New wallpaper can usually lead to an amazing turnaround regarding life. Another day to focus, to just get through it all, Clarita thought to herself, stomping around the dinner table in her enormous feet; half complaining about the decorative placemats that she was damn picky about using.

Her husband Todd waited about twenty minutes before she shifted them all again, her feet not appearing to touch the earth directly but instead balanced precariously upon the dual realm of obsession and duty. But today was solace day, where a reconciliation of opposites would come together in the universal act of redemption.

The Major Arcana cards he was shuffling had predicted it and Todd had already regarded
Clarita’s own needs and unique personality as detrimental. He didn’t want to be defensive about his choice; he didn’t want to rationalize it without owning up to its own personal
meaning, acceptance was important.

“Did I tell you that Mary Fisher copied my cross-stitch design? Her workmanship isn’t as good as mine and neither is the wool she uses…”

"I've put up new wallpaper in the bedroom. You'll like it, it's earth tones, good for grounding..."

“Don’t you have anything to say, Todd? A cup of tea with you isn’t exactly one of the richest intellectual treats, now is it?”

His eyes were open but he wasn’t focusing on anything. They never spoke directly that afternoon; instead he sat and listened to her slap around useless words together, he, not interested in hearing them. Todd was a man of few words and when he spoke, they had meaning.

Dinner was just about to be a repeat performance of teatime. Clarita felt the distance spreading between them, and though she could not pinpoint its source, she knew she had somehow disappointed him throughout the years. Like a mannequin, her fingers nimbly passing over the placemat, smoothing out the surface, she replayed the ritual.

“Sometimes people make mistakes you know, there are misunderstandings,” she says.

His eyes watch her face, a juxtaposition of moods.

“I love from my heart, and love isn’t about sex and sex isn’t about love. But if I know anything at all, I know that men love with their dicks. Are you still fucking her?”

Todd, "Jesus, Clarita, are you going to bring this up again? We've been over this time and time again. We haven't slept in the same room in 4 years. Why do you even give a damned about her? She meant nothing...absolutely nothing to me. This isn't about cross-stitching. This isn't about 3 years ago, after the party when I made a huge lapse in judgment. It is about you, and I, and how we no longer work together."

”She took my husband, and then she tried to take my cross-stitch. She went over the line, way over the line. She never should have done that. The nerve of her, coming here, to my home, violating my sanctuary, thinking this would be smoothed over, that it would all go away, that she would have her victory...again. No way, never going to happen.”

”Clarita, what are you saying? Mary was here? Today? She swore she would not violate our home, or you. I told her I was wrong, it was wrong, that it would never happen again, could never happen again.”

”Don't worry. She will never again violate the sanctity of my home. We had it out, once and for all. She tried to weasel her way out of here, but I got the point across and drove it home. She won't be walking in and out of my home again.”

”Clarita, I don't know what you have said, or done, but she should never have come here. She was wrong. Let me take my shower, get ready to go, we'll deal with her and any ramifications later.”

”You mean sooner, rather than later Todd, Clarita said with a gleam in her eye, smirking as she walked back towards the kitchen, a spring in her step.”

”What the fu!!!!!” Todd screamed, as he drew back the curtains on the shower, and saw Mary's lifeless corpse staring back at him from the one eye that didn't have a sewing needle protruding from it.

Aside from the other needle piercing her larynx, passing neatly through her jugular vein, she almost looked wide awake; surprised, a small trickle of blood in the corner of her mouth.

”Clarita, what have you done?”

”Why, Todd, a stitch in time saves nine...”

"Life's Table"

Copyright: © 2010 Theresa C. Newbill and Harris Whitman

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Theresa C. Newbill is a is a self described free spirit and former elementary school teacher turned writer. Her work has been widely published in various print and online magazines and she has received numerous awards for her writing.

Lobsang Gyatso had relinquished his will to his assassins in humility and peace and without regret. He lay immobile, fixed in the warm sands of the windless noon's haste. He tried to involve himself in the scene but his mind focused on the white beam of light instead. The light separated him from his body, starting small but growing larger as specks of dust danced in its whiteness. He felt like a child, alien and lost in a swirling mass of mark less matter. He panicked as he saw another circling mass in the opposite direction, a much larger pattern that would bisect his path somewhere.

He was still tainted by his karma but his memory was as clear as the light before him. Lucidity came over him as he started to meditate on the death process. Remembering the words of his Blessed and Most Holy Dalai Lama, "Be scared for your human side cannot help that. But do not fear, for your spiritual side cannot be afflicted."

He removed the links of chain that kept him grounded to the material world. A strong rapid motion fell across his body and he felt himself sink into the Earth as the Earth dissolved into Water. Through currents and tides, he became the child of the day. He saw his Uncle's Dairy Farm in North India where he often played and quenched his need for milk. He experienced the existence of another child in another part of the world and tasted griddlecakes with maple syrup, and organic oatmeal and applesauce.

As he passed from the Human Realm into the Animal Realm he saw the cold yellow eyes of a starving dog ready to strike him down. An Indian in a sheepskin coat stood between them and the hound greeted the Spirit Guide, coming to rest at his feet. As he entered the Hungry Ghost Realm he experienced the pain of social injustice, repression, lack of education, nutrition, clothing, housing, and good health. He felt himself become absorbed by smoke as the Water disseminated into Fire. He was sucked in a vacuum filled with red light into the Hell Realm and felt the absence of happiness.

He smelled the sulfur, strong and hot and rank and was overtaken by the shrill, frantic laughter of the lost souls that yapped and strained like wild animals. Fire absorbed into Air as he awoke in the Demigod Realm.

He was engulfed by the appearance of darkness and felt as if he was slowly losing consciousness. There he was reunited with the spirit of his mentor, The Most Holy Dalai Lama. He celebrated love, peace, truth, knowledge and felt compassion for the Lions he should have feared and hated.

The demigods felt jealousy and desperation at his resolve as Air passed into Consciousness. He looked up, down and around himself and saw his body of blood, skin, bowels, and bones become a memory. A strange sensation touched his soul, as he became seepage of moisture again, somewhere between Earth and Water, a place of Rebirth...In the Foothills of the Sierra de Cachimbo, a baby is born to the Kaiyapo people. Kruakruque, The Kaiyapo Chief draws blood symbols in the entrance of a sacred cave as part of an arcane celebration. A bright white light fills the region, slowly turning to an iridescent glow.

Fish become abundant and are visible to the naked eye like crisp white stones. The sick are healed, the dying find renewed life as a network of intuitions become One among the cries of a newborn, while...In Lhasa, Tibet an unusual light fills the dark night sky.

People who witness it become blind. Suffering and violence violate with affected easiness. War in all its rigidity furiously attacks all logic. A child is born from an unclean creature, half man, half animal in the personification of Death itself.

Evil and all it’s minions nod at Good. The Battle is on!

"Gods of the Realm of Clear Light"
Copyright: © 2009 Theresa C. Newbill
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Theresa C. Newbill is a is a self described free spirit and former elementary school teacher turned writer. Her work has been widely published in various print and online magazines and she has received numerous awards for her writing.

The sun rose and moved in onto the fairway as Paul awoke very thirsty and dizzy. He made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water and some Naproxen that helped him deal with the pain and fatigue of rheumatoid arthritis. For more than a year Paul had spent every available moment on the golf course. The rest of his life was spent but asleep and forgetting about his nasty divorce. He was not a very well read man and there was absolutely no possibility of him doing or saying anything brilliant or poetic. As a child he had zero interest in sports and was never picked for any teams in gym class, but when he hit fifty with high blood pressure and a beer gut the size of Buddha, his doctor insisted he become more physically active. Paul decided to take up the sport that required the least amount of physical exertion, golf.

Paul bounded upstairs to the bathroom. He thought about shaving and stood in front of his mirror for quite some time listening to the sound of the electric razor. It reminded him of the baby monitor he had brought for his son. The memories were more than he could bear so he shut the thing off and went into the shower where he scrubbed up with the ill-smelling soap he hated from the dollar store. Feeling the cool air from an open window Paul quickly rinsed and dried off before darting down the hall. He looked into Tommy's room for no reason. Tommy wasn't there. He had not been there in his nursery for twenty years. Paul wanted to go to bed. He wanted to go to bed so he could live inside his head but instead he found himself back in his own room, putting on his Bermuda shorts and t-shirt. A physical exhaustion haunted his body and seemed to reach into his soul.

The tops of trees were quivering with the new life of spring and the smell of incoming rain was in the air. There were patches of blue popping up here and there through the clouds as Paul left the house with golf bag slung over one shoulder, dragging footprints that darkened the moist grass of his front lawn. His skin was fair and his face, calm even though his wrinkles spoke of repression and deep sadness. There was no one to live life for; so Paul decided to live life for himself. Once he reached the golf course he felt alive again. Three distinct 18-hole layouts, enhanced by the surrounding mountains, lakes and tree-lined fairways gave him a sense of adrenaline. He could feel his pulse beating faster and faster as the coursing blood warmed and relaxed his aging body. He mumbled under his breath: "free, free, free!"

The golf course was all but empty so he didn't have to join any of those annoying groups they usually paired him up with. Today he could golf alone. He felt so invigorated that he decided not to use the golf cart, opting to walk around all eighteen holes. By the time he reached the thirteenth hole it had started to rain and he felt a sharp pain in his chest from lugging around the golf clubs, but Paul looked up at the illumination of the sky and spread his arms out to welcome the downpour. "Free! Body and soul free!" he kept saying. As Paul turned he caught a glimpse of a young man walking over the hill behind him. Paul had a sickening feeling like he was going to cry, that he was just going to lose it, when his eyes met those of the young man. Beautiful purple flowers emerged from the grass blanketing the golf course.

"They're called Bláthanna Corcora," the young man said. "They are found mostly in Ireland."

"God puts spirit in all things," the young man went on to say before he fell silent.

"Are you an angel?" Paul asked.

"No, I'm not an angel," the young man replied. "I'm a simple man whose father once told him he loved him very much."

"Tommy? Son! You were just but an infant when I told you that. How did you? Are we?

"Language remembers, dad. Out of obscurity, words take their place in history and leave an imprint."

Epilogue:

The body of Paul Milford was found at the Van Cortlandt golf course on Sunday June 29th at 9:00 am, an apparent victim of a heart attack.

"Purple Flowers"
Copyright: © 2009 Theresa C. Newbill
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Theresa C. Newbill is a is a self described free spirit and former elementary school teacher turned writer. Her work has been widely published in various print and online magazines and she has received numerous awards for her writing.