CONFESSION ZERO

( Eternal Sleep by Joanna Bradley ) The call of eversleep is too distant. Desire of Love is stronger than my puny frame, stranger than my scrawny frame of flesh, blood and bone. Eversleep is not as simple to me as it might first sound to you. Eternity is a very long time. Eternity is a manmade word, but what does it mean? (A long, long, long time.) Time, too, is a concoction of the hurried mind. A critter sewn of thought… (A moment of silence…) Lifetime after lifetime imagining you’ve figured out the enigma that is the self, now figure out the enigma that is the eartH of Creation, The Mother herself… Someone recently said to me, “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” or was it, “I’ll leave you with my thoughts.” ? Either way I should have thanked them… (Boom goes the industry… Boom goes the eartH in her struggle under the weight of the shock and awe…) If I knew my thinking would change the truth of things I’d walk around babbling more than taking action. Who I am is

(The darkness cannot hide forever from the light of Love.) The first thought of my long prayer is generally penned without hesitation, but lately I’ve found myself gazing at a new translation. It is not as confusing as it used to be, this dance with the many spirits that groove to the one moving through the eartH and within her many veins. (Dance…) The breeze summons its chill to stumble across my spine and heavenward tumble me Home… (The sun steals its shadows. War filches its affections, the sun blanches…) Beauty is in the eye and spirit of the beholder… (Look at her, Mark Richard Prime! Though you've done her grave injury, she loves you still. Though you’ve imagined yourself king, you’ve, at long last, noticed you've a queen…) The reasons I vanquished my fear are actually rather simple, belief in them seemed frivolous after stumbling, quite literally, upon a most Heavenly Home. (The HeartH is where the Heart(H) and the (H)eartH is…) The loving spirit cho

(A bowed head goes a long way in humbling you, Mark Richard Prime…) My journey into belief’s unknowable unknown has humbled me as possibilities unfolded before me one frame at a time. One frame held all my fears, the others, an eartH like I’d never imagined before. (Ignorance might well be bliss to some people, but sightlessness is to none.) I was blind. I had to have been to have missed her beneath me. Oh! The shame in that alone is nearly enough to spin me out of control within this prayer. I see myself as most guilty at having abused Love, both of the flesh and the spirit. Love hadn’t much reason to have whispered her vision inside of me, my sightlessness, my fearfulness of that which I could not know and of that which I never managed to remember… Let me remember her flesh and her wings, her nectar and her green, let me pray to what I know, no more praying to belief. Just how long did I imagine I could worship my human mind’s unfortunate imagination without ever sensing t

The wind. The wind. The winding wind summons me. The wind. The wind. The winding wind summons me to speak. The wind. The wind. The winding wind summons me to engage the spirit and greet the eartH with a kiss. Bang! Boom! The thought rumbles my insides- I chose to live evermore… Eternal Life, what’s it really worth? Is eternity truly a gift of our making or some boogeyman under our beds when the unknown is unknowable? Is it worth the risk of eternal agony crafted of our questions? Is it worth it? (Not half as much as Love…) The wind blows against my shell and asks if it might have this dance- I oblige. (Take my hand. You are set to dance evermore, you will fly with the birds my dear, you will soar evermore into the fullness of Love…) I abscond to my fears when I craft a hell of my affections. (You lounge in fright as if you own the place, as if something better is set to come along.) Let me have an honest Love, not a love contrived of wire and flesh, bone and shra

On the morning of the fourth of July, I awoke to a sound. I sat up beneath the shade of the tree and gathered my things and went to investigate. I looked in the direction of the sound and saw a baby bear hopping up and down on a trash bag it had just tossed in the air as the Mother bear stood as sentinel. I dropped my blankets (in case I had need to run) and stepped ever so lightly toward the baby bear (at an angle that favored the front door) … the cub saw or smelled me, because baby and mama bear instinctually hightailed it around the cabin and out of sight. I uttered a sorry and (instinctually) hustled inside. It was a lovely experience to have witnessed, although, at the wee hour of 6 in the morning, before coffee, before sustenance, before my eyes had adjusted to the light, it was a bit much to consider. From that experience I took away that there were bears in the area and that I was fortunate on several levels. That night, when sleep beckoned me, I laid my head bene

( Kasama - eartH Day to May Day ) Where is the adoration of Mother? Has she not bent to my every wish? Have I not scraped her flesh with my ravenous paws long enough? She writhes, yet breathes her full Love still. Let me bring her my full compassion that she might breathe still. Let me be in motion and give her cause to smile upon me… I don’t know anything, because I’m not supposed to. The spirits within me, however, know more than I have the wits to imagine. My mouth is of use to the spirits, to the Mother, to the (H)eartH of Creation. I promised her I’d scribe! She said, if I’m going to use trees upon which to print ideas, thoughts, belief, then I’d better make it most loving. Otherwise, what’s the point? © 2012 by the spirits dancing with mark richard prime