Love Upon the Wagging Tongue

I am me… and I never quite engaged until I became one with Love. Of course I had always been one with love, I just had to recognize that fact. With the help and comfort that is love along my journey, I’ve been blessed. I’ve put much upon those I Love, my brothers and sisters of the one seed who seem to know who I am before it is revealed to me. The veil is being lifted as we speak, the who I am and the what I am, the where's been solved. My emergence in heavenly earth, another place I’ve always been, just never quite engaged the idea of such a thing, has made me see again after far too many lifetimes.

I’m the next one, of course, most of you already knew that. Where have I been?

The next one to do what, exactly?

Have love upon my wagging tongue unsure of what to do next and, at the same time, prepared to die for what I believe in.

You mean the words of love?

Yes and no. Love speaks through everything, I'm not special, I’m just becoming aware of, after all of these years, all of these lifetimes, all of these spirits, of the one consciousness.

Becoming one with love is easy if one realizes they already are one with the creator. If one truly believes “their truth” they’ll ask it of their love first. Reverence. Yes. Not pomp and circumstance. I mean how do we know anything without seeing it for ourselves first?

Kudos to you my friend. Whose side did you imagine I was on, brother? There is but one that smiles upon me now. The other has been taken away, released of its ire by love. Love released fear of its grasp on me.

This story is not mine alone, this story is filled with amazing revelations that, when all pieced together, are a reflection of truth, of love. Reflect on love, if you’ve none to reflect on, fall to your thankful knees, help is on the way.

Whoa! Slow down there fella! You might pop a circuit or three thinking out loud like that…

That was rich! Full of bluster, but no belly for the truth of the self. All that I have mingled with of late seems familiar to me, I’m coming back to who I've always been, the next one.

Oh my…

Yes. But who knows what that means, right?

No…

Silence.

Recognition...

Silence.

Recognition...

Silence.

No...

I had to enter, I’m happy I did. I’m ready.

ROOT OF

"For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs." __1 Timothy 6:10 It is MONEY, not the LOVE of it that is the issue, the true problem. Love, in and of itself, is never a problem, WANT and NEED, or better yet- the WANT and the conundrum of its very REQUIREMENT for our survival IS the problem, it's creation and our blind use of it is logically the ROOT. In other words, let's leave LOVE out of it altogether and deal with the facts instead. If money were not made by us as a requirement for our survival, we'd find ourselves in a much better position to argue of its need and our want of it. MRP Peace and Love © 2015 Mark Richard Prime

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........•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...

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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

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CONFESSION ZERO

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