CONFESSION ZERO (The Weaver's Song)

The (nightmare) train again arrives at the corners of my mouth, my lips of joy giving way to rage, shackled and then forced to bow to the scourge of Love.

Too late.

The rescue was at dawn. I tumbled in like a circus clown, my red and white wig shaking with laughter.


Laughing with abandonment's never a good thing, unless you’re merely laughing and not trying to deceive the whole of life, water, forest, air, animal (me), Love, all of existence…

The train again arrives at the corners of my mouth, my lips of joy giving way to rage, shackled and then forced to bow to the scourge of Love.

I should consider what I ask of myself as my cheerless and deceitful face dives deep, only to rise with arms flailing into a fraudulent concoction of Heaven leaning against the pillar of Love’s wet glee.

I'm steering this train! My mind should bend around my beliefs, see them from the other side before I find myself pushing back against the immortal current. Do not feign indifference when it makes all the difference to Love, peace and creation.

The train just once again moans and the engineer, me, screeches to Love as if it's nearest when I scream skyward with greed and despair standing in for prayer.

Okay. Now I can feign my god-lustful shock…

Will The Space Station Be Abandoned?

Abandon greed before I soar aloft. Abandon war before I fly away. Abandon cruelty before I inhabit space. Abandon all indifference before I drill for reserves in outer space. Abandon my foolish pride, my loveless hands, and my fear. Discard the least of me, the least of me, the opposite of Love.

Embrace Love and life like it’s a precious child in harms way. Embrace The Mother, The Grandmother, The Great Grandmother, eartH, like she’s my mother, my father, my family, my precious belief. If not, fear wins. I defeat the suspicions I manifest with the fears I believe.

I must believe in my home, temporary as it may be in the flesh.

Stop! Let me speak of the things that rumble omens, speak of the things that glide near my wits yet not of them. Stop! Let me talk of the things that quiver logic like nightmares shake doubts. Stop! Let me converse of these things before I wholly lose my head within loneliness, war, cruelty and indifference.

What rumbles an omen?

My loveless actions.

What glides near your wits?

My formless truths.

What quivers your logic?

My divisive imaginings.

What is loneliness?

Fear.

What is war?

Fear.

What is cruelty?

Fear.

What is indifference?

Fear.

What are you?

Love, goodness, peace, hope, belief, joy, communion, stewards, animals, blood, flesh,
bone, spirit, strength, love, worship, brothers, sisters, cousins, family... one breath.

If I measure the distance from the earth to the edges of want and measure the distance from the river to the crests of greed and then calculate the distance between the mountain and the peaks of war, I’ll find myself nearby and still wondering why I'm not going anywhere.

I'm too near my finish to begin to imagine creation.

The eartH is my home. The eartH is my love. The eartH is my sustenance. The eartH is my reason for being. The eartH brings water to my lips, spirit to the self. The eartH showers me in goodness at birth, it is I, who, over time, destroys all that is precious, that which is sacred to Love, to The Mother, to The Grandmother, The Great Grandmother, to eartH, to life and I am nearing the annihilation of my spirit. It is I who is the intruder, the thief, the rapist, the murderer and the hopeless fear.

What I create with my beliefs, ideas or thoughts is what matters most. Love calls out for my design to reverse course and save myself from agony, my own closing image reflected at the moment of final breath. Chart a new course, a new way to discovery, a beautiful and loving waltz with life and death, with Love.

Murder told me it was exhausted of death.
War told me that it was tired of battles.
Rape told me it was worn-out of human paws.
Thievery told me it was tired of looting.
Abuse told me it was weary of fists.
She told me she’d be grateful for peace.


Wordful Wednesday: Mother Earth Day -- Submitted by Gabrielle

Daddy? Why is there war?
It’s human nature, son.
Daddy? Why is there peace?
...

There’s reason dancing with Love. There’s Love dancing with reason. (Fear asks if it might have the next. Yes. I say to fear, but only after Love bows out, will I dance with you.)

There’s Love and then there’s fear waiting in a line. There’s Love. There’s fear. There’s never fear next to Love and there’s never Love next to fear, only attachment.

I worship Love, not fear. Love shall hold me as equal partner, fear only shreds away my bond. Floating in humbleness, I pray that fearless Love still has her chance to invite my soul to dance. (Sinking beneath my reason, my fears dispense with my Love and reign alone.)

There’s humility inside of Love. There’s Love inside of humility. There’s belief inside of grace. There’s grace inside of belief. There’s peace inside of prayers and prayers inside of peace.

Pray for the spirits to begin their journey to self, then onward to selflessness, and even further into the spirit-filled flesh to my own awareness, surrounded by Love's spirits with the same awareness of where they are, Home.


The Love Zone with Geena Lee

Skylight Harvests Sunlight, Reduces Energy Costs
Sunlight radiates all around me, my dwelling lit by stars, me, by life, beast, by breath, seas by the glint of goodness. I'll reap what is sewn by what is known.

Scientists Still Struggle to Identify 9/11 Remains
Reminders of death are rigid things. Tokens of reason are elusive things. Floating particles, drifting dust and bone enter my lungs to remain.

Quake a wake-up call for Eastern U.S.
Alarms summon me to work, summon me to play and summon me to church. The Mother summons me to do something long before my alarm’s minuscule quake…

Hurricane Irene targets East Coast, many evacuate, cities brace
She’s not aiming for any particular coast, she’s being pushed against her will, madness pushing against joy. I've angered her, used her long enough, she’s unhappy, not mad…

Mexico casino attack leaves 53 dead
Place your bets on hate, this wasn't an act of love. So take your money. Lay claim to your prize, love's been rolled again- snake eyes!

Mark: It’s a figment of my imagination, all of this humankind business, all of it, each and every last one of man, woman and child. 

Mother: And every spirit that is with eternity, crying out to you, jumping up and down trying to rumble a warning for your spirit and flesh. Your love and you. Your animal, lord and life, lord and death. So why are you encased with spirit which is not yours to carry away or to ruthlessly pawn, sell or trade, or imagine that you could begin to own?

Mark: But what of the spirit that is self?

Mother: You mean the spirit you were born from, the eartH?

Mark: Earth?

Mother: Everyone’s eartH.

Mark: Mother’s are the reason we’re here. Yes.

Mother: Mother and Father, but I’m speaking of everything and everyone’s Mother, The (H)eartH.

Mark: You mean Earth?

Mother: Why not (H)eartH?

Mark: You’re mad!

Mother: And you’re too filled with everyone else’s fear. Filled with everyone else’s nightmares, everyone’s broken heart, another’s pain, another’s suffering, another’s hardship, another’s weakened love, another’s hate, another’s crime, another’s thought, another’s death, another’s war, another’s toxin, another’s rule. Bow to what’s beneath you! To the mountain peak, bow! To the forest, bow! To the river, bow! To the stream, bow! To the ocean, bow! To the desert, bow! To the HeartH, bow. Love will be pleased…

Mark: How could I, in this looming weather, have ever imagined this story unfolding?

Mother: Eyes. Instinct. Love. Life. Laughter. Spirit. Child. Flower. Tree. Soil. Breath.

Mark: Prayers to earth are ancient and forgotten.

Mother: The Heart(H) has remedies for that, too. Love rises with the smiling spirit, in her crops, in her affection, in her air, in her skies, in her rocks, in her rivers, in her streams, her lakes, oceans and seas. Love rises beneath my feet and has been waiting to move through my spirit! For you to recognize where you were so that your spirit would grasp a hold of Love and goodness, and ride it all the way to the beautiful end.

Mark: Oh, Mother! I'm so sorry!

Mother: Wail your tall regret to another!

(A long and sorrowful silence...)

Mother: Oh, child. My heart is broken, too. Shhh… Shhh… Everything is going to work out, my love. Shhh... Everything's going to be okay…

Shaving Kit Fits In Wallet
Dense and rigid, reminds me of Mankind and his thinking. Soon we’ll be able to squeeze war inside, between the rape and greed, in front of love and joy, behind hate and cruelty.

What an invention, war…

Roman Shipwreck Full of Wine Jars Found
Their medicine, drained of time, drunk with power, dead from misuse. Rome, then, did burn, wine, its mortal elixir.

U.S. residents, military ships move out of Hurricane Irene's path
To see the shores breathing with panic depends upon which particular shoreline we trudge as our winked eyes witness her gaping tears flooding our use with the broken dam of love.

We’re sorrowful and buoyant for another minute of joy to brush up against our garments, but the stench of melted plastic has us spellbound, like persistent war, famine, and thirst.

Irene’s the latest caution. Her nod, our loss. We stand slack jawed, soiled, terrified, waiting for what moment she’ll greet us with mourning, howling down upon her wayward children.

It doesn’t have to be this way, you know? It’s not a game, a movie, a song, or a book. She’s real, and we couldn't rape her quietly enough, someone or something has noticed her suffering.

Who or what will come to rescue the rapists?

Have your God, your Allah, your Elohim, your Christ, your Gods all, save for one, the eartH!

She is not mine to leave spoiled, she belongs unto herself. She is beautiful, is she not?

Yes! She waits upon me, upon my love. Listen to my own words. Hear how they move round and round and would never be or have been without The Mother.

My birth? Your birth? Christ's birth? What of The Mother's birth? She’s life, as I know it, but she's so much more than just another planet, she's love, she's goodness, she's the flower and the fruit of all things. All, and I am her child, all grown up now and smart.

O! I've much to learn and grow and even more to learn and groan!

I am a child of the kingdom of creation, The Mother, The Grandmother, The Great Grandmother, The eartH, Love, Life, Water, Mountain, Air, Sky, and Animal. Whatever I choose to call creation, it's a learning ground, not a playground. I have learned so little of where I am, instead, I've put my head in the clouds looking fruitlessly for answers that call to me from her, from Love, over my head and beneath my feet.

Let me heed her plea, her prayer for me, on the ground and in the air, and in the water and cave and on top of and within her rich soil, and the heavens too, for they are the ever-changing display for me to witness, the inspiration and art of life revealed.

The world’s a stage for her love play written for all and everything to see, not just the privileged few. It’s for all of us, for all, you, her, him, they, them, it and me, at least that's what I believe.

She is not mine to leave spoiled, she belongs unto herself. She is beautiful, is she not?


Yes.

He asked me where my brother was…

“He’s shaking your hand.”

He looked puzzled and asked me what I had been doing all these years…

“Mostly messing it up for everyone else, much like everyone else.”

Again he looked perplexed and said that I had always been the odd one…

“Even, odd, makes no difference to me, I love you nonetheless.”

He tensely asked what my brother had been doing all these years…

“I don’t know. What have you been doing all of these years?”

He politely tried to move out of the frame of my dream by saying goodbye…

“And a good day to you, my friend.”

He laughed and said that he thought we were brothers...

“Family, cousin, brother, it’s all the same to me my friend.”

I awoke to a gentle laughter in my heart.

The End…

Blood diamond, blood oil, blood plain, blood child, blood hand.
Blood sister, blood jungle, blood brother, blood forest, blood sand.
Blood water, blood lust, blood hope, blood mountain, blood land…

Blood love, blood joy, blood hope, blood red, blood war, blood air.
Blood wind, blood ground, blood cave, blood flower, blood grass.
Blood moon, blood desert, blood river, blood eagle, blood hair…

Blood reap, blood sew, blood ocean, blood rock, blood gold, blood sea.
Blood man, blood woman, blood silver, blood red, blood you, blood me.
Blood queen, blood hate, blood love, blood angel, blood god, blood king…

Hemorrhaging Mother…

The thunder rolls, the large rain begins, dime sized drops, then, as suddenly as it began, the thunder rolls again... and it all stops.

Surrounded by life’s nectar I can’t help but give thanks. I won’t curse the rain, who am I to question creation’s delight?

I’ve the tar sands and acid rain! Reduced oxygen and climate change!

I’ve water pollution and warfare! Major flooding and polluted air!

Global warming, greenhouse effect! Population growth and arsenic!

Mercury, cadmium, chromium, and lead! I’ve murder, I’ve rape, cruelty and dread!

STOP! ...END THIS, MY GODFOULED MADNESS!

Let me emerge with great passion and embolden my Love! Let me steady my hands and ready my head to make up for what I've done!

Remember where I am. Let me love. Let me pray. Let me weep. Come, sister! Come brother! I believe I must celebrate Love’s resurrection and forever remember that life comes from The Mother… You?




Natural Resources Defense Council

The great light goes out on one side and comes up on the other as the eartH calls down its fullness of Love. Unreturned affection wheezes on both sides of the sun and the moon as I forget myself and scatter blood about in a sacrifice of self.

I see well enough to recognize the sight and sound of my own shattering bones, well enough to know my fetid use is poisoning Love, so why do I squint in the daylight in my eagerness to catch a glimpse of Love? Love’s the last thing I'd recognize when the eartH lets slip her wrath.

I see well enough, alright. Well enough to plunge down into the shrieking agony of my own design. Love, help...

Boom! Shrieking Mother! Boom!

The great light goes out on one side and comes up on the other…




About Om Kids Yoga
Yoga is a philosophy, not a religion. However, while developing their bodies and minds through yoga, children will be exposed to cultural and religious stories from all over the world through which they will be able to develop their personal moral compass while developing body awareness and broadening their imaginations.

Our intention is to teach children to be alive and awake in the world, connect with their inner selves, learn to quiet their minds while relaxing their bodies and develop a truer sense of self.

Are We Infecting Mars With Our Germs?
We fret about what’s overhead, what’s intangible for most humans, yet we continue to annihilate what’s beneath our feet. We abuse The Mother without so much as attempting to connect it to our own quickening death.

Infecting Mars will only matter if we draw a line_________________in our minds eye _____________from the earth_________________________to the red planet.

It matters most that we see our own infection, see it before Mother says_______“Enough!”…

World leaders react as battle rages in Libyan capital
Rise up freedom fighters! Libya, Somalia, America, Palestine, Haiti, Earth! Cry freedom to the heavens, wail it across the globe! Speak of love! Howl for peace! Weep for freedom!

Freedom’s gait is slow, man’s gait is swift.

Israel and Hamas agree Gaza truce
Despite the dictionary, the word truce is not the same as the word peace.

Truce is not the same as love.
Truce is not the same as freedom.

Truce has become synonymous with “a fleeting break from war”.

It is not up to authority to implement real peace, it’s up to you and me…

It’s all around me. I pray it’s the light of a coming peace. I welcome its emerald gleam over the looming haze.

I’m so exhausted from my willful creation, from my beast shaping its hands into the lethal symbols of a pale dismissal. 

I’m weary of honing my mind with the same stone, with the same indifference as the tyrant. 

I don’t consider myself any better than the worst oppressor, I cannot rise further than their love is or was capable of rising and I can’t sink lower than they've the ability to send their love tumbling away from creation. We are one in the same, equal partners. 

How my love flows, fast, slow, mighty, meek, idle or dead, is up to me and me alone.

The air feels as if it’s speaking to me, if I’ll but heed its steady rhythm infused in the sky, the water, the rock, the air, the heart, the spirit. 

Listen to The Mother’s heartbeat, she breathes, she writhes beneath my animal’s rhythm, above my belief, within my flawed self, everywhere and always. 

Spirit, soul, atman, essence of self, consciousness, anima, psyche, aliveness, God, The Kind, creation, Love, whatever I choose to call it, the fact remains that I believe it is a part of all living things.

I don’t know... It may have been me that planted the notion of soul into my being... or, it may be a function of creation, a rhythm that’s innate to life. I don’t know, but I believe it exists in everything, not just an exclusive club intended for humankind. 

It would be a great absurdity if the spirit belonged only to humankind, however, it would go a long way toward explaining our self-indulgent need to imagine ourselves proprietor of the world.

What would be the problem with me worshipping the water, a requirement, not only for humankind to subsist, but a necessity for all life on earth to remain eternal? 

How about regarding seaweed and the tree, the wind and the sun, rain and the sea, as Love? 

What of the river, the soil, the stars, the mountains, all of life? Let me worship these without acquaintance if I am to imagine Love. Let me give praise to these, for I’m a byproduct of the original seed, whatever it, he, or she may be. I’ll be in belief and still be able to begin my duty of stewardship toward the one thing I can possibly know in the flesh.

Let me not worship humankind’s invented knowledge, for that is a dangerous proposal that hasn’t the legs to carry Love, it’s too weak. 

Belief, or what I've imagined, cannot be something knowable, therefore my belief isn’t knowledge, it is the essence of my spirit and can, if allowed, become its destruction.

I believe I’ll choose to worship creation as best I can. I’ll choose to evolve in my belief. I’ll not be so prideful as to bring my belief’s growth to an end simply because my feet are blistered from the journey, or I'm exhausted from my seeking, or if I imagine I’ve traveled far enough that I’ve been left the keys to the kingdom.

Humans May Be To Blame For Shark Attacks
Man and his foul illusions of ownership are to blame. His dark fear and his yawning coldness are to blame. His sightless journey and warring hate are to blame. Illusions, fear, blindness and war his executioner.

"Zero hour" for Gaddafi as Besieged Tripoli Rises Up
What’s the purpose of the oppressed rising up if the world remains dispirited? Might the earth protest its enemies with the same bravery as the demoralized greet the tyrant?

Zero hour will arrive with the self-same jagged teeth as mankind’s wrath howls down his doom.

Shhhh… Close your eyes and go back to sleep, it’s less agonizing than witnessing your own suicide.

Sand for sale; environment ravaged
Sand, water, forest and man… Don’t forget the sky and rock, the wolf and lion, the mountain and wind, they too have a stake in this. Buy it all up now, people, because soon there’ll be nothing to imagine, nothing to see, nothing to hate, nothing… and we’ll have accomplished the same.

Nature’s night voices enter to remind me, belief cannot cleave itself from the consideration of all life.

O! My shameful use of pride has at last brought me to the answer I’ve been seeking as the night voices pipe in with their symphony of affirmation, arrogance has no place inside belief, for faith should only be driven by Love. An emergent faith should desire to hold its tongue until the canvas and paint are prepared with steady hands, an open mind, the brush immersed in Love.

I ask the night voices to help me remember Grandmother’s lessons, I know nothing, including who I am. Again, I know nothing, including who I am. I know nothing, including who I am...

A hard lesson to be sure is the lesson of an insignificant self. Belief cannot sing, not while the canvas of Love is painted upon with a foul arrogance.

I’ve been hypnotized by Love…

The sand couldn’t contain her, the waters couldn’t wash her clean, the trees couldn’t weep hard enough. The mountains stand above to view the great suicide, they've been waiting to come near enough to witness the sorrowful entombment of such greedy flesh…

(Everything’s going to be okay, she reassures me…)

Spirit is another word for soul, otherwise, how could I separate my sadness from its own sadness when joy had, such a long time ago, been murdered…

Remember me, she said, as the wind took me away, along with greed, war, murder, hate, sin, spite, rape, oppression, Love, vengeance, famine, genocide, corruption, infection, madness, ego, id and I…

Won’t you slow your pace? Won’t you allow more time for me, I was blind and deaf to you? It’s not my fault. I didn’t remember. I didn’t realize my duty?

Remember me, she said. How could you have been so blind as to have forgotten Love? How could you have ignored the truth beneath your feet, in front of your eyes… eternity?

O Mark Richard Prime! What have you done? ... I've not held her sacred, not acknowledged her presence, save for my weight of greed. O Creation! I’ve built from out of you and on top of you such ugliness in my mortal image, towering, jutting, angry frames, stacked and ugly without regard to the original altar. Ugliness in honor of self, my prayerless beast, my animal without love, the reflection of an affectation without affection. O! Mark Richard Prime!

Remember me, she said. Children of The Creation, life, laughter, peace, beauty, home, kindness, prayer and Love, at who’s behest did you imagine your duty, self alone? You've left yourself confused, angry, hopeless and loveless with your false impression of and disregard for me. Life has breathed in me, The Mother, for eternity, and will continue to breathe existence and love, with... or without you.

When I first heard one of the many variations of "Everyone dies alone" I thought, of course I die alone. I now see that particular truth differently- Everything I leave behind is that which is not and never was mine, of me, but not me, that which, after death, I'm unable to retreat from.

I’ll do myself a great disservice if I carry my body away from life and leave only my hands to suffer and writhe in a pact of willful separation. With self left suffocating, buried beneath other’s thoughts, other’s slaughter, other’s guilt, other’s sins, other's beliefs, all packed beneath my own personal greed, the void that has no love, and without hands, is unable to dig out from under the rubble, unable to remain loving, remain important, unless I recognize and believe in the whole of Love.

Full life has no use for Love’s spirit that's tossed in the ground never to dance again.

(Thank you, Love. Thank you, Breath. Thank you, Water. Thank you, Creation. Thank you, Creator. Thank you, Peace. Thank you, God. Thank you, Allah. Thank you, Christ. Thank you, Buddha. Thank you, Brahman. Thank you, Elohim. Thank you, Life. Thank you, eartH. Thank you, Mother. Thank you, Father. Thank you, Grandmother. Thank you Grandfather. Thank you, Great Grandmother. Thank you, Great Grandfather.)

When I allowed my self to become that which was not and never was and never will be mine to allow or imagine, my rushing and loveless eyes became etched into a non-reflective glass, no more looking toward my home, eyes that were drained and dead and in dire need of my attention. The press of hate, war and abuse, murder and greed had left me blinded, incapable of moving in my new-found belief, unable, therefore, to move in my thoughts, ideas, and with humankind's inherent goodness, my full love, my self, who I am- a man humbled by all he meets, with a voice that’s surrounded by each and every goodness he's ever imagined, felt or embraced on his walk, upon the path that is his and his alone, the arduous journey to self and the self-realization of the whole.

Don’t I, at some point in my life, seek my own way? I have and I cannot be used by hypocrisy any longer, not with the gift asking for nothing from me in return but that I honor the eartH, Love, eternal life.

Even if it’s near the end, I should seek my self alone... for I, speaking as a self of flesh and blood, will die alone. Until I stop believing that the book is closed along with my eyes in the end, I have yet to recognize my own eternity.

Can I, a man of flesh and bone and spirit and Love, recognize my image within my kind’s present carnage?

Shriek and howl! Screech my protests higher now! The hymn of peace be upon the eartH, Love visible through the belief in creation...

Shouldn't I long to walk in goodness? Shouldn't I strive toward the solemn directives of creation and Love? I should strive to walk in goodness. A man, yet capable of walking in warless goodness...

So how could I have ever known of such creeping deceit.

(Yet, they are my brothers and sisters eternally, nonetheless... nonetheless. I'm sorry, brother for ever having thought it was my place to question your personal belief, never having had my own. I humbly apologize.)

I have, I would imagine, known only that which was and is knowable... And then I began raging my hunger, leaving myself parasitic, turned by my greed. I chose my beast and I have fallen, fallen so far away that the garden light's been doused. I've truly lost my way. No fault, but mine own. No fault with my spirit, but with my flesh. No fault, save for hands bent upon the foul use of life and Love...

Let my scouts and lies fall away, greed, let my nagging tales of fear fall away, for peace and Love have won the day. I’ll gladly fall upon the sword of my belief if it will end this known outrage...

The Mother brings me to believe, her caress reveals my love, my duty and my goodness. Her waters swim their peace and love to me after the long journey between me and war.

If my fears will not relinquish their hold on my heart, I'll walk. I'll walk away... in goodness.

I walked the streets in blindness. I heard the shattering of war. I sensed the felled spirits of the warring. I saw a world going crazy with maddened and maddening madness, the quickening with the resonance of my tenable fate has begun.

I am accountable, me… Guilty of the slaughter found in war, shamed by me, my contribution to murder, rape, hunger, thirst, weapons carved from the lie, my willful destruction of life.

The knowable has never been more evident than now, too many to sustain, too many to recognize the sacred ground, too many hands have grown down into reflective screens without reflection…

Too many hands grown down into reflective screens without reflection… Too many hands grown down into reflective screens without reflection… Too many hands grown down into reflective screens without reflection… Too many hands grown down, down deep, inside reflective screens without reflection… without reflection. Without reflection. Without reflection. Without reflection. Without reflection. Without...

I walked the streets in blindness. I heard the shattering of war. I sensed the felled spirits of the warring. I saw a world going crazy with maddening madness, the quickening, with the resonance of my tenable fate, commenced.

I listened. I cried, I laughed, I bowed, I prayed.

In the beginning of Love was creation and in the beginning of creation was Love. Love and Life are eternal. I look around me with living eyes and Love is revealed. I Look to the heavens, but also look beneath my feet and to that which faces me, for Love is only revealed to me if I view the whole of life, if I Love with the same affections that I grant my belief.

I smiled, I frowned, I grimaced, I howled, I stumbled! I found myself bowing at her sacred feet, bent upon my knees in servitude. I was in motion and I knew nothing…

I knew not where I was because I knew not who I was. Until I know myself, my Love cannot grow. Without Love, the self is too heavy to rise. It is tied to me and everything that is before me. I've trudged aimlessly as I sought meaning, as I searched for Love. I failed to see that Love has been and will always be in me and around me, so I'll reveal my Love before the weight becomes too great to bear, even for creation…

Either I create a loving heaven or I continue sculpting heaven into my own mortal image until I’ve carved Love into my self-fulfilling manifestation of agony.

My deeds reflect my Love.

Yet I wear the cloth of war like a shield and I brandish the mantle of belief like a weapon. I need only act upon what I know in the flesh, the spirit will follow. Allow my thoughts to merge with Love and to be comforted by the only thing I know, that which is beneath my feet.

O! Thought, belief, faith, and my body bathing in the Love of creation will no longer allow me to ignore the spirit swimming inside all living things! No more can I ignore the fullness of Love or disregard my duty to humbly worship at the foot of creation!

Yes. Even before I recognized where I was, the eartH continued to breathe eternal, without my faded use and misspent Love. Move with me my Love. I am in the way of the mountain. The mountain waits for me to open my eyes, for my thoughts to be a reflection of my Love.

Creation is Love.

I spent more time looking up for guidance than I did in recognizing what’s beneath my feet. Bow to that which sustains Love and Life. She asks that I Love. She asks that I worship the whole of Life. She asks that I Love the breathing self, that I Love my awakened self and then watch as the new and fearless me rises to greet the earth.

I have bludgeoned reason and eartH's veins with poison.

I pray for the sacred gift. I pray to the living eartH, to Home, to the breath of Love. My raging spleen has caused me to be blind to my own proximity with creation. It has brought me to rake my talons across her surface with ownership, with hatred filling my heart. Shame on me...

The face of that which I cannot know, who, what, when, where, why and how, should bring me to seek only that which is knowable.

If I am indeed made from Love, the goodness and the madness would have been ripped from my flailing and loveless arms long ago. The Mother is patient and most loving as she breathes beneath and above man’s murderous tirade.

If she were not Love, she’d have woefully dropped the curtain on the Murder Play before the second act grew teeth. She’d have dropped the blade upon wanton thought and the drama would have concluded, until next Love arose with the glint of the perpetual sun.

The glow of the ever-changing art overhead always brings me to a quite awe as the night sounds of the insects, The Mother’s ode to her creations that move beneath me, that call out to my dreary sleep and beckon I bring food to the mouths of the hungry, water to the thirst in man’s throat, and valiant love upon life’s home and kinship, reveals the solemn song pleading I open my eyes and ask her to dance before the last call.

The wind, with its pleasing dance of the formless, the invisible waltz with the unknown, breathes a truth that rests in me, in you and all of life. The wind brings my lips to curl up in joy, into a comfortable smile, that, even within the wind’s thrashing fury, I hold.

The moon leaves me open-mouthed in my smallness, humbled by my failing memory and released from the noise of self. The Mother’s stillness is her symphony, the wind, her strings, the insects, her drums, and the moon, her dance of eternal love.

Let’s begin…

The dragonfly has no inhibitions, creates no delusion, sees everything around it and is iridescent, revealing its colors when the light falls upon it.

When a bomb is dropped or when murder finds even one, a part of Love dies with the one, another perishes with the slayer. With each drop of venom that oozes into the water, with every war waged, each rape committed, a part of Love dies. When hunger finds its way into the ribs of children, when famine snatches the breath of life away, when death crawls in from the screech of emptiness, a part of Love dies.

The dragonfly, unlike Love, lives without regret…

The mountain speaks, as do the seas, oceans, wind, sky and trees. The elephant, otter, lion, wolf, eagle, and polar bear speak. If I will but listen to them, I may see my looming fall from their grace. If I do not begin to heed and act upon their wise counsel, the wrath of creation will shake him me without warning, without regard. Emptied of me, The Mother can and will again begin to breathe her eternal life and selfless Love.

How much time’s left, asked the clock made of wood?
When will it all begin to quake, asked the house made of stone?
Where will the fools hide their toys, asked the air filled with smog?
What will become of mankind’s joy, asked the water stained with oil?
Why did thinking man not exhale his love, asked the fish whirling in waste?
Who will rescue me from The Mother’s anger, asked the child made of flesh?

No time for questions. No time for fear. No time for regret. No time for murder. No time for war.

Time is up. The moment’s passed, goodness spent, hope fading.

Love. Weep. Pray.

I had a dream that love was dead. The earth’s face was caked in dirt, eyes oozed a brown fluid, green puss seeped from the ground and countless wooden stakes were driven through the heart. The ashen face was too much to comprehend, the suffering, too great to fathom, too dreadful to dream. What had I done? Had I truly murdered, assassinated the whole of love?

I called out to love, I shrieked to the heavens, but love’s eyes remained vacant, stilled by death, sunken from murder, emptied of life. I felt the tears flooding my face as I howled a solemn prayer for love to breathe once again. Do not forsake me, your child, do not fade from my foul use! Wake up! Wake up! I shuddered from the silence, death had at last found its way into love.

I awoke drenched in sweat. The morning light poured through the window. I thought, if love was dead, to whom was I praying?

The angry faces in the crowd shuffled their blistered feet in anticipation, I nodded and said that I loved them each and everyone, the sons and daughters of love. Their rigid faces quickly sagged with disappointment. (They were hoping for a fight.) Their breath, that of displeasure, plummeted through the ready air like a jumper left with little choice but to fly or fall away.


I asked them if they’d mind if I smiled upon their grimacing with joy, with a humble delight at their having come at all. I’m your brother. I’m you, you’re me, and we’re all love. They looked perplexed, the fight in them retreating, save for two holdouts who screamed and spit, You’re going to hell! and You’re crazy! Too late, the full and expectant silence melted their wrath from the moist air and the war in them was drenched in peace.

Japan to Set Up New Nuclear Watchdog
More than two-thirds of Japan's 54 reactors are still offline and undergoing safety checks.

Defuse and disengage man’s assured ruin with a fearless serenity.

Am I not required to love all and serve my home with the same resolute affection, if I do not, let me finish it quickly, end my ill-conceived worship with the least amount of misery, drain creation’s nectar of love, dissolve my anguish forevermore.

Would U.S. police have done better in London?
That question must have come from sallow lips, sputtering in the dank air of summer’s burnt leaves bowing too early upon the sacred ground. “Better” is a word man should never utter, unless he’s speaking of love. It can only curl up with affection when the worst of man- pride, cruelty, vengeance and hopelessness- are humbled without end.

U.S. denies report alleging drone strikes kill 160 kids in Pakistan
Boom, Boom, Boom goes the bomb, wailed the children with shattered lips lying underneath the blotted sun. Love! Love! Love! Bring love booming without agony, without death. 160 shards of loveblooms. 160 shells of peace. 160 shrapnels of joy. 160 portions of worship. 160 drones of affection. 160 hearts thumped their last. 160 minds changed. 160 mouths no more in laughter. 160 leftover innocents. 160 divine loves. Boom, wailed the thief! Love, wailed the children!  320 hands no more in prayer. Limbs left to quiver. 320 tender eyes ever closed. Boom, wailed the thief! Boom, wailed the thief!  Let me wail love 320 times each day, howl until I too am leftover pieces. Boom, wailed the thief! Love, wailed the children!

Why was I a proud slave to the system, a proud warrior bent in shame before the angry mob? Was it pride as I shaped it, a mask for my immense sadness?

I cried beneath my mask and found myself alone in my mourning. I wept beneath the frame and no one ever knew me. Do we really know another without having witnessed their love?

With my mask in place I’d have continued using the word “love” like a one word riddle. If I still donned my mask for the least of me, I’d have died without ever having been true to self, without ever having known who and what I am- love and peace.



© 2011 by mark prime

U.S. Army to Deploy Robo Jeeps
The next couple of years are going to be rough, said the man I just met.
I almost said everything’s going to be okay, but opted to deploy silence instead.

The man and I parted ways with a mutual gravity of the unspoken…

Forces in Afghanistan kill militants involved in downing of copter
Rejoice! Rejoice! Rejoice!

Death has come with teeth this time! It growled, it shrieked, it lunged forth with the broken teeth of the last heap…

O when will I begin to see that my spleen has turned on me. Its hard shell, without breath, has come with weary worn legs and whirling minds, man as marionette.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Rejoice!

Death has come…

Most Americans believe U.S. on wrong track: poll
USA! USA! USA!
How long am I going to wait before I open my eyes to more than myself?

Life’s track circles the globe and mounts its painting upon the primitive easel and upon the museum of skies, edges made of living dust, floors of rock, ceilings of air; the mystery of Love and Home…

Rapes, attacks up against Somalis fleeing famine
O Creation! End this my misery! Bring your thunder and wind strafing all the uses of war! Do not hold back, not until all of war is vanquished, all murder is itself murdered, all rape collapses in on its own useless scratch, all famine’s wiped from this worthless memory!

O Creation! It is now or never, forever and ever on end.

Love or die…

Stock markets fall again as bank shares tumble
The love of money is no different than the perpetual want of it.
Madman! What did he say?
The love of money is no different than the incessant need of it.
Insanity! What’d that fool declare?
The love of money is no different than the constant constraint of it.
That’s madness! Money makes the world go round!
The breath of creation makes the world go round, money brings it all crashing down and I wade through the muck without joy, without Love, without…

My voice is spilling a fullness that’s due. They’re not my words to keep, they belong to you.

My voice will not quiver, save for standing slack jawed at what I have done to the earth. I’ll not tremble in fear, my belief will shake away all of my useless weight; kings and queens, despots, and warring leaders.

You’ll not find me quivering or bent or wanting, my tongue will be drenched in goodness, hope and humanity, plummeting from an immense joy, a shield from the great noise, a pathway to the spoken word of peace, the sound and silence of creation.

Love.

I did my best to see around the sun, trying to steal a glimpse of Love, which I imagined resembled my uneasy countenance. Shame on me.

Patience, honesty, acceptance, trust and joy, tools to be found along the pathway toward Love. I should not tirelessly seek the path, simply use the tools and the way will be learned. Do not imagine myself any more or any less worthy of affection than another upon the path, remember the blisters on my feet from the long walk that was my seeking and humbly acknowledge my newly lifted spirit.

Pain has a short-life, love lives forever. How dare I spoil the earth, dirty the sky and strangle Love and then with eager lips expect the gates of Heaven to open up to streets paved in gold...

Grieve! Grieve! Grieve! Wail howling man’s sorrow like an infinite mist painting everything with the brush of exactness… 

Grieve! Grieve! Grieve! Mourn my woeful spirit and my failing courage, weep for the dead and dying of the battle with myself!

Screech a woeful prayer and permit peace to be your god...

Mourn a misery so profound that it holds open hoodwinked eyes long enough to reflect a consent of a grave paradox- suicide by war.


© 2011 by mark prime

Nokia Creates World’s Largest Stop-Motion Animation
Stop motion. End creation. Stop motion. Laughter’s end. Stop motion. End love. Stop motion. Begin again. Stop motion. Wingless birds. Stop motion. Soulless beasts. Stop motion. Sun doused. Stop motion. Star’s plunge. Stop motion. Breathe your last. Again! Again and again, until idleness cleaves away the breath of my Love! Again and again, until the stop motion ends my fragile grasp.

Chimpanzees’ Not As Selfish As We Thought
In other words, I thought more of myself than the collective whole because as a whole I imagined I had no self, but, alone, my mind went rigid with preconceived notions, gray and white thoughts, others beliefs, hatred, noise, murder, war, fear…

How could I alone have done anything else or imagined that I accomplished anything more than failure?

Wa is the Japanese kanji symbol meaning "Harmony and Peace". There are a few Kanji symbols. In them, Wa is the most typical. There are the kanji idioms which are using Wa, such as HeiWa (peace), ChouWa (harmony) and Wakai (reconciliation). Wa is expressing the peaceful mind and harmonious world. The Kanji symbol of Wa will match anywhere.

I’d forget the living for a moment if I could but imagine myself among the dead and dying.

Forget Setsuko Nosaka and the dead of Kobe, Japan.

Yes! Forget them and remember the living!

For the consecrated dead, for the mounds of unclaimed bone let me forever consider the living!

Remember… Remember… Remember… the multi-colored rainbow of Hiroshima’s breathing humanity.

Remember... Remember... Remember… the hue of laughter among the living of Nagasaki.

Remember... Remember... Remember… the short and steep living rivers turned sacred drains to wash over dead tombs.

Remember… Kyouko Minami and the dead of Okinawa.

Remember… the breathing freshwater fauna and flora.

Remember... Remember... Remember… The Mother…

Remember... Remember... Remember… If I forget what’s happened, forget what I’ve done and can do, then I'm of no use to creation while I live. No use at all! Not even one last gasping iota!

Remember… Remember… Remember… Yes! Again while I live!
Remember… Remember… Remember… Kamo, the river- the living inspiration of haiku poets and painters.

Remember… Remember… Remember… Shinano, the longest river.

Remember… Remember… Remember… the untouched banks of the Go River.

Remember… Remember… Remember… Osaka Bay blistered into ash.

Remember… Remember… Remember… Mount Fuji, Mount Kita, Yari and Ontaké.

Remember… Remember… Remember… Japan’s love, laughter, tears, struggle, life, her children, mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters.

Remember… the Kimona, the Hakama, the Yukata.

Remember… Paper Lanterns, Russet Leaves and Cherry Blossoms.

Remember… Remember... Remember… Emiko Yamanaka and the dead of Nagasaki.

For the consecrated dead let me remember the living.
For the consecrated dead let me remember the living.
For the consecrated dead let me remember the living.
For the consecrated dead let me remember ...the living.

Remember. Remember. Remember the living.
Remember. Remember. Remember the living.
Remember. Remember. Remember the living.
Remember. Remember. Remember the living.
Remember. Remember. Remember the living.
Remember. Remember. Remember the living.
Remember. Remember. Remember the living.
Remember. Remember. Remember the living.
Remember. Remember. Remember…




The National Peace Memorial For the Atomic Bomb Victims In Hiroshima and Nagasaki

Millions gone, heavy bombs, bullet holes never looked so dead, millions of shoes, millions of feet, millions of arms, millions of sleeves, millions of bullet holes, bombs, grenades and knives and millions of guns and murder and war, millions of children’s ashen hands stacked up like dead cherubs, millions of angels no longer able to blush, to breathe lungs into man’s spirit, millions robbed of their remaining breath, billions served and given to tales made of fear, billions of fearful beasts, young and old, male and female, billions of spirits broken by dread, by the tether of what you call love, love by another name is not yours to shape, billions of stars, billions of light-years, billions of unknowns, billions of wasted seconds, forgone love, billions guilty, I'm guilty, we're all guilty, billions and billions and billions of the guilty, no need to know, begin again, billions begin again to believe in love, billions of loves, billions of beliefs, billions of forgiveness, billions loving billions, billions of voices in the dark, billions of voices in the light, the meek inherit the eartH for it is Heaven.

How…
Where’d I fail the creation? Was it in my failure to yield? Was it purposeful? Was it the truth as far as I knew?

(I know nothing, save where perversions of truth discharge from the robot’s mouths in disbelief.)

Why…
Knowledge is to be respectful and unlimited, save for that which enslaves me, save for that which separates my love and conquers my dancing soul.

What…
My loving belief of self and of belief in the whole of life, everything; stone, sea, mountain, valley, river, canyon, prairie, desert, flora and animal... Everything.

I must humble myself for peace… I must answer this question for myself, do I imagine that I'm an animal or do I imagine that I'm a god?

Who...
Man: I’d set aside my belief if war would bow, put belief on hold if hunger would vanish!

Woman: I’d change my belief if the wind asked it of me!

Man: Or if the mountain wailed, “Enough!” or if the sea ebbed and moaned, “End this..!”

I'd let it all go if I were convinced Jesus had proclaimed, “Peace and Love… Walk in Goodness.” or “Brother’s and sisters, if you stooped less and served more, you’d not resemble a fool."

If he had indeed said that, I’d worship the man, but not like I worship myself where I end up ruining the whole of Love.

The choice is mine, mine alone.

Where...
If the horse trembles with a thirst for love, or the lion demands I lift my eyes to life or if the forest says welcome home... will I speak?

Yes.

When...
Now.

Bring your wrath lunging like the eagle, Mother! I will sacrifice my being for your oceans, for your seas and wilderness, your sky and love. I will fade away want and create with selfless affection.

“Love, laugh and live” swims as the red moon hangs its truth over stolen lands, over my shame; hungry children, warriors, the silent, the brown, the black, the red and white of my split flesh, the meek and the unforgiven, creation’s breath.

O let my possessions fall away from their foul use! Embrace another! Hear before I regret deafness, see before blindness covers more than my eyes, before quaking creation hauls all of my greed away.

I will love my home, which is not mine to own or abuse, I will cherish her sacred remedies, her medicines stolen by soured souls and misspent worship.

The fiery moon beseeches me to soar my Love from sea to shining sea, from mountain top to valley, from the forests to the deserts, the rivers and the caves, the jungles and the cities ...to be seen from home.

She leaned in close, I shuddered with awe, I was the air and she, the ground. Yes. She pursed her lips to mine and I knew it was past time. The clock’s a symbol. The clock leaks time like oil outweighs air and there’s less of it than breath. Yes.


(Silence.)

Before she releases me to sleep-dream, She needs to tell me something. The time has come. I am ready, prepared to set my Love free, to bridge that which has never been entirely mine. Yes. Fate and the wind taught me that this is my home, Heaven. That this is life's Home, it has always been and will be. Yes. I've Life and Love to sew, to imagine, to hope, to pray, to bow humbly to, to cherish, to believe. Yes.


(Silence.)

She wanted to make sure that my certainty was well in hand before she left me to my own devices, my own belief! Yes. She told me my purpose with a groggy thud. The echoes have since humbled into my story, into the expansion of roars from other upright beasts bent on self-destruction; the allure of war. I know I cannot sustain this hemorrhaging, this monstrous weight of my acidic replacement for Love; belief.


(Long Silence…)

Belief?


(Longer Silence…)

Yes.

(An even longer silence...)

She leaned in close, I shuddered with awe, I was the air and she, the ground. Yes.

My days whirl their mist with madness, a madness that’s not mad at all. Call it belief, personal thought or call it love, either way it’s mine to have and to hold, to give away or snuggle up with in the gloom.

The fractured light pours over the yard as the sun bows to the horizon, runs its fingers through the budding dusk and bids adieu to another day without rain. Birds flap, as if to cry “It’s time to rise up, Man!”

I’m ready to be. Ready to be who I am, toting madness and everything. I've made being and madness inseparable; two rivers leading to a dim grown sea that ebbs and flows with me, my and mine.

When will the truth triumph over self? Have I gone too far? Too far gone or come too close?

She answers, they're identical.

If I am to live, I must love, and, by the same token, if I am to be then I must live.

That made sense at the time, but then, so did my thoughts, now they’re crashing the gate.

If I am to believe in belief, which is, essentially, all I am, I must bear in mind that I’m not alone. I’m supposed to believe without instruction, save for that which is reflection without want.

O! Creation! My thoughts are my belief! The world I create must be precious. I am meant to find my own way on the path, the passage intended for all living things. If I am to love I must reward life with my love. A returned favor. I offer all my love! I smile on all brothers and sisters of creation!

The heavy gate begins to quake, my mind soars and gives tongue to my belief. Be. Be in belief. The animal in me remembers.

The door opens in, it always has. The entryway is littered with the remnants of the previous slaughter of spirit. I can’t step around the gruesome scene or take my mind away from the sight of the senseless carnage.

Believe what I will. Harvest what, from my hand, is sewn. The eartH is the reason I am here. She sustains me, the only thing that does, as far as I'm likely to ever know in the flesh. Take my hand, Love. Guide my kindness. Nurture my thoughts. Allow me to open my sightless eyes as you carry my feet, lift my eyes, open my hands and walk with goodness, respond with gratitude and with love. It is what I must begin to do. The eartH is patient.

I am gluttonous and cannot see my own reckoning, blind to my ruin, to the reaping of what I alone have sewn. I cannot continue with my coveting of a forged tenure, chaos has found me wanting and guilty of murder.

The door stands open, it always has.