Dirty, muddy, grassy feet: shoeless running to goodness…over glass.
Clean hands surgically tear inside out…my precious organs: my brain, my heart, my kidneys, my lungs, my muscles, my meat exposed…my true-blue-blood is all splattered bright-wine-red on this (blog/elsewhere/grass) and
dripping wet and fresh for any Irises that see.
My inner essence–naked and unashamed…tranquil and still: searching for peace (**** * precise *******) .
To be seen “as is”…is…”what it is”…a glorification? or a humiliation? or a justification? or an affection? or a rejection?
Gawkers (onlookers) continue to gawk: at the ugly and the beautiful.
Talkers continue to Talk: about the trivial and important. Walkers continue to Walk: the rocky roads and smooth streets. Whisperers continue to Whisper: truths and Screamers continue to Scream LIES!
Conformers continue to force my boxing. (My punching is not aimlessly striking the air, though.)
(They, the ignorant ones who know no better, (want to) tie my hands, tie my feet and/or gag my mouth. They think helping is stripping others of dignity or taking away choice.)
Doers continue to Do (aka accomplish much) and Hearers continue to Hear (aka listen obediently) to their master’s call.
You may be calling, but you’re not my master! 😉
(No earthly master owns me. Nobody owns those who cannot be bought nor can anyone purchase what is not for sale.)
Master? A master??
Yeah! a master reads your mind, writes your heart and moves your fingers!:)
To one: I am a ring finger. To another: an index. All I can do is point (north).
(Fingers cannot make brains grasp/hold/understand/know or love.) My limitations engulf me; not defeat me.
Life and death continue marching forward and ever onward…(whether I compose/expose/point/cry/laugh/care or die) However, I really don’t mind marching.
Givers continue to give and rapers continue to rape.
Lovers of the macabre may continue to: read/write/watch…on for grotesque entertainment.
Lovers of compassion may continue to: read/help/write…on for a little laugh or a little tear.
Lovers of the Kind may feel…
A piece of ?…breathing–fragile–life am i:
hurting from the agonizing do-it-yourself-autobiographical-autopsy I perform (while alive and sans anesthesia) each time I honestly self-examine, self-interrogate and poke (can be aka read-write from the beating/living heart)!
Honesty is not an act of cowardice. Honesty is not an act of foolishness. (Indiscretion is.) Violence is. Vulnerability isn’t.
Compassion can be nothing but honest and kind; forgiving.
(A-weightless-heavy-weight sweats/cries in agony…cries for help
while suffering to bear up or (attempting to hold up) the infinite breath, height, depth of Love. An impossible task?…NOPE! it is written: “with God all things are possible.” 🙂
When words don’t come easy…poets’ words do: E.g., Angelou~
“Yet If we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.
We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love’s light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.”
An AGAPE Autopsy: “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts (or drives out) fear, because fear restrains us. Indeed, the one who is fearful has not been made perfect in love.” (1 John 4:18)
When words don’t come easy…Words of the wise do: E.g., Solomon~
The words of the wise are like oxgoads and their collected sayings are like firmly embedded nails; they have been given from one shepherd. As for anything besides these, my son, be warned:
“To the making of many books there is no end, and much devotion to them is wearisome to the flesh.” (Ecclesiastes 12:11, 12)
Fear speaks immaturity…it speaks crush…(not truth, not real love).
Truth (nakedly) exposes unafraid.
It boldly basks in spot-light. (Brilliance is blinding, eh?)
Not blinded yet? and ?
Why crush? (Why be crushed?)
No! (Thank) You.
Look Away? Look Away! Look away…(please)
When words can’t come today:
Music speaks for Love (voices) silenced: E.g., Kitaro~
“When asked about his music, he said, “I never had education in music, I just learned to trust my ears and my feelings.” He credits ‘power beyond himself’ for his music, saying, “This is not music from my mind. It is from heaven, going through my body and out my fingers through composing. Sometimes I wonder. I never practice. I don’t read or write music, but my fingers move. I wonder, ‘Whose song is this?’ I write my songs, but they are not my songs.'” ~Kitaro (Wikipedia)
(Like Kitaro, i humbly wonder, i humbly acknowledge…my blogs are not my blogs.~jw)
photo-beautiful-rich-colors-of-iris available at Shutterstock