8.06.12 Think Back to Your Beginning

We are the children of God and we are destined to grow up to be the Father and The Mother. Yes, my friends, it is that simple. Think back to your beginning and your purpose shall be evident.

(To destroy?)

Yes! What other purpose could there possibly be for the likes of that?

(To create.)

Sure. There is that, I suppose…

(Suppose nothing, Nimrod! You can’t tell someone what to think!)

No. I can’t, but I can certainly imagine them thinking.

(Silence…)

*Chelsea, we need to dance my dear and lovely child. I need to cherish you my dearest angel, I weep tears of joy at having been exonerated of my sins, now the true spiritual work has begun. I’m walking the walk, my dear, in the best way that I am able. I love you and yours dearly, my Love.*

Friends, I have a little bit on my mind if you hadn't noticed, now the real leg work begins, so to speak. Bridging those gaps I dug down into Love so that more Love could flow into me. I am a steward, not a slave. I broke free of my chains that bind down Love into separate holding cells. When I show the fullness of Love I begin to see that my lusts have been strangling empathy and Love.

(What the? Had a sit straight up in bed kind of moment there…)

The Mother eartH summons our Love, she also summons our duty to her. The Mother, the Heart(H) of God is not a metaphor. Where did we think we were?

Love’s echo chamber travels around the globe by the grace of Love and God, Mother and father, take your pride at being king of the self out of the equation so when your time comes to be forgiven you’ll not be up to the eyeballs in venomous pride…

(Release her for God’s sake, save her to save yourself!)

Take pride away to be returned with all of its lessons learned, smiling at the gates of want, changing eternity from hell to a full and loving Life evermore.

(If it is to be the will of Love and God…)

Thinking leads to arrogance, a beast I frequently battled against. It made my heart sour.

Enough is enough. Game paused. Sleep…

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

read the poem

........•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...

read the poem

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

read the poem

CONFESSION ZERO

Search This Blog