Strange imaginings in difficult times.
|Smoke and mirrors, he thought. They say it’s all done with smoke and mirrors.
As though he’d been there throughout Time, images looming large in the mists of his memories, only to fade mysteriously away. A weird time warp. Strange moments of his personal history floating past his mind’s eye.
His view jaundiced by the potential for evil in too many of the planet’s population, he was unable to ignore the tragedies of humankind—the headlong rush to destroy perceived enemies; precious older ways of the world. Through an eternity, he’d tried to grasp that elusive treasure, freedom—and lock it forever in a place no other could invade... his soul.
Whispers of 9/11 flooded his mind… and heart. That great muscle controlling his being contracted in a tight, painful grip, as though he was there, near-choking on the acrid smoke of doom, hearing the buildings’ death shrieks cloaking their human counterparts’ denial. The pain of seeing the unimaginable… that this tragic and wanton destruction gave someone somewhere the illusion of power? The monster of destruction hatred creates… and the power of love to override all—to heal, no matter how long it takes. His mind’s eye darkened to a blue-black hue.
The eyes he showed the world held a different intensity; the expression in those bottomless depths telling the world he’d had enough. He was coming out from his corner fighting… and nothing would stand in his way but Death itself. Despite the increasing smoke, he felt as Freedom Fighters must, prepared to risk all, resist all—
The reality of the approaching bushfire interrupted his musings, hammered home by the terse words of the fire crew commander, “We have to get out of here NOW!”