Stoned on a stone on this Rocky River
So lost in thought of the things I remember
One of them is your pretty face
Another is the things it would say
All of these pivotal all these prophets
They are the change and the change in your pockets
Always pushing for the moment
That you lose control and you just flow with it
I have seen faces gathering in the desert
Not to find god or to find the answer
Just to be a part of the possibilities
Of thousands of bodies creating energy
Out here there is certainly alien activity
But where is here are we separate from reality
Maybe we’ve landed on the moon
Hope I don’t have to leave anytime soon
Follow the rooster to the mouth of the portal
I am an ox and I am tired of these mortals
Cleansing in the coastal waters
I fell in love with the daughter of creation
And how I lost is another story to tell
I worked those hills in the wild Wild West
And there I found gold and knowledge and respect
None of this will bring you back
It’s wonder I must expect that
Masters of our lives, it is we who decide what is permitted in our spaces. We always have the option of “changing our minds”.
Imagine what life would be like if we lived OUR reality, and stopped attempting to live up to others thoughts about what our life is, or should be.
I begin my morning in gratefulness, knowing that joy, happiness, and peace are my future. I am going to spend the remainder of my days listening to the flow of fresh waters and the beautiful harmony of the birds and other life in the wilderness. Peace … will be.
I look at the wall and see the canvases I have painted, wondering if I should donate them to good will, and then I realized, “These are good, and usable canvases. These can be recreated into new art which shows the current reality … the shift, from there, to here.”
Such is our life. In our own hands, in conjunction with that divinity within, loving us every step of the way on this journey.
My life … your life … is a Divine work of art. As we began, we were amateurs, fumbling away. Our art depended on the start we received from our elders. Some of us did not get the nourishment we needed in order to produce a Picasso life. BUT ~ these experiences, when embraced over time, wounds healed through careful consideration … all of that, can be used to create the MOST beautiful art in, and around our lives, than perhaps we dared dream of.
This capacity is in all, seemingly dormant, yet brewing just the same.
Pain, anger, regret and remorse ~ love, joy, tears and happiness on all levels … these things are your personal master piece, none will ever compare, nor should they.
Build this beautiful life. This is your day, your week, your year, your life.
The beauty which you have power to create is within you. All you need do is claim it, nurture it, and watch it grow with every ounce of effort and attention you give it.
The moment something is named, it begins to degrade. We see this all the time. When there is an intention to do something, and it is voiced, the desire to achieve that goal dissipates. When we speak of love, and our heart gets bruised, the reaction may be to foster animosity.
Naming something limits its capacity, it places it in a box in which it cannot grow properly.
I am reminded of the beginning,
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
Is this the point at which life itself began to deteriorate? I know the story … yet life today shows us constantly that naming something takes away its power.
Strange, isn’t it? On the one hand, if something is not named, it would never be … on the other, once named, it begins to fade.
Oh, the dilemma.
Perhaps this is the way it is meant to be, so the cycle of ever lasting learning and evolving continues.