I slept under the moon light and all of  my thoughts-in-error went away.. 

The gentle light danced around my head.. In a ritualistic fashion until the anxious thoughts surfaced..

Like the fairies of old.. 

Those thoughts were gathered and bundled together.. As a beast of burden would, they carried those thoughts back to the moon atop their back..

I saw the trek.. Is wasn’t arduous, in fact they smiled while holding fast to my burden.. As though my trash was indeed their treasure..

 Upon the moon light’s journey…

When I awoke.. Everything was ok..

I’d like to think I slept it off.. But truth is, I did no such.. Because as I slept.. I journied away from my body and my thoughts as well.. I witnessed the moon and how it eventually ended up with my discarded thoughts…

I myself was on Jupiter’s moons… Conversing with myself.. Although not truly myself because it was the me of 5 million years ago, a bit ahead of my time I am..

But like I said when I awoke.. All was right.. And I was back to my regular self.. Me again.. Without the worries..

I’m exasperated.. Too tired of being too tired… The pressure is bone jolting.. The aloneness is suffocating..I been at it too long.. 

I cry at night.. For only through my suffering will you allow me sleep..

Yet I’m still naive enough to believe your folktale.. Heck I live for your folklore.. Centered my entire life around the reality of your folktale..

Time and time I’ve been made a fool.. Others have warned.. But I kept faith.. It’s like you take pleasure in my naïveté.. I can almost feel the vibes of your snickers…you used to bother to at least laugh behind my back..

Be Careful what you ask for they warned.. Then why the fuck am I getting everything I sought to avoid…everything I wept not to have.. You brought it right to me and force fed it down my throat..

A cruel joke your narrative turned out to be..

You hide behind the sun.. The moon.. The hopes… And pains of an entire people..

That’s both your shield and your source..

Release me.. Release me from your spell… I’m too tired and I done gave up..

Release me from your twisted fairytale.. I no longer have the foolishness to go on… 

But just when I’m at my wits in…

 It’s that small glimmer of inspiration that shines through..

The bait.. And I swear you me… I fall for it every time.. And the cycle continues.. As the story is told..

The story that never ends..

It isn’t quite what you assume..

 I, like you, was in a cave.. In some instances may still be.. 

Amused and entertained by the dancing shadows along the cavern walls..

Spirited by them, the shadows, so much that they were all I learned to revere..

The dark is what I knew, what I called home, and the limited amount of light was just enough to create the shadows.. The light was creation and the shadows were our gods.. All of our hopes, aspirations and desires were within the shadows..

It contained both death and life..

Until one day one of us gained the courage to climb towards the light itself..

This courage was quickly dissuaded..

 Blinded by the radiance…

He couldn’t adjust (for he didn’t know to).. Back to the shadows he fled.. Warning the rest of us that the light is nothing but pain… something to be feared.. 

And believe you me, I believed him.. I stayed where I was meant to be.. I was used to it, comforted by it.. What else was there?

But curiosity was always there..

Tantalizing me..

Tempting me..

Perplexing me.. What’s beyond the light.. If the light is Creation.. What’s beyond the source.. 

Is there life after birth?

Well that answer would be for you to find out.. Like I said.. I, like you, was once in a cave.. And in some instances..

Still am…

Is he nothing more than a lost king?

 A king without a kingdom… This life has managed to continually find a way to mock him.. Hints at what he once was but cold slaps of reality constantly remind him of where he is..

Spit on the grave.. So sleeps your king..

Extract him from what he once was.. Place him in an alternate environment.. Just to see how he’ll react..

Laugh at the prideful corpse..

Will he still be righteous.. Will he still be noble.. Will he still retain confidence rather regal bearing.. Or does the circumstance shape the man..

If he never knew who He was.. Then what would He have to lean on.. If he couldn’t see beyond sight.. Perhaps his fate would be that of the next man.. Just another .. Struggling to survive and satisfy one’s desires..

I see false kings and prophets all around me.. I see charlatans and philistines with the nerve to express pretentiousness… Arbitrary laws with predictable results.. 

I once asked what a king is without his kingdom.. How selfish of me.. For a more dire question becomes.. What’s a kingdom without its king..

Up for grabs.. Mayhem, chaos, distasteful order..

Where do the remaining pawns go once the king has been check mated?

We were’t made for this.. So, trust me, I feel your pain.. 

Here but not quite here.. 

Awkwardly sticking out of each situation.. No matter how hard you try.. You never quite get it..your vibe doesn’t quite synchronize…

And deep down inside, you understand why they smirk.. 

It’s just too bad you want to smirk with them, instead of smirking at em..

Alone isn’t solitude for you.. It’s a place called home.. Because you are a feeler.. You feel all of the sentiments that the shadows provide and whatever bull shit the shadows have to offer.. And despite it all, you’re comfortable with the shadows, because they never criticize and always acknowledge you..

A thin layer of fat provided a small buffer between you in the world.. A small bottle blurred the noise… But you grew addicted to the disconnect.. 

Heck you never fit in anyway..

Now the thin layer has multiplied exponentially (corpulently plump they say) , and to touch your soul one would have to bust through a wall… One bottle turned into two.. No sound can get through..

She’s an island all to herself.. And believe me.. I understand …

The allure of the disconnect feels simple enough.. Just the pain one unsure soul is meant to bare.. But this does not provide the truth of the matter.. Just the narrative you’ve been told and so elegantly lived out… Who can save you but yourself? Who can love you without touching you?

And who can save one who wishes not to be saved… A self-referential cycle of torment, a quicksand to pride.. No way out.. The more you struggle the further you drown… So no longer fight who you are.. Allow the sands of time to fulfill you and like the caterpillar allow the solitude to magnify and transform your beauty..

Not deify your ugly…

The fabric of your world is breaking down.. And you can’t hold it together.. There are glitches.. And they are becoming more and more evident.. By more and more people..
You blame us and victim becomes the issue.. There must be something wrong with us.. Certainly we are the problem.. But we’re merely satellites transmitting data.. Data goes in and data comes out…
The mind can’t perceive what the brain doesn’t tell it.. Majority of the time the mind dominates the brain.. And preconceived notions rule the world… But every so often.. The brain has a break through.. And untarnished reality bleeds through.. Surpassing any fragmented lies the mind has been supplanted with.. Conditioned with.. Heavily bombarded with.. 

Boy oh boy that becomes a danger.. Because suddenly a frolic through the clouds becomes a high speed chase..

Reconciliation becomes imminent.. The mind must reconcile the brain.. Or the brain must reconcile the thought.. Lies collied with truth and they become indistinguishable, and then the end result is tragedy…

A lost soul stuck in limbo… In neutral because the soul’s compass can no longer determine North..

But you can’t tell us why we’re here?

Yet you can tell us when the truth is a curse…

Every bit of the truth is a blessing.. Every fragmented, distorted piece is a treasure.. And unfortunately the satellites picking up the frequency of truth are dysfunctional.. At least by society’s standards..

But I suppose ignorance is bliss.. The sweeter the lie.. The sweeter the life…

As s boy, I skipped along the ginger bread road..As a young man, I traversed along the golden brick road..

In a moment of serendipity..

I looked down.. Examined a golden brick.. Came to realization that it was but a stone painted yellow..

I only went down that path because I was under the impression I was missing something..

I sought to find all that was missing… But the mirror of enchantment insisted I came into fruition in my entirety.. Nothing was ever missing–simply unrealized..

Then who are these teachers who taught me how to live…that taught me what to be and how to be..

Against a tree, I sit, legs crossed–Indian style… Mind floating amongst the clouds..

Walking no longer fits my mood.. I prefer to soar.. 

The clouds have no paths, just open space– to explore…

The clouds form no shape but the shape nature allows, no bounds or restrictions..

I like the clouds, but the clouds is no place for a man to be–at least for no great extent..

Man is of earth, so from the earth man shall receive his fulfillment..

So I’m carving my own path, traversing the most dangerous of terrain… Through the Valley of Death I was allowed to understand life.. In the Desert I discovered that solitude was the path to righteousness.. Atop the mountain peaks I recognized all the untapped beauty and unrealized potential..

I continue to travel…
With mind… With body.. With soul.. With spirit..
I will rest when time desires such..

But only for a moment, until time allows me to travel again..

To avoid pain.. To seek pleasure.. In a nutshell appears to be the motivation of men… Yet pain and pleasure die with the moment… When they past, you are still you..
And now what do you have.. A pleasure/pain seeking mechanism that lives and then dies.. Life’s so simple..
If so… Then why does your soul house so much pain.. Your yearning to connect, your feelings of aloneness.. Explain to me the purpose that serves…
Like a baby she attempts to make herself small.. Fetal-like she sits contorted taking up two seats along the train.. A litany of scars surface across her face.. She makes eye contact.. Attempts to connect.. Yet quickly retreats.. As if to hide the shame..
What is life for the broken man? A constant escape? Not a running to, because there is no end game.. It’s a constant running from– regret, resentment, remorse– all the actions, decisions, circumstances that made you, you.
The quiet mind appears to have transcended.. They’ve only mastered the art of apathy– apathy towards sympathy, emotion, disappointment.. In their eyes it’s all figured out and that perhaps is all the more tragedy…
Even a new born has it in em to fight… Something the seasoned man has lost.. The jaded man has become too occupied with having it all figured out to ever fight…innately the nascent communicates.. While sadly so the seasoned man holds it all in.. And it festers.. Deteriorating and eating away at the soul… Until soul reflects the body– a haggard, decrepit and unloved..
What is life for the broken.. What do their minds reflect upon.. What zeal allows them to keep living.. Perhaps the nascent flame of fight never extinguishes.. The fire doesn’t rage on, but the diminutive flame flickers.. And that flicker is enough– enough to abridge and contains enough potential to blaze as any other…

The games minds play on one another.. It’s enough to make a man crumble…

I know I’m alive out there… I can feel it with every fiber of my being…I hear the faint voice of infinity… Encouraging me to see… And not to see what’s in front of me but what was meant to be seen all along.. I hear myself.. Urging.. Crying.. Begging me not to succumb..

Trust.. Believe.. Faith..

But in what? For my eyes don’t perceive and my mind can’t transmit.. But something in my spirit is linked to something I have no idea of what,but this “what” is all that is true..

Hardships– distractions..

Lust– distractions..

Pain– opportunity

Synergy– clues

Desire– confusement 

What am I that I chose to link… No savior of man? A saver of self,barely.. But a savior of someone? Anyone?

My mind often drifts and wonders.. And I find it difficult to corral it… Perhaps its propensity is its purpose.. A proclivity of truth.. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be here all along but to explore and transmit..

Messages.. Words.. Vibrations.. From the infinite.. To the finite.. In hopes of restoring that which departed from that which always was…

You think? Or perhaps I just think too much, too imaginative, too much creativity to live in reality. So in reality I live in a space somewhere between restriction and freedom. A place where words, thoughts, vibrations, worlds and ideals flow freely. Free for me to grasp and translate.. Grasp and manipulate.. Grasp and set free in this finite world of reality I currently share..

If your savior’ s need is to save.. Well let that harmony prosper.. And if your adversary’s need is to destroy.. Well let that disharmony prosper as well..

Everything is so well rehearsed… Sometimes I ask myself who wrote their lines.. And how come I have no script.. If all the world’s a stage.. What part do I play..

A las…. I look around and perceive economic hardship and the deterioration it could do to a culture and the effects it can have on a man’s soul..

Then I dream back to a time before an economy ever was…when nature collaborated with man and quill to develop a unique script.. 

One fitting for an individual with limitless bounds yet specific needs..

But today… I see the same reruns.. In every eye of every player… Reads the same rerun told a millions times in one fucking way..

Get money or die… Die and get money… Get money and be happy.. Be happy with dying..

Yet true death is transition… This isn’t death at all.. It’s just perpetual dying.. A cycle of reducing life to merely a function.. And not a function of what.. But a function of who, and who is a role written not by fate but through social construct…and it’d be one thing to realize that it is all but an act.. But to actually emerge yourself in your role.. Well, it turns a light-hearted comedy into the most egregious of tragedies…

Indigo… Indigo … Indigo….

Wash away my sins… For I have betrayed myself and all that’s within.. From within and without is the Creators burst.. An infinite source always spontaneous, never rehearsed…