How to Change the World

To Greet the Sun by Barb Black

This is for everyone. All of us. All of them. All of you. Even me. If you're going to read this with an attitude of "Oh, she's talking to them..." or, "See, she's on my side..." just stop reading now. You won't get it, any of it, and I get pissed off if my words are wasted. This is for everyone.

You won't change the world by admonishing people to love each other. You change it by loving.

You won't change the world by preaching to your personal choir(s) on social media whereupon you get enough "likes" to feel self-satisfied or enough opposing opinions to feel justified. You change the world by doing something in and for the world you live in. Little things work, by the way, even simple stuff like holding a door.

You won't change the world by complaining. Stop it. Just stop it. Shit happens. There's no such thing as a fairy godmother. There's no god just waiting for a plea from you so he/she/it can waltz in and hold mighty sway. You change the world by doing. Yes, you. And you. And you over there looking around for someone else to do it first.

You won't change the world through exclusion, but through inclusion. You change the world through listening and gaining understanding. Even if you don't agree, even if you decide to walk away later, at least listen to what the other has to say. You'll learn something from it about your fellow human, and knowledge is a powerful thing.

You won't change the world by belittling others, by mocking them, by posting ugly pictures of them at their worst, by responding to their cruelty with cruelty. You change the world by rising above their behavior(s) and teaching others to rise above their behavior(s).

You won't change the world by claiming to accept diversity and then putting those diverse folks into separate little groups where they must stay forever to continue on in your acceptance. Every person of color I know is different from every other person of color. Every gay person I know is different from every other gay person I know. Every disabled person is different from every other disabled person I know. And everyone I know changes all the fucking time, every day, because we're all fickle, silly humans and that's what fickle, silly humans do. You change the world by recognizing diversity and finding common ground on which to build.

You won't change the world by moaning about how bad you've got it. You change the world by helping someone who doesn't have it as good as you do without expecting anything in return. I mean it. I don't want to hear about how you helped someone and they turned around and shit on you. Too bad. It happens to all of us. You did right, they did wrong, let Karma sort it.

You won't change the world by quoting Gandhi. Just be the damned change already. Be it. Embody it. Cast a great big fucking shadow. Bigger! It works, I tell you. An Example: I love to laugh, and a few years ago I decided the world needed more laughter. So, I made it my "thing" to try to make someone laugh every day (several someones if I was lucky, but one would do). In doing that, I found I was laughing a lot more simply by being amused at the amusement of others. The bonus was/is, funny people began to appear in my life - people with a real sense of humor and a kindred spirit appreciation of the absurd. I was no longer alone in my peculiar take on the world and its inhabitants.

You won't change the world by pointing out all the negative shit going on everywhere all the time. We're all well aware that the world is going to Hell in a hand basket. You change the world by being a positive influence, by as Mother Teresa once said, doing small things with great love. I don't know anyone who ever died worrying whether they'd done enough for a cause, but I do know several who died wondering what about their influence on the lives of those around them - did they love enough and were they loved. Mostly it was did they love enough. Did they show it enough.

So, I say it again. You won't change the world by admonishing people to love each other. You change the world by loving. To paraphrase Stephen King, everything else is eventual.

Oh, but do yourselves a favor? Stop watching the news (or reading it on the internet) all the time. The only people who are gaining anything from the news are those who own the agencies and the corporate sponsors. The Ubiquitous They post the worst possible shit because they know that fickle, silly humans love a good train wreck, and that They will make money off it. And for fuck's sake, stop spending so much time and effort in that depressive suck known as social media.

The Oracle, albeit a tad cranky, has spoken.

With Teeth

Here's a creepy little Winter's tale I penned a few years ago - the ramblings of my runaway imagination during my winter up on the mountain (back deck pictured above). Thought some of you might enjoy a break from the Summer heat. Then again, maybe not.

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Annie listened to the wind howl and watched the fire dance to its song. She heard what had to be a pretty good sized limb snap off of a tree outside. She pulled the blanket tighter around her as her thoughts drifted to her Great Grandpa's WWII stories. Grape Pop - a name Annie had bestowed upon him when she was a toddler who thought that great and grape were the same word - had been dead for a decade now. Still, he was never far from Annie's mind. Shivering, she recalled his story about spending most of an entire winter huddled in a foxhole. When she was little and he would mention how that winter had been one "with teeth", Annie couldn't help but picture a small, vicious creature made entirely of snow and baring teeth of tiny, razor-sharp icicles. As if on cue she heard a scurrying noise in the attic and made a mental note to buy mousetraps next time she went shopping.

This winter was definitely one of those kind with teeth. Even on the mountain, four feet of snow in less than a month was a little excessive. She could count on one hand the days that she'd actually had power, and she had already burned through a quarter of a cord of wood. "I'm not complaining," she said to the scurrying noise in the attic. "I love the snow, and I love living here in the middle of nowhere." The noise stopped as if the maker of it was considering her statement, so she continued. "It's just that if I'm going to live without power, I'm going to have to find an old manual typewriter so I can finish writing my book." Scurry. "Hey! There's no need to be that way. I only hate that idea because those things don't come with auto-correct and there's no delete button."

Annie realized that not only was she talking to an unseen rodent, but that she was also imagining that it was giving her cognizant responses. She'd heard of people living alone in the mountains for so long that they went a little, as her nephew would say, "gone-zers." She wondered if Gone-zers knew they were going gone-zers, if there was a moment of clarity when they thought, "I've gotta get off this fuckin' mountain!" They'd step out of their cabins only to be held at bay by an army of rat-sized monsters made of snow, all gnashing their teeth in anticipation of a tasty morsel of human flesh.

Annie shook her head and sighed. She stood up, clutching the blanket around her, and went into the kitchen. She filled the kettle with water and set it to boil on the camp stove that she kept on top of the electric stove that was failing to be any kind of use lately. She opened the cupboard and brought out a mug, tea, sugar, and whisky. Once her concoction was properly brewed and medicated, she took it back to the living room. She curled up on the sofa in front of the fire and held the mug up to her nose. She closed her eyes and let the steam and the scent coming from the mug wrap around her head in warm fingers. She took a first tentative sip and felt the heat from the tea and the whisky burst in her chest and send hot tendrils into her arms and down her torso. "Take that snow monsters," she taunted the imaginary beasts with icicle teeth. "That's right. We're only tasty when we're freezing, aren't we." Scurry. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. We don't need any opinions from the peanut gallery," she yelled up at the ceiling. Scurry. "Defiant little bastard."

Hours later Annie awoke, still wrapped in the blanket on the sofa. The fire had burned down to embers. Light that felt all wrong was filtering through the window. Annie scrubbed at her eyes with her hands and looked again. "Fuck me," she muttered. The light was all wrong because snow had drifted up to the top of the picture window frame. "That's at least a seven foot drift!" She complained to no one in particular. She stoked the remains of the fire, added some kindling, and as it caught added a couple of logs. Then she went to the kitchen and set up the old percolator on the camp stove. It had taken her one power outage to realize that neither man, nor beast, nor snow would keep her from her daily appointed grounds. "Hyuck, hyuck," she muttered at herself. "You so funny."

An hour later, fortified with hot coffee, wearing four layers of clothing, and armed with a shovel and a broom, Annie dug her way from the front porch around to the back of the house where the picture window overlooked the river. She cleared a spot on the patio to stand in, then began sweeping the snow from the window as carefully as she could. "Wouldn't do to knock a hole in the window, kid. Then the snow monsters would have an easy in," she reminded herself. It was a grueling process, complete with the occasional face full of snow depending on the humor of the wind. First she'd sweep some snow from the window, then shovel it away, throwing it up and over the bank of it that was piled against the patio railing. By the time she was done, she was sweating and shivering. It was no longer snowing, but the temperature had dropped at least ten degrees.

With teeth, Annie thought as she shouldered the broom and shovel and made her way back around the side of the house. She left the broom and shovel under the front porch overhang, took the old snow sled that she used for a wood scuttle and made her way toward the woodshed. Once there, she filled the sled as high as she dared with logs, then harnessed the rope at the front of the sled and began to trudge back to the house. It was only about 30 yards, but in four feet of snow and as many layers of clothing, 30 yards had a way of feeling like a quarter mile. Plus, she thought, I'm already whupped from digging out the window.

Annie stumbled slightly, jerking the sled as she did, causing it to ram into her and send her face first into the snow. Half flailing and trying to push herself up, sputtering snow that she had swallowed, she screamed, "Oh, you dirty bastard! You filthy fucking snow monsters!" It was easier to be pissed off at a fictitious creature than to blame herself for being a klutz. Even so, as she felt snow crystals making their way down her neck, the thought flitted briefly, with teeth. "Oh, shut the fuck up." Again to nobody in particular. She managed to get to her feet, gathered and piled the logs that had fallen off back onto the sled, then got it in motion again. She managed to get to the porch without further mishap, but was breathing heavily by the time she pulled the sled in out of the weather and under the overhang. It's so cold that it hurts to breathe, she thought. Like having cold viper teeth in my lungs. Invasive little pricks those monsters.

Annie left the wood where it was on the sled. She'd bring it in later. She needed a break. And more coffee. And dry clothes. "And I'm having popcorn for breakfast. With extra butter! I don't care what any of you have to say about that!" She again addressed the assembly of none, and none argued with her. Half an hour, a mere two layers of dry clothing, and a fresh cup of coffee later, Annie sat in front of the blazing fire, voraciously devouring an enormous bowl of buttery popcorn. With her left hand, the one currently not drenched in butter, she flipped open the magazine article she'd been reading - a fascinating piece about how bees communicate with each other. She heard the scurrying noise again. She looked down at the bowl of popcorn, then looked up at the ceiling. "Oh, you think so! Not a chance. Mine. Mine. Mine, all mine." Scurry. "Whatever. Fuck you."

Annie munched her way through the entire bowl of popcorn and the rest of the bee article. For a while she forgot about snow as she lost herself amid the sound of bees on a warm June day. She forgot about the visitor in the attic. She forgot about snow monsters and icicle teeth as she flipped to the next article, a tear-inducing piece about the healing power of dogs with people suffering from PTSD. So caught up in the piece, she hardly noticed herself setting the empty bowl aside or wiping the butter off her hand onto the old blanket. Once done with the article, she became acutely aware that after a hard workout that morning, she'd been sitting without moving for at least an hour and a half. She felt stiff and her joints popped in angry protest as she shifted. "Medic!" she whimpered, then hissed at the pain in her ankle. She twisted her leg around and looked down. There were two small scrapes. No, that's not right. Tell the truth, they look like puncture marks. But I don't remember being... Her thoughts were interrupted by the scurrying sound. With teeth. "Oh, shut up! Will you really just shut the hell up already about the teeth?!"

Annie shook off the thought and stumbled into the bathroom to get some antiseptic cream. As she passed the front window, she realized that she still needed to bring in the wood from the sled. If she didn't, she'd only have wet wood to throw on the fire and that wouldn't be good. "Nope, not good at all." She giggled a little hysterically at her own voice. Ankle forgotten, she pulled on her boots, propped open the front door, and stepped out to get the wood. It was already starting to get dark and looming snow clouds weren't helping. She started toward the sled and then stopped in her tracks. Heart palpitating, all the spit dried up in her mouth. There, on top of the logs, was what looked like a tiny snowman. Except that it was hunched over. More of a snow rodent, really, if she thought about it, and oh boy, she sure was thinking about it. She didn't want to see, but even in the relative winter gloom, she could see something else. The thing that had stopped her so suddenly and breathlessly. "No... you don't... it isn't...those are not..." But the glint was unmistakable. Teeth. Sharp teeth. Annie's feet seemed to move on their own, taking her backward toward the front door. Her hand found the latch without her telling it too. Annie's full attention was on the snow (ohgod don't say it because saying it means I'm crazy) monster. With that thought she threw the door open, jumped inside, and slammed the door shut.

She leaned against the door, breathing heavily, eyes shut, for what felt like at least ten minutes. It was long enough for the throbbing in her ankle to come back. Annie heard a strange, high-pitched noise and was nauseated to discover that she was the one making it, and that it was the sound of herself whimpering. She clamped both hands over her mouth in an effort to make it stop and thankfully it worked. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not. Ohfuckohshitohdear. She began crying and that was better. It was a mixture of rage and relief and those were feelings she could understand. She limped into the living room, sat down heavily on the sofa. The bottle of whisky was still sitting on the coffee table where she'd left it the night before. She grabbed the bottle and took a swig. It was just the slap in the face that she needed. "I didn't see that. I'm overly tired and my brain is a little wonky from being snowed in for so long." Scurry. "No! You do not get to weigh in on this!" Scurry "Shut UP!!" Scurry. She began to cry again.

Excerpt from Snohomish County Sheriff's Report, 13 March 2009: Subject was found after landlord filed eviction notice for non-payment of rent. The body was well preserved due to cold temperatures. There appeared to be bite marks consistent with that of a rodent, however, no visible signs of rodent infestation were found in the home. Scratched into the wooden coffee table next to the sofa where the body was found, was the phrase, "With teeth."

Be Loved

You should be loved.

I don’t care if you’re single, married, in a relationship, wondering what if, out on your first date, have lots of friends, are happy that you have lots of cats, or just lookin’. You should be loved. No, this isn’t some Valentine’s push to get all the lonely hearts hooked up. I happen to be one of those freaks who really enjoyed being single. Of course, I really enjoy being in a relationship too. Regardless, what I’m saying here is, you should be loved.

We don’t deserve to be loved. That's a ridiculous concept, and I‘m tired of hearing people say that. Oh, settle down and just listen. I’ve never much cottoned to someone saying, “You’re such a good person. You deserve to be loved!” As if love is a reward. As if love is an extra beer by way of saying thanks for mowing the lawn. Love isn’t on the same level as, “I’ve worked out every day this week. I deserve to indulge in a little dessert.” No, we don’t deserve love - it isn't an award.

We should be loved. Simple as that.

I was folding laundry and I felt his eyes on me. I looked up. “I love you,” he said. I was ready to reply with our usual style of banter and say something like, “Yeah, only because I washed the skid marks out of your undies.” But the look in his eyes stopped me, and I only smiled. Well, I gave him the smile.

We should be adored.

We should be adored, not because our bodies are in perfect condition, or because we have great hair, skin and teeth, or because we’re smart, or funny, or because we did something nice. We should be adored because something about us sitting there in our old sweats, hair knotted up in an ancient scrunchy, doing some every day, mundane task… something about us says, “I’m here and so alive.”

We should be treasured.

We should be treasured not for the car we drive, or the way we dress, or the house we own, or the furniture we have, or for the material things we bring to the table, or the kindnesses we do without even thinking about them. We should be treasured because we have a way of being “there” in each others lives even when we’re not right there.

I know, you’re rolling your eyes right now. You’re giving me that look that says, “See? Yeah. You’ve got Mr. Perfect. It’s easy for you.” It’s not. Mr. Perfect is human and so am I, and we‘re prone to all kinds of human-type flaws. Besides, it’s not the relationship that is significant here. I could just as easily be writing about friendships that touch my life in that same way. I could write about family that touches my life that same way. Well, that's really what I am doing. I can also tell you that I try to treat myself the same way. Yes, I know I'm flawed and, trust me, I don't always get her and I'm not always nice to her, but I do love her.

Yeah.

Nobody knows as well as I do how difficult it can be to look in the mirror and say, “You are loved. You are adored. You are treasured. You are loved by me. You are adored by me. You are treasured by me.” It took me a long time to even say it. It took me a year before I started to believe it. But once I did believe it? Oh, the amazing, surprising, humbling, profound stuff that started rolling my way… my Beloved was part of that "stuff". He came along after I figured out that I should be loved. I wouldn’t be able to appreciate the things he does for me and the beautiful person he is in my life if I didn’t believe that I should be loved, that I should be adored, that I should be treasured.

We are love. We should be loved. We should give love. It's the ultimate superpower, so start throwing that stuff around. But first, you should be loved...

...by you.

The Cave of Scars

What follows is a re-write of a post from the old blog. It seemed like it was time to give it some air and a fresh life.

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Once upon a time, not so very long ago, there was a woman who lived in a cave. She loved her cave. It was dark and nobody came near. No one could see her ugliness. Of the ugliness she was certain. She knew that her appearance was hideous and that the scars she bore would surely frighten even the most stalwart soul. So, she hid in the cave, emerging only in the deepest night just to feel the breeze on her skin.

One day an old man happened upon the cave. She heard him stumbling around in the dark and pressed herself into the cold stone, praying that he wouldn't notice her, but of course he did. She had a fire burning and campfires don't start themselves, after all. "Is someone there?" he asked quietly in the dark. "Please, don't be afraid. I'm only seeking shelter from the cold wind that's blowing." She said nothing in return, hoping that he would leave. But he persisted, "Please. I'm sorry to disturb you. All I ask is a warm spot to rest. I am getting along in years and the chill outside is so painful to these old bones." Finally she replied in a voice so soft that it was nearly a whisper, "You may stay and rest; come get warm by the fire. Only please don't look at me." "You've no fear of that. I am nearly blind. I can only see lights and large images with these ancient eyes." The woman relaxed at that confession, "Please. Come sit by the fire. We can share a cup of tea."

For a long while they said nothing to each other but for a few pleasantries. They sat on opposite sides of the fire, both sipping tea and listening to the song of the wind as it whistled across the mouth of the cave. Finally the old man broke the silence, "May I ask your name?" "Of course," she replied, "It's Anika." "Hmmm. Anika, what an unusual name." He said. "Ann was my grandmother's name," Anika explained. "When I was named after her, everyone wanted to differentiate between the two of us in some way, so I was called Anika - meaning Little Ann. And now I ask for your name." The old man smiled, "You may call me Tucson. Not my real name o'course, but it's been so long since anyone called me Jeremiah that I'm not sure I'd answer to it if you did." "Tucson it is then," Anika said.

I the companionable silence, Anika took a good long look at Tucson. He was very old indeed, his face so furrowed with lines and wrinkles that his features had all but disappeared into them. If she had to guess, she would put him at close to 100 years old. Surely he wasn't that old though. Nobody that old would be hiking around in this weather, she thought, in any weather, really. She was lost in thought when again Tucson broke the silence. "May I ask another question?" Then he continued before she could answer one way or another. "What are you doing way out here, hiding in a cave?" "It's kind of a long story," Anika replied. Tucson grinned widely and spread his hands in an all-encompassing gesture, "It appears we have some spare time here. Tell on!"

Anika was surprised at her lack of reserve. Perhaps it was because Tucson couldn't see her. Perhaps it was because he was a stranger, or that he seemed so kind. She began, "I... I ran away from home when I was a girl. My parents couldn't bear to look at me. You see, I have scars, deep, ugly scars. My mother always told me that my scars were horrible and she couldn't stand to see something so unpleasant. My father said that my scars made him sad and he didn't want a daughter who could never experience life - who could never be of use to anyone, that's what he said. So, not wanting to cause them any pain or concern, I ran. For a long time I wandered the woods, but every now and then someone would come along and see me. I didn't want anyone to have to look at me, so after some searching I found this cave. This is where I've lived ever since."

Tucson didn't say anything for a time, although he nodded a few times as if in response to a discussion going on inside his head. He took a big swallow of his tea and rubbed at the rough, gray stubble on his cheek. "These scars," he began. "The scars. Uh. Are they your own doing?" "No! Of course not!" replied Anika, feeling a bit put out that he would ask such a thing. "These scars were the doing of... others. O-o-others who claimed they loved me and said they needed to prepare me for the cruelty of the real world. Others who said I was weak and didn't know what was good for me, and that it was their mission to show me." At this last part, Anika's voice broke and she wiped a tear from her cheek. Tucson looked as if the tea he had swallowed must have been terribly bitter. "So," he said, "You are not responsible for your scars. They are the fault of these... others. If that's so, why are you the one hiding? It is they who should be ashamed and hiding! Those others, along with your oblivious parents, not you." "Even so," Anika said. "I must shield everyone from having to look at me. I don't want to make people feel uncomfortable or frightened." Tucson said nothing to this. Setting his cup aside, he only said, "Well, it has been a long day and I am weary. If you don't mind, I'd like to rest now." Anika agreed and, on opposite sides of the fire, they both fell into sleep.

The next morning Anika woke to find that the old man was gone. Then she heard his voice coming from outside the cave. He was singing a song, his voice gentle and low and sweet. She crept toward the entrance to the cave to listen better. She saw that his arms were outstretched as if he was gathering the whole world into an embrace. When his song ended, he turned toward her, "Anika, Good Morning to you. You should come out here! The cold wind has left us and this blessedly warm sunshine has taken its place." "I can't," she told him. "I never go out in daylight." "Never? Ah, but to feel this light on your skin! Like being brushed by all the feathers of all the angels that ever flew. You must try it!" "I... I can't." "You can! Who's to see? Please, come out of hiding, even if but for a moment of this bliss."

Anika took a step and then hesitated. I can't, she thought. This is wrong. This is against everything I've been told. She looked at Tucson, standing in the sun, embracing the wind, seemingly oblivious of his age and the aches and pains that must come with having lived so long. Anika took another step. Tucson heard her moving, but stood with is back to her and said nothing. He knew that all the cajoling in the world would be for naught if she didn't decide to take the steps on her own, and if his years had taught him nothing else, they had taught him patience. It wasn't long before Anika was standing beside him. He could tell that she was trembling. "What is it?" he asked. Her voice choked with tears she replied, "It's just. I didn't know that... I... I've never seen anything so beautiful as this day! I should have snuck out here years ago." Tucson only nodded. He put a hand on her shoulder, making it seem as though he was simply an old man in need of a little support. She allowed it and they stood that way in the sun for some time, neither one making a sound.

Tucson knew it was a make or break question, but it needed to be asked. "Anika... may I touch your face? Please, let an old man share your pain and sorrow." Anika was startled, but surprised herself by saying, "Yes. Yes, you may." She turned toward him and he raised a big, gnarled, weathered hand toward her cheek. With more gentleness than she thought possible, he touched her jaw. As he worked his way up her face toward her brow, she was certain that any second he would draw back, repulsed. He didn't. Instead he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. "Child. You've been lied to. I feel no scars. Your face is as smooth as a June rose petal." "That can't be!" Anika exclaimed. "I was always told that my scars were ugly and that I should keep them hidden from people!" "Anika, if you are scarred, it is on the inside only. It is the wounds inflicted upon your spirit that have made you feel ugly and unlovable. But I assure you, neither of those is true. You are beautiful, you are lovable. You deserve to be seen. What's more, you're depriving other people of the great pleasure of knowing you, of seeing the light in you, and hearing the sweet clear voice of you."

Anika was floored. The sky spun overhead as she tried to soak up Tucson's words. It couldn't be true, but the old man had no reason to lie to her. It could be a trick, but what would he gain with such cruel trickery. No, it was no trick. She saw the sincerity in his clouded eyes, heard the truth in his rumbling voice. Still, she said, "It just can't be. I belong in the cave." Tucson's only response was, "I'd like to show you something. May I?" He held out his hand. Although afraid to leave the security of the cave that was just a few steps behind them, Anika put her shaking hand in his. They began to walk.

The further they were from the cave, the less insecure Anika felt. Finally they came to a small pond in the woods. Tucson said, "I need to rest a bit. This seems like a pleasant spot." Anika agreed that it was very pretty. She knelt by the pond and doing so, caught her own reflection. She saw a woman with long dark hair, green eyes, flushed cheeks, and rose-colored lips. The image blurred as her tears fell and hit the water. She turned to Tucson, "You were right. I didn't belong in that cave. I never did. How can I ever thank you for making me leave?" Tucson smiled, "You don't need to thank me. I didn't make you leave, Anika. You left on your own accord. No, you didn't belong there, but you had to want something more than that cave. You had to know that there was something greater for you to be a part of. Only you could hear the call of the Universe and respond to it. Only you could step away from your hiding place. You have so much to share with the world."

Anika looked at her reflection in the water again. She reached to touch the face looking back at her and felt the cool, velvety water on her fingers. "But what of the scars? What of the horrible things that happened to me? What of all the pain I've felt over the years?" she asked. Tucson took a moment before answering. "Let me ask you this," he said. "Do you consider me ugly? With all my wrinkles and my gray hair and my milky, nearly blind eyes?" "No!" Anika exclaimed. "You're... you're lovely. Handsome even. You have such gentleness and kindness and love... that's all I see when I look at you." "Ahhhh..." Tucson smiled. "But I gained those qualities from my own scars, from my own pain, from my own horrible experiences, just as much as I did from the beauty I've seen and the love I've felt. Your scars... all of your experiences... everything in your life, even that cave. All of that makes you beautiful. All of it. So, walk in light with your head held high. No more cave."

Anika smiled again. "No more cave," she murmured. "No more hiding." This time it was she who held out her hand. Tucson took it and stood. "Where are we going?" he asked. Anika lifted her face to the shaft of light coming through the leaves. "My friend," she said. "We are going as far from that cave as we can. I intend to show the world who I am."