The Insane Man With A Nightingale

A man who many regard as insane, always lashing out and always angry. The man was always left alone, because no one who was sane would ever befriend such a man. Every day he would sit out on the porch of his house, throwing profanities at those that passed, seemingly never happy with anything or anyone. And when he returned to the safety of the four walls of his house, he indulged in a perverted sense of the arts.A mockery of painting was what laid bare on the canvas , though not mockery to all, merely an insight to insane art. Words of a story, not quite with a beginning nor quite an end lay meaningless on crumpled pieces of paper that no man paid heed. He was never satisfied with the art that he crafted and his dissatisfaction lead to anger, and further and further to insanity.

It was not long, before he stopped going onto the porch, stop shouting profanities, things he needed never seem needed and it was just him, slipping more and more into the inescapable valley of insanity. Late one evening, as day turned to night, as he lay staring into the ceiling of his home, he heard but a gentle tap on his window. Once, twice, and yet once more . Giving it no thought, he went for his window, unlocked it and peered outside. After all, he was quite insane. In came rushing a single bird, brown with a reddish tail, past the man and straight into the room, startled, the man closed the window and started looking for the bird.

Where he found this bird most surprised him, the bird was staring at his painting, looking over it much akin to a great artist were to see art. And the bird sang, a true song which seemed so beautiful, the sound of nature itself as if appreciating the art. The man, for some strange reason, felt suddenly his dissatisfaction wash away, here now was an audience, that though were not men, but much more meaningful in a way. The insane man, found himself grabbing once more his brush, and started painting , and once finished, was finally happy with the result.

The man couldn't let go of this bird, his muse, so he barred all doors, windows, and refused to allow it to leave, though with honesty it didn't seem inclined to. It seemed content just exploring the home of this insane man, content with watching him work and playing a song for him that always inspired. Of course, the man fed the bird often, making sure that the bird was contented.

Soon, the man found clarity, he found what many seemed impossible but he found a small thread of sanity within himself. He slowly found himself creeping out of what seemed inescapable, but ever so often seemed to lose his grip, with music of nature and insanity, this man created many great artworks. But as he gained more and more of rational thought, he could see that oft times, the bird would peck at the window it came and look ever solemnly at the man. At first he regarded it as nothing, but soon it was something, and eventually it felt as if the man had wronged the bird for keeping it with him.

One such day, one such moment, where the bird pecked at the window once more, the man opened the window. The bird stood there almost shocked, tentatively taking the first steps to leave the house, but always looking back at the man. The man held back tears for he potentially stood to lose the only being that ever understood him. The bird paused, and look at the man for answers, and receiving none, flew off for a moment and landed back on the window still as if to really know what this man wanted.

The man broke, and he spoke to the bird words from his heart, where though he knew that the bird might enjoy the freedom of the outside world more, but he could not part with the bird. The bird seemed to just understand what was said, but flew off anyway. The man, feeling his heart shatter, fell back onto a chair and was depressed. He opened his eyes to peek at where the bird usually sat singing it's song, but nothing. Suddenly, he heard a pecking by his open window. He turned and he saw the bird of his that he thought ran off. What joy filled this man that if the bird were human, he would hug it like a bear. He held back tears of joy and spoke to the bird, thanking it.

From that day on, the man never bothered to stop the bird from leaving, because he knew that the bird cherished his companionship as much he it. And the man soon became more friendly, and had friends though he never ever held his bird partner lowly, always praising it to the extremes. Great arts of works this man created from that day on and it appeared that a bird that seemed not to know it's significance was all that was needed to make a man complete . Never the bird seemed to leave for long , always returning to spend the rest of it's days with the man.

What the man did learn over time though, was that the bird that made him whole, was but a Nightingale, the song of nature, of the night and day, the muse of great poets and writers, and inspiration to many more . What small things can change in the big picture of things, one never knows till one tries, is it not ?

The Ice Inside Insanity

Fire and Ice, inherent opposites without description, no words need be put to highlight where these two stand , always taking the opportunity to strike at each other, one to ease the fires of the heart which are so very passionate and reduce it to yet another wasted smokescreen of forgotten dreams, while the other tries to strike harder and harder into the icy reflective surface, gnawing, clawing, tearing at it exhausting itself because of it's belief that behind the ice there lies a thing of beauty.

A dance that promises nothing more than pain for both yet never did either stop trying to best the other, watched as what was fire with unrelenting passion turned slowly to passive smoke, just a former visage of it's proud self, and we saw as ice became water, and smoke danced with water, an uncanny relationship, not intended yet happened regardless, an image of compromise showing that a mutual ground can be achieved, as water enveloped smoke, smoke dances around the cold grasps of the water .

As the beautiful dance, an anomaly that happened by chance, a rare event preceded by regular situations and proceeded by an unpredictable sequence of beautiful action, happens and defies all expectations, we fail to see that the fire has almost died, hiding the disbelief at it's failure by admiring the fruits of it's sacrifice, an amazingly beautiful dance that promises to him that the touch of death shall be not be too harsh , as if the tango of smoke on the water eased the would be pain . As the final licks of fire reach out for the sky, desperate for their last blaze of glory, the ice that has been forgotten cracks fully, and out rushes the reborn spirit of a phoenix, once so proud and glorious but captured within ice.

Glad with what it has managed to do, Fire is now able to die down into mere embers, and watch as the bird went free. But karma has yet other plans, as the Phoenix came down and took the fires as it's own, and in the end, Fire and Phoenix are united, the icy embrace of the ice prison, hiding the passionate fires of the phoenix are broken down and left ajar, waiting for it's next pray, hoping to hide yet another in there.

And through it all, the mystifying dance of smoke and water, the gentle tug of the waves, the rise and falling and smoke due to pressure, never stopped, maybe something beyond what people understand but nevertheless, having a meaning well within the grasps of sane men.

This insane man faces no more internal turmoil, for he knows that what the eyes see and what the eyes do not are very different, yet for some, they retain a magical and forcefully tied link, ensuring that meanings can never be measured without considering the other. The insane man also knows that what is seemingly unrequited can oft times just be a sign of the fear of love, and that it best be left to someone who is of course, insane, to wear down.