Each mote must float within its space
And every like to each its own must face
And You so being created as such
If longing and desiring is much
Must know and understand in detail
To stay the same yet want will surely fail
There must always be a growing and a reaching
For the risings only garnered by the breaching
Yet the soul that tethers itself to any idol
Will find itself a prisoner of that wile
For the expanding path will always lead away
From those whose choice in stagnate waters stay
But You who’ve learned to think in all directions
Will find the power that masters ALL reflections
All truth lays hidden in your mind
Be it bad or be it good – it is there
Conceiving itself as a seedling, forming
Until birth into the very existence of your life
And you perceiving it – judge it –
The very thing that you made
Without realizing that it was you
Who formed and created it
And I have noticed that most
Take credit for all they deem as good
But instead place blame for all they deem as bad
And in doing so – give all their power away
“There are two mirrors in which you may observe yourself. One is of this world, created by mans voracious appetite for gain. It leads to a false image of safety and security, and is easily shattered time and time again.
But the Other Mirror –
The Other is the image of Truth, revealing always the essence of who you are. It stretches back through time and makes known to you your Source and your oneness with the Creator. It is only in this reflection of yourself that you will ever find the way to your true purpose and happiness. You, Childe, waver between the two mirrors, and once you stop wavering, all illusions will fall away and you will see yourself as you truly are.”
For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.
1 Corinthians 13:12
I allowed myself to be changed by other people’s ideas of appropriateness, and I burned beneath their heavy opinions.
They did not glow brighter for my complicity.
Dying embers do nothing to fan the flames of greatness within anyone.
I watched a man once, with broken soul –
as he hobbled about looking for handouts.
He claimed the darkness for his friend –
yet the Light was forever following behind him.
I am but a breath, a mere word spoken,
And soon forgotten.
Like the dust that blows easily –
In a soft wind it is scattered.
Who can know such a One?
Those whose lovely deceitful smiles hide
The false flattery of their mouths?
They say what they do not mean and
Their actions are far off from their words.
He has blinded their eyes and hardened and
Benumbed their callous hearts.
But who are they who have set me in derision?
Does the strength of their hand profit me?
These mere men – whose ripe age and vigor has perished.
Like a rabble brood: they jostle me and push away my feet
Casting up against me their ways of destruction.
Oh, How they break up and clutter my path!
Yet they have no helper – No power to trample this dust –
Who is He who has raised me from the dead?
Who has freed me from my burial wrappings?
There is no Rock like my God.
For He is the Lord of knowledge
And by Him actions are weighed.
How many times have I been filled with words;
Yet the Spirit within me constrains me?
You have saved me from the snare of the wicked.
You have made my ways a highway of pleasantness,
And all my paths a way of peace.
I have watched the ways of the wicked, like a deep
Darkness, they do not know over what they stumble.
They walk by the light of their self-made fires
And of the sparks that they have kindled for themselves.
Who is my adversary? Let him come near to me.
I will seek out those who contend with me,
But I shall not find them; they shall be as nothing.
Where is the talebearer and he who sows strife?
The whispers of such separates even close friends!
And where is the evildoer who gives heed to wicked lips;
And the liar who listens to mischievous tongue?
They fled the rebuke of the Lord like chaff before the wind.
Who is he who will condemn me? All these sinners,
And who among you will cast the first stone?
I have searched and poured over the scriptures diligently,
Yet the beauty of the words do not contain Life,
It is the giver of Life that produces the beauty of the words!
All these things taken together, shaken up, measured out
Have not equaled to the fullness of the Lord!
A man can receive nothing except as it is granted
To him from heaven – there is no other source.
But boundless is the gift God makes of His Spirit!
Thus, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven
Over one wicked person who repents than over Ninety-
Nine righteous persons who have no need of repentance.
Well let the trumpets blast in heaven!
For out of His fullness I have received one grace after
Another and spiritual blessing upon spiritual blessing
And even favor upon favor and gift heaped upon gift!
ALL FOR ONE WICKED SINNER – THIS MERE DUST!
I can see Solomon from where I Am
In this time of mine so far removed
Yet there he is none the less lamenting
What a travesty that him and I could
Not meet and cry between us
All the useless trappings of man
I would demand – “show me this god of yours
Who gives wisdom knowledge and joy”
Yet he would not see Him in Me
Because he never caught the wind
Though it Be inside him all along
For all his wisdom – did he never
Think to look there?
I disappear into myself
Not knowing where it is
That I go – that no space
There is wholeness here
That does not exist outwardly
In the world where I split myself
Into tiny bits and scatter about
Pieces of Me – one to each
Those who want nothing more than
A little mirror in which they
Might see a tiny fragment of themselves
Yet – when I meditate
All those gifts return to me
Though they be sharpened
By the splinter – Every shard
Set back in place as though I
Was never made to be broken
In order that I might be shared
When there she appeared like she does tail wagging
A ball in her mouth and her ass carpet dragging
Well I balked at the site and I shooed her away
With my butt stone still on the crapper that day
I plopped down a turd and then farted twice
And here is where I will give some advice
Never play ball when your butts busy pooping
Your dog doesn’t get why you’re sitting there stooping
She’ll keep bring toys and then running away
She’d be happy to do it all fucking damn day
So once you’re done shitting and whipping your arse
Remember with a smile my dog fetching farce
And don’t toss the ball or it never will cease
And they’ll be no more people pooping in peace
~ In honor of April Fools’ Day!
Are we so different from nature?
Should we not be completely undone,
in order that we might bloom again?