A Child’s Perspective

I’ve been away from posting, a bit. I can finally take a breath. My son had his surgery on both eyes this past Monday. He’s hurting, but we’re hopeful. It is unnerving when a loved one has to go through their own battles.  No matter how hard we want it, we cannot face what they must face.

While waiting for the surgery to end, I was in an elevator in the Children’s Hospital, going back up to the surgical floor.  A beautiful little girl, maybe four, turned around and looked up at me. She made eye contact and held it – then told me, straight out,  “I’m going for my infusion, and I’m a little worried.”  She caught her parents off-guard. She caught me off guard.

Children have such openness.  This child bore the look of open concern.  Stunned or not, I responded quickly, and very matter-of-factly. I told her that “you don’t need to worry.  The doctors and nurses who are here are very, very good at what they do and they are here because they care about children. They will take very good care of you.”

I could see those wheels turning behind her eyes…and then, a fleeting look of relief.

The elevator stopped at their floor, and her mother turned her around to exit. As she did, she looked back at me and mouthed a silent “thank you”, and that same look of relief was there, too.

I wished, with all my might, that I could somehow comfort her – but I know I’ll never see her again.  I can only hope that it went well.   You see, I know what infusion is – have dealt with it through my grandson.  No, it isn’t pleasant.  But children adjust. In my opinion they adjust exceptionally well – and I believe this is why so many children with life-consuming illness mature at so young and tender an age.

I’ve a feeling that mother and father have both always reassured her – and she just needed to hear from someone else, perhaps anyone else – that this was going to be okay.

When I close my eyes, I am haunted by hers, and every time the thought takes me, I find hope in that glimmer of relief that touched her face when she had considered what I said.

There are some things that put one’s own small worries into clear perspective.  This is one of them.

Newspeak, And Control Over The Masses

Who among us does not consider that the language of “texting” is not Newspeak? Those in constant exchange with this simplified, lack of structure language may not even understand the reference.

Big Brother has been watching, for many years – and in 1984, there were watchers already in place. The standard has only gotten more sophisticated since. This – WordPress – is a site with many writers, many bloggers and many opines. Though we are all entitled to our opinions, the world is rife with replacing common sense by unqualified opinion. Our facts are not hard facts, they aren’t even soft facts – they are revisionist information that folks are allowed to presume are full and accurate portrayals of fact.
Though many personal opinions can be complete with true and honest fact, to the best of the person’s ability to determine them, the majority of blogs, and opinion, are not. It is difficult to say that opinion is without merit – for surely as a part of our culture this is not entirely so – it is easy to find that most opinions are based upon little or no truth.

The damnable thing is this: Once upon a time in America, the press, the media, provided us with journalists complete with a moral code to keep their opinions out of their reporting. The facts, only the facts and ALL of the facts were reported in a non-emotional, non-opinionated work. Opinion in the press – regardless of its medium – was limited to Editorials/Commentary and the occasional “Human Interest” piece. The press has come away from all that, relinquishing the chains of propriety and replacing them with emotionalism, opinion and a presentation which is meant to sway a reader from making an informed decision to making decisions based upon their wish to perpetuate the reporter’s own determination of the way things should be. If nothing else, we homo-sapiens are very opinionated. It is unfortunate that the press, in a positon of power through their contact in the media and social networks, have chosen not to present the facts, only the facts and ALL of the facts, they have chosen to manipulate the opinions of others by presenting the sensational, their opinions on the sensational, and only the facts that support their personal ideologies.

It has diminished us.

Yes, the language of texting has moved us into the Orwellian future. We were, my dear readers, forewarned. We just chose not to learn that lesson, not to acknowledge that a work of fiction portraying what might be, what could be, and what we might prevent, should to any degree be taken seriously. Though fiction – it is all about Truth.

Big Brother is watching. Newspeak is the language of the people, and opinion is the tool of both the press and the government. Without revolution, of any kind, including standing up for the rights guaranteed to us by the Constitution, there will only be change which will degrade society and keep the power of our future, of our children’s future, and of all the lives of the citizenry ever forward under the well controlled, extremely structured Socialist mores of those already staunch with power; and not to the benefit of the People, but to the benefit of the Political and Power machine.

Revolution does not need to be “Johnny get your gun and storm the White House”. Revolution can be just as effective when done quietly, with fact and determination, and by the masses. We must not allow government to determine how we should be controlled. This is precisely the reason we declared our independance. We must demand that government represent the People and does what it does FIRSTLY in the interest of the PEOPLE, and not in the interest of what has become the Defacto Royalty of the United States of America. We must vote, all of us. We must become active in our pursuit to keep the government “of the people” and “by the people”. We must NOT allow our Congresspersons and Senators to exempt themselves from the law – ANY law. And we must, as distasteful as we may sometimes circumstantially find them, protect and defend our Bill of Rights. For as sure as the sun rises, if we allow that well constructed, well perceived document to be tampered with, we lose all grounds as citizens of what was, and can still be, the best government, the best country for mankind. This, the protection of our Bill of Rights, and this alone, will bring us back to prosperity. Buried within that document is the key to overcoming the mess that our non-representorial representatives have brought the condition of this country into.

Alan Dershowitz – whether you like him or not, was correct to defend the Constitutional rights of those citizens for whom we may often find hatred and loathing. If we do not apply our Bill of Rights and the premise of our Constitution equally to all citizens, we open a doorway to diminish our own rights.

And so I leave you with this thought – Change starts with the simplistic, indeed, Control over the society starts with the basic, simple and saturating acts for which all mankind is prone to. The whole of what I have written might one day show up in our social Newspeak as: OMGWTF!

By then, it will be much too late.


Original post : 


To you…

To you…
In the dark dreams that have become my life
you are sunshine and starlight.
For the unreasonable, the unfathomable, the disparities
surmounting daily, you are sanity and reason.
For my silence, you are song.
In my lack of expression, you are music.
My words fade, my world diminishes
and focus affords me only darkness.
You are there, ever aware.
When my world ties me tightly into knots
you see how to loosen them, and weave me fabric.
My heart beats to stale metaphor and abused imagery,
though your words softly sigh, touched with fresh breezes.
I have seen sandy shores, and known the scent of fresh loam,
bursting with the seeds of spring; gentle rains, and the flight of seabirds,
through your eyes – there, within your words.
And when my world falls apart and crumbles beneath my feet
I am caught upon your open palm, within your caring touch.
I am relieved, refreshed, and comfortably happy
in the darkest of times, for you, whose care lifts me up.
There will never be a way to thank you, as I would want.
It is there, in my heart, in the blood that courses through me
All that I am, is all I can give, and I will ever give it willingly
to you.
©Lin Cava
15th March, 2013



He is gone
has been gone
long before his life-light
blinked out.

In the wake of who he was
is emptiness
a chasm only he could fill –
now barren of his uniqueness

In his lingering
I saw the proof
that life is neither
fair, nor just

We have but one life
and many choices
When it’s through
there is no more

We bear our burdens
of poor choices
bearing witness to our
mistakes, or lack of purpose

And we ponder
near the end
feeling the hard pain
of having wasted time

Never wasteful, he was a man
who did not need to ponder
he took up the cause
of his fellows in life

Life’s circumstances; beyond the control
of the accident of our birth
become our burdens,
and change; our redemption

He filled the many lives he touched
with happiness, support and reason
He helped, when help was needed
and he Served; hard but well

For such a man is a hero
in many ways
and should not pass
through a lingering chasm

But life is not fair, nor just
and mankind has tinged
our natural outcome
by un-natural measures

He is missed, and the emptiness
more pronounced for the living
because of who he was
how he filled their lives and hearts

In memory, we must celebrate
for we all were touched
by a quietly remarkable man
Our lives ever improved for it.

I shall return to his gravesite
And place a stone upon it
For as long as a stone, is a stone –
He will be missed.

©Lin Cava
14th March – 2013



It washes over me like an errant tide
pushing and pulling; leaving me off balance.
I reach out without thinking, and feel rebuffed.
It arrives as a hot flush, color rises, blooming in my face
as though the aftermath of a slap; true enough to fit.

But the pain envelops my heart, the center of me,
the place I escape to, curl up in, like a comforting chair
to be alone, undisturbed, and often my balm, my cure,
and steals from me the peace I search for to heal.
He is gone, softly, but thoroughly, like an old song I recall.

I try not to open my heart for want to pull back,
in denial of the pain that will come; but I am compelled.
I gasp in grief – no longer surprised at the emptiness
and am wounded by loneliness – the heart’s prison.
I am stabbed with pain in the knowledge he feels it too.

No caring soul could pull away from another
once connected at their very core, regardless of the mind’s decision –
Not without the pain of sadness, or of grief in the loss
for one so dearly loved. The pain is mirrored –
the gossamer thread that connected them – severed.

A part of me bleeds, but I gather it up, and hold it close.
I cannot let it pale me, nor shall I harden my heart –
a rigor-mortis to set in. I shall bear the pain, perhaps until my end.
There is no release for me, no happiness, no vision into tomorrow.
Joyful events pale, as the life-blood of loss drains me.

I hear the call of the zephyr; see his face in the stars
Always, a scent of limes, of sea breezes and salt water
and that gossamer thread bears ever weakening vibration,
once alive and electric, or soft and vibrating with life
I worry, and deny that it is fading – a self-serving trick of my heart.

It washes over me like an errant tide.
In time, I may find comfort in the pain –
knowledge in the rhythm of its pounding waves
and hope it washes away this loneliness,
far and away out to sea; if he shall not answer again.

©Lin Cava

Worm in the Tequila

Worm in the Tequila 13-3-2013

Worm in the Tequila is fractal art which I rendered in Apophysis. Post process work includes layering in Gimp; 3 iterations of the original PNG transparency, added a gradient and one black layer 100% Opacity as background layer.

PhotoFiltre was used for the frames and the addition of Text. I make use of Creative Commons copyright, and the piece may be used as long as my signature and frame/text remain part of the work. It can be used as a wallpaper, as well.

On this site, the piece publishes in a small size, and not as clear as I would prefer. I will post it tomorrow night to my deviantart gallery. From that Gallery, permissions are given for full sized downloads.

More of my fractal art is published at http://www.lincava.deviantart.com

To Fill A River

To Fill A River

He dies.

We learn that time is relevant
under the worst of circumstance
for it is then that we linger mercilessly
in a span that is not quick to end.

He cannot move,
harbors pain…
Pain that at first
in tight-mouthed determination
went unvoiced, unannounced
and only the expression
buried in his eyes
bore witness to others it was there.

He is losing ground.
Pain is winning –
in a clumsy sputter of movements;
the jerk of the hand
a spasm of the neck
the errant jump of the leg at the knee;
and in each, a display of pain…
Pain that has finally found his voice
at first in moans
and then in suppressed shouts
of surprise, and upsetment
now growing more frequent
and ever more loud.

She watches, ever concerned
not put off, though he tries;
but hopes he shall not succeed
and with each day he worsens
each time he tries to push her away
he is ever surprised of her determination
and will to stay, relieved she does –
but loathe to let her know.

He is dying;
in tiny increments he cannot control
and not afraid of death. No;
he fears more that he shall not be able
to take charge of the choice
before he is unable, infirm in body or mind;
and tells himself he lives on
only because of her…

She is defiant – carries on
and knows
she cannot comfort him
without rebuke
and yet he is relieved
at her acts of comforting
and cannot show it.

He thought he had less time
and has lingered double that.
Each day brings new surprises,
never good, and hard received.

She sleeps, but does not rest.
With practice, the slightest sound awakens her
as she watches over him night or day
and waits, knowing one day
she will find him cold.
By the devil that consumes him –
or by his own hand.
And though her eyes are dry;
Her heart weeps tears enough to fill a river.

Lin Cava©