Destination Unknown

(LOVE OUT LOUD)

When I first began my journey, I was lifting my head as high as I could stretch it that I could catch a glimpse of my singular self wandering about without its host, walking in goodness with all the other like-minded spirits.

I suppose it was to my benefit that the spirit of self went wandering, as they will, outside of the vessel which my legs hauled about without joy, without peace, without a firm grasp of love. I rose up to see that my shell was busy rummaging through the shadows for something resembling proof which I sought as if it were lungs for another gasp of air. It was love’s embrace that I frantically hunted, and along the way I discovered a more comprehensible portrait of who I've always been.

“It is what we do that matters most, not what we believe.” Those words escaped my lips with ease and with the accustomed speed I’d grown comfortable with as if they were were the hugs of children or the calming affections of a mother or father, or the evolution of love through the informed lessons of a grandmother and a grandfather, as if they were words flourishing from nothing less than Love and steering me to my destination which was love.

Man’s words cannot be trusted, they’re inherently flawed because they come from an imperfect animal’s deficient thought.

Yes. This includes the words that you read now. I too have used these manmade constructs to express my belief, unravel the thoughts driven out of my lungs by creation’s air, the loving breath moving through my being like affection’s wind piercing truth, revealing the pathway of love. I had to find the fit that was meant for me, the belief that moved through me without fear…

My belief emerged less from my personal calculations and more from my natural instincts. Early on in my journey I found my animal instincts emerging from behind the shroud found in my dreams, the spirit’s steely eyed assurance steering me toward my truth. Awareness and love came to me on the heels of the revelation that I was Home. I don’t know, I believe. I believe, beyond any reasonable doubt, that where I am is far more important than where I imagine I’m going.

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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