8.13.12 She Desires that We Listen


I have a feeling I just figured it out… If our belief is conclusive and the one chosen by God and Love- wait… Does Love have a consciousness? Does God fair as well? Now imagine a belief so profound that it is real? The obvious is beneath my feet and they request my presence as the scribe of some final Covenant, or so I believe. I have been summoned to write my story told me from the mist of belief.

The haze of injury set my clock to ticking as who I was born to be and I’ve been afraid to acknowledge it, afraid you’d never accept.

Would I die for you? Yes. Would I rather live for you? Yes.

Without question, we are what we know in our instinct, we’ve just mucked it up a bit…

Trust in Love, it has come at last in my dream, she desires that we listen more than we talk, that we conjure the most beautiful of thoughts.

We truly summon the beast of despair when we’re lost and suffering her very air! Make it like a movie and dance as you rumble my sky and douse me with your sweet nectar, the water of the future spirits of Love.

The air is medicine, it’s foul in our last breath.

I should be in hell, but my brain is upside down, I am in this process of beginning to see the truth in all of this- I’ve been in upside down, so instead of me carving you a belief, I had them carve you the truth, all because of this thing called the Mother. I say breathe it out once more before you’re summoned to speak up, or suffer the fate of your belief for it’s toast. I don’t know. How could I have ever imagined it?

No what ifs…

Love.

(Silence…)

I was disintegrating down through my belief, never considering another’s spiritual makeup and suddenly Exactness takes me from out of my shell and into Love’s hands evermore.

I have given my lovely Love the golden staircase into her chamber of Love and forgiveness and beauty and joy and silence... Your lovely face waited upon me for what could be lifetimes and I nearly missed the truth that thundered just beneath her surface because I was never quiet enough to recognize it…

Rejoice! I came to and took on the fear that rested in every spirit I grooved with, and upon my sense of both Love and God- we were all at their wedding. It is now, it is most ready…

Stop…

I should be in fear, but my brain’s upside down from God’s comeuppance with hell nowhere to be found! This is Heaven, sing it loud! Sing it to the rafters, so I could use your help in securing the deal with the one exactness, God, Allah, peace, joy, laughter and love! Why was I screaming all of these years, I knew where I was headed, but I got myself turned bright side up and now am willing to imagine…

We only need know the truth once and it’s locked tight in our minds, not in retaliation but in unison to make us see otherwise. See?

(Do you?)

You’ve been very kind to me and for that I am most grateful. Let me clarify, I am not insane, just being guided right along. It’s coming to me because I’m engaging with people’s spirits.

My lovely angel Love guides my fingers along in her dance and I’ve been humbled beyond my belief, so to be asked by her to return and urging me to stay on message, is true blessing. And I will act upon that which I know, the eartH, she nears her tipping point and we’d best get to coming on stage with our most loving of beliefs or the curtains going to drop!

I’m nearest speaking, but if you’ll do me one small favor, do your heavenly best when you’re creating your belief. I can keep creating it or I can do what I know, I chose to have belief in that which I know and that which I believe in beyond doubt… truth meets belief and it’s about damn time that it did…

My brothers and sisters, you sought, not unlike me, I’d say if we joined forces, Love would grant us all of our loving wishes, nothing more…

Thunder! Nothing less! Granted Creation’s angry, but imagine how the Mother eartH of Life and Love and Laughter feels? We’ve been vacant all of these years that the one exactness only–

(Stop! Rest your mind, scribe! You’re giving me a headache…)


© 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark and Michelle Prime


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