When agents of oppression rise like buzzards under cloudy skies to sabotage you in the steeplechase, remember cheaters can’t compete with fairness in the final heat so leave it up to fate to set the pace. In time, you’ll either forge ahead … or abandon the rules of the race and relinquish your rider instead.
(in the style of “Fire and Ice”, with apologies to Frost)
While some are satisfied with rice, however bland, I much prefer to pay the price for hearty fare that’s basted twice to blend a tantalizing brand of seasonings that suit my taste; uniquely wrought, precisely planned tomato paste that’s fresh, not canned.
For when the pizza’s tossed by hand and not in haste, the cheese and pepperoni stand like sentries poised to spark demand. Ingredients don’t go to waste and every sharply honed device contributes to the flavor laced through every slice wherever placed.
There’s a corner in the basement where nocturnal creatures spawn mortal fear that renders optimism sparkless, but the balance born of nature in the crucible of dawn is reserved for those who waited through the darkness.
Human history is littered with unspeakable events that would justify eternal condemnation but a nucleus of dreamers rising up to love’s defense can emerge from any faithless generation.
As the curtain falls on freedom through the apprehensive night, may a unifying spirit find us banded with rejuvenated purpose. Let it lead us to the light where impossibility is countermanded.
When I witness your existence as you navigate the distance from the origin of purpose to the peak, I am humbled by persistence past the line of least resistance in your resolute pursuit of what you seek.
While invincibly curtailing paralytic fear of failing you are crushing obstacles along the path. Does the mountain you are scaling lead to summit views unveiling the reward for struggle in its aftermath?
Let us climb the hill together as we both escape the tether of conditioning that binds us to our birth, for the thesis isn’t whether we are made of wood or leather but how feathered faith can soar above the earth.
In a split-level duplex on Denver’s west side where the gold dust and booze overflowed from the previous century, someone appeared at a newlywed couple’s abode.
“Did you see what just happened?” The unison chant broke the silence as, bolting awake with adrenalin pumping, they sat up at once and described an identical take on the bold basement visitor’s last fading flash that remains an indelible clip in this vividly witnessed and oft-replayed film even fifty years after the trip:
At the headboard, a rustle of taffeta stirs in the mystical opening scene as an elegant lady comes slowly in view from the rear as she glides in between man and wife unaware that we sleep on the grave of society superimposed on a future dimension with tenuous thread, its connection as yet undisclosed.
Like Miss Kitty, complete with a bustle and hat, she is dressed to the nines for the day in a matching plaid number befitting her role as a fashion plate walking away.
Then she ever-so-gracefully raises her skirt, stepping down from the foot of the bed, still not floating but moving with purpose and poise through the wall of the closet ahead.
When potentates arrived at Louie’s gate they frequently were treated decently from carriage to the crux of the estate through spacious links to be connected to the presence on the throne that blanketed the monarchy alone.
But only those whose social pedigree was highest shelf according to their wealth were met with individual esprit and ushered by the king himself through each palatial post from in to out at every station on the winding route.
A remnant of the ritual remains, a quiddity that, like a whispered plea, still echoes from the rural Georgia plains with matchless hospitality in gracious deference to who you are: “Allow me to escort you to your car.”
“Darkness will be preferred to light, and death will be thought more profitable than life; no one will raise his eyes to heaven; the pious will be deemed insane, and the impious wise; the madman will be thought a brave man, and the wicked will be esteemed as good.” -The Prophecy of Thoth
There will come a time, the ancients said, when Planet Earth is severed from the Spirit. As mystics strive to reconnect the thread with sacred speech, the people will not hear it.
Redemption must go deeper than the words to overthrow the pattern of stagnation in human consciousness that undergirds our currents of decline in co-creation.
For only when the willingness of one and all anothers unified by reason to forge ahead together has begun will heaven manifest its winning season.
And each alone can activate the glue that binds us to the cosmic retinue.
“My daddy changed the world.” Gianna Floyd, at only six, already understands that something monumental has occurred. She joins the ranks of children left to bear the burden of a murderous design infused into the bedrock of our nation.
Four hundred years of history reveal the willful subjugation of a line of people who, despite the barricades, survive in force to raise a mighty roar that shatters all illusion. We must stand in truth to finalize emancipation.
No longer will the platitudes suffice nor “thoughts and prayers” assuage an open wound. The time for reckoning is NOW, the day will soon give way to dusk, the moment lost forever if denial perseveres. The case demands authentic reparation.
Shades of Twenty-Twenty vision lie beneath abandoned cities packed with disregarded lessons of the centuries before. Finally the veil has lifted, there’s a purpose in tomorrow and the memories are fading from the year that brought the war.
Looking forward to commencement, parties, proms, and lazy summer leading into jobs or college, we were only seventeen. Some of us were undecided, some had mapped a certain future in the pattern of their parents. Others saw behind the screen.
Since we entered kindergarten we’d been tested, used, and herded for political agendas on the nation’s shrinking stage so it wasn’t unexpected when democracy imploded in a world already reeling from the chaos of the age.
Virus after virus followed, claiming half the population. News from other countries filtered slowly through the riot zone ’til the power grid was severed. While democracy imploded we were scrabbling for survival. Now we live on wits alone.
Here I stand, the single remnant from a family of seven, flanked by unified companions whose intention can increase coexistence with the planet. Taking only what is needed, with the help of one another we will make a lasting peace.
Coronavirus slithered through the sea to wake a nation unprepared to face its own reflection. Stumbling in the dark, the sleeping spirit stirs from shore to shore as, shaking chains of partisan divide, vibrations rise and rumble. Soon the chant becomes a roar, “Let’s make a better choice!”
This unexpected intermission taps the vast potential waiting in the wings. From dormant ranks, new patriots emerge with intellect, integrity, and love for fellow citizens. They’ll show us how.
Though headlines clamor, voices blare and bitter arguments abound in every fearful sector where the chaos of the world is found, each hibernating embryo refuses to restrain its flow of love beneath the silent snow.
When social order seems to fall into the clutch of grasping hands, a waiting surge is poised to call upon the truth that countermands the venom of contagious lies before its spread can fertilize the hopelessness in mournful cries.
Within the calm collective dream of all-inclusive peace on earth the universe emits a beam directing to our own rebirth. May every seedling labor through the obstacles that block our view of fellow feeling born anew.
Before she’s drawn a second breath or viewed her mother’s face, a newborn seeks the breast. No special training’s needed, there’s no test for measuring a baby’s aptitude or mother’s love. The cycle is renewed as fed becomes the feeder, doubly blessed with strength. Instinctively, we all ingest the substance packed in life-sustaining food.
So why should care and feeding of the soul be shrouded in enigma? Through the worst imponderable doubts, our Living Guide extends a standing offer: “Here’s a bowl of hearty stew for free.” And with a burst of sight, the inner cynic’s pacified.
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