The first hour of morning is upon me. The birds trill their song, a cacophony for the constant noise of bypass traffic blaring tranquility away…
The night calls resolutely its truth (my instinct) pouring down upon me if I’ll but pay attention…
(Remember, fear is not an option from here on out, Mark Richard Prime. Fear cannot swim with love… it hasn’t the legs for it.)
Love drowns out the traffic momentarily and I swim with a lovely spirit, not the first, mind you, but the last whose hands I held in solemn vow. Her spirit is more in tune with Love than any other I’ve imagined in this life. She is a miracle. Life, to me, is full of miracles, particularly those that have come round lately. Boom goes the drum! Blink goes the trumpet skipping along to its joyful sound! Enter nature’s sounds to put a lid on all of our foul noise that we might again begin to sense The Mother’s plea…
Magnitude is a bashful and vacant word as substitute for what will come if I don’t heed the call. I must repair the damage I’ve done to the HeartH of Creation before Heaven opens its doors…
I could do this all the rest of my days and I would remember where I am.
(Bow to her, Mark, she is your Home, your Heaven, and there is joy to be made for remembering the one unknowable truth is a waste of thought when Heaven stands before you. Exactness is measured by its magnitude. Beliefs are measured by their love…)
What could be more compelling than a story of Love’s conquest over fear?
Heaven would’ve called upon me that day if I’d but had the mind to recall, yet it still wouldn’t take me long to recognize Home as the eartH of Creation…
(ping)
What fate the eartH has in store, not for what’s inside of my belief, but that the eartH must be, to the human animal and its thinking, sacrosanct.
(Know where you are and you will speak with the spirit of Creation, Mark, and you will be joyous and not care why. Echo…)
Question all I will, think on all I can. If it’s beyond my scope, leave it alone. The sky is for HeartH of Love, the seas, all else and we, lest I forget…
(ping)
The crickets are a fevered melody cutting across a world of night voices who want only to guide me Home. I take their hand and dance them deep within. (I don’t know what I’m creating for the grand finale, but this dancing has entered my spirit to live evermore.)
(I suppose then, Mark, Heaven, being what it is and all, might shine some knowledge within you and be the very answer you’d been searching for, the why, and you won’t get the ‘why’ until you’ve perfected the ‘where’.)
Echo…
(Return her to God and Love, but bring her pale lips to the edge of madness and then try imagining what she’ll sense…)
Neighbors all, these words are for everyone to hear. If they’re a part of this belief, they’re just as much mine as they are anyone’s, my friends, but they are not for profit of any kind, save for their benefit from such a grand and noble task.
(Shouldn't you be in motion, your tongue's blue of wagging?)
A Harley pounds out its aria across the air and temporarily flings me back down to eartH where I’ve always been. Home, love, forgiveness, joy, courage, and now without an nth of fear…
(Silence…)
© 2012 by mark richard prime
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