Momma, where do ‘Bikers’ come from?

MrAmerica

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Star Stuff

While painting this morning, I took a break, lit a cigarette, and took a deep look inside to seek what message was trying to get out through this painting. Taking a few moments for deep meditation and truly listening in the silence, the answer emerged. The message the painting was conveying to me is the hope that through this simple form of colour and canvas Mankind can relearn just how majestically beautiful aA_Rosell life is, both in form and spirit. I truly hope that Man can once more know that all life was created equally, including Man. All life has the same right to exist and live out its cycle in happiness and contentment. Once more know, as the old ones knew, all life comes and returns to the same place. We are the stuff of Stars.

Sadness of Truth

This child, born into today’s diseased and deranged society.
The child innocent, helpless, self-loving.
Living on natural instincts, needs food, shelter, happiness, pleasure.
Reaches to experience truth and the pure, true, genuine realities of life,
Just as any other living creature would want.

But this a creature human.
Born into a diseased and deranged society,
This fiction we know as “society” of humans,
From the instant of conception, subjected to evil, insanity,Child_lost
Deranged unnatural madness and pain.

Society deliberately sets out to destroy this child,
Mind, soul, and body, just as it seeks to destroy every child.
Every child, born perfect, must be broken into pieces,
Moulded into the twisted, irrational, and insane,
A lie-based reflection of the society we allow,
That which rules over us, existing to victimized individuals.

With limitless malice, this the endless cycle,
Genocidal torture and destruction of human life,
Legitimized and validated by the leaders of all,
“Destroy your children, as your parents destroyed you.”
At every turn, derangements await, child ownership, torture, brainwashing,
Societal punishment of its own tortured victims,
War, legalized murder, and hundreds of others,
Each rendered as natural,
A normal, sensible, moral, vital truths, doctrines, and dogma,
But in reality, indescribable derangement on which they’re each based.

Most of us have little or no real tolerance for the truth and holding even,
The deepest of contempt for it within us, and not even realizing it…

George Carlin, who understood this quite well, expounded on the idea like this:

“People are wonderful. I love individuals. I hate groups of people. I hate a group of people with a ‘common purpose’. ‘Cause pretty soon they have little hats. And armbands. And fight songs. And a list of people they’re going to visit at 3am. So, I dislike and despise groups of people, but I love individuals. Every person you look at; you can see the Universe in their eyes, if you’re really looking.”

Unnecessary Man

The river’s tent has broken, the last fingers of leaf fall
Clutching and sink to wet bank, spring anew winds come
Dancing and swirling across snow gone landscape, unheard.

Liken nymphs splay in the fields.

Sweet streams, run softly, till I end this my song.
With no empty bottles, sandwich papers, or rot,
No silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of Man’s disrespect.

To which the nymphs would depart, their spirit no more.

And of man and his friends, heirs of cities for dark,
Let them depart and be gone, the Earth miss them not.

Easy…

Fight No More

Fight ended, no more your lies,
No more the stress or tears
I bring it all to halt now, final
Once more lost Love before I sleep that final sleep.

From where these evil words let fly
From you, to I. Love denied
Harshest this debate, as Eagle and Hawk
And through all still, my Love doth hide,

I look and see you, once my dream
But holding anger and disdain
We will speak more now, hatred building
I try to hold it, subdue the feeling
Darkness descends on my mind,

What is it so false as the truth rarely is,
Else false to thee Love, is true plainly see
You, who never truly knew love, brought pain,
I now shun this fighting and stress, rebuild Life at last

With connection within me me, my life goes on…

These Words
These Words

in honour of Soph’s passing

All night the clock ticked, and outside a moon like day,
And I, in the ravages of sleep, head on a stranger’s breast,
Shed tears, like a task not to be put away….
In the false moon light, overwhelming grief in my happy bed,
An ocean of tears, set to undo joy’s rebirth.
I would not wake at your word, I had only tears to say.
I clung to the dream and they were my soul,
And let pain’s derisive hand had give me rest
From the night of living flame, and the darkness within.

We do not get over grief.
But over time, we do learn to live with the loss.
We learn to live a different life…with our loss.

Author Steve ’Easy’ Whitacre, 2005 (I originally wrote this for Mary when she lost her loving husband Ron, I thought I would re-post it now in honour of Sophia’s passing. RIP my old friend.)

Old Church
Old Church

Moon Goddess

MoonGoddess

She watches over us all
Time keeper of aeons
Raining blessings down upon her children
Weeping at their mistakes and pain

Alighting the night she tries to bring wisdom
But alas, for too many it falls silent unheeded
Still yet she continues faithfully
For with her love of her children

How can she now stop?

Easy