Care

As the ship sailed on, Stray watched his skeleton crew in a detached manner.

He could have his original crew, comprising of brothers bonded in blood. He could still have his First Mate, who had some interest in sailing. Yet he said Nay.

To have feelings, he would have to be selfish. Yet as he thought further, breaking it down, it was not love which was selfish. It was about caring for the other which was selfish.

To love, sub-conscious expectations are being put in place, where caring for the other comes first nature. To care for one, the others would have to be forgone, clearly the same analogy as in you can only save one in a calamity and you have to decide the one.

To love is to care. To care is to be selfish. The Messiah syndrome which is so common in so many people, as studied in psychology, only make things worse, by allowing one party to be much more dominating in the caring process, where expectations are heaped upon the other party be it through rationale or non-rationale. Rationale, of course, makes it feel more comfortable, but where the imposing of the expectations could still be felt at a deeper level.

Moral of the story: To care unselfishly would mean a good balance of dosage of care being dished out and also to let go sometimes when the party has to let go.

Wanderlust

Soon... very soon... under construction...

Travel companions

Monsters and devils - I can live with them...

Angels and humans - I rather not...

Truth is often twisted by those who proclaimed to be good. Why? Because they have expectations to meet - that their judgement is right, that they know what's right and wrong, that their lives and opinions are far more important than others - and something to lose - dignity, integrity or reputation...

I rather the thieves and beggars where their perceived truths are simpler. Nothing to lose...

Shinjutsu... Hontoni...

The owl hoots.
Wait. Is that the owl?
The crow caws.
Wait. Is that the crow?
The elephant trumpets.
Wait. Is that the elephant?

Reaching out tentatively... pinched myself...

Ouch... ok... I am still myself...

Where's the absolute truth?
Me. Myself.

I am my own bitch. *acknowledgement to a certain party*

Wolves and Pirates

Wolves are always wolves as Pirates are always pirates.

What is a wolf without fangs?

Still a wolf.

What is a pirate with a heart of gold?

Still a pirate.

What is this all about?

It does not matter what we are or what we do. It does not change people’s perceptions. Maybe only the frequency of them making the comments.

Wolves and Pirates

Wolves are always wolves as Pirates are always pirates.

What is a wolf without fangs?

Still a wolf.

What is a pirate with a heart of gold?

Still a pirate.

What is this all about?

It does not matter what we are or what we do. It does not change people’s perceptions. Maybe only the frequency of them making the comments.

Captain Straywolf

Idealistic pirates... Sailors who just want to be in the seas, enjoying the sea spray, the days of being out there in the nowhere... But basically free from all judgement, from laws and from prying eyes of those who love to judge... Free from all troubles, keeping their loyalty and lives to one single common lover - the Seas - the Tempest who could be so gentle at times, and be so rough at times, always unpredicatable... Only making port once awhile to sate their loneliness... Other than that, RUM is the cure for everything...

Ahoy, comes the wolf wearing the Captain's hat... struggling to find its "sea paws"... Captain Stray.

Looking forward...

The brambles cried out their outrage. They had kept it hidden from the main path for so long. They had kept it protected when it was half dead from the others' attacks.

Yet they dripped blood, the blood of the wolf. In exchange for refugee, it would sustain itself from the blood of the wolf. It would induce the wolf into a dream where promises happened, when it dreamt of itself lying next to the moonflower.

The wolf had awakened from its slumber bit by bit, sedated and weak. Yet it had moved out from the brambles. It was a refugee, where dreams could happen. But the dreams were pushed onto it by the brambles, not itself. There was nothing in the dreams that it would want from the brambles.

The wolf lowered its great head for a moment in gratitude that the brambles had allowed it to stay alive. But it was time for the wolf to move on its path. Be it if there is no moon flower, it is a choice that it makes itself, rather than when it was broken, and weak and sedated from what it really wants.

The road ahead will be fraught with dangers. But it is able to to meet it straight on now for it knows it will run for the things it wants, where dreams are not imposed by the brambles...

The return

It almost passed the path it had stayed off for so long. If not for its familiar smell, it would not have identified it. Its head drooped as it stumbled into the path.

Long was the goal of it finding the moon flower. Years had passed but the moon flower has not appeared. It only appeared in tell-tale glimpses. Once it had entered the illusion that the moon flower was right before it, only to realise at the very end, the illusion was just a naive illusion it wanted.

So it had shrugged off the vines that bound it, tearing fur and skin apart just to break it. It is determined. And finally emerged on the path. The vines trembled at its escape but it did not turn back to look and headed on its path which had always been beckoning it in its heart.