Here my Dear

So here I stand in a state of the unknown. It appears that the questions that fill one’s mind, when facing uncertainty, certainly conjures the omnipresent force, while once again God’s opinion is seen in the same light as a lottery draw.

Is it not pure, that when one realises they can no longer cope, they call upon uncalculated hope to hear their case in a court of spirit, while wearing designer prison attire.

I ask her to take off her coat and those white gloves that forever point away from her self. So pride begets shame and forever will blame the one who it isn’t; meanwhile preaching aloud ‘look within’.

Maybe the truth is too light and that ‘fear of height’ pulls one forever into the weight of thought and excuses. But that need to be right insults the truth that is known even in places where it cannot be written. And so, smitten it needs no jury or judge or community to agree and thus such lack of ‘proof’, makes the guilty cast stones. Her bashed bones sore, up beyond the courthouse, the casters look above and beg her to come back down to explain her case, for the blind to understand.

But she refuses to party, she agrees only to meet on this knight back at the house. Come quiet as a mouse to your centre where you’ll enter through the temple’s front door this time for God speaks law to the pure and you are. For God’s sake pause for a moment to take off your shoes, although they are dyed white they will not fool the night of truth; they are dirty and as clear as fear. Is it only the wetness on your shirt that makes you know you’re hurt and bleeding from the centre? Do you still need the mirror to say your fair? While you suffer the fear of night and the turmoil in your mind, we find that, ‘weight becomes you’.

Meanwhile blackbirds fly up, up into the grace of her design, fine with the fact that they are not wanted below, where they lie heavy each day appointed to blame the crow only because they know she knows ‘the truth’ and says nothing.

They do not know that she is not mute. She only refuses to give sound so not to disturb their karma. She sits on the roof’s top, she knows that delay to return to purity is why the truth stops them from performing their own autopsy. And right there, anaesthetised, the dark waits ready to capsize these illusions; only that wish to conceal within the night of day deepens the confusion. And so, the all-intelligent, cosmic mind, of all that is, is continuously abused by thoughts of a place in space to hide in the corner, where the highest mind will not find what their thinking–absurd.

Then the sage knows of no such place, so calls themselves (not clever but) cowardly, and dare not prepare to do battle with the all-see, for the camera within is known to stay forever on, beyond this song called life. Why this wisdom of idiots is collective and realised as we’re just pieces of that mind dissected, ejected and seen in the dark as clear as water.

Meanwhile, the hypocrite takes God with four sugars, full of conditions and positions that favour their point as if all points have no line, and their wine speaks anything but sense. A line from whence, where, you aloof and so here my dear, earn another cubit of weight while these feathers state my solo invite into the realm of the curious and weightless.

And this I am fine with but goodbyes hurt, not so much because of what I refuse to see but what I saw this could be and how limitless God’s design is when thy soul finally understands that heaven is here on ‘true’ earth.

Yet those lies dominate vision and the sites I now see standing here from the exact same place as me, shocked that paradise isn’t elsewhere but here; I stand only looking out from my soul, seeing the rolls they play, as Gaya becomes gayer and the rain bows out from the organic downpour of colours in layer made from the chastity of opposites in love.

They lie to themselves while mixing the cosmic-dark with the comical-light as though it is something to aspire just because it’s bright. I can no longer hold your head for it is heavy and you have made your bed unsteady.

Me, I’ll be fine, for I have learned the language of sign although, I really thought heavens doors could fit two, but even if it were you, you too will be tested before coming inside and your foolish pride and need to look a certain weigh will leave you running two and fro while the initiates know a book within called ‘fair play’ and it is the only ‘weigh out of there, which is really ‘right here’.

I will see you here after.


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