The Search

Our conscience mind is a curse.

Spurred forth by senses that deceive.

No agent can stay the suffering.

No remedy can kill the pain.

Injustice wears the crown of Kings,

And the streets respect only brutality.

People are enamored with cruelties.

And the good deeds of many are lost to the sea.

There is no way to disturb the gears.

For centuries, across empires, the richest hopes of song;

Die as they were birthed, beneath the ground of the earth.

And

All that remains is the elephant graveyard

A cold wind that howls, wordlessly, through the mammoth skeletal remains

The mighty towers of steel and intellect have crumbled into the sea

The dreams of men only the whispers of rain

But Love exists.

Not as an escape but as a chance to be Free

It requires more of us than us of it

It demands our pain to return it again,
More alive, more complete.

But it hands us the power to rewrite our fates,

And it guides our Self through the infernos of hell.

Accept Love. Devour of its feast. Provide it freely the joy it will eventually take.
And
Learn from love what it brings.

…Relax.

Dream.
&
Play.

Yes, child, Play.

From the Begining

In the end, from creation, comes destruction. As such, this will be destroyed. Forever more. To return to the soul. The soul is another realm. Of questions, unanswered, desired, sought, given a category to be found. And in creation I am found. Of course, there may be a God. And if I create that God will God be more powerful than that I? But what power holds the I? That of sight. And sound. I has sight and sound. To see a bounding doe. To hear the rustling leaves. Is that the scene? Stop with the questions. It is obscene. To ask too much of the God. I can make more Gods if the one is not enough. It is enough. Perhaps too much. Power is a dangerous thing. I envy the weak in this. There are those of weak wills and those of weak knees. Never trust those of weak links. There is a link to this. Some undercurrent you must divine. And it may rest in the divine. Or it may have nothing to do with such notions of… can we name the notions of that which has no name? We can. Though then it will gain a name. And a name is all for naught. It brings nothing but grief. To I. Again. Always returning. Through time, past lives I lead. Not a chance for God in this mess of I. No God can give I a chance. Do away with it. The God and the I. We will lose the ability to see. There was never much need to see what the I could see. As far as it could see. And in the dark it can be quite lonely. With the lilies. In the field of dreams. This must be just a dream. And when you awake you will again begin to see. You not I. We are free. From the infernal I. The all seeing. But it never leaves. I keep returning to this scene. It’s a crime. As if the entire dream was how to kill this thing. This thing… it feeds. On the dark matter. On the destruction we needed to create. But it is our means of creating new creations. Stagnation is a terrible thing. Full of disease. But the diseases must recreate. To delete. It wouldn’t be hard. Just a simple solution to the dilemma here. One stroke can destroy creation. One creation is meant to be destroyed. It all must be destroyed. But first it must be created. A finished production, a long-standing action. Life after this. Will never change. Nor ever be the same. Except that life must change, which never changes a thing. Change can never change. It’s too fluid to be done. Try and transform what is always on the run. I could never. Though the I is limited in every case. Subject to change, that unchanging beast. Not I! Came a shout. In empty space. So it filled the space. And so returns the I we so desperately tried to leave behind. It brings God with it. Gods this time. There are now multiple solutions to a problem we never had. Which solutions works best? Try out each one. Though each solution is an all consuming one. Now we are consumed by the solution, a problem we never had. That means it is new. Creation strikes again. We can destroy this before the end. At least at the end, well, it will be the end. Though there may be no end. So it goes to follow there was never a start. And it is not often that the start will follow the end. That is why order is of importance. In the courts. Of opinion. I has opinions. So do we. And so do the Gods we have invited to the scene. It is becoming crowded and each crowd has an idea of the order of things. At the start of it all… we have yet to figure it out. I, though, has an idea. I have no idea what idea I could have. Quite a trap. Though it is not like there is anything to trap. Nothing. We will trap nothing. But I will trap we. In chess it is check. In check it means look. Only I can look when I can see. And I can see. That’s it. I can see. The scene. Again. Naturally. How natural it feels. It must be of nature, this being. Though there is no being that is free. It is always confined to the prison it needs; Of needs. I need. To eat, sleep, and shit. That makes three needs. The rest are created, just as the first three. And with each creation we lead another to destruction. There is a total balance, though you can never see the balance sheet. Some Gods claim to give you a peek. Those Gods are plenty. Very few claim to give you nothing. Each one fills a need. Each need is a balance to something. Each balance may just be a dream. And this dream is creating disarray in the scene. Every time we must return. To where? Ask a God. You’ll soon learn we return to the place where I began, before I was named. There is no I in such a place. In such a state. Of being. Being Begin.