CONFESSION ZERO

I can be very overbearing. The spirits, those I have unwittingly discovered in me, when challenged by knee-jerking fear, react in kind without a wisp of fear. It is truly not my intention to cause anyone undue stress or consternation by my actions or my words. (I am crafting a belief of nothing but Love and Peace, and Love and Peace will not be denied.) We hold our human to human vows more sacred than we do the one that is of our original purpose. Are we mad? Have we completely fallen off the wagon on our way back Home? I take my vow to the Mother eartH very seriously, but I am in no position to argue that I've been the best man for the damned job when it comes to my responsibilities to the mother or mother's of eartH. I am most certainly flawed like few I know. I am a human being pleading with all to realize just where it is that I am coming from. In prayer, these words tumble out of me without chance to even recall what it is I began writing, now imagine what it is t

What in Heaven is happening to my reality? Have I summoned a truth woven from fear more than Love? Is the canvas from which I paint not the same canvas as everyone else? What the hell is going on? Am I blind, deaf and dumb to my own truth? Have I been fooled about where I am so long that upon returning to who I was born to be I’ve sensed a kinship in all things? Instincts rise to greet my senses as if they were an inferno moving across my dangling wits, a miracle rushing in to save a pleading child, emerging victorious for Love. © 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime

Neighbor, breathe your love if you are going to parrot the truth… (Don’t sit there with the smugness reserved for kings. Love!) There is no cunning in Love, it is the pirouette, the canvas upon which to paint our love not our confounded fears… (What order did you expect it to come pouring out of your hands, lips with fingers, upside-down headed man?) Touch upon Love and you will soon never touch upon another in any way, but that which most loves… (No! You yourself have fouled your own ideal! Live by your word, Mark Richard Prime!) I don’t remember my words! Not in any order, much like my story, I had nothing because I believed in nothing! (Nothing, too, is a belief, Rimnod.) I only remember now, these words, now, and my now and these words are starting to blur. It keeps me honest, certainly more so than if I were shelled away in some makeshift partition with all my indifference as drink, my fears as goblet for all to swill… (Oh.) (Silence…) © 2012 the spirit of

It was like a slap in the face, this noise that wafted over the sound… They stood in line to let me dance with their fears- O! Slap! O! Slap! O! What a snarled tapestry of belief that’s crafted from shadows darting in and out of Love as if they were needles filled with rage! When are we to gather as a species and begin our song? We must begin to sing the echo of her plea through the movement and motion of who we are all born to be, stewards... O! The cry of the spirit of Love is piercing even the dogs as we speak, their high and constant howl ringing over the traffic… (Echo…) © 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime