I Woke Up this Morning in Heaven on Earth

When I began to realize I was in Heavenly Home, the weather seemed commonplace. I must remember and believe...

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I can’t, as an animal with instinct, believe that the eartH is anything but heavenly. The truth, the eartH is heavenly Love, unmistakable when I stopped imagining that I knew anything save for that which was beneath my feet. Believe and remember…

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I create my own reality as a collective mind. If I believe I am in Heaven, so shall I be. I create my truth in the end, it is what I'm supposed to do. I'm a loving steward of Heavenly eartH. Remember and believe...

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Let me reverse my destructive course, past yesterday and last month and last year and all the years before, past December 29th, 1984, past all days and years and centuries and so on until the shock of where I’ve landed and where I've always been comes round. The eartH's overrun by my insane thinking. Reverse back as far as my instincts will allow me and I will surely begin to see my collusion to the greatest tragedy known to my existence- thoughts over Love's conclusions. Believe and remember.

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There’s a limit to the depravity that anything can hold. Everything, all organisms, all things, the self, the original seed, and yes, even Love has limits that even it cannot sustain, at least it's what I imagine to be true. Love's Heart(H) has reached the limit of my foul use, thus, I believe Love's (H)eartH is nearing the trigger. Remember and believe…

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I will listen to her, she is my queen, she knows. I’m set to meet her half way, or more, yes, more, so she’ll have more of me and I’ll have more of her, we’ll both have an equal share of Love and this is how it is meant to be. The eartH and I are one, no more separate than my kinship to my fellow human or than can be cleaved away from Love.

I, as a “thinking” creature, must come to understand my limits, and when I do, I’ll then begin to realize my innate ability to create my own reality. It’s happening and there isn't a thing that I can or should do about this cooing dove but let it come as intended, a beautiful and full Love.

The ultimate power of full Love (and my belief in it) are ready to merge and then emerge. Come, Mark Richard Prime. Come dance with creation and earth and bring your full Love!

(My wife and I and our children are one, a union of Love.)

Believe and remember...

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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