Chapter Two
- The Guiding Starshine
- Soldiers, Warmongers
- Pure Warriors
- Reaping Shephard
The Guiding Starshine
We must forgive and move forward as ONE Kingdom of Planets, Stars and Possible Cosmic Realms to passionately dance the way that galaxies spin through time to sway star systems in and out of tidal synchronicity. Just like when two attractors – as tugging lovers, asvmatter/antimatter or as the pulling between bound singularities’ quantum wells and the radiation fracturing through the frozen pendulum of ‘infinite’ mass – then to dance as two pulses of energy cascading flows to and fro; akin to neutron stars, or two white dwarf’s synced dust wiped supernovae – or to dance and make love as beaming bursts of the pounding quasars’ omnidirectional exhaling inhalation.
Now come back down to Earth, and ask: what will end these fear-enforced, culture crippling amourments; with some ‘wicked’ force mordantly await their next threat shaded war-goer.
Soldier, Warmongers
There are still soldiers who march onward, only confined by their being’s authority’s guidance, based on an incomplete library of effectively communicated knowledge (unless they rest as a Warrior). You out there, who may salute out of fearful obedience, standing straight up tall with stiffening meniscuses and caged to a conforming set of ordered rulings from past recollections without true judgement from your best identity.. The cell door is open but the wrong fearful authorities have you contained! Even if it is the observer through your Ego’s fear, your wings are not clipped, so fly freely my hatching Phoenix. Do you still not sense the muteness that your buzzing roar carries through the essential realms of the viscous fluid phrases? And you, who may be appraised on a foggy well of sand stormed glass, would you noticeably care if your mind is subtly washed by your master’s puppetry hands? Are you on the golden path? Do you need guiding lines? Perhaps you have need to be tested by faith in one and others.
Pure Warriors
Listen In and Out With Noble And Faithful Hearts and Expand In Every Direction Until A Syncronised Pulse Can Be Balanced With Willing Heaviness and Faith in the Greater Good. Your Presence Alone Wills Itself Outward To Find the Road Of Our Expanding Lord As One.
In the patient stillness, be aware of your calmly collected, purifying brush of the fluidity throughout the present moment, until the still moment grows itself.
Until then you will at least be The Essence And Growth Of Something Worth Leaping into the Valley of Darkness For.
As a Lamb of God, I Would Spend Eternity In The Deepest Pits of Hell’s Worst Fire For Every Last ONE Of You To Lay Down Your Quarrels, To Forgive And Understandingly Move Onwards as Warriors.
Even Given No Chance Of Ever Escaping I have faith in my own essences regardless of space and independent of time to Turn The Valley Of Darkness Into a glowing Aura containing gardens of Eden, the library of Babylon (collected wisdom from past present and future essence, willingly shared by want for the Greater Good of All. You will be lightened, for I truly recall being lifted up from pits of less than blackness, through Hell’s torment by being pure in the eyes of the Judges who rose me to Egypt, and guided that guiding star to me. Aura alone can enlighten the best Forking Path Toward the Kingdom of our Divine Lord..
I have already seen the light, but let me reminisce by delving into Hell’s warped Inferno. Let me detail my own experience in this damned pitted pool, which begins to feel like home after enough time has swayed on, to learn how to fight back from the agonising raping Doom.
Reaping Shephard
A light lifting patience swayed out through the borderland’s queue; two neighbouring fences, held back to back; their faces. But a line clearly existed, different to that that the maps made, which was both gazed upon and felt within one side only. You felt like a caged trespasser. It was the separation that you hated, were we not all born the exact same way with unique variations among our nature to twist up through our nurture!
Who’s choice is it then? I mean, who chooses: “who gets to choose”?! So malignantly, their neighbour remained, down beneath them, estranged. The buildings’ flows instantly changing, fallen tiles shone exposed, lain open near this donkey, perching a Sombrero for a photo scene, and all these people crossing before the car veered. They were busy. And happy! A crowd carried kitchen supplies and fishing lines, it all played out before me like a movie reel. And strangely everyone looked toward you, mesmerised by blue eyes; the spurring of oscillating shades were pastels unseen, my accent was a mystery and my name so gorgeously pronouncable.
Over there in Mexico – the eyes portraying portrait Jade hazes were a distinguishing, sort-after rarity. And in a new sweater I stood a scene so refreshingly fresh. As my clear heart felt no different to the bare feet darkened upon the cracks. Later that day I handed those cleanly pressed new clothes down to a 10 year old stall worker, engrossed by the neighbouring colour flutter of an upside-down TV screen. Another girl, who I once knew, judged the feelings (deep within me) to be pity for the worker, but unwrapped and revealed however, showed that my thoughts were occupied by this imperfectly indescribable transition which flows to this day and onward. Throughout my personal world was a new spark of beauty, through melting lenses once set solid, which could never be reverted (to my past unwaveringly still pupil fields). Because I thought of the smiling stall raised girl as a spoilt lucky daughter, who was brilliantly alive and an intense flavoured bursting of realness. And I would’ve bet then that though she might never leave Sonora, she could have lived life onward so fast with raw, flawless, driven passion. Drawn by the food market of the town next to where she was born.. That day, I saw a timeline flash its sequence out in front of me. See, right then, I adjusted my weight. Right there at that second I drifted my belief system, so if you were travelling with me, gazing your thoughts across that plot line we’d share; wrapped along its length together.. I bet you’d think me crazy, by looking at my life’s pictured scenery, but if your mind developed thirstily for the raw flesh of reality, I think you’d drift along with me, constantly begging for bettering changeagain.
It’s the intensity that keeps me learning and taking in all the yearned-for dots, connecting through those thought structures drifting outward wildly; unplanted and unkept. But that’s just how I like ’em, with my hands fast against the thrashing rainfall: jagged spikes diagonally soaking calluses on the fingers I still do climb with. I tell some people a truly worrisome dream-deep prevailing concern within me; that I have no fear at all (a product of something else entirely). But it’s a staged lie you witness strangely, believing the refutable evidence once seen. For I fear so deep and heavily – to be abandoned by those I love – and it shatters out across my chest’s left cage.
To live a life shallowed by fear, then upon death looking back to disappointingly wince: that is what I will never be. I want to know feel and experience everything.
If ever slipped you into the passenger’s seat, with no control of the reins to steer. If you, upon a final backtracking memory, regretfully say “If only I had done that”.. is that not far graver to your future wrinkled eyelid smears than: “I wish I never said that”. And if yes, I merely wonder which of the two potential memoirs you hold your focus onto. Or perhaps I should let go of the need to go about weighing up uniquity.
Moonlight Memoirs 