The Journey of this Earth.

What would you do if given the power of expression, the power to rule over all that one could create? This is the time of our coming, the landslide that you first hear in the rumbling, jungly nethers of your heart. Swollen with the emotion of a thousand synapses racing, receiving the transmission of a thousand antennas. There was no altering this mood, no stop to the substantial flow of gravity. All would come or all would fold into the frame of another, thing. Think now, what will it cost you? What will it take you to climb to the top?

Perceive your situation, perspiring to be placed in a ring above your stature. Stature. Hah. What is this thing that men make their minds from? What is this honeycomb that wraps them like a cobweb? Conquer or be conquered. Decide for yourself or be the victim of your own ineptitude. If you chase no freedom of thought, no freedom will your thoughts ever know. Palpable. Insatiable. It cannot be filled with sand or stone. No possession fulfills the mind whose soul is tickling. Trickling. Tantamount. Test your capacity. Have the audacity to break the mold. Boldness generated from your inner wisdom, the vision of your sanctum soul. No other man. No other woman. No position, division, revision, system or symptom, can state your inner vision. It is the one that sparks from within, is written in the curious mind, travels beyond the body, lives in your language, lives in your meaning, lives by your expression, your way. No other paves this for you. No other shows you the one path. There is no one path.

The only universal is that you must seek. Weakly made the babe comes from the womb. Wolves are here, ready to consume, how far now have you made it? What was it that you saw then, do you still know, are you still looking for the reasons we grow? So many systems spilling their synchronization, “here, come here, be made in our mold”. What is this? The marketed, targeted, “be like me” starter kit? Who is “me”, when I am you, you are they, tell me really, what is true? There is this inkling, this slow lonely decibel that reaches forth, carrying it’s need for relativity. An itch like wondrous joy, somber regret, when you fret and neglect this need. Higher inside you feel when it’s chased, when the place that you seek, comes face to face. Fearful. I know. So be it, amen. Slow dance with your time here and regret nothing since. The smooth calm, the breeze that blows, whispering it’s secrets from afar. Think now where this air has been, the places you have now inhaled. Feel the magic of 25,000 miles, the circular yearning, the journey of this Earth.

Hear the heart ache, find art before your heart breaks, find your meter, the tick, tick, the metronome of your making. If your hands are never shaking, then your missing the point. A proposition, to go with your half glass of submission, the one they poured for you at birth… Set it down son, daughter of the deepness, set it aside, this life is more than a ride. This isn’t just about surviving and you’ll need more than to be thriving, look me in the eyes, tell me, tell me you’re alive.

Life is Lucifer, knowledge, good and evil, a thousand doors, a thousand keyholes, crooked and regal, eagles and seagulls, vultures and velvet doves. Choice upon choices, “Listen here!”, “No here!”, voices and voices, everyone has your way you, you wayward child, now compose yourself to all edicts. Now let me ask you, is it the ‘All’, are they offering ‘Ever’? Are they the only ones selling? Selling?! Tell me money isn’t involved! The ways of the world are wayward, wanton, welling up, and it’s easy to join. You’ll soon see, I’ve long noticed, the frays at the edges, the seams, where there’s still so much to be sown. Blow hards and upstarts, the mania of fame, fakers, the ignorant intellects, the bias breathers, the zoloft inducing zealots, it’s best to be Helen Keller to the sop that they seep. 

Knock, knock, is your skull a prison? Does your mind still seek instinctive wisdom, has your situation arisen, the one where you act who you are? It crosses over more than once, your choice only lasts with so much closure, it’s the exposure to whats beyond, that your desire wishes to reap. Heap another burden, hear me, hear me, I know you’re hurting, but the difference is what you’ll feel, the feeling felt says, “you’re worthy”.

Worry, I know you worry, for your mind is judge and jury, with each faction currying it’s flavor on you. What is it then? How does one spend, every second, spilling minute, levying hour, lose my mind in a day? It’s okay. Thats what you say, “it’s okay”. It takes time to find the reason, the why of each thing you want to believe in, it takes time and intelligence to learn, your way, to behave. It’s okay.


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