Sprout Wings
People always want answers To the most mundane of happenstance There is no event too random No idea too grand Trying to minimize what is already small Or even when it's way too big We want answers we're not ready for If I could guess what the future held I'd be rich! What will I wear, where will I live Will I have any friends, will I be happy....bah! We have to stop wanting this path You can't sprout wings on answers The only way to do it right Is to start living your questions. |
Not Forgotten
Compassion With all that's crazy in the world today Do you think people have this quality anymore? Or is everything we do self-centered? I often wonder at the sense of pride We get when we believe we Are helping others True compassion is an act of sacrifice Not helping others just to make Yourself feel good True compassion gives everything For another's well-being When you can accomplish this Then you have performed an act Of Compassion Ask a mother about it Its an act of sacrifice |
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"Screams from Cocoons"
How can there be angels who refuse to fly because their wings feel so heavy it hurts to exist? Would a butterfly ever trade its wings and a life of floating on a breeze watching helping flower blossom, grow die and be renewed for its old life of a crawling caterpillar scraping by? Would you trade your wings so you could crawl your whole life? You do. I’ve heard the butterfly scream at that moment of emergence from chrysalis, when the cocoon tears, breaks and it awakens to a new life. The creature it was born to become. Change is painful. Painful transforming the comfort of a life you know even if it is scavenging in the dirt—parasitical existence. How do caterpillars know when to stop crawling and when to start spinning a cocoon, a safe womb to begin the process of a whole new perspective of life in flight and beauty and freedom. Everything happens at the time it was meant to. This moment is precious because it’s all we have. The only thing that truly belongs to us. Our one possession we squander, and so, piss on the face of creator and creation. We do not accept our wings as divine gifts and tools to lift us to the next level. But as weights bringing us down. So learn to fly. Or crawl and die. Get high. Dumb yourself down and crawl. You should have faith, go to great heights and jump. With wings you ought to be able to figure it out. Or you’ll just get high fall fast hard and die. Death is better than living in fear of yourself. Fearing the beautiful creature you are and will become. Fearing change. Metamorphosis. You are perfect. With all your flaws, perfectly flawed. So quit fucking yourself up. Don’t stop breathing, walking, functioning, living because the gift of tattered wings are too heavy to bear. Because the saddest thing I’ve ever seen is an angel who cut off his own wings. |
"Mirror"
Existence as a divine mirror cracked, hurling out the sparkling remains without losing its true integrity as sacrosanct reflection. Each of us —fragments-- hallowed immaculate pristine in our own articulation of the sacred spiral in which we all undulate. The people populating our lives essentially are aspects of the One divine self —fragmented-- but unified through our connection to one another woven together again. What you love/hate in others is what you love/hate in the reflection of yourself. Existence is a mirror. |