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The
peasant rejoice when he sees the rainy season,
The
married couple are sad, because her sterile womb can't
produce,
The
criminal is guilty of a crime it doesn't understand,
Low
in spirit is the heart breaker for he has lost his touch.
The
poor and the rich have embarked in a race, they both will greet in
the end.
The
days are long, the nights are short, life passes by and so does our
dreams.
There
are times, things we most hope on, comes and crushes the expectation
of what could have been but isn't.
I
look around to comprehend the seasons, each one brings a message,
even the wind tells about the future.
I
stared at the birds, to listen to their interpretations, they cry and
weep, rejoice and reflect of what brings the next day.
At
times what causes us to be or not to be, depends on how much thought one gives to the matter.
Give
a day to reason, give a day to understanding, give a
day
to patience, give a day to happiness, give a day to love, give a day
to peace, and a day to rest,
so
you may see the pain of labor, and the sorrow of ruins.
Sometimes
I'm viewed as cruel, tasteless, cold, mechanical, misplaced, but
inside of me, outflows of tears overcome me, because of what has
become of this world.
I will say this....silence is the greatest counterfeiter, and loudness a scream often not heard ! So I asked silence to make a defense...but sounds overpowered ! Be free in all the things, reconcile for the unspoken, interpret the loud cries in your path.
Until death do us apart, or until insanity and grief carves a better outlet,
I want no part of neither one, I'm not a masochistic or on a joy ride for proving grounds.
I'm bless to to know I can decipher my conscience, and since I'm material and imperfect I carry out my sentence, cautiously and under reason.
I slave for what is good and righteous...a resistor to broken will. There is no markers pointing to either directions. If my faith is challenged my Divine being shall cover for my weaknesses.
Yet I have not failed in my quest to understanding. My sacrifice is to my beloved...but God first, this much I know !
My Lord is very close at hand all the time as the enemy extends his madness...but I'm aware on his countless attempts. The Almighty Divine always at the scene...if God on my side whom against me ?
The superlative call is to the braves, those whom yearn and sigh, mourn the greater revelation. It is to them the ancient of ancient...eternal of old, that keeps the consuming fire alive rosie hot. If one stays the course of the conscience, your days will have no end.
Freewill or the challenge, what dulls the senses ?
Extremism,
fanaticism, over-zealous..applying a perfect law to a imperfect body,
blindly.
Carrying out the
mandates to the point of exhaustion. I have reasons to amend a broken
rhythm (my limited scope on what is superlative).
My contention, it
takes a great plot to balance out the fine prints. In my insensible
chase...the senses have yielded a fine tune conscience, that is the
product to work with. I beg forgiveness by stretching the boundaries
in my contemptible state...I await the superlative expression that
which is bestow to my conscience !
2 Corinthians 12:7-10 is a passage where Paul has some profound things
to say about the theme of strength in weakness. And I want us to begin
by reading this passage.
(Paul the Apostle)
"to keep me from being too elated by the surpassing greatness of the
revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to
harass me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I pleaded with
the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, “My
grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”
Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the
power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am
content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and
calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong".
(me, a vessel)
If I’m weak in the
flesh and yet chosen, ordain to do the powerful work’s of the
spirit, then the spirit bears my weakness in the flesh. And if the
spirit contends with my weakness I have become powerful. If the
spirit actuates my life force, then I have overcome my greatest
adversary. For it has become my strong-hold, in my contemptible
state.
So being weak in the
flesh, and contemptible...the spirit takes pleasure that I have
fought a great battle in my extremities. Left for dead...died many
times, yet powerful to on-looker’s, humble in understanding.
Internalized by my
conflict, and much aware of how its utilized, weaponized against me,
here again is my helper. The power over the spirit working it’s
ancient secret formula. The flesh and weakness have become silent in
their activities as the faith bears all, supports it all...that we
have overcome and never left behind.
So what is asked of
us ? We don’t indulge in the flesh or weakness, yet their ever
present ! Does the helper take pleasure in our lowest point ? See for
yourself, if He adopted us in our lowest point, certainly his goal
would be to make us greater in our highest ! Men/Woman of little
faith, how many times can a heart break, and how many times can it
mend ? If He can see through all our short-unsightliness, why can’t
we ?
I shall live among the forest trees, and in the forest might's.
I shall live among the desert's cold, and the desert's heat.
I will reside in open plains or in close range, in majestic gardens, or in furnished mountains,
I will stand my grounds and humbly display my strength.
In red, pink, white, and in thorns I'm arrayed to me nothing goes unnoticed, and why not? blossom away.
Fear not my thorns for every thing gentle also carries great might, and my creator is an example of that.
My greatest reward comes when given to someone who waters me and understands how hard it is,when not loved.
The seasons come and they go each complimenting one another, but I'm the lonely subject to my
environment. Being me is my toughest trial and remaining is my biggest accomplishment.
What
projection one finds more appealing ? The outer shell (materialistic
being ) or the inner shell (spiritualistic being )? The outer shell
is here today and gone tomorrow...the inner shell is here today and
remains forever, eternalized in mass energy.
The
question will query the answers on what foundations one builds
enduring or perishable expectations. Again the question will probe a
heart condition, predetermined or yielding accordingly to knowledge
gained on one's projections.
The
balancing act absorbs the mass energy in projections, when trivial is
first and question secondary. Of what significance is gaining the
world and losing the most valuable ? In our formless state, during
time absent of guidance (unguided energy) by laws beyond our reach
the miracle begins, energies attract energies to the point we become
material....but energy first.
Being
that we are materialistic and spiritualistic...why is a higher energy
(power) attracted to the inner shell ? And is there a condescending
attachment to which we are not synchronized with ? As human beings we
are inseparable to both...yet there is higher leaning at best towards
the inner shell (spiritualistic) self why ? In our formless state,
then material, energy, programming is absent...during our incubation
period projection come in the form passed from generation, after
generation implants and gifts that become question and answers in
gained or loss knowledge.
So
we have this yearning, innate, superlative gift expressive as
conscience, the ever awaken other half which becomes a pathway into
transcendency. To be fully aware or at least able to manage the wide
over-load of these projections, one must have accurate
knowledge...this being the safe guard to which becomes the light
itself, without crashing the fragile gains we so much take to
granted.
Where can I go from your
Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? In
other words energies is always manifesting in our lives, For
you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s
womb (sacred Chamber). I praise you because I am fearfully and
wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that fully well.
Coincidences
is a word I rarely use when it comes to energies, its
almost impossible for opposites to make lasting bonding connections to each
other. So the product that you have become, may not be the final
product to which you are called. Let
me explain...to fully deploy our senses and gifts, during the
incubation period some malevolent lost energies have misplaced errors in
the genetic codes through tinkering with those divine expressions.
We
are not half the projection we are meant to be...and then there is
choice. The superlative expression is not absent of
conscience...never. It actually seeks the choicest energies on which
to merge. It is an
ongoing process of time consuming separation, some will find
themselves through trial and chance while others inherit more
expressive vibrations. In the long run the ultimate goal is finding
you, and not conceding to the primordial lost energies to which we
are all subjects...one way or the other.
We
find everyday that something is fighting us, or we are fighting
it. Call it what you elect to relate, and then we move on. Its not
that simply its very persistent,
hanging around until our last death stroke. It is subtle...benign,
almost to the point we consider it part of our make-up of the twist
and turns, reasons the
gullible slave to which you are the call. Confuse and distracted from
the daily routines we, some how by-pass true meaning and its
disguise.
Again
the age old conspiracy manifest disguise and meaning in the form of
active or passive energies, the inexperienced become the prefer
target since they are still trying to harness the greater expression.
No matter the many
transformation it plots, we are summons with deep rooted divine gifts
to counter some very
sophisticated projections, only the few will ever chart its' pathway
to really break free. Its a challenge for the choicest expression
woven with special characters deep in the sacred chambers...the
workshop of a superlative spiritual guide.
like
the valleys and evergreen pastures...a delightful kaleidoscope of
reflective lights thatbounce
back with charm and inquisitive intrigues,
like
a meadow in endless rejuvenation,
a
waterfall in parched regions,
an
oasis of never-ending want,
like
shades and shadows tossed dancing dusk-to-dawn,
nocturnal
roost daylight dew native and foreign visitor's fragrance chant,
sun-dance,
rain-dance collaborate the seasons,
She
is a kaleidoscope of charm and chant,
She
is like a complex maze and puzzles, that lead to a wealth of findings
and intrigue.
She
is a continuous melody' that resonates like the pounding of my heart,
through-out the day and night.
Like
a fresh spring breeze that last many seasons,
She
is like a cascade that echoes in water-less regions, bringing to life
anything in it's path.
She
stands alone in the presence of many, in silence she instructs her
audience.
She
is an inspiration of thoughts, a pool of resources.
a
true gem that host the endless commotions in the eyes of a grand
scheme, a perfectas love joy." God
almighty surely out did himself in creating a fine companion, for his
first creative off-spring. (C)
Right Raphael
G
Were you expecting a stranger in
the night? Every day I sit by the front door way, you past by like
I wasn't there; Yet your fragrances are fresh like morning dew I
know better. Your never lonely in your house angels guard your
safe keeping. Go ahead ask me where I have been? I tell you things
just keep happening, I must speak of what I have abandon, the
vaulted sky the earth below, shadows tossed, and the land of broken
dreams.
If I could find comfort for just a while it would be
in the corner stairways; Leading to my admirer’s reproach! Like
autumn’s foliage that chariots to their winter bed, Where is my
resting place for today? Like dust driven away my soul finds no
refuge…I have become tired, exhausted in my quest to reveal the
sacred spiral, who is worthy in my madness?
Lead
me captive in the sorrows of my beloved strange host where the sun
rises from the Far East touching my deeps wounds.
The
many whom my strangeness admired, but stranger than none; here to
abide with it in my strange loved. I lay me down until my next
resurrection in the near coming spring the day of my birth many years
ago when my father woven me in the secret place, not troubling where
I sweetly slept.”
She's
a kaleidoscope of charm and chant,
she's
like a complex maze and puzzles,
that
lead to a wealth of findings and intrigue.
She's
like a continuous melody that resounds like the pounding of my heart,
like
a fresh spring breeze that last many seasons.
She's
like a cascade that echoes in waterless regions, bringing to life
anything
in
its path.
She's
stands alone in the presences of many, in silence she instructs her
audience,
she's
an inspiration of thoughts...a pool of resources, silence surrounds
me as she goes about her way. From
the Far East a descending voice toss in the wind made its way on a
long journey towards the west, From Its interpretation I was able to
decipher its codes and well meant meaning. I became enchanted and
eager to reveal, relentless and compulsive in what maybe its true
secrets.
I felt again promoting the rituals the heart only understand
and feels, I resigned in holding back the inspiration once again. I
embrace like a young child if this maybe real and worthy of
conspiring with or just another natures play. Nature has many healing
ways so I trust and let go of any preconceived agenda and ideas, to
the amazement of my innocence,
What
a treat to a child still embracing and holding true to a ritual
little understood’. Within time the soft voice from the Far East
continue its presentation and disclosed the paradox for which it was
sent. If words where hard to find than it was certainly here that I
began my stutter and stammering, a person of my endowment lost for
words and thought.
Hear me O’ wind allied of mysteries and revealer
of mix thoughts bring to me your irony or paradox, hold back nothing
that is worthy of inquiry and that can be of purpose and instruction.
Help me find hope, as I long for the await scene of truth, happiness,
love, compassion, mercy and the spirit that guides it. Deliverer of
dreams tossed; show me the pathway to this wonderful journey of ruse
and fascination.
Show
mercy towards me, soften your heart and make room in your treasures
of compassion for me. I speak to you from my heart, that my
greatest desires and anxieties is to have your approval so I, may
exercise my goodness and loving kindness to you in a unlimited way.
I
have set before me an oath that what ever becomes me, to get to you
will be uprooted out. I have set before me an oath, that even the
mightiest oak must bend for you are to much to let go by.
I
belief that in every one of us there is goodness, and I relay on your
supply to give me an opportunity to show you, the difference between
he who has, and he who doesn't the difference between sadness and
rejoice.
If
I were to be judged, let me, be judged because of my words and not my
actions.
If
I were to be ignored let it be because of a time barrier and not
because of persistence.
If
I were to be considered let it be because I, speak the truth and God
has guide my way.
If
I were to be shamed let it be before my eyes for we all can grow and
learn.
As
the day goes by I, wonder whether it leaves a pace on which to
follow, and as the years pass by I, become sadden as my dreams comes
and goes and I, not able to grasp it.
If
I, were to offend let it be known and I, will prostrate before you,
let us meet as warriors for righteousness, reason, mercy, compassion,
and kindness.
If
I, were to be replace I'm slowly terminated by grief or failure, I'm
also happy to state that very few could replace you, maybe none. For
a fine companion who can find it?
Let
presumptuousness rest in patience, in time, in love, in deeds.
May
sound wisdom and discernment be to your enjoyment, and the words of
the wise be your enlightenment. Dear young one until we meet again
for never is a long time.
There
is a time when man looses hope and inspiration, he finds very little
comfort in his surroundings,
He
somehow manages to stay afloat in the environment in which he chooses
to reside.
Life
to him is not so important as he ponders the effects of death, man
goes and carry on his relentless pursue in finding meaning to his
life,
He
encounters beauty in the world where the earth is constantly being
destroyed of God's purpose's, and still memories rekindle his vision
about where to start again in the journey for honor, respect,
loyalty, horsemanship.
Man
have a sense of awareness, he knows about all things and spirituality
is his greatest call, he rekindles and reaffirm...himself because of his
adversaries have torn away his last strong hold, but yet his spirit
is uplifted from others whom he see's as himself.
There
is a cry louder than heaven it reaches God's throne, God is a just
God, he hears our whispers also our thoughts, nothing goes unnoticed
in the web He wove.
If
man calls on God, he must not fear life or death, these two go hand
to hand with his purpose.
Night
follows day and day follows night a paradox, filled with meaning and
disguise.
If
we man or women call on Him, it will require a great sacrifice from
those whom call on him. Some day ones faith will save him or
challenge his or her devotion. Life is a privilege it holds many
wonders, surprises, intrigues, fascinations, and a world of untold
riches of spiritual gifts, eternity and God's blessings so as to
marvel at his creation.
A
man is God's image, women are an extension of God's tender side of
compassion, I wish God was my mother to really understand my greatest
want! Someday a door will open and many will be called, I hope to
find the true warriors at the other side. Someday a call will empower
me to venture forth as a spiritual warrior for God Almighty. Man for
now yearn to find hope and inspiration to move hand and hand with
God's choir.
Today,
tomorrow, maybe a few days more we can endure. Some of us will
fall back do to weakness, or can’t bear it any longer, to those
still standing I give support and those dead make me stride a bit
further.
Soon life will pass by and the pack will dismiss
their woes, but I see harder days to go. Here I stand contemplating
my path, for every death there is life and for every life there is
joy and for every joy also sadness.
Victory doesn’t belong
to he that claims it, but to he who tries. I long to see does who
felt short here and me there,because after all the struggles there
was no reward. Here I stand and as the sun gives to shaded , my cries
will be on a different note.
My
young years have flown by like migratory birds which will never
return,
All
things I, desire to do and yet not accomplished,
My
desire is a great pain in my intestines and bones, that feed on me
and though there isn't no greater desire, that road also has its
Burdens,
Those
I, rely on and associate with have been of no significant help but
despair. Though I don't condemn them for they to ride a similar road,
My
surroundings are like a prison which I, constantly war against
because of circumstance. Many lost can be attributed to my
surroundings,
I
daily question why things go this way, and is there a purpose? I'm
flatter of how life has been for me, and I, look ahead for more
surprises as I, struggle to fulfill my desire.
To
the many surprise that life offers, the only surprise to me is the
lost of a true friend.
To
the many roads that spread before us, the inexperienced claims
victory.
To
understanding, discernment, and wisdom the righteous knowledge has
been revealed, and the path of such ones is like the light of the
morning sun that gets brighter and brighter as the day draws to a
close.
Far
beyond our scope of reason there lays
comfort,
Beyond
our maturing minds we find a host of complex reasoning,
As
our experience increases we are set free or imprisoned by the offset
of outcome,
As
time presses on we embrace for a new challenge,
we
are as vulnerable as the last subject who conceived a brighter
tomorrow,
Who
among us can grasp the wind?
Who
among us can see the sound?
Who
among us can dictate the time?
We
must press on with unwavering conviction that a true gesture is our
only allied, and that our only escape from the falsehood that heavily
entangles our motives is not to concede.
The
character of many is refined through a process, the good deeds become
a blurry cloud that obscures our vision,
We
know so much and yet so little, so little and yet find a way. Can a
physically blind man see a physical realm?
And
does a thinker becomes weighted down because his projection of
thought?
If
I’m wrong condemn me, if I’m right execute a judgment.
The
peasant rejoice when he sees the rainy season,
The
married couple are sad, because her sterile womb can't
produce,
The
criminal is guilty of a crime he doesn't understand,
Low
in spirit is the heart breaker for he has lost his touch.
The
poor and the rich have embarked in a race, they both will greet in
the end.
The
days are long, the nights are short, life passes by and so does our
dreams.
There
are times, things we most hope on, comes and crushes the expectation
of what could have been but isn't.
I
look around to comprehend the seasons, each one brings a message,
even the wind tells about the future.
I
stared at the birds, to listen to their interpretations, they cry and
weep, rejoice and reflect of what brings the next day.
At
times what causes us to be or not to be, depends on how much thought
you gave to the matter.
Give
a day to reason, give a day to understanding, give a
day
to patience, give a day to happiness, give a day to love, give a day
to peace, and a day to rest,
so
you may see the pain of labor, and the sorrow of ruins.
Sometimes
I'm viewed as cruel, tasteless, cold, mechanical, misplaced, but
inside of me, outflows of tears overcome me, because of what has
become of this world.
The ability to self-express, I mean really to convey the true person (the secret person) individual,
takes on a whole dimension and approach.
Being spontaneous to many is like bursting with words and actions aimlessly. But to the well trained and sight, being the true-self, took on a life time of achievements.
The emotional-self (nurturing being) and logical-self (mechanical being) these characters are at a cross-point, since the beginning of time, and just as ancient ! The balance of gifts, may take someone a life cycle and then at our last death stroke we become endow with the ultimate expression.
To be truly free is not rationalizing that we are the wind...to ride the wind is an abstract mindset.
To flow like a mighty river or a gentle stream invokes great passion, when the spirit is stirred it reveals wonders...yet there is a hollow void that chokes at the end.
So where are we ? When the questions and answers are so inspiringly crafted, that seeking the ultimate-expression can lead to a host of the unknown !
Again I take to the Ink and white paper, they hold and record the knowledge...lost and found, seeking its audience, breaking all barriers...setting a path on which there can be guidance, not demanding nor dictating , just benevolent...patient and all embracing.
Here
once again I sit surrounded by creation. By a small stream of water
that tell tales about my life's esteems that once were so plentiful
and massive trees that reveal history. By musical bird’s that play
haunting melodies, expressing their version of happiness. By
laborious creatures that don't give up trying and a restless sunlight
beaming on the leaves of where I shade.
Here
I sit in the middle of nowhere all directions I look there's a road
or a passageway someone once took, my heart desires to help but, who
knows how far they stumble forth?
As
I patiently sit observing my surroundings I saw a cat decorated in
flashing colors distracted and even took no notice of me determine by
her pains and a belly full of unborn kittens, she flagged by anxious
about her where about's.
Here
in the middle of nowhere one comes to meditate and initiate contact
with his creator. As I sat patiently a few cautious passers bye's
managed to stroll along their path and I wandered!
I
long to know and press ever forward too that extra mile to find a
road or a path that can lead me to you. For every breath of air fills
me with wonderful thoughts about you. Here I send you things a heart
can do.
Everything
in life is temporarily but the memories of you are everlasting. Your
innocent smile brings joy to all low in spirit. Present yourself to
me in ways unknown and I, will judge you righteous, for your ways are
wonderful, beautiful, and charming. I'm the one who knows and will
not give in trying to interpret them. For your ways, are signals to
those who follow.
I
have found my way towards you, with the little courage that resides
me, and the valor I can summons from above. Truly I'm like a young
lad in search of understanding, Like the birth of a new star awaiting
acceptance, awaiting placing, seeking instruction, finding little
hope, stumbling to reach hearts, and yet I weep, I joy, I endure,
with many thanks for my very existence is a privilege.
Renew
your friendship with me, just as the season compliments one another.
Point my way out to the light again, lead my soul out of captivity,
be the one to save me and I will be in debt to you forever.
Compassion, mercy, reason, and love had a debate at the end they all
gave way and rejoiced.
If
life is a struggle, what does death offers in the long run?
Why do we grief over our short comings?
In
high places sits the arrogant, time makes the calls and he is of little means!
Time
is a thief it robs us of our youth, it makes us gray and savvy, only to reverse
as we become children again in our unstable state.
If only we could remain children’s forever can
we challenge time?
Time
produces; time reduces, and time the crook that steals values as it never burns
out. When one wonders time laughs, when one is hurting time laughs, when one is
lonely time laughs, time follows no command it is space to be filled, infinite
like the thief’s treachery, ever present to observe and molest our slightest
moments, like a
motionless predator it works its web, and consumes, destroys.
The time capsule that never runs out, the
subjects trapped in its belly with little hope, time the unscrupulous vigilant,
the giver and taker of life.
Time drags when it is having greater moments, the
time is and the time will come for all under its sight to time no more!
If not for the cosmos, and the seasons we
would be like the dust particles, cosmic drift tossed in the wind, miniature particles of matter that
resemble time itself in so many ways.
The Great Spirit is great, find him and make
him your allied. Bow to the mysteries and secrets that simple minds charge at,
because understanding is not its helper.
The balance of nature is becoming undone, who
can reverse it? Oh father/mother earth that sustains life for a little while, you that
shelters the offspring’s of creation in the bosom of paradise, she calls for
the souls to fertilize her grounds, she cries out with open mouth and a belly
that’s never satisfied.
A time long awaited, where the inspiration rejuvenates an inspirator of dreams,
there aren't rehearsed dreams better than agitated currents,
nothing prepares an inspirator for events so impacting like these...only that emotions and innate feelings incorporate to weave complex feelings that exhaust the soul already in surrender.
Again I find myself embracing for the shock of my life...like it was yesterday.
I reason like a innocent young lad in my search for truth, harmony, feelings, principles, and virtues...Oh Lord save me' help me' give strength...understanding in this world of dreams that never seem to seize pouring my way...I'm not dignified of the leveled thinking.
If poetry is letters of second hand, why do I find myself hindered in what is revealed before me? If poetry is letters of second hand' why do I summons a supreme being? Like this was a debate between me and the creator! My reinforcement is to continue revealing the fundamental things of the heart and pursue the current correctness in guiding the senses.
Never doubt what I write...from the most profound things of the heart inspired reasoning ushers forth what the dream weaver feels in his inspired search.
There can be no falsehood in revealing...more likely it is the initial stage to convocate dialogue, where there is invocation souls come together like poetry and the letters to promote communication in the field of thinking. Poetry and its power for sure have gained its rewarding crown for time to come.
She weaves my broken dreams,
she's soft like the morning mist,
she has these beautiful blues...one is the vast oceans...the other a bright sky in a touching spring break,
she's a master work of whom the thinkers of modern and ancient times debate if she is true or not,
she's an electrifying maiden, no need for dynamic energy to assemble my thoughts,
She would be a great lament if lost and the Divine beings would lament her for an eternity.
What would become of me if she was bones of my bones and fresh of my fresh? I care for her like the hen care for their kind.
I would be enchanted with her like a toddler and toy of interest,
she would be my toy in my eternal toddling.
What can a poor gentile man do for a maiden such touching? If life is all I possess ...than my sacrifice is not in vain!
She's hope for a fallen people and they anticipate in her revealing treasures, O' grandiose king of eternity woe' to me if this was letter of second hand, you are my guide...My fort and my call...you my Judge' that the reality is the sacred expression.
O' my Lord equip me for the outstanding of this dream, you well know my tragedy...I'm innocent in this dream that I can't construct, prepare my path according to the events of worth and surprises in which I must embrace, I ask no more...otherwise that the sacred expression returns fortified in a world of abnegation and absences.
