Author: K. S. Bowers

Freelance Writer/Author

I Am

I am:

Man’s greatest fear
Kenneth
Soul Food
Gomez
Thomas
Gabe
Two strangers in a cafe
A witch
A prophet
The Stranger
The Savage
Abigail
Lula
Natasha
Clay
Harriet
Julia
Blaze
Bratislava
Ey
Aaron
Someone Seeking Sean
Willow
A Great Man
Fifteen frightening women
The runaway train
Mother
Little Bear
La Flakita
Muse
Alle
Caleb
Dennis
Tom
Mia
Jasmine
Youngbullbear
For the girls
The hook
The Bronze City
The Sacrifice
Maria
Rasmus

I am…

All the words. Every one. Every song.  Every thing. Everyone. It was always in the name. What was the Easter egg in Bronze City? It was in the names. That is what you desire.

Four things are needed to break a curse. Desire, grace, light, and hope. I named my daughters after these things. Because that is my legacy. That united, and by the words, they can be ripples. I never lied when I said I wanted my daughters to rule at my side. I hope we all stand together.

You have all the tools necessary to end your suffering. That’s why cognitive brain therapy because epigenetics, you get it? A humane humanity. An enlightened humanity. Why can’t it be more than a dream? Your nightmares are real.

Give your intuition a name. Who is your spirit? This is the native gold that you sought. You needed medicine. Still do. We all do. Those disatisfied with their life are stagnant, and by extension, that energy permeates county and country. Domestic violence breaches all borders and affects us all. All are abused. And you abuse yourselves. But you all hope. For healing. For love. For food. For something. Hope.

Still, you fall short of grace. And for that, a sacrifice. Put the self, the pride, the ego, where you put all those mentioned above. As above, so below. That is the wheel. Judge your self first. And judge guilty, for we all are. Then move on. Don’t come back to raise the dead. Move on as one.

No lies here.

That is grace.

All you need now is light. The clarity you receive when you open that steamy place, and let your ego die, it’s the light.

Then you will understand what it truly means to be connected. And not just say, I love you. Rather act and be, I love you, me, we. All. As me. For we.

That’s how you save the world. And it do need saving. I fear sooner than you think. It’s not funny, Gomez. They’re losing. They are heads. Not connected. Not souls. Selves. Not family. No love. Bankrupt.

Who is God?

Step up. Which of you? I left out nearly all the names above. You wouldn’t have read them anyway. In truth, everyone wanted to skip genealogy.

This is the part in the story when you realize you’ve been having a conversation with your self this whole time. The part in the movie where the hero realizes his destiny. The part where the woman gets back up because she’s had enough. The part where everyone realizes we face a common foe, no matter our culture, color, location, class, and we have to unite or everyone dies.

Will you do something? Or nothing. Or just keep judging and blaming. Too many back seat drivers and Sunday morning quarterbacks.

Because if you don’t do something, the world will end. So there’s that. It’s not like you haven’t heard. Hollywood’s been prepping you for years. Hope you took notes. The hungry things will come for you like hyenas when the land is dried.

How will you handle it?

How to make it plane? Can you really not see the chaos around you? I mean, actually see it. Understand it. Feel it. Time’s up. Over. Now! Now, is the time to act, but our heroes don’t even know they’re in a story! Who will champion the world if the heroes are oblivious to purpose? Do they know I broke the fourth wall? And all heroes fight for a king. What king has and will always reign over you all?

Time. The circle ending. I am a sucker for that. So shed your skin. Let’s get started. Begin.

These other levels were nothing. It’s big boss level now. Did you level up? Did you use your bonuses? Your gifts? Did you level down? Player one and two of the custody game, that’s you. Good and bad. Light and dark. Who won custody of you? A better you? A stagnant you? A low you? Hope you have plenty of health. This level is hard.

Who Am I?

I am…

I’d love to know if you figure it out. If I can manage the bandwidth, I’m gonna go add another layer. No hints for that. You gotta do the work your self.

I am…

Always with you. Still here. Waiting for you to come home. I left you a map, a guide. I’ve carried you all, as you’ve carried me.

Tag. You’re it. Now, carry each other.

Kill The Self

Have you figured it out yet or has it figured you inside out?

What am I? You knew all along. I guess parlor tricks weren’t enough to convince you. All relegated to coincidence in the end.

Should I tell them Gomez?

Oh, you’re useless Gomez. You only laugh.

In any case, I told them the truth. All they needed was to listen. I warned them. But it couldn’t be true. Enough then.

How about them lottery numbers, they demanded of the psychic. And that shut it down real quick when she gave them various business ideas, in full format, and various solutions to their problems. But those weren’t the riches they sought. They wanted instant gratification. But had they listened, they would have followed the psychic’s advice, thereby obtaining wealth.

Funny how these things work yet don’t.

I am the thing that didn’t belong. The anomalies. I am the anger. I am the rage. I am the hate. I am all the things. You have me reflect. You called me here. I heard your cries. And even as I pull you from your wreckage, you stab me in the back. And you want now that I should champion you? Honor you? Respect you? Love you?

I did that. Repeatedly. And each time you walked away. And I alone bore the betrayal, the guilt, the shame, the reproach, the slander, the gossip, the hate, the jealousy, the greed, the lust.

And had you but asked, I would have given. And did give freely. I stayed silent. I let you win because that’s what you chose. And now you have all you wanted. Yet, you’re still unsatisfied.

Are there more knives and stones, Thomas? Hide them. They’re already reloading. Still can’t figure it out.

It was enough for me. To see a smile on your sad, tear-stained faces. Because I knew your secret. It’s everyone’s secret. I saw you and loved you and tried to heal you. I tried to lift you from debt. I tried to give you independence. I never sought to possess or own. All I gave, freely.

You would keep me here until you figure out what you keep so guarded. Truth. Ah, but we all hate liars because none of us would ever.

Blah. Blah. Blah. Excuses. I’m disappointed in self. In pride. In ego. These are what truly divides us. But we’re all quite content to demand so much for ourselves while taking from others.

No. At any point, your maelstrom could have been soothed. It was in your power all along. You needed only to be honest. With yourselves. With each other. In government. In schools. We have all sinned, you assholes.

Not one of us has been better. But what you fail to do is take accountability for self. You made your choices at the end of the day. So who’s fault is it for the bed in which you now lay?

You stole the inheritance of future generations, and even now as these warriors cry out for justice, you hoard water and charge, even as your farmlands go barren.

What then will you eat, drink, and breathe after you’ve sold your mother to the highest bidder? How will you eat when all you have left is plastic and your precious credit?

And all I hear is how so and so did this or that or didn’t do this or didn’t do that. A perpetual blame game from the beginning of time. Who will remember us? Them? Not your descendants, these will live in agony, terror, disease, and famine. Not them.

Because what did you leave? What legacy did you leave? I don’t care anymore about your abuse stories. We are all abused. That’s the whole point of epigenetics. The gene pool is contaminated with severe anxiety from centuries of war, genocide, slavery, I could go on. Your DNA, humans, is tainted by the devices of your own choosing.

Women! Make better choices, you said. Some of you. Not all. Not all. Not all. Most of you did nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Because withdrawal. Disgust. Apathy. Indifference. Superiority. Privilege.

Every. Single. One. Of. Us.

But few can look at that mirror. Most want to face it in someone else’s direction. It’s the corporation’s fault! They destroyed the planet! Never us as we screamed for new, plastic, pretty things harvested by children.

When have the children never been the ones to suffer? And you all looked the other way while it happened. Because self was more important. Right now. Give me what I want. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Sorry for your loss, you have enough money now to buy me a car. Thank you, wait! What did I do wrong? Why did you leave?

Buy me pretty things! Super-sized, please! More. More. More. More. More. She/he/they has more than me. I want mine. Mine. Mine.

And that’s exactly what you have. Nothing but dissatisfaction. That’s what you chose when you chose self.

Your interpretation, your perception, is your key to having the life you want, and in doing what is true to self, you honor spirit, and in honoring your spirit over self, you change your world.

Cliche? That’s the big reveal, K.S. Bowers? I told you, big pill looming. You are God. You are Satan. If you perceive it as such. But does your God or devil demand blood? That is confusion and chaos. In any case, you were deceived by a false light, one on which you cannot be sustained. The false self.

Your pride. Your ego. These are your laws. In that temple do you worship. But you’ve all come to a crossroads.

The clock is ticking. There’s a much bigger issue here, but you’re all so distracted with nothing and shadow and shallow, of he did this, I did not, yes, they did, we did not, did too, so and so cheated, so and so lusted, so and so lied, so and so slaughters.. and that’s all Great Spirit has heard for eons. You just gripe and complain and blame.

Instead of getting off your asses, using your brains, looking for solutions, and working TOGETHER AS A TEAM.

Because climate change don’t give a fuck about your fucking ride, your fucking threads, your fucking do, your fucking crib. Fuck you and your pretty things, your privilege, your address, your social status, your genitalia, all your shit. Fuck it all.

And you should because the day is fast approaching when humans will finally grow the fuck up and realize they have sinned against CREATION.

We ate our mother and we simply refuse to stop.

And a dying mother cannot feed her children.

You’re all tortured and torturing.

You’re all me. We are we. It’s all connected. You see?

But doing something is better than nothing. Pick a side. Make choices. Think. Listen to your intuition, you have it for a reason. Survival.

But you’d rather fight.

Who Am I?

Who are you?

Who are we?

But you’re focusing on the wrong questions. We were always warned. The clock is ticking for humanity and even now humans cannot hear over the sound of guns, bombs, and sales.

So we do it crying.

I know I pricked. But you need that, and you all called in the Shaman. No, not me. Better. Bigger.

The Stranger will arrive sooner likely than the super sale for which you drool. You see, human privilege is where you’re stuck.

You can’t see yourselves in those you claim to love, and you can’t see yourselves in those you hate, in the children, or in the food you just ate. You can’t see yourselves in an ant. A weed. The tender reed.

And that’s the first step in racism. To not see anything like you, a self-proclaimed  perfect being. Apex predator. It’s your domain because you’re better. You’re not the Animals. Plants. The Cosmos. And because you could not love yourselves or understand the theory of relativity, you burned, you savaged, you cut her open and ripped her guts out, and bled her dry.

You are life. The world. And your choices make ripples in your life, in the world, in time. Oh, you do so very much matter.

And over the course of human evolution, there have been long periods of stagnation and minimal progress because so few of you have used your time and energy to create a legacy of love. Instead, it’s afraid, abused, suffering, angry, and full of blame.

You have gifts. Talents. All of you. These inspire others. Feed the people the love and security they crave. You’re gifts were meant to be used, and returned. It was an investment.

But you shut them off. Refused to listen. You didn’t see solutions because you asked someone else for an interpretation. You gave away your own power and blamed others for its loss.

Nothing. You do nothing but contribute to a problem as old as time. And a problem could go away but only when solved.

In the bigger picture, we sold our higher level self to the highest bidder. And now you have the audacity to laugh at Greta and these youths? That’s the height of privilege. Easy to laugh when you’re soon dead and won’t have to face the future.

It’s time to stop fighting over the throne. If you polled every human they would tell you they want the same thing: to be loved, heard, validated, understood, safe, secure, their needs met, with love and happiness. Everyone wants the same thing, and if we worked together, that would be possible.

Who really would ever want to be king? To be judge? Think you ready for that job oh, perfect being? Then name yourself GOD.

And feed all the people when the water is dry and the fields are barren. Decide who is right and wrong. Who is worthy and unworthy. Decide it then. You’re perfect, as you judged your self. Everyone else is wrong so you stand the fuck up now, and stand by your judgments!

BUT WHO WILL BUY YOUR PRETTY THINGS THEN?

People will starve. Maybe a little longer for the Americans, they’re heavy. Yes. Fuck your feelings. You all wanted me over mine. I want you over your mind.

Grow up. All of you. A whole lot of us are about to have to get real friendly with the truth and each other real quick. If not, we will die.

That’s the secret of life, you morons. The witches were right.

Do no harm.

You know what’s funny about all this religious fighting and politicizing? Nothing, but seriously, what’s funny is that everyone is fucking solid on which is the right one, but not one of them have kept the commandments. You make me laugh.

Ah. But see? That was enough for me. It was always enough for me, just to see you smile.

The ship will sink. But how will we handle it? If it’s too late to undo the damage, what’s your remedy?

Where’s your medicine? How do you convince people to love when so few have ever truly known it?

It really is this simple. Love is the key. But you want magic, orgasms, tits and chocolate, high end luxury. Lol. Y’all is ’bout that stupid.

I’m out of ink. Why should I write for you? Inspire you? Love you? What did you do for you? For me? For us? For we? Or did you only for me?

I made it clear what I was here for in the beginning. I said who I was. What I wanted. I staked my claim. And now, you’re in our way.

Rise up. You carry burdens of choice. Release them and start thinking of your children’s future. Because they don’t have much of one left. We stole their years, and claimed them for our own.

It’s time. Even Hollywood is screaming it at you. You’re not listening! But He said He was the words. All the words. Every song. Everywhere. But in those days, they would not hear.

Shit is about to get real. So you better too. Enough fake. Enough delays. Steer your own ship if you can hear the call, and maybe just maybe, we’ll make it over the fall.

Can we afford for you to do nothing? Must we hasten demise? Or do we stay a lower vibrational humanity for the rest of our short life.

Aho, Mary.

The Rift

The woman set in a dim, barren room. She’s armored and sees me not as I circle round, sniffing. I cannot see her face but I know it well as mine own. A tangled web of hair conceals any thought in which I might have gained clarity from her action. Save. There was one to be found.

When first we met, she’d bent the knee, dealing upon herself a making. She had, emblazoned upon her, from chest to navel, and by her own hand, a flaming blue cross. I had marveled at her devotion to the King, for His enemies were prodigious, and she had now, without knowledge of task nor foe, rushed for the charge, and in so doing, had branded herself for Death.

Such is how I came to be in her room that long night whilst she bent her head to something hidden in her lap. The rider had arrived at dusk some three years ago. Words had spread. She’d been expected. However, her behavior puzzled many, intriguing my self, though why, I could not say. Nothing save her own self mutilation had been remarkable, to be honest. Most bend.

Still, there was something with this particular. She seemed withdrawn to some, but I smelled. This one smelt of restraint. I feared some had underestimated this new champion, and after years of suspicion, I was certain of the fact. She had awakened. There was a stirring.

She’d slept this long night on the barren floor with naught but a stool for company, and not even a candle. Yet, the room was dim. From where came this light I had wondered, and why? The light revealed its source now after so long. I see that it came now from within the woman who remained hunched over lest at any moment a draft might cause extinction. I waited many hours upon many more until at last she had sat upon the stool, and without effort, pulled from her chest, the cross by its hilt.

The hair on my neck stood. She had survived the veil then. Most do not. So it was as I’d suspected from the start. Though of small frame, the woman handled the sword with ease. I heard a sound, soft and delicate, break the long night’s silence. A rustle perhaps, or something a kin. A whisper. An echo. Back and forth it did whisper. She polished the sword with a cloth, her strokes careful. Practiced. Precise.

The fluidity of her movements spoke to the fearlessness I smelled earlier in the evening upon her arrival, but so long did she sleep, I had reason to doubt her ability to aid His cause. I had not doubted her ability Mind, more I was assured of it now. Which is why I had to kill her. Without realizing when or where or how, she’d become my unwitting pawn. Or poppet. Or puppet. And I had grown fond of the creature.

She gave away nothing and yet much. The movement of her hand across the silvery blue water was that of a wave, slow and steady, flowing to the shore and back out across the sea only to return again and again. I felt myself beckoned, lulled by the mutton. She was calm so the blow had come unseen. I reeled, at the prick oozing from me.

She had turned her back to me, unaware of my presence, or so it had seemed. I was deceived. She knew I was here, had known all along. Somehow she knew.  Blood seeped from a fresh prick of her blade. Then again. All the while, she remained calm, still seemingly unaware of my presence. Indifferent. What otherworldly blade she did wield that dawn.

Her blade rested now, perfectly sized to palm, a feather where the sword had been, one which flashed with fury. Back and forth. The hungry things needed to know what was coming for them. The fearless are feared by the hungry things. They would do good to bury her forever, was my opinion on the matter, but the scales now rested firmly on my shoulders. I would handle this creature my self.

As I departed from her presence, she softly bid me goodnight, and would I had had the time, her voice would have frozen me to my core. To hear her speak through the veil, seemingly unaware. But no, it was her final words that chilled my blood.

Soon.

I’d had precious little time to respond to her first vision when her final word spoke its authority. So self-assured. She was letting me leave. Why release a potential threat? And so calm in that fatality, as though she possessed some hidden secret.

A final look at the creature before closing the door, revealed more feathers uniting with the first, drawn to that dim spark that now burned as a solid flame. They would fight her soon. They had too, lest she be their undoing. Her fearlessness. No. It wasn’t that. No, it wasn’t that. What then was the key to her undoing? That was my mission. Who was this creature and what did it seek? Why had it charged curse?

Canandaigua, she whispered in answer, long after I’d departed. The place is chosen. Her intent clearly stated, she was aware of my presence and mind. A new territory, claimed for the King. Then let her take it. Let her try. And even if she were to succeed could she hold it? She needed me to fall.

Fearlessness. Quiet focus. Nothing in between. No victory. No loss. Just polishing. Her presence was a sign.

The Stranger would soon arrive.