Fog wall rises, clear,
reflected in the mirror,
this wet, grey, fall morn.
“And this brings me to my next point,” Merwegon said, her finger pointing, in turn, at each of the members of the small group gathered around her.
“It is never all in your own head. Never. Whether we believe it or not, we always depend on knowledge stored in the collective consciousness. At the time of specific need, the tendrils of our mind reach out to access the facts, opinions, stories, legends, and myths of all the contents of eternity.
“The quality of the transmission back to your brain depends on how hard you have worked to maintain the health of your mind tendrils. This is done by cultivation of clarity.
“If you don’t also minimize the static in your physical neurons, by proper lifestyle, you won’t be able to isolate the wisdom signal.”
Merwegon sat down, and looked, in turn, at each of her disciples, coming to rest, with a longer gaze, on the face of Alitonia.
Super Flash Fiction
“Who’s sorry now?” Juliana demanded, her face glistening in the streaky light of the late city night.
George stared down in disbelief, as the contents of the bottle of single malt joined the rain water rushing into the storm drain.
“Who’s sorry now?” Juliana repeated.