CONFESSION ZERO

Many do not sense the profundity that is Home... We ride atop a rotating sphere, a heavenly orb, inexplicably set in perfect motion beneath the sun, with the sun... all things in motion, ergo the truth in motion. How does one reconcile the truth if it too is evolving? Does that mean the "conclusion doesn't exist? It's in flux, how would it conclude? (It could change form, thereby increasing its range.) Perhaps, but that still doesn't explain what any of it has to do with conclusions? We human beasts think too finitely in our inane fear of death... It changes a man when death is no more fearful than the life which leads to it. © 2016 Mark Richard Prime

These words in part are brother, in the equal half in full are sister. Let us exist, not as two or three or sides, let us exist now as One. It is time to hear me in person... in story... in your gift from him, he who tumbled in with glee and regret, he who spoke from the suddenness of death... word,one,we,death, eternal life, everlastingly forgiving. Who ya gonna call when the pitch is out of the park? © 2014 Mark Richard Prime

The drone of God has no flight plan, It rattles our occupied conscience. It’s human "science" that plummets down a silent death for shredding flesh. The drone whispers its low down dread, As Peace calls forth the dying and dead. Shriek and howl, wail and weep Of man’s thunderous brutality… © 2014 Mark Richard Prime

This is a beautiful irony… life growing in munitions of death, ongoing, despite such monstrous concepts. Despite our waging war on sister and brother, our foul genius falling down upon one another, this is a beautiful irony… © 2014 Mark Richard Prime

~ A boy went to war the battle devoured him, all that's left is the boy's bike grown in sadness to a tree. (Why sadness?) The boy went to war. (Silence...) © 2014 Mark Richard Prime

It is the fault of the war machine and its media for failing to mention the many it kills on both sides. See, the truth will end war and the machine will fall down and Peace will rise in its place. © 2014 Mark Richard Prime

" Hakimullah Mehsud drone strike: 'Death of peace efforts ' " What does Peace know of death? Peace is not reliant on war in order to prove its disdain for noise, in order to show us that it is the truth of us. We are peacemakers, let us be Peace and Love, We are peacemakers, let us be forgiving and let us have Creation's great laughter. What do peacemakers know of war? They are not reliant on it in order to enter in with harmony, to come laughing and loving as a collective. We are peacemakers, let us be righteous and Kind, We are peacemakers, let us be voices of reason and act like grateful heirs to Heavenly Home. What does Peace know of death? © 2013 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime

We, as stewards of the (H)eartH, need stand up against all "regime" changes, all ideas of war or aggression or thoughts of our interests in any region, save for the one we live in. We needn't avenge the deaths, we need be humbled by their sacrifice and begin to make their passing a testament to no more war. We need change from within to out, by example, by loving and forgiving all. Imagine the "blowback" from the actions of forgiveness and love, what an amazing spirit would be felt in the reaction of peace and laughter, love and forgiveness? It's the only plan that will solve the (H)eartH's most pressing issues, no amount of war or assassination or power struggles for oil or resources will bring us to where we need be by now in our existence, in our human experience. Humanity must begin to rise up and Love all... Peace © 2013 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime

Bomb. Bomb. Bomb. Bomb. Bomb! We disregard that we don't know death. Occasionally we stop thinking about the bomb silent in its descent, much like death. Sometimes only a murmur dropping in the air, sensed in our unbending march. Splitting children like atoms in a lab, their mother’s wailing death after them. We sense the bomb long after its fallen, now motionless, shrapnel standing at attention, immersed inside the face of horror. It aches too much for us to re-imagine, so we don’t, we see another movie, hear another song, play a different game, brains deadened, eyes closed to the noise found in war. O! What a belief we've crafted of our bombs! © 2013 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime

I weep at the senseless worship of war that we seem to have. All those names! God! It's insanity! Imagine a wall with all the names of wars miserable murder? What a monstrous thing to weep over! What a sickening thing! We must never ever repeat again, even in the least! --The Wailing Wall of Vietnam-- Boom boom... Peace and Love © 2013 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime

I’m not only me, I’m we, we are one breathing alongside me without death, sometimes noticing one another, and sometimes paying no heed, yet sensing the silence within the affinity, loving loudly long after the grief, seeking peace as we breathe, waiting on laughter to summon mercy. © 2013 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime

Men without eyes will go out alone, shatter the portrait downward and to the jackals offer pennies of our jaded wish. Does anyone understand this? Have we thought of our lovelessness? Behind our last breaths of our unfortunate disgust, the fear-fouled goodness, the bleeding run through, the repellent nationalist, the deviating line in the sand, the scraggly-toothed oppressors, the slipshod parishioners, the depleted silvery-white, the dabbing stroke of agony, the bleakness of genocide, the onslaught of despotic ideals, the limbless industrialized slavery, the brutal sacraments of hypocrisy, the barbed fruits of empirical reckoning and the headless optimism of whole ruination... Does anyone know what I am saying? Have we thought of our collusion? O! Let us anoint our occasion of peace! Revolt of this, the master’s haunt! War should be our slave, not our medication! Not a haggard monster to move about or flaunt! Starvation can better be murdered than the humanity of our soul. Hate...

We are all walking these streets under our own abysmal verdict. Frequently we hear that we’re faced by avoidable contamination. We’ve heard it before, that we must breed our skin apart from those others until our masks are solid and chaste, irremovable, useless. Force the skin’s hue down, imprison our colors on the nomadic streets. We need be single-minded to form our face into the perfect color of a perverted truth, this evolution is ugliest now, storming its infection across the world. We’re walking the streets, the roads, the twisting spheres bending away, humanity begging we refuse this council, this deception. One stride on this eartH, one long, delightful use of man, animal, dying now, ready to live. Our fuel’s the blood Under our skin, our reckless mind, the contagion. Understand this, our progression has long commenced. We cannot forgo its breathing revolution. We cannot, from its rise, ourselves remove. O! It will thrash our sticks and stones, and turn its heaven away ...

(911, what's your emergency?) Love! (Though I would tend to agree, sir, this is 911 and we're not equiped to bring you love, sir. Is there anything else I can help you with today?) What’s come of this, our day? Feels like a pale remembrance as if we’ve not slept since or our eyes never fully opened, living near death, over and over, never realizing what we’ve done. (What have you done, sir?) The dead walk by our closed doors just as they did before. Maybe years from now someone will open them and see there’s no one there, open the cupboards and gaze at the ghost’s of a bare boned affection that move about in the living dust, in the echoes of our dancing within the last of our days, even if there’s nothing worth remembering or somehow it all got misplaced, perhaps tucked away for a rainy day, a keepsake for tomorrow that never came… or never was. (Oh. Yes. I see.) Walk with heads held high. Honor all the love that’s been taken away by your own hand and all those y...

( eartH Loving from The Eco Goddess Temple ) I’m listening. I hear your song my Lovely HeartH- and the bird chimes in right on time. Sublime! She’s absorbing me. I’m absorbing into her. One. Sublime… This is my reality and this, it does seem, has been happening a very long time, perhaps lifetimes of death and dance. I do not know, but when it’s revealed to me I will summon its truth to the highest peaks of imagination! © 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark and Michelle Prime

Higher! O! Higher still! Up, up and away! Dampen my Love, but do not wash it out or measure its depth, for I am afraid these, my words, might miss their mark. Come muse! Flow tenderly over my worship, not as a foul curse, but a curving stream with my heart and death between. The price was steep for all. Death, not being the end, has been held nearest my decay, nearest my trust in imagination. The hunt’s been on for Love. Fears most-wanted poster seeking out a most-wanted certainty that, in my aim, will dearly pay. © 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark and Michelle Prime

The children were dressed for the parade, yet they knew not what awaited their joy, what unknown would greet them on their path, things that had the power to dull their hearts. - This rule that breathes gives no answer; in the firmness of the warrior our exposed intolerance stirs our blind procession, our dwindling freedom. - The standing mercenary with the noise in his throat like the gurgle of death bubbling up with the blood of tyrants. - The church bells chime, the rainfall falls, the mountains mount, but the smell of addiction does not fade; human empires, without exception, do. - © 2010 by mark prime

Upon this day all of beauty hasn’t been used, and is ready. The sky remains, and the lord’s of abuse gather their swords to plunge inside green reason, the heart of charity; sun, rain, quake. Stunned and slack-jawed, death dies long before it’s prepared to leave. It catches up to all of us, lifeless flowers lodged in our gape, etching the soil with a graveness uncalled for. The eternal skied beams have cause for grief. My kind drafts his fate in delusion strapped to an empty pate. © 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark and Michelle Prime

We're one, and that is the lesson we've faced that we may remember, there will always be something greater in the next life and so on. We're almost there… To see genuine joy is a miracle, so why don’t we get to performing our Love song to her before we pass this thread on through, beyond the dead into the dying. It's another way of saying, give up your eye on the crown and be grateful she's forgiving or this our story might eternally cease. It is beautiful, our story. It is painted with Love and Life and Laughter, but now is not only the time for gleeful laughter, now is time for Life and Love and for us to rise to the occasion. (Scribe, do you mean-) I mean nothing. (Nothing?) I'm not going anywhere from this belief. There's more to this game than meets our eyes and darts in and out of our slothful searchers of Love. The eartH’s not to be taken for granted, she’s meant to be always our belief’s forward vision. This territory might seem danger...

Seek out war and I will find war. Seek death and death shall I find. Hunt for sorrow and sorrow will come to me. Search for Love and I will find God and beauty and joy, laughter and glee, the eternal embracement of Love. Peace… © 2012 by the spirits dancing with mark richard prime