Niko’s Eye

Chapter 48.

Isis.

Her face looked like it was going to drop off.

Did I hear right?

Angry eyes in the vulnerable are a sign of stress that should never have come their way. In a healthy society stress goes up, not down, the social strata. Once it is drawn out, they can express sadness and recover, perhaps in time become strong enough to be a protector and rise to trusted positions reserved for psychologically mature protectors.

The soul translation of angry eyes is "I have activated my emotional indifference. I could kill and not care one bit. So back off." Thus one needs to have great self control in how, when and to whom it is deployed. For such stares are a deliberate removal of the sense of safety, a warning as clear as a drawn sword.

I’m dreaming of sun soaked patios, of sipping good coffee as I take in a pleasant vista. I find myself in this daydream more and more. My subconscious is asking for a vacation, God knows I’ve earned that and more. And with it comes a rising sense of apathy that only shocks to the system can override. Yet this is a road to burnout and the longer term wisdom is to take a rest, to find that patio in the sun. And then I gotta deal with this s**t.

Isis’ soft, hazel eyes had turned with a red, fiery glint.

"What did you say?"

What the f**k is going on?

I feel the shifting of gears within the cosmos. The universe has begun to change course. A different future is coming, a better one that we would have had if the generations had not struggled for love, sung for love and strived to take good care of creation. What we do builds on the goodness our ancestors left as their legacy. These trajectories toward apocalpse are challenging to shift, yet that is what is happening. It is time we shifted up a gear too, double down, bite it, whatever phrase gets you moving with ever greater determination to bring a better world for this and future generations. My friends, this is big.

Isis felt it in her bones. Her life was about to change and there was no going back from it.

He was reliable in telling the truth, not sugar coated but still told real soft so that my heart could take it in, so that my ego would let it enter with a free pass. I was always responsible for myself, I never wanted anyone to have liability for the choices I made. What I do, I do. Yet when the chips were down he was around, a steady presence, a person who could bring a sense of safety.

I always wanted to be an author, to write stories that brought people joy. I wanted to tell of the ways to love, how to be a source of greatness in even when your path is filled with sharp flints. I wanted to tell tales of the beauty that is everywhere if you dare to seek it, and that this universal love is enough to sustain you. I guess it’s a sort of survival guide to hostile environments, or to a toxic era where the love we need to build our brains and have health is either in short or unreliable supply. So that was my childhood ambition, to save the world one little story at a time and grow the pool of love until everyone could at least see the pain that has been killing us all, to stop blaming other seafarers for the storm and instead help me in the only quest that can save us all.

She thought about her own ambitions in life and the bad things that have been happening to her.

Isis cast her eyes out to the driveway.

Everything perfect just as the day before. New cars in clean concrete driveways and asphalt roofs without moss. But every day there was something new to be scared of: a new disease, new terrorists. Sometimes the news was full of distractions: a hero cat or a rescued dog. Yet somewhere out there millions of people, children too, were suffering from malnutrition and lack of health care, stuck in painful lives with no forward motion or way out. She had considered long and hard, she didn’t want to be some conspiracy theorist wacko, but there was something wrong with the picture. Did someone out there want her to be both scared and distracted? Why was that? The feeling had been growing inside her for sometime now, and finally the words tumbled onto her blank page; "Our truth is fiction but our fiction holds the truth." Buried in those stories are the tales of real people, how they live, love and struggle for what is right by themselves and by God...

"Ask me for help, just ask. I promise that when you do, it is a blessing on us both. To help is a gift; to be asked is trust and the start of a bond. It is one way we love one another more deeply. So when I give to you, it is with love and gratitude. What else are we here for other than to show our love in our actions? "

Alejandro looked at her and sighed.

Alejandro.

When you are a dreamer, mess happens, because your brain is so happy playing with concepts and ideas. Yet we also work better in a neatly ordered environment that is clean and clutter free, and so those moments spent with focus on your home are well worth it.

Disorientation is part of the magic, part of the fascination of the new and interesting. When all this becomes normal, think back to this moment and feel blessed.

Alejandro was a little bit nervous. Although he knew that Isis knew that he was a murderer, it was just that he didn’t go into detail about who he killed and why.

I wait for a biological push, a greedy motivation, a meanness, a desire for power, then comes my push to go further, to do more damage, sickly sweet and addictive. You make the choice, you form the negative intention, all I do is help you along the path toward becoming a demon (a de-man). How many of you still cry when you see a dying baby elephant? How many of you care when others hurt? Do you still care if to do so lost you money or power or prestige? Do keep loosing your integrity, being afraid to see what you’ve become, because though I cannot make a world, there’s nothing quite like destroying them a paper-cut (pay-per-cut) at a time. The hijack of the "karma system" was my best hack yet. The fear keeps you primitive and lusting for revenge and status. The greed keeps you destroying Earth as you pray for salvation. You should see it from here; I’m not sure you’d still call yourselves ’humanity’ though.

Alejandro zoned out to the person he used to be.

Should I just revert to my old self to make this easier for myself? Never. I can’t be such a coward.

But, We are born to need love for the proper development of the brain and body, lack of it brings a long pain that can only end when reliable loving bonds are established. Neglect can be obvious or subtle, it can be physical, emotional or both. It can be cold or flashed with periods of hot temper and damage. It can even be interspersed with loving moments - either way, the loving bonds can’t form and the pain of neglect goes on.

Apathy comes when rest is appropriate, it evaporates when body and soul are refuelled and happy. Yet, as a warrior, we often have to push through it for the sake of others and get the job done. It is challenging, very challenging. God chooses the tough ones for this reason. If you are the kind that gets back up after a winding punch, you’re in. That’s why the road to heaven is hell. It’s a choice and a duty. So, if you want to join in, come. If not, stay right there. I’ll respect you either way.

But he looked at her and couldn’t move.

Right now I’m paralysed by FOMU - fear of messing up. I love you and that’s tough to admit to myself and to you. I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing, of doing the wrong thing, of my lack of confidence being the thing that is actually the wrong thing. I need to get over that so I can give us a chance. It’s scary though, love is scary when you meet the one.

When you meet "The One" they are as a tree in dunes of sand and your biggest fear becomes that they will leave. Before you imagined the world as an oasis but you realise you can’t hallucinate that anymore. If they go, you are alone even if there are others. That’s halloween and Christmas right there, that’s true love, the curse and the blessing always in proportion.

"I was a murderer and the most significant person that I’ve killed, that you sort of know, is Ignatius."