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Painting "Moondancer"by Teri Sodd
Probably off hunting that eternally faster rabbit...
The thought briefly paints her lips with a smile which just as quickly fades. The woman sits down on the log and waits for him. The moon shines above, and its light comforts her.
Time passes. She stares across the lake to the far horizon. The birch trees on the lake's border shine white against the darkness of the forest.
She hears a soft noise behind her and turns to see Rowdy walking quickly toward her. The fire paints his yellow eyes with a wild glow, but his grin at her presence is wide and welcoming. She opens her arms and he comes to her. He rests his great wolf head on her shoulder, the warm weight of him brings tears to her eyes. She hugs him. He smells like pine forest and cold snow. His fur is thick and warm with his running.
After a moment, she lets go. Rowdy sits down in front of her and cocks his head.
"Tell me," he says with his eyes.
She stares off across the lake again. He waits.
Finally the woman speaks. "What would you do if you learned that someone has been taking words from your personal letters to them and putting your words on her Facebook page for her friends to comment about - friends who were receiving one side of the story? Friends who were influenced by her judgment and ugly opinions about you and knew only what she was telling them?"
Rowdy waited.
"Before you ask, a Facebook page is like a little stage where people display their lives and their friends come to see it.."
Rowdy nodded for her to go on.
"Some people," she said, "put their best most beautiful accomplishments on this stage, things they know will make the people they love happy.
"Other people," she continued, "put things on their stage that make them angry or which confuse and hurt them. They put those things on their stage so that their friends can say, "Those hurt me too." or "Yes, but this will help you, it helped me." They do this so they know they're not alone or so that they can figure out how to solve a problem."
Rowdy nodded again.
"There are some people, though," the woman said, "who put the things of other people on their stage. They carve out pieces of a person's life -- a person, say, who may have hurt them or who they think has done them some kind of wrong. They carve out this tiny piece and put it on their stage. They point to it, "Look at this person! This is the whole truth of this person. This piece. This person is ugly or wrong or stupid." If they can't find an ugly piece to share, they paint it ugly with their judgment and opinion."
The woman's fists clenched at her sides. She sighed deeply, then went on."They do this because they feel very ugly or wrong or stupid inside themselves and they need a way to feel better. If this person they are pointing to is uglier or more wrong or stupider, then the hurt inside the pointing and shouting one is quiet for a little while."
Rowdy thought a moment, then said. "Thank you. I understand now a little more about the stages. These are a metaphor for these computer pages, correct?"
"Yes," she says.
Rowdy nods. "So the name "Face Book" is because this is supposed to be the book about their life?
"Yes, she answers. "Every day, every minute of it if they want it to be. Most only put a little bit every day or every week."
"Where is this place?" Rowdy asked. "Who made it? It was very kind of them to make this place of gathering, even if people may misuse it..." Rowdy stopped at blinked at her expression.
The woman frowned. "The man who invented this place with billions of stages on it did it to make money."
Rowdy nodded. "Oh I see. So people pay for their stages?"
"No." She shook her head. "A straightforward transaction would be fine. It would be fair. This was different. This man invited the world to his party and gave everyone there a stage. 'This is free! This is for you!' he said. The people were delighted. 'See,' he told us, 'you can put your pictures here, and your words here, and your movies here. You can have groups with friends who love the same things. You can have private conversations with friends here too. It's all free.'"
"It sounds like a very good place," said Rowdy. "But..." He waited.
"But what we didn't know," she said, "was that as we put all our pictures and words and movies, as we spoke in "private chats" to our friends and in our groups, this man was recording every word. He said it was for safety. We believed him. He also asked, as our ticket to this place, for us to give him our personal information. That was our ticket through the door. He said he needed it to build our stages, the places where we displayed our lives, our Facebook page. He needed this information to make it 'your own place.' and 'a safe place to meet friends and family.'" So we did as he asked. We told him all about us so that we could get the ticket to go through the door. We gave him anything he asked so that we could stay there with our friends. Soon more and more and more people came because the people they loved were there."
Rowdy nodded. "So he only asked to know who was there to keep it safe? That doesn't seem so bad. It sounds like a very big place. Maybe there could be unsafe people."
The woman nodded. "No, it didn't seem bad. We pictured him putting our "everything about us" ticket into his vault and locking it away so no one could steal it. But someone not only stole our information, they sold it to the highest bidders, for years. Guess who that was?"
Rowdy thought a moment. "The man who was supposed to keep it safe?"
"Yes. He got very very rich. Then he got caught. He was fined but the fine was only 1/100th of his total worth. He kept on doing what he had always been doing, only finding more ways to spy on us, to gain our trust and to steal our secrets.
"Many years had passed In those years he began to use words to convince people that privacy was not important. People began to believe him. His service was shiny and colorful with many bells and whistles now. But even more seductive, everyone we knew and loved was there. So we stayed."
The woman was quiet a moment. Rowdy waited.
"Some did leave. I knew about this, and I stayed, too, or left and came back. I left recently for good, even though it broke my heart to do so. Facebook is a way of people finding Ben. Ben's friends are there. Our family is there. Ben left Facebook before I did, before he disappeared. He knew the truth of what went on behind and underneath those glittering, well-lit stages. I stayed until I couldn't any more. Finally to save my health and sanity, a few months ago I left. I knew his sister and other family members who are still there have his posters and information. I also knew there were other places all over the web that were more safe to put his picture."
"So how find out about person who uses her stage to point at others?" Rowdy asked.
The woman's eyes filled with tears. "A friend of hers who is also my friend. told me. So I brought this to you, my soul guide and love rather than do something wrongheaded and misguided." She smiled at him for a moment. "Something I wouldn't be able to take back."
Rowdy came and put his head on her knee. She stroked his fur.
"So, what would you do, Rowdy?" The woman wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and frowned again. "What if you had no idea they were doing this until someone told you? What if this all began because this person came to you with a face of trust, with offers of help and with kindness but then you found out that they had betrayed your trust in this terrible way? What would you do?"
Rowdy was quiet for a time. She continued stroking his ears and back. Finally he stood up, changed into his human form and sat down next to her on the log. He took her hand.
"Before I give you an answer, tell me what you think you should do please. I need to know how you feel about this." He smiled at her. His face was beautiful in firelight.
"My first reaction was to drag her into the light and scream out the truth of her lies. But that's not my job is it? This is the karma she has chosen by her actions. My reaction - what I do now -- determines mine."
Rowdy nodded. "Yes. Will you chose kindness and compassion now or will you allow your anger to make your next choice?"
"I want the world to know she is a liar, and that she is mistrustful so no one else can be hurt by her," the woman said.
Rowdy nodded. "Perhaps if they are hurt, this was the lesson they were meant to learn. You cannot control any other choice made by any other person. Just your own."
"True," she said. She frowned. "What she has done is foul. It's wrong..."
"Yet this is just a tiny piece of who she is. Do you recall how you said some people carve out small pieces of other lives to display on their stages, pieces they claim are the full truth?" He smiled again.
"Yes. I see what you're doing. You want me to remember why."
"Yes," he said. "You said, 'They do this because they feel very ugly or wrong or stupid inside themselves and they need a way to feel better. If this person they are pointing to is uglier or more wrong or stupider, then the hurt inside the pointing and shouting one is quiet for a little while.'"
Rowdy took her hand. "The correct response is also the compassion that led to that silence." He smiled at her. "You may yet help this person, if not by friendship, then perhaps by a future knowing as she looks back with clearer vision."
"You know I really wanted to see her page go up in flames as the entire world pointed at it chanting, "LIAR! LIAR! LIAR!" That was my first reaction." She sighed.
Rowdy laughed. "Well, I'm glad you traveled the path of compassion to your final decision," he said.
The woman leaned against Rowdy's shoulder and they stared across the lake. Embers glowed in the circle of fire and sent up sparks in the cooling night. Silver light painted the horizon, heralding the dawn.
"I do love you, you know," she said.
He chuckled softly. "I know."
