This is eternal life, it is what we’ve made of it- agony from heaven. For thinking beasts we certainly didn’t look too closely at what was beneath our feet, did we? We are animals, instinct, flesh, bone, heart, blood. Thinking beasts have spirits, souls that are waiting to be filled with something other than heartache. Something strumming a string (off you go now), something worth repeating, Love. Love. That’s it. Now get busy… ~ What can we cultivate first? Hate or Love? If not hate, then peace, if not peace then agony… If we’ve not fallen, we’ve stumbled, and we could only have stumbled before we began to fall, and thus, the eartH, we’ve landed. Perhaps we’ve staggered and we’re not just yet plummeting out of control, but well on our way. Raise your eyes to the dreams you seek, lower your eyes to the truth you know. I believe. © 2011 by mark prime
(The Weaver's Song)