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A Suicidal Pact With the Ego


The squadron came through me. It crafted its path to my belief, a tiny fragment of the whole. If non-belief has any unremarkable qualities, I’d say it is that it is a “belief system” like any other. Non-belief is a belief, none firmly, but all total, the belief in nothing.

I can’t remember a belief that ever stuck, including love. Human love is merely a tiny part of the full love of love. I couldn't help but be confused because I was too busy trying to stay alive. Too busy robbing the poor to give to the rich, too busy stealing from the rich, too busy wanting, too busy bombing!

Bomb to bomb!
Bomb against bone!
Bomb against bomb!
Bone against bomb!
Bomb!
Bone!
Bomb!
Bone!

Bombing flesh and blood, rigid heart and vacant soul, love went missing long ago as humankind equated themselves individually, instead of realizing that there are billions (seven and counting) to untangle from a thankless and nearly heartless mess carved of a suicidal pact with the ego, seven billion to feed, clothe and shelter as we dry up every last drop of the earth.

Cease the drilling! Cease the wars! Cease the god-fouled noise! End it all and begin again…

I've no time to ponder upon my fate any longer, said the little drummer boy. I've simply stood around too long without love! I'm too damned busy with a retribution for things that I'm guilty of. Belief is one thing, but nothing beats the truth.

Humankind should keep their heads out of the clouds, bring them back down near the ground where they actually have a chance of knowing something, of knowing anything.

Look beneath my damned feet, damned to remain- suffer in the hell of my own making or recognize my grave mistakes and begin to make amends.

Echo…


© 2012 by mark richard prime


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