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An Alternate Butterfly Effect

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Read Time 6 min
Published 6 years ago
Finding myself heading out again down old Highway 61 after having heard it call once again, and going where it is directing me to go as I have done in the past and this time I am not heading down it alone. Following it as it runs through those fields that border it that are full of both blessings and tribulations, and I am not alone for you also heard that old Highway 61 call you for the first time and you felt it direct you as if taken by the wrist, as you attempt to match that Infantryman’s pace I set to stay by my side as you see those rivers of blindness near. Both of us feeling the heat in the sun’s dark light as we head on down the line together,-
Following those rivers that parallel this old road as the heat hits with the force of white lightning, and wondering if you will take my hand as we continue to head south following those signs only we can see? We aren’t just following the road but those feelings that are felt as well, and knowing there are no lies here, or the games people play that need to be avoided like obstacles placed in our way and ask if you feel the same? I know at times you seem to feel as if walking on broken glass and as relief hits you out here and fear nothing. With both of us having been designed and made to weep at times when pain becomes too much and moments seem to be lost.

Knowing that we can both be heroes in each others eyes at least for one day, and with nothing to turn us away we can beat those self proclaimed saints quick to judge at their own game. Asking if you remember when we stood against that wall as the firing party’s bullets passed over out heads? And that kiss we shared knowing that nothing could fail at that moment and felt we had passed through the flames? And having heard you ask me to share in both your sorrows and triumphs as you look for answers to the confusion felt, and do you still hide your feelings away at times and think of paradise as being totally lost still? As I watch you staring to the horizon across those fields that sway gently in the breeze,-
Seeing you watching those winds of change blow across those fields full of blessings and tribulations, and noticing the ridge I once stood on with a blue moon in my eyes and shunned all even religion thinking all was mine. I know those feelings well you are having and we only have the moment now to go where that call directs us, and doubt might still fill your mind but you will always learn something as we talk of things as we make our way. Possibly laughing at the funny little things we share as an attempt is made to put an end to the confusion you feel, with there being times when we might forget to begin as we pass closer to those rivers of blindness.

Nobody ever talks or mentions when beauty is lost or comes undone and when mentioned all balk at it. Though you might have been raised on promises once, as subtleties now seem to strangle those promises, as I see the light in your eyes as we cross the flat-lands and head over the dunes into the mangroves. Passing those roaring waterfalls of pity as we cross those rivers of blindness into the desert that lies ahead, with us both having felt the heat from the dark light of that desert sun as I made I made my way through it once before alone, and has me wonder how you will feel the burning heat where each step can feel at times like it can be your last? As we stop to drain a cup or two here near those rivers of blindness before heading into and across it,-
Seeing you take a breath and looking as though you are trying a little soft shoe action before stepping off, and following from behind noticing the gentle sway you make with each step you take as we enter the burning sands. Both of us having been directed here as if taken by the wrist to allow the sun’s heat and dark light to change us into that which we can truly be and far from those self proclaimed saints quick to judge who laugh at all said. For it has been said that fire can cleanse the soul and the season is now right for knowing.

So walk and stand tall and be cool, collected, bruised, sensual, and yet at times savage, and let those self proclaimed saints quick to judge burn their eyes on the wake of our passage, as their “gospels” that are found scrawled on the walls go unheard and the vacuum of their eyes remains ignored. While we cross these burning sands like a common thief in the night or like those who wear pilgrims robes, and feeling like we are treading a razor’s edge high above the abyss where there are pitching queues waiting for the gallows. With intuition being of importance here in what some call the wasteland as we strive to live each hour, as you see those scars I carry that the sun’s dark light couldn’t or wouldn’t heal and slowly open your fist,-
To reach out to take the things you might have missed and opening your heart to accept the hardest part. With both of us fighting for the day and for the soul when there shouldn’t be any reason to fight. Yet some like those self proclaimed saints quick to judge and their allies the prophets of doom, tend to lie so constantly and passionately that all basic distinction is lost as they restructure reality. And all they touch becomes lost and I don’t care what you read or wear as long as you stay a friend in the end, as we head to those green fields in a hidden place where the grass is green with flowing rivers and no more lies. Knowing to touch is to heal and to hurt is to steal as we try to reach the skies and shoot the moon. With us both falling to our knees as we wonder if the book is still open wide and will allow us to step inside?

Copyright February 2009 – 3: Timberwolf International LTD.

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