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
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