Contributing to the Chaos while
Living – Life – Large
It is recited as a hymn, releasing the unsayable that once perched on the back of the tongue. Its darkness released into the breath of lost souls looking for the light. As the hymn grows stronger and harsher, the mindless willingly seem to follow deeper into an unfathomable void.
I sit and listen. I cannot shadow such a forced melody that is so close to mandatory. All I can hear is a screaming fear from the sound of a canary entombed in a chapel. In its panic and collision, this eloquent bird looses small ornate feathers to fall from the light as it crashes against the stained glass windows wanting nothing more than to be free.
My understanding, as to why, is highly impaired if I spend too much time in the realm of the masses, and also one of the reasons I have retreated to the end of the road. This voice proclaiming why, is consuming the hordes of listeners is it is bellowed from those pretending to be directors.
Conceivably, this voice, in time, will turn to static and the entranced disciples will find that the dream of everything being okay has been spoiled and displays a startling conclusion to the verbal ending of, “everything is not going to be okay.”
There seems to be a defective magnifier that man has lost the ability to let go of or put down. This magnifier is a shinny round thick piece of magical glass that can see and grow all things good and bad. This magical magnifier has become flawed and is malfunctioning. It starts to magnify the good but only for a short time before the glass fogs, befalls focus, and is lost from interpretation. The bad however, is honed and refined, seemingly becoming sharper, more vivid and cruel as it mimics cutting its way into tinder flesh without leaving the stench of fresh horrendous pain.
Society has become broken, divided and terribly out of balance. It is no longer unfathomable that a national revolt or conflict could emerge as people awaken and become aware of the corruption and manipulation that is taking place. There is no greater disaster than when conflict ascends among the people.
Conflict narrows vision, limits choices and pulls us into endless struggles between the competing oppositions. Conflict thrives when factions believe their beliefs to be the only truth. Truth and belief can only be completely genuine to ones self. All beliefs are true to the believer, as long as there is no malice involved, these truths should be honored whither they are true, or not true to you.
As for myself, I will not be that person bleeding in the excepted dress, beliefs, politics and principles of people. I honor the title of an individual and will not accept any predetermined path that is being paved for us by the governing principal. The prevailing assemblage, who wears a false white robe of purity, tells us their way is the way to save lives, even if it means sidestepping our Constitution. At the same time the flowing drape of their robes conceal a gapping wound of what is really happening to humanity. With a relentless and hypnotic voice they preach and moralize to be integrated as one, we must all stand-alone and endure this pain together.
I am not speaking that doomsday is prevailing with the endless wind. With the flow of my pen, I hope to evoke a path of self-thought. Not to follow or agree with my opinion, but to possibly not follow blindly with thoughtless haste and simply to think for yourself. So, with this mindset I release my thoughts to be shared by those that may choose to listen, read or see. I do so with a calm open heart so the energy will not be hindered.
As I look in all directions with the element of calmness, which is my foundation of being. As I have traversed my path in living this life, I have even cultivated a discovery to consider. Feasibly my way of thought may be off limits, out of bounds, or beyond reproach for some people. But, it is from the bruises, breaks and lacerations of living a life with reckless abandonment, which has had few boundaries that I do. It is also why, from these same experiences and tribulations that I prefer my coffee to be hot, bold and black as sin.
Try as I might, I do not possess the capabilities to hold the polish on each word before it slides over my tongue. I wish to enrich and protect them, as each word starts so precise and defined. But, as they hit the back of my teeth they seem to crack, chip and crumble. Perhaps it also happens when my words are transferred to paper. I’m sure that they are, but here on this descendent of a tree, I’m able to sweep up some of the carnage from the explosion of thought, unclutter the chaotic shrapnel of skirmishes and discrepancies, then rearrange them closer to there source of departure, or not. - dbA