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Mardi-Gras 3: Beyond Here Lies Nothing
By
Shotgun011

Mardi-Gras 3: Beyond Here Lies Nothing

There once was an only moment that had too few folks in focus: Not the first, not the last, and not the least, and always there seems to stand a form of unforgiving opposition to the foibles of us, who inhabit this Vale of Tears, as destruction seems to be always right around the corner and though beauty might surround us it cannot save us. There are also moments and times when beauty and mystery collide with the power to haunt all they touch in passing, and raising questions in the wake of their passage that can’t be answered as if a reflection of life seen in a mirror on a shelf. And in those moments there might be a glimmering sense of discovery as questions arise and reflections are seen.

All of us are also fully aware of the pain that words can cause from those who constantly lie and passionately, in which all distinction is lost as reality is re-structured by those “artists” who feel that is their right and life are their canvas, still some give thanks to them for their revision of reality as they prepare to accept the sharp pleasure of disappointment. Proving Lenin right about propaganda being phony and patriotism to be the last refuge for scoundrels to hide in it, and changing the rules and losing all distinction and definition of all things here in these revision filled times we now live in.

Yet intuition is and remains of great importance as one strives to live each hour in their own flesh and mind, and to not allow those self-proclaimed saints quick to judge and their allies the prophets of doom to dictate all, to instead to rise up and exercise the gift of free will we were all given that at times can be both a blessing and a curse. And standing up to those who blind both fools and sages alike with the reasons for their form of insanity that holds sway, as they use their “gospels” that are taken from scrawled messages that appear with fool’s names and faces on the walls. Proving yet again that there is very little left that is sacred and what truly is has been hidden from all view.

With fear being something they thrived on and used to attempt to send us to and from meetings mesmerized, which they try to harness and control and use it as a mind killer or as a little death to try and dictate their beliefs. And all one needs to do is to stand their ground and allow it to wash over like a wave and follow it’s path where it goes. There is nothing there and only they remain standing after it has passed as signals are given that its hold is broken, and still fragments of truth lie tangled in the spider web of lies they weave and ask if you still know who you are? For all things have a time and then change in the blink of and eye like Dylan said as everything and nothing entwine, and feeling at times as if gravity had suddenly been released like a rubber band had suddenly broken.

Strange days have landed with storm clouds hanging heavy in the distance and are riding in fast, with things seeming to have gotten harder and feels as if making my way up a Jacob’s Ladder and seen friends disappear. Still it seems as though I keep trying to win with the losing hand I was dealt and as long as I got one good friend I’m doin' fine. Knowing that the blues might decide to descend and walk on through as they have in the past with darkness at noon, and leaving me with nothing but a blue moon in my eyes as I remember the voices that were heard at the break of day, and knowing they might mean I am in trouble every step of the way or could they be those voices from those I failed somehow?

As obstacles are dodged in the form(s) of the games that people play that have been placed in the way as life goes on, and seeing those lines on my hands and wondering if I should believe them as I see those fine silver threads unwind? And noticing the scars I carry from situations past the sun’s dark light couldn’t or wouldn’t heal as I try to claim all I missed and hoped for that singular touch of grace that only one can provide as I look to the stars trying to find the beginning of time. Though at times it might seem as if I am on the sidelines and was told emotion might be involved but nothing was specific. Finding myself standing at the crossroads of what was, what is, and what might be as the obvious tends to get lost. And the future might still be unsure after the dark cloak of winter has been drawn back and if things are forgotten at times, with the way down the line on the road chosen will be dangerously fraught as if walking through a minefield.

Needing to ride across the range through that darkness at noon that eclipses the sun’s dark light, and hoping and praying that I will possibly emerge whole and be able to make it back in one piece and sound in mind. As I pass the jesters who still reside in that dark courtyard there in the North and those who think life is but a joke, as I am feeling the Tao and the rhythm of the Earth taking hold as one as I make my way under those dark skies above. And hoping along the way hoping some things will fade away like some of the sad decay that has formed over things, as I try to keep the torches that burn with the flames of faith and hope alive in all that is and has been done.

Yet we all know the beauty of life is while we cannot undo what is done, we can see it, understand it, and learn from it, for at times it seems to have no reason or rhyme and in most cases like theory, logic doesn’t apply so change is needed. So that every new moment is spent not in regret, guilt, fear or anger, but in wisdom, understanding and love instead, and still there are those days and times when one might cry and cause forced aging making one a bit older and a bit greyer.

And the requiem that some want to be held over me can stay there on hold until my lot has been actually called, and just knowing that the final exams will soon be given and in some cases possible elaborate plans made may unfold, and remembering that all this is; is life and life only.

Copyright April 2009 – 16: Timberwolf International LTD.

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