There are these things that make men bleed. Like lambs stuck at the slaughter, we tremble and often fail to erupt past our woolly shell. We herd ourselves into shit-filled stalls, tremble as the nail approaches our minds, and lay surrendered on the pile of others who passed before us. We are the herders, and we wield the instruments of our destruction even as the hand nears our throats. Ah, that hand, the one that exposes us for the sheep we’ve become even in our insolence.
We, as humans being, often feign our right to power. We fight over the trivial scraps of bread left for us by tourists muddying the sands of our lives, and we wait patiently for some mystical power to hand us our birthright. How silly are those who lay spread eagle for the vultures to eat away at their flesh, their prayers unanswered by the winds of some great benefactor. If they’d only raise their hands in truthfulness, if they’d only realize the power in their hearts to end the feast of the beasts around them.
If Satan exists, it is in the ideas that men themselves are powerless in some plan not their own making. As gods of our own experience, each event offers a choice for each of us to make. Each choice is an image of the god who crafted it, each decision a responsibility of the mind that created it. Let us not blame some mystical breeze howling through the wilderness for our choices. We are the creators of our own choosing and are the mystic itself in the process of life.
I beg now to stand strong against the storm. I ask only of myself to allow the light of each moment to shine through every pore of my flesh, and every shadow in my mind. I desire that my heart not be deafened by the echoes in my mind, and that the steely grip on which I hold on to nothing continues to liberate me from the demons I once considered the truth. The wield such a sword against my own past, my own mind, has served me well thus far.
Be not still, less rigor set in. Be true to thine own heart, or so I’ve heard. Not mind, not family, not affiliation, but thine own heart. Find the resonance of the casual Universe there, and be beholden to no angel, no demon, and no collection of the hell or heaven they’ve said exists.
Most of all, love yourself in all your glory, in all the shit that runs down your spine, in all the temptation of mindless chatter that swirls all around you. You are the best that’s ever been, regardless of that voice you hear suggesting something far less than who you are. Own your greatness, you fool, before you lose the chance at that which you know to be true. You are the Sun that rises, and the lonely howl that sings praise to the full Moon above. You are the echoes and the canyons, the summits and the valleys, the muddy trails and stony, firm seats on which you rest. Now, peace, is yours to enjoy even as the storm brews around you. Sit, be still, and be the one you wish to know.
“..and be the one you wish to know.”
So much truth and power here! Thank you, again, for sharing what is in your heart.
Always… 🙂