & promising

    Cavernous depths of soul.

    We all want to believe that beautiful people

    Get everything they want out of life;

    Otherwise what’s the point –

    Yet the Mirabel I’d known

    Deliberately evaded us;

    Abjuring the fold

    Unless needing something.

    At eight years old I had learned

    She was a mysterious gift-giver

    Like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy

    In whom it would be unwise to

    Believe.

    So, as my train slid into the darkness

     Of Grand Central tunnel I texted the number 

    They gave me with “Train on time” &

    Happiness emoji. 

    Of course I wanted to delete it

    Immediately;

    But as the sole bridesmaid –

    Wasn’t I 

    The real Maid of Honor?

    Obligated to planning

    If not excitement but

    No response from Mirabel.

    Someone called 

    “@Valerian” tweeted: “I’m meeting you. 

    M. otherwise occupied as usual.

    Look for red hunting coat.”

    Who was Valerian?  Where was Mirabel?

    Did fiancé have charge of her phone?

    Possibly he cloned it;

    My friend Derek does that.

    Forced fresh perspective:

    If parents had known

    There wasn’t a Mirabel

    Would they let me come?

    That was the emotion Mirabel engendered

    I well remembered –

    She was a genius at 

    Preparing the faithful –

    “Softening us up”

    For future hard times. 

    This means never forthrightly

    Telling those Inconvenient truths.

    As the train lurched to stop I vaulted upwards 

    Greeting myself in the

    Mirroring windows. The girl 

    “Valerian” would see

    Passable in gray skirt, shiny thigh high 

    Pink leather boots, subtly highlighted 

    Nut brown hair. Nothing to compete

    With Mirabel’s blond goddess-hood.

    Free from Mom’s diminishing thumb

    I could exaggerate my eyes – 

    Outline my cheekbones

    Use lips to suggest

    Goddess potential all my own.

    The sight of my made-up face 

    Makes me feel hopeful.

    I didn’t answer that text:

    Stranger-Danger ever-present;

    If I didn’t like the look of him

    I could Uber myself – 

    Once I knew where I was going.

    I  bet on my chances;

    There were other girls on this train –

    I had a hat and sunglasses

    I’ve been melting into crowds

    Once I learned how to walk.

    Problem; my idiot mother

    Sent pictures

    Proud as she was –

    Cross-eyed in her fearfulness –

    If he was the one trying to

    Friend me –

    He’d already seen me grow up.

    Ugh!

    How the past follows us!

    Tortures us; cramping our style!

    How I long to be known 

    Yet forever undiscovered

    Wild virginal territory

    The better to project myself 

    Into the brains of others –

    Ultimate Observer.

    I’m aware

    It makes no damn sense

    To wish for admiration and 

    A the same time 

    Disappear – could it be

    We’re all the stalkers of our dreams?

    Threw diary, book, magazine

    Into my capacious carpet-bag –

    Diaries take one

    Only so far –

    Scribble scribble

    Ratcheting up while 

    Tamping down

    All the sharp points of life. 

    Fell rather than walked

    Down ungainly steps and My God

    There he was-

    Guarding the escalators, in his famous

    Red coat.

    Mirabel would NEVER come 

    Way down here 

    “To the tracks” –

    Hoi polloi, déclassé –

    But this sharp face looked eager

    Gladdening to see me.

    Was he

    A sight for eyes too young to be sore?

    Tall physique; you’d say

    “Distinguished,” but 

    Foreign looking, really,  in spite of 

    American jeans and that red down parka.

    The closer I got the more

    Startlingly handsome appeared

    That knife-planed face –

    Curly undisciplined black hair –

    Couldn’t stare long because

    He grinned at the sight of me. 

    No possibility of escape –

    Nor desire really 

    Wasn’t this more fun 

    Than forging some raw

    Uncomfortable relation with

    The long-lost sister?

  • Purrsiflage – Welcome to Your Daily Cat Zen with Alysse Aallyn

    Feb 21

    When You Wake Up This Morning – You realize, the future weighs on you. Will you be found wanting? 

    This is a Message from the Multiverse – these oppressive anxieties match with universal preoccupations. The planets slow when we don’t acknowledge their power. Let’s make friends with our anxieties. Uncertainly beleaguers us. Is there a way to divine the future? 

    Consult Your Dreams. The Number One question people have about dreams is, Are they prophetic? And the answer is of course YES. We KNOW the “truth’. We fear the truth.  We don’t want to face the truth. We tremble at the continuing “losses” of age because the accretions are so hard to see. But our dreams – and the collective unconscious – KNOW what is going on. We are weaving straw into gold on a daily basis, transmuting the physical into the spiritual. 

    Dreams are also Art, and art – especially good art – is as forcefully mysterious, meaningful and evocative as any living thing. It changes as you change.  It changes depending on how you look at it. 

    If Purrsons Need Truth. Purrsons Must Accept Revelation – Dreams tell us when to be afraid. Dreams warn when something is missing. Dreams uncover all the secrets you have been keeping from yourself.  

    The First Obligation : Purrsons Accept is that the truth will set you free.  The second, is that although it can be terrifying, the truth is necessary. Purrsons spurn the hiding, lying, misrepresentation, that substitutes for truth. 

    Purrsons Can Handle the Truth – We are human, we are imperfect, and we need each other. Humans need governance and law to regulate our natural blindness and selfishness (which some would call original sin) into peaceful accord. The truth also is also that humans who lust only for power will eternally angle to get themselves into positions of control, exclusion and punishment. These impulses must be identified and weeded out and it is courageous, difficult, and really unwelcome work, because we Purrsons, we loving, generous Purrsons also have our own lives to live. 

    Purrson Danger – Our dreams notify us when one of these lethal persons is in our midst. Our maps & models offer a variety of plans for confrontation and escape, and a recipe for courage. At the present time, the Lethal Persons are banding together and hoarding weapons to give themselves even more guarantees for power and opportunities to welcome our despair. 

    Purrson Promise – Jesus said evil will not win. The challenge is to explore what ELSE he said, indeed, what is the message of all the great teachers? People who tell you to hate one another and go to war with one another are agents of evil. The first challenge is to create peace in our own hearts, peace in our own lives, peace in our own homes, and then start developing compassion for those who are not so lucky. 

    When Brutal Tactics and Empty Promises are Exposed as family destroyers, peace destroyers and community destroyers, we see clearly that efforts to spread and share despair come from an innate desire to surmount despair, but also that this has never worked and is not working.  It allows the torturer (and the tortured) only the briefest respites. Only when the goal of increasing world suffering is finally given up can we welcome penitents back into the communion of equality. 

    Models & Mentors – “We write the future moment to moment” – Pema Chodron 

    “The best prophets lead you up to the curtain and leave you to peer through for yourself” – Frank Herbert 

    “The greatest thing a human soul can accomplish in this world is to see that poetry, prophecy & religion all are one”– John Ruskin 

    “The best way to predict the future is to create it”– Abraham Lincoln 

    “Yesterday has gone, tomorrow has not come, let us begin” – Mother Teresa

  • The Book of You – Haiku Diary by Alysse Aallyn

    #Haiku: What Lies Beneath

    Shocked pond

    Won’t settle. I’m

    Alert for

    Deep reveals –

    Clearing – 

    Wait –

    See –

    Know

  • The Book of You – Haiku Diary by Alysse Aallyn

    #Haiku:  Wildflowers

    Immaculate

    Gardens

    Night-side

    Fantasize wilderness

    Ravishment

  • The Book of You – Haiku Diary by Alysse Aallyn

    #Haiku: Passion

    Confront
    Reality;
    Borrow Courage from
    Radical Acceptance

  • The Book of You – Haiku Diary by Alysse Aallyn

    #Haiku: The Lovers

    Falling upwards

    Into you

    My other wing, my second

    Clapping hand

  • The Book of You – Haiku Diary by Alysse Aallyn

    #Haiku: Creativity

    You: 

    Immortalized;

    Fireborn

    Force majeure

    Create

    Become –

    Exalt

    You.