The Audacity of Truth

I am the next one, are these words the thing that evade my howling lips?

Do I see them more as a metaphor and have yet to feel the audacity of their truth?

Have I unwittingly staged a coup d'état on hell? Maybe it was purposeful from the spirit of Love. If humankind will but recognize belief as our return of love to Love we’ll have meaning. It never ceases, it is eternal this ingestion of the fullness of love, Love would have it no other way. Did we really expect Creation’s love to end? We haven’t the capacity for such thought? Never-end? If Heaven truly does exist, then we, my finely un-feathered friends, are already inside of eternity, so wouldn’t it be best if we began to recognize where we are and treat eternity as if it’s Heaven, or at the least as a Heavenly Home?

(Silence…)

(Wind…)

(Traffic!)

Human-fouled traffic wanting me to fear! Anything and anyone that invites fear into my heart must be regarded as the enemy to the fullness of Love.

(Echo…)

(Silence…)

(Love…)

If it is unfolding as was meant to be, am I not a part of that unfolding? Is it not my duty to Love… to only love? Isn’t fear the opposite of love when we get right down to it?

Full fear is hell, full Love is Heaven. I believe it beyond one shadow of any and all doubt, so my faith’s of Love.

(ping)

Lights! Curtain! Now live! Love and laugh!

No more deceit for some ill-conceived profit.

This is my belief! I believe I’ve been summoned to answer the simple question of where I am, therefore where we are. I am convinced of it, therefore it is real to me, and if it is real to me, this belief, then doesn’t it stand to reason that if this belief is my truth, then making it the eartH’s as well and, since you and I are a part of the eartH then it is yours as well, correct, or is my math too sloppy?

Where else could belief, if it is as important to who we are as even the blood that courses through our veins, be headed if not into the fullness of Love, Heaven, God, Life, Laughter without an nth of fear within our doctrines?

We all know a bit about theft, all of us are thieves. We’ve stolen if we factor in our misuse of the eartH. Of our Heavenly Home, we’ve nearly worn out our welcome and we’ve little left to give now in our tumble.

Please allow me to dance with your love and your fear, that I might return the fullness of a most loving spirit to you.

Understanding, Forgiveness and Love…

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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