Seeking a reward you found a sword. Raising the sword you followed the board. The board discovered an encamp spy. Oh wait, it was all a lie, perfectly crafted to invoke your war cry. The battles are over. The dead are buried. The winners look like losers and the losers speak like winners. So confused, you’ve forgotten all the rules. Go on and continue singing your down-home blues.
I wrote a book after just one look. It spoke of lemons and sweet lemonade. It smelled of honey and spice. It turned out cozy and warm as a bowl of sticky rice. All because you paid the price, trice, even after a – roll – of – the – dice.
The “Day 315: Abstract Vice” (text) by EYHCS published under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.
The tragedy of the broken spirit. Witnesses the birth of a child, but only sees the pain in rain-soaked tears in a mother’s eyes. So acquainted with self-despair, even your miracles are setbacks instead of breakthroughs. Labeling the dissenting voices traitors to the cause. Only to realize your own deeply-rooted flaws. When will it end you proclaim in true desperation? So unaware, it never really began, except in your now soured-membrane. Break free from your imaginary cage. Release all the stolen rage. It’s well-passed time to turn the page.
Living in a world scripted by imposters. Walking in a land inhabited by puppets. Speaking of a people no longer listening. Born from dirt and grit. Welded together with stone and iron. Reviving a vision no longer present. Rising above the waffling tides, you finally found the treasure hidden inside.
Freedom is easy when you dictate freedom’s manifestation. Making it an action that distorts the essence of its subject. An issue isn’t important until it’s your issue. A plight isn’t a plight until it’s your plight. The brawl isn’t a stance until it’s your degree of connection. All caught up in the misdirection. The prisoners have become both prisoners and wardens. Locked in your archaic thinking you ponder the enemies attack. Forgetting you share the same back.
The other day I was venting on Facebook about a woman I encountered during lunch. Her newfound knowledge had sparked a flame she could not contain as the fruits continually fell from the tree. And, similarly to a rabbit in a carrot field, she consumed more than she could fully digest.
As I ranted on silently in my head and physically on my phone, she appeared unaffected by my designed reclusiveness. Jabbering on she recounts the rich history of our ancestry as if the shaman had just spoken to the little children amongst the cold night and bristling fire of our journey from kings and queens to slaves and cattle and back to mental kings and queens.
Reminiscent of Yoda holding court as Luke Skywalker describes the force. I sit willing myself to engage while rapidly wanting to disengage.
Respectfully conscious of another’s presence I crafted a mental door to escape the forming thoughts flowing forth as they sought to reach her awakening thought. Through a vehicle that has some of us still chained to the machine.
She continues and the more broken thought meets new thought, the more I poetically regurgitate the inner me forcibly holding her in. She’s the cynic I overcome each day. The one that knows the rivers and the valleys and the depths of salvation. She lives, but she rarely drives.
As I drift back to the woman beside me, I call forth the optimistic protagonist. There, yes, there… I rejoin the moment, present once again. She has once again sensed the freshness of the thought. It lacks roots. It’s filled with supplication and limited validation, but the seed has sprouted.
Yet, she still sees the world as the puppeteer and herself as the puppet. External hands directing her actions all the while absolving her of any accountability or responsibility. The moment of eclipse fighting to hold on. Awakening, but her eyelids refuse to open.
I am reminded, “all things are ready, if {when} the mind be so” (William Shakespeare).
She is still caged in an unlocked cell.
Never remembering she is the one with the key holistically capable of setting herself free.
via The Latest Word Reflections of life expressed concisely and succinctly.
I have determined I am socially anti-social. I like most people. And, quietly diagnose the rest. Instantaneously inspecting and segmenting out the best. Experience has taught me the importance of caution with preliminary tests.
When around my circle I genuinely enjoy the familiarity of completed jokes. The knowing looks across wood stained tables. I connect.
Yet, in solace, I am free. Here the jokes are funnier somehow. Here somewhere the looks are deeper. I am one.
Yep, a little more anti than social.
When I realized the value rooted in my words, I stopped selling them to the highest bidder with the coolest tricks.
I have friends who are atheist. I have friends who agnostic. I have friends who are Christians and friends who ascribe to another religion or no religion at all. Their belief in a deity or lack of belief is not a prerequisite for our friendship to flourish. Primarily, because I understand the experience principle.
Reality forms from one’s experience. The attribution exists in a collective oration. I’ve discussed this before. The idea nothing is truly real until you experience its’ realness first-hand.
Yet, I know empirically that my God is real and when sought the deity shows forth as Emmanuel.
You cannot see what you cannot believe. You will not believe what you refuse to see. The principle of a harden heart.
If you take the cap off your beliefs, God will take the cap off your sight. The principle of the promise.
As always the choice is yours, but the response is not.
Never allow anyone to elevate you to a post that is not confirming something God has already spoken to you.
Ordained elevation includes preparation and provisions.
Situational elevation lays a foundation for folly and the fall.
The promise only works if the timing is right and reinforcements are in position.
There is a reason the caterpillar transitions into a cocoon before becoming a butterfly.
There is a reason little seedlings are planted after the last winter frost.
There is a reason you do not move into a home until it is complete.
In the past, I have contemplated the theoretical concept of playing dead without being dead.
Like most things, the understanding and application resonate with one’s perspective of death.
For some immobility is a form of death.
For others decimation of growth is death.
Medically speaking the loss of neurological function is death.
Ironically, this is not about death at all, but the symbolism of death’s characteristics.
I have observed, at different stages humans invoking death’s characteristics as a form of survival.
In school, we remain silent even when we know the answer out of unsupported fear of being wrong,
In relationships, we fabricate or eviscerate our feelings out of fear of losing the relationship.
In our jobs, we ride the assembly line even though we have already been assembled.
We fear the risk that does not pay off.
We fear the truth that does not reveal.
We fear the hope that does not produce.
And so, the caterpillar never becomes the butterfly
The seedling never becomes a rose.
And, the house never becomes a home.
Yet, change the perspective and the theoretical becomes the reality.
I know a king who was born a servant.
I know a servant who became a king.
I know a king who died a criminal but became an advocate.
His camouflage was a necessity to his survival.
The ruse surrounding his birth was predicated on hidden truths remaining hidden until their appointed unveiling.
It makes you wonder if he always knew who he would become.
You might even speculate if it came to him in the midnight hour.
Perhaps the helper showed him the way.
In any case, once he knew, he began to walk as he had caught the clue.
Until his payment was due.
The ideology bears witness to the theoretical supposition of the original thought.
Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.
And just because you know, doesn’t mean you divulge.
Sometimes the greater victory is not in the now but in the latter.
Bridle the tongue so the mouth may speak.
If the caterpillar refused to hibernate, it would never become the butterfly.
If the seedlings were never nurtured, they would never become roses.
If the tree was never cut, the house would never become a home.
You cannot reach the finish line if you never run the race.
When people call you lucky, but they don’t know or can’t even understand your story….
I’m blessed and I always know who blesses me.
The tears have been replaced with smiles and laughter, but the vision you see today remembers every cloud along the way.
So if your definition of blessed equals my definition of protected and sealed, then yes, call me lucky.
If that’s truly what you see.
Information is one of the best gifts you can offer others or give yourself.
However, how they implement it is completely up to them.
Real love invokes the need for abstaining.
Real love invokes words like duty and honor.
Real love senses deceit.
Real love preserves.
Real love promotes needs over wants.
Real love redraws the outcome.
Real love solidifies positions.
Real love cannot be conquered.
Real love can only be surrendered.
The evolution of self is predicated on the invocation of real love.
Identify then rectify.
I love me some me.
I am not being vain.
I am acknowledging a truth, I di-d not know.
A truth I could not see.
But a truth nonetheless.
I simply loooo’-ve me some me.
When I discovered who I could be.
I act-u-ally fell more in love with me.
A vessel, you say?
A jar you proclaim!
A promise you whisper.
A proclamation you delivered.
To give of this, the val-u-e o of the exchange must be equ-i-tably measured.
Because I ab-so-lute-ly pos-itive-ly love me some me.
And it is my hope, you love you, some you.
Otherwise, you have missed the clue.
And, I bid you adieu.
Dr. Andrea Dinardo, Ph.D., Psychology
Health | Happiness | Awareness | Choice
Come walk with me, Down My Dark & Stormy Journey BUSINESS INQUIRIES & CONTACT EMAIL : GODSCHILD4048@GMAIL.COM
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