Bull

Being critical of anything typical has become 'original.' Although when something multiplies, and becomes a trend, like being cynical, it is no longer rebellious. When rebellion itself becomes mainstream it is no longer rebellion. Not in the political sense, but

I understand the resistance in accepting ideas, styles, or people that are devoid of truth and loaded with bull.

Flight 3473

On top of the clouds.

Literally.

It's a whole other world up here. Who knows how many worlds there are?

Lord of the worlds.

We ascended to a layer between two layers of clouds. It was breathtaking. The clouds still, silent, submitting to their Lord. I needed more time to absorb when the pilot angled the plane and ascended higher. My first reaction was panic, fear of leaving this discovered heaven. My second reaction was a quick reconsideration. Going to a higher level brings more beauty, even though you can be awestruck by what you see at your level.

God can always create better than what you witness, and He can always grant you something better although you may not understand it.

God's mercy, in blinding us to believe things "can't get any better" relieves us from the overwhelming anticipation and grants us a certain dose of happiness in accepting and loving our current blessings.

Just as the levels of heaven are changing, such are the blessings God bestows on His creation.

Lord of mercy and compassion.

Lord of the worlds.

9.22.11

Disaster Magnet

She comes and disaster ensues, hearts break, and limbs bruise, death wakes, and devils cruise. 


She comes and happiness slowly gains then drains.


She comes and brings with her a toolset with three objects. The objective is inflicting pain. 


One is a feather to tickle his heart.
              The next is a chisel to chip it to parts. 
The last is a hammer, to shatter whats left. 
              She is wreckless, sporadic, selfish, dramatic, stupid, romantic, ugly, not static. She simply breaths panic, wreaks havoc on hearts of beautiful men.

Speach

Paradigm

Dance

I don't belong to their world, although they think I do.

I don't belong to their world, although they think I do.

The reality is that I don't belong to this world. My culture is a mosaic, a collection of fragments. I don't belong to one, or none. I belong to all, except some. I define who I am, slowly, and I am not always correct. Sometimes I am the opposite of what I say I am. Sometimes I underestimate myself. But most of the time, I am changing.

We are all beings, moving in this world. Some with purpose, some without. Some with meaning, and some in delusion.

The piano plays the music. We all dance in our own way. Some follow steps of others, some create their own, some are offbeat, and some believe they have the option of not dancing.

I say dance to the beat that creates beauty.

Observer

Lights infiltrate body, casting no shadows. Gallows of shallow blunders spur ivy. Heavy loss of consciousness undresses useless endeavors of broken brains and dirty stains. Rain remains detained. Shackled in the clouds, yearning crowds who maintain vein shameful persistence. Wash. Watching lurking smirks of distaste. Hasty, clumsy mistakes.




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Purity

He took her hand. They danced.

A while later, he took a new hand, and danced to a different song.

After some time, a new hand, a new song.

So many hands held his. So many hands he held.

Drifting winds gather much debris from land to land.



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Night

I want to sleep on this bench.

I want to please roll around in the dark grass under the sweeping sky

I want to chat with the chirping crickets and the insistent breeze

I want to have a staring contest with the moon

I want to share the air with my green friends

I want to plant my feet into the deep soil

I want to embrace the entirety of this land

I want, above all, to thank my Creator for this earthly heaven

Dear Moon,

I weep at the force of your maddening beauty.

You leave me slowly, until you are entirely gone. But then you slowly return to me, and at your peak, you are the most magnificent creation my soul has witnessed.

You remind me of God's mercy. Even though we may not have the ability to recognize it, it is always there, and proves its existence through every cycle of struggle.

God created you. He created you for more than just serving the purpose of illuminating the dark sky when the true source of light is shedding itself on another world. You were created to tell us humans that God's mercy is endless, certain, and dependable.

I would thank you for being a reminder, but I will thank your and my Creator directly.

All praise is to you Oh God, Lord of the worlds.

Unity, Come

It is not the breaking of the dawn, nor is it the setting of the sun that marks revolution. It is the collective effort of each soul's decision to change course.

The suffering self yells help! Crevices cut cheeks from bleak concrete, weak and shattered leaves of broken treats.

Suffering is a still surface, sanctified, surreptitious, and simply catastrophic, when allowed to remain undisturbed. Ignored, forgotten, goodness itself packs up and abandons the idle observers.

When you remember God, He will remember you.

Sell your self-pride. Combine smiles to create miles to defile that hostile monster, called suffering. Clasp hands to create bands of lands to reprimand that man who doesn’t care. Because the only thing that can bring happiness is peace, to bring peace you need unity, to bring unity you must recognize your own role in consoling the smoldering eyes of weak helpless cries.

Every motion, disturbing that still surface of suffering, creates ripples, then waves, and then forces evil to cave. New havens and enclaves rise for brave men of mercy and compassion who then save the slaves of ignorance.

We must supplement the sphere of serenity by having

Holy books with wise pages

and 

Monasteries with sweet sages.

We must understand that
Patience comes in staggered stages,

that
Love pays the highest wages

and
Good hearts serve for infinite ages.

Recognize before our demise. Call onto unity and say, "Come! Come unity." 


Video Performance




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It is!

The world is a funny place.

I am afraid of what I am not.

I am afraid of what I have been, but no longer am.

I am afraid of my first impression of you.

I am afraid of what your existence means.

I am afraid.

I live in fear of what I do not know. I do not know why I fear the unknown, and that makes me afraid.

Axis

An illusive axis cannot serve a righteous purpose.

You may create an axis about which your world revolves, and it may be another person, your career, your worldly passions. But it is not a real creation, it is an illusion. When your world starts spinning at high speed you reach for that axis, and it disappears.

When you place physical things as at the center of your world, they not only reveal their weightlessness when you really need help, but you also realize you have placed the entirety of your hopes and energy in all the wrong channels. But when you place the invisible at your center, i.e. God, that is the only real thing that remains at any time of hardship or ease-ship. Check your axis before you try to reach for it and it fails you. Check your axis before your world spins out of control, all due to your permission to let it spin around circumstantial axes for too long.

With love,
A Human



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buzz

sweet, hot chocolate slithers down my trachea
white, weightless fluff lathers my lip
mysterious, engulfing words hypnotize my eyes
soft, leathery cushions cushion my cushion
warm, fuzzy blanket drapes my walkers
driven, lovely sky juice soothes my drums

perfect serenity

eyeye

eyes resist seeing
the lids give gravity dibs
and lashes sweep the dirt off the floor
the dirt that the feet dragged in

eyes redeem dignity
by allowing pride to create rigidity
and neglecting yearns

left eye twitches under weight
right eye watches, its wisdom lost and unspoken