When one finds their self situated stuck in a wilderness so deep that the shadows start to creep from all angles, one looks for the way, in which sanity promises the light of a brand new day.  It is instinctual to seek shelter from the storms of insanity that build throughout our lives.  It has been since the beginning of time.  Instinct after all has its roots in the antediluvian.

It is by the chance of happenstance that the shelter of my sanity seems to sit hidden, where I thought I would never discover it, unless I were to trip over it with haphazard finesse.  But there it sits, away from this beaten path. The one I have always walked with recklessness at my side.  So soon shall I approach this hidden trailhead, concealed by the thickets of Mother Nature’s eternal brush, that I can feel the sneaking suspicion of safety sitting right around the corner. Pointing me towards the freedom from my self-inflicted pain.  I feel a sense of distinguished belief when looking upon this hidden corridor because comes that smidge of a quiver, and it left me shivered, for I had been here before.  Maybe it was a dream, or maybe it was something more from the vision of an astral plane.

Is it crazy that sometimes I feel that the story of the soul trapped inside me was written long ago?  Almost like it was written in the stars along with my personality that may or may not have sat next to the planet formerly known as Pluto?  And it is true I hear a story that was written by those who watch over me from heaven above, but it seems that first I must go through the darkness that waits in this wilderness within, just to get a glimpse of that good old fashioned Promised Land.  It is either fortunate or the meaning that opposes its definition, that the only way I know how to survive the thickness of this forest is to write my way through it, better yet, to create my way through it.  So through this wilderness, I shall exfoliate from the surface all that is wicked which cling to the roots far below the darkest ends of my heart.

As scary as it sounds, it is, because the only way to purify this soul so clean is to extract all that is black by a sort of exorcising of the demons.  It’s the only way to get to the bottom of me, so that I may finally find the peace that will no longer be bound by the bars and shackles of a society that can no longer agree on the definition of civility, let alone morality, all the while blinded by toxicity.  And the only way to move forward is to hang myself out to dry amongst the winds of change with every thought that has ever made me into the man I am to be.  After all a stitch in time saves nine.  And as the time draws nearer that I shall head forth into this written wilderness where I would rather live with your judgment than perish by your pity, I must apologize in advance because it may get a little weird.  But there is a force pulling me in this direction and I mustn’t fear what they all may think when my time has come.

There will always be a disturbance in the sanctuary of those little instances of timeless bliss.  The ones with their endless stretches in which I could not hear myself think for all of the commotion.  These instances can have such a rippling effect that there is not one watch in this world that stands any chance against it, maybe not even my own clock of comprehension.  These disturbances are simple, yet so powerful for they are nothing more than a choice, but it is a simple choice that may change the entire landscape of all that you know, and most definitely all that I have known.  It is a landscape that at times will be distorted and at times will be divine, for it is the landscape of my heart by way of my mind.

It is by the golly of God in our country that we have three of the most unexpressed regarded things. We are graced with the freedom of speech, the freedom of consciousness, yet we convey with caution to never practice either damned one of them with the consideration of compassion.  So I can think of no better time than soon to start.  When one begins to hear consciousness speaking with clarity, you will begin to understand that the beat in your heart is the glory of God’s arrival.  But first I must organize my life for the path that beckons, and tend to these lamps of mine, for it is time to get my ass to work.  If I had the time right now, I would make everything all right, but let us not focus on hindsight.  For the hidden path has shown a waking and bubbling light.

BeLove © 2018

My roots are buried in the Dirty South. I grew up learning the importance of God and Southern Charm. I began writing in my late teens mostly through heartbreak and music. I moved out west 15 years ago and live right around the corner from the Fountain Of Youth. Most people refer to it as Lake Tahoe. I play Chef during the day and search for ways to save the world by night, through reading, writing, and believing. I enjoy the side of life that is less abrasive. I look forward to joining you on my quest through Spiritual Sobriety with the Promised Land as our ultimate destination.

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