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Love, peace and goodness to you, yours and the (H)eartH...
The owl began his low note and it captured my attention with its claim to me, beseeching that I heed the eartH’s cry that she might then unveil her full and heavenly Love.
Oh! Let me seek her voice always so as to breathe in me evermore!
Cry, O river! Cry that we and thee might breathe together without the ode of suffocation, but that we might, instead, liberate this eternal Life!
O cry, soil, rock and tree! Cry for Love’s majesty!
Cry, over the eartH, God’s Creation!
Cry! Each and every nation, cry out loud! Bring the roof of your worship down to join the floor! No more this madness let slip into the living’s midnight! Let her go! Take your paws off of her throat and kindly lift her wings that she might float!
(And a good morning to you, too, scribe!)
Thank you loving spirit…
(There go the dogs and their shrill laughter, their obedient lessons for you to learn, Mark Richard Prime.)
Yes. My daily devotion with its cacophony of loving sounds, the tongue of Love, the throat of Life’s affections. I’ve been messing it up horribly for far too long. I was lost but now, as they say, I am found. It is a personal journey to find myself, it is a collective journey to find Love…
This must never end my prayer to Love’s forgiveness of my daily transgressions. It must surge onward, until the time that a loving belief enters on its flourish of Love and Creation’s HeartH finds it worthy and grants it, even if a mortal, in their hurry to find Love, spilled forth their newfound belief like a broken dam. This life is a mystery that challenges the thinking beast to understand their place, to bring their tiny uniqueness above the great shadow of death and nevermore ask, why…
The sun is behind the morning clouds, hiding from my countenance its shame of my waste…
I believe that I am meant to Love, to be an angel to the eartH. I don’t know of any end, no curtain for eternity, and I sure don’t know the beginning, I haven’t the capacity for such accuracy, I’ve barely enough room even for a miniscule shard of exactness, save for what writhes beneath my feet…
The journey is progressing as promised in my dreams. The journey shall deliver me to Heaven, if Love and God deem this belief worthy. If it is decided by the whole of spirit that my unbelievable belief is worthy, then and only then shall I summon it, only when I’m asked, and not before…
Belief hasn’t a period… at least I believe it shouldn’t. Life swims with eternity. I haven’t the right to say when Life will “end”. It’s foolish of me to even imagine a conclusion to any of this…
July 2nd. The date that slipped into my belief with clarity. I shall honor this day of 2012 like all others, free.
The spirit moves my fingers long before it engages my thoughts. This belief is not just mine, it is all of those I’ve ever moved among, those I’ve conversed with and those I passed by. Receiving the spirit(s) of another is a promise I made that my belief might soar above all I’ve ever imagined. I am lost without my prayers. I am lost without Love’s reassurance that everything’s going to be okay. I am lost, but through these things I am found…
Remembering is the hardest part for me, of that I know not why, but it is. Creation asks more questions than it bestows answers, I suppose there are far less of the latter than that of the former and the answers must come from me. Maybe, if I answered more of the questions, the answers would come forth panting like an obedient hound? It’s worth a shot…
(Haven’t you enough dancing for one lifetime, Mark? Hadn’t you best just leave it all to Love?)
I could do that, but what if the test is to see if even I find this belief worth telling? What if Love desires that I escort my belief beyond the shadow of any doubt that I might then speak on her behalf? What if it’s indeed Love and God asking me to believe and speak?
(Isn’t it possible that the answers are not so cut and dry and the questions are the internal mystery that keeps you from evolving spiritually, keeps you, Mark Richard Prime, from recognizing your complicity in the attempted murder of the eartH of Life?)
(Pray you understand your place in the near future, Mark, for this dance is overwhelming you.)
Oddly enough, I welcome it…
(It’s like pulling teeth with you! You never stop!)
Are there boundaries to belief?
(Methinks there are, as far as the human beast is concerned…)
What, pray tell, would the margins be?
These prayers make mincemeat of dread. They bequeath fear a fatal blow. Imagine Life without fear, without panic’s tremble and instead a Life of Love’s exactness breathing inside my shell?
© 2012 by mark richard prime