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Showing posts from September 23, 2012

Belief Cannot End

I believe that when I'm talking to my "self", I am speaking to the Spirit. At least I have found it to be so in my experience, or at least I believe it to be so...

I have come far in this belief and since I believe that belief cannot end, that it must always be in flux, much the same way that Life is always changing (evolving), then I also believe that the spirit never ends, it changes, and it is up to us to ensure that the loving spirit conquers the fearful spirit.

If I end this belief, if I put a period to that which is unknowable, I’ll have utterly lied to that which cannot be known.

(But it can be believed, Mark Richard Prime.)

…Beyond any doubt.


© 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime

THE SEEKING

Seeking in many ways can be as simple as asking questions, but I also think that I'm meant to seek out my purpose within the questions, otherwise, I'm merely paying lip-service to the spirit. If then the answers are unknowable, I believe I should be content with my inability to know. (In a way the being content part is likely to reveal my purpose more than even my seeking. Perhaps the greatest knowledge I can garner is that, in truth, I don't know anything and if even if I do, it's very little.)

The self, in my opinion, is a rather tricky thing, and nearly impossible to grasp if what I imagine I seek is my "I" instead of my "me" (who I was born and intended to be).

Living in the virtue of "that life" and "that power" might help me realize where, who and what I am, and may even open my eyes to the fullness of my "connectedness". Of course, I believe the "connectedness" is already done for me, I just need to u…

To All My Fellow Brothers and Sisters

To all my fellow brothers and sisters, I offer nothing less than my love, and to my Home I offer the sturdiest of my belief, that which counts before it gets to know the truth of another. I’m headed toward goodness, whatever it may or may not be is not for me to imagine for if I cannot know, I cannot imagine it to be. I will be wrong, so I am trying my best at being the least bit Algebraic in my thoughts.

(You? Math? Ha! That’s an outright joke! You couldn’t do math to save your life, numbskull!)

And a good day to you fine spirit.

(Cut the crap, scribe and get to scribing!)

I am and you are along my way. Hello. It was most kind of you to dance with me this morning. It is a dance, our turn to make a difference in what we know instead of ignoring the truth in our duality, what we know and what we can’t. We are gnashing our wits in the hell of our making and we’ve begun to see instead of flee, we are standing up for Home, for Love, for all and everything! Let us empower ourselves with ou…

Safe Word

Woven of experience…

(Ready, yet not prepared…)

The truth is, this is just another belief woven of only the thoughts of my experience. A lifetime, and I finally find my balance. It is the hope of my true spirit (and yours and yours and yours and yours) to dance with one another (and another and another and another and another and another and another, in my belief). I move into the spirit and the whole lot of dancers seems to know something that I don’t and that I cannot know until something happens...

(What?)

I don’t know.

(Oh. Right, that’s what you said, huh?)

In a way, yes… My dance with the spirit and my ideas of Love and love, and a diminishing number of fears, brings me to be able to have my belief and believe it too.

I couldn’t believe in anything but Love, otherwise I’d not have recognized that I'm blind to who I am, sightless to the fact that all this is purposeful, (everyone and me and this, our spirited belief.) Only I am not giving it purpose, you are. I'm merely t…

The Storm

When the storm comes, let us not run away screaming, let us enter its path and sing an ode, dance a jig to its reverie and remember that we are all part of the storm. I believe it cannot be any other way, for if we imagine ourselves as somehow separate from it, we’re as blind as we are destructive to the truth …



© 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime

War's Clamor

Now that we truly see them, the people of the world, why are our eyes not wet in the midst of scaly grief? Have we not shrieked in nameless terror long enough, been onlooker to nightmares of insensible winters beckoning to us from unfilled graves etched in awe? Now that we might truly see ourselves with the world’s stale eyes why do we condone the enduring massacre of even one more? Are we so fearful as to not flinch of our queasy indifference?

We should be vomiting out our coldness and ingesting the puff-tongued hunger for peace. We need be humble and reaching not bombing and preaching. Too many bomb-split, blood-spilled, freedom-cuffed, breath-snuffed and killed.

Listen… You can sense the dead eating our horror. Heed the dry bone now bleached under dawn’s collapse, perceive the stars and moon tremble and overlap the other. If you listen closely, you can hear immense wings clamoring for heaven.


© 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime

A Hushed and Soothing Reverie

Right after the sky had seemingly dumped all its gloom upon this world and sunny days lay ahead of us… some of us… maybe some lucky son of the rich. Just when the world could use some talk of peace and healing of wounds and unruffled reflection allowed to descend… or shine… or sidle between dry lips.

O! That this world could make use of silence or a hushed and soothing reverie from the heavy chains knotted around our breath. The tongues are corroded over with idols and liars and hordes of impish drones and toadies and criminals, a fine mess we’ve made of it! A fine mess we’re into now, a world in disarray.

And someone’s going to stop breathing tonight. A father’s going to cry, kill or pray as someone else will sleep far away from his grief. Sleep roundly without sorrow. The moving sand and running streets and flying steel pilfering the radiance will send a messenger, a virgin warrior, with tidings of community and expectation, only to return with news of a lifeless planet with lifel…

Wed to this Legion

War delivers something significant overlooked in our hurry, blindness of its reach leading demons to our bed.

Our minds see too late the sacrificed in its jaws or upon its talons with “This war, this lie will echo,” stomping inside our heads.

There’s not room for much else, shrapnel has invited itself in and eats our guilt with a shovel, burrowing to our center.

Another soldier, a child, who believes himself impenetrable is taken to soil for our charade, cold and ashen now.

Where is the anger for having been wed to this legion, for standing motionless as deceit commits so many?

Where’s the indignation? What have we sacrificed to the ground? Do we believe we’ve ducked its swipe and come out unsoiled on the other side?

Now, after we’ve learned, will we snuggle up to precious war and kiss its beneficiaries, too afraid to die?

War bends for no one, save for utter defeat. These are the days of our significance, these we live, so grab the warring shovel and bury it of its damnable use...

© …

Small Particles of Human Dust

The mouth of the good soldier, the stern jaw of the general, the small particles of human dust that move between them- better things than war to the rotten film of floating flesh.

The bastard truth, in its last throes, had no teeth to gnaw at death to release its harrowed grip and deceit had honed its razors slicing truth to its mortal nub, veracity fell out the bloody center uncorking the gushing liquid now thickly oozing out of man.

This that moves us and machine is what drives the engine of betrayal.
It is not man. It is not beast. It is not breath. At birth we suckle its oily nipple until we desire it more than food, this, our liquid birth of machinery.

It is with that in mind and nothing else that the stern jawed general let loose his guns. With precision, from years of training, he nailed his target, truth, between the eyes and it fell back calling out a futile "help," but rescue would not be forthcoming, it too had been felled.

Death stands now before them both and p…