Skip to main content

Be in Belief

It is the belief in a power larger than myself and other than myself which allows me to venture into the unknown and even the unknowable. -Maya Angelou

Again, if I’m sightless to the inherent disbelief found in the unknowable conclusion of truth, then what I imagine I know, without further seeking, can neither be love nor creation.

 What of that? Might reason acknowledge it as truth? Is it exactness, as far as any truth might be known? And is it mine to share with the world, mine to give away without the barbs of intolerance or the burden of pride to those seeking?

It is yours...

Perhaps I can if I’ll but empty it of any words or ideas that act as chains upon the collective spirit, if I’ll avoid any influence that pins down my thoughts or attempts to choke out Love with the ego’s dim-grown intolerance. The deafness found stirring inside of the noise-making, screeching it’s putrid grimness lined in shrill deceit, is simply a numbness to the natural rhythms of sound.

If I could but just be, instead of meandering in the ether and usher in the exchange of spirit so I can begin the waltz of Love with a newness, with purpose as partner, then I may not be as exhausted by the mad work of giving my mind away.


© 2011 by mark prime

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

I have been witness to the four pillars and see no reason to carry death there. Doesn’t the world know that life moves for more than just the sons of Abraham? O! I see the stunned throats floating by in the dusk to their stiff-limbed sleep as metal rains down over the Jordan’s western prophet, children dying there. I am here, waiting, breathing in the dusk under the shadow of the patriarch, asking, can we again build the shrine inside the soul and leave our flesh to time? © 2008 mrp/thepoetryman
32 comments
read the poem
........•SHRIEKING MACHINE•........                  •HEAD-LINES•                           •RIP•     ---(“Russian missiles blast Ukrainian military academy and hospital, killing more than 50, officials say”)---    There are no more lessons to learn here, no more beds to hold the human wounded, just missile’s shrieking their grotesque ode, The Death of Humankind! RIP, children of God…    ---(“Hundreds attend Mercer Island vigil, march for murdered Israeli hostages”)---    Dear mourners, this is the brutal vacuum of a genocidal, terror-filled, indiscriminate war-machine made of fear and we are all hostages to its deafening roar! RIP, children of God…    ---(“10-year-old allegedly confesses to fatally shooting 82-year-old man and his daughter”)---    I must confess, this is part of war’s shrieking, children lost with a we...
Post a Comment
read the poem

Waiting for It

Why do they stay there, between war and peace? Sky’s tapestry doles out guns, bombs and rocks while flesh and bone swim away from the ache yet live on as the food for the murder of peace. Why do we hide from the truth as if it were an ogre while death makes a home inside their living and war dispatches a raven to their door, smirking with the teeth of empire? Why do we wait, stooped for another wink? The sky’s drapery has tossed down ample clues, peace is breathing in harmony with war. (Road-maps are useless to blind leaders.) Why do they hold there, hunched in the gloom? Hatred’s bird cackling with bereavement needs end. Are we not rightly dishonored when we fill its trough with blood? © 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
12 comments
read the poem