Loving Purpose

I know that you can do all things; no purpose of yours can be thwarted.

Job 42 : 2

A man knows he has found his purpose in life when he stops thinking about how to live and just thrives at being alive.

If one is called to be a writer or a poet—he will stop pondering how to write with beauty and just feel an inner harmony within himself as he moves into his creative state of being.  But if one is not called to be a writer or a poet, the harder he tries to force his creative hand, the farther he strays from his true nature.

He will then worry with constancy about how to write with beauty and in the process, he will forget altogether how to write in harmony.  He is then left to scratch his head in disbelief as to what his life is meant to be.

When we do not live up to, or find our true purpose in life, distracting thought devours our daily routine. Thoughts begin to act as an alternative for true meaning, pulling us farther away from the reality of living our truest life.  We then begin to think so much that it overruns our life and from there we drown into the depths of overthinking.

It is while we are drowning in the depths of our own metaphors that the voice of our conscious starts to mumble incoherent.  But as we rise to the surface gasping for air, the voice becomes crystal clear—and in the fullness of time—the answers that we seek arrive bound with astonishment.

And suppose one has finally found wholeness in his true purpose.  He starts to see his life living in unity with peace.  He sees all that surrounds him begin to synchronize upon the collective campaign trail of what it is God, may or may not have in store for him.  Of this though, he will never truly know.

He knows now that his work no longer pretends to be a burden upon prayer and prayer no longer a burden upon his work. He no longer views contemplation as needing to be set to the side in the void of his own silence.  He no longer feels the need to be removed from the herded “state” of society to find himself because he now knows that God penetrates all.

He no longer wishes to account for himself, or anyone else, except for his child, but he is sure that his child is safe in the sanctuary of God’s Garden.  But the only one he must fully account for within his own self is in fact God.

And this is wherein lies the paramount of our purpose.  It is not that we wish to cease to be ordinary men, so that we are deemed warriors or saints, but that the love within our hearts can become as pure as God’s love—for God himself and for all men.  And to know that the tears that fall from our joyful or sorrowed eyes will fall like His rain, because they well up from the moving of His spirit through these hearts of ours—His children. And then you will see that the gift of goodness it grows in silence—well nourished in the scripted garden written within the Psalm of life.

May he give you the desire of your heart and make all your plans succeed.

Psalm 20 : 4

When we understand our purpose, the purpose of His Will, love for others becomes clean and sturdy. We can reach out to them, standing upright, without vanity and without complacency, loving all creatures with the same pure and sacred gentleness of God’s love for us.

This is the purest fruit and genuine purpose of Love.

-BeLove


A Silent Voice

A true artist is not one who is inspired but one who inspires others.

-Salvador Dali

As I ramble deeper into this wilderness of solitude, the path clears itself like I have never before seen.  The goodness in all things—they come to appear as one.  All that was once so complicated gives way to the simplicity of an inner revelation.

I now see that it isn’t as hard as one would believe to find happiness in solitude.  It is in due time that the fruits of gratitude are gently harvested by the labors of loneliness.  However solitude isn’t for the faint of heart.  It is a heavy-duty heart that is vital to the sound of deafening silence.

In seclusion we must carry the knowledge of compassion for all humanity.  We must hold a reverent demeanor for the goodness in all Creation. And still be humbled by the goodness in our own soul.  How can we endure through extended silence if we do not see the goodness of God within all that we see?  And most important is what it is we see when we look within ourselves.  It is through our own folly that our darkness divides us against the light that God has placed delicate upon our soul to reflect His goodness and become witness to His mercy.

We do not have to run away from ourselves.  It is adequate enough to turn from the inner darkness and walk towards His light.  For this is how He has it planned for us.  It is the only way that we are truly going to find ourselves.  It is not how we have built ourselves through our own ignorance, but how He has made us in his wisdom and reshaped us in His boundless compassion.  For it is His Will that our body and soul shall be a Temple of His Spirit—that our lives should reflect the radiance of His love and our whole being will then repose silent in peace.  Then and only then, will silence speak to us through the grace of the Holy Spirit.

It is not speaking that disrupts silence, but the anxiety to be heard.  The words spoken by the brazen man impose silence on all others, so that his voice may be the only one heard.  The humbled man speaks, so that he may be spoken to.  The humbled man asks of nothing except for the charity of God—then he waits—listening.

Silence is tidied in the summing up of words that we all have lived for.  When we accept Christ—it is by the grace we hear through words of faith. Salvation is often reckoned in a silent prayer full of hope.  Though it is sooner or later, that shall come the time when we must confess God openly before men, and then before the Kingdom of Heaven and all fallen creatures upon this Earth.

If our life’s purpose is poured out in useless words, we will never hear anything.  We will never become anything.  And in the end because we have said everything before we had anything to say—we shall be left speechless at the moment of our greatest decision.

It is through disciplined silence that the final expression is accepted.  Silence is not an end in itself.  The life of silence fans away the smokescreen of words that man has laid down between his mind and things.  In silence we see face to face with the naked being of things.  And yet in the nakedness of reality—that which we fear—stands nothing to be ashamed.   For the solace found in silence is as peaceful as a Springtime morning.  The unity of silence is clad in the pleasant company of an unconditional Love for yourself.  It is in silence that God teaches us to know reality by respecting it where words often leave circumstance lost in translation.

Silence is demanded when awakening from a spiritual slumber.  The whole of our life is a prayer upon the deliverance of our last decision—the only decision that will ever matter.  We also pray with contemplation through silence.  Yet there is a creative thread that allows us to speak to others—tying us all together through collective prayer.

In speaking with graceful ease to others with compassion, we can help them see their way to their own decision.  It would be better yet, that we help them down their own path that leads to the Father and the Son.  In teaching them hope, our very words teach them a new silence—the silence of Resurrection. And in that silence their faith is formed and prepared so that they may speak of what they too have heard.  And the Word of God will then filter clean with divinity through the being of all lost souls.

I have believed, and so I spoke.

2 Corinthians 4 : 13

—BeLove


A Letter For Heaven

Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.

1 Peter 5 : 8

Dear God—

I know not where I’m going. But it is my hope that wherever it is, You are there.  I have no idea what path You have laid for me, but I am confident that You have made it the way it should be built for me.

Of one thing I am sure is that pain will fall like rain, but upon my soul it will never stain.  And yes, I still do not fully know who I am, but I do feel You in the depths of me, and for that I am hopeful for what it is—I think might be left of the goodness in me.

For I have already found the treasure I sought when it was You I found deeper than just a thought.  And just because I talk about following your Will, doesn’t mean I always will.  So please allow us to speak more privately of that beneath your eternal Windmill.

But know this, it is your Glory—I will never allow anyone to steal.  And the fact that I feel you in my heart brings joy to all my days, and when those days are done, I’d be might to find a bit of a head start upon those Pearly Gates, because of your ways—I would rather not part.

So it is my desire to walk with You and You must know there is not a thing I will not do to prove the Essence of You, except maybe use a double negative or two while writing this letter to You.

But from this moment on, it is through this valley filled with the shadow of death and You—I will walk until my final breath.  So please allow me one last jest before I take my daily rest.


 

To say that I am built in your image

Is the reason why Love is my existence

For You—God—are Love.

Like you, Love is my identity,

Selfless of the righteous self.

For it is Love you wrote within my name

So it’s about damn time we fan it’s flame.

 —Ryan Love

 

P.S. I Love You


Golden Shore

And they told him, “We came to the land to which you sent us. It flows with milk and honey, and this is its fruit.

Numbers 13 : 27

We are all but specks of dust

fallen from what lay above

left astray to find that one

to play this game they call Love.

 

Created high upon an astral plane

we dive dual—a broken flame.

Our souls but puppets

strung with glorious Grace

upon His golden shore.

This life but a stage

separated by nothing more

than the thoughts that rattle around a cage.

 

But it is what drips within our mind

—a hint of gold

paints itself upon our soul.

A nectar so sweet

for what once was dead

finds a new thread.

 

In the darkest of places

we must give the most light

fed with faith and starved of fear.

Then comes a voice

all shall hear

shivered loud—ringing clear.

 

Love it falls like a drip

eternal from a golden mind

trickling through your heart

comes a faith so kind.

For fed is the soul

flowing with milk and honey

from an oil so sacred

it keeps the lamp of Heaven

forever trimmed

and always burning.

BeLove © 2018


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Spirit Of Love

You will show me the path of life; in Your presence is fullness of joy; at your hands are pleasures forevermore.

Psalms 16 : 11

Love exists in both the physical and the spiritual domain. Which is why our heart and mind often bicker back and forth about what is real and what is hidden in the soul. Love can drive us mad and love can set us free. Love is what we forever want and something we don’t always feel like we need.  But all we need is Love, if only from within, from time to time. The only thing Love should ever possess is our self-awareness.

Love is a tragedy in itself.  Love contains an eternal tragic element that is connected with death.  I mean this in the metaphoric sense that a broken heart digs with a shoveled similarity until it finds itself suffocated six feet under.  But I haven’t died as far as I know.  So how can I compare the two?  I’ve always said that if my heart is beating, it ain’t broke.  This is truer than most believe.  It is only in the deepest depth of love when the obstacles of physicality are no longer a make believe barrier that blocks the spirit of unconditional love.

In the tragedy of natural or physical love, we begin to see the element of hostility unveil itself in the depths of this type of love. Too often people are afraid to fully open their hearts out of wrong instincts that are accompanied by false fears and/or beliefs.  This is what prevents the possibility of true intercommunion.

But it is important throughout life to take the time to look within you and become one with yourself.  This is done by falling head over heels in love again with who you are and what you aspire to be.  The soul then starts to seek the stability of a spiritual awareness that thrives in the absence of physical love.  This is deemed necessary to heal from tragedies of loves’ past and to reevaluate our internal skillset and what it takes to truly love our self again.  If one does not come to love their own self with wholeness, they will never be able to love another soul in the unconditional sense.

Man is poisoned by primitive fears of loneliness and liberating one’s self from this fear proves to be an honest and uplifting task.  It brings not only joy—but also new tragedy. Welcome to the tragedy of detachable personality.  You see every time our heart is broken, it could be considered symbolic of death.  We crumble, breakdown, and tear apart until all layers of illusion are burned away. All that we find left of ourselves is the truth of who and what we really are.  It is up to you whether or not you like that version of yourself. If you don’t like what you see, then change it.  This is the only way to fully heal and step away from the shadow of suffering.

It is physical love that desires personality.  Therefore physical love desires division. In this division our spirit and soul detach from the personality of the ego.  We begin to find out more about ourselves the further we hitchhike along the highway of spiritual goodness. We begin to contemplate the value of our self-worth.  In doing this we start to lose sight of the mirage of failure that we see within ourselves.  More important, we start to see what it is we love about ourselves.  And this is what unconditional love is all about.  If you can’t love yourself unconditionally, you will never know the true meaning of unconditional love.

When we love ourselves unconditionally, all that is supreme begins to support the foundation of Love.  This is when Love becomes what God intended it to be.  We then walk towards the light of death without worrying about our self-placed value.  Instead we worry more about stabilizing the realities of life and mystical love for those we care about and for the generations to come.  Please forgive me but it’s about to get a little deep in here.

You see love cannot be just a means to the ends of salvation and redemption. Love is the creation of a new life.  Love is not a conceptual spirit.  For it cannot be blind to the existing personality as a whole.  Love must embrace the spirit, the soul, and the ego.  And be the foundational sanctuary for the multitude of entities within us.  If the source of spirit is abstract and isolates itself from the soul, the soul cannot give rise to love for a living being.  This is when the ego makes an appearance as a false being looking desperately for physical love—all the while hiding with clever intent amongst the shade of lust.

True love means the descent of the spirit into the body and soul. The nature of spiritual love must bring light and wholeness into the life of a soul. This is what gives meaning and connection to everything. Without the spiritual principle of love, the life of the soul shatters into disconnected and meaningless experiences.  The self-absorbed persona of love then vanishes into the void of perpetual heartbreak.

From here the nature of physical love plays hide and seek with the spirit of love.  Physical love then becomes abstract—fantasizing to be spiritual—while ignoring the soul altogether.  This is not Love at all, neither physical nor spiritual.  It is a vicious cycle that the Ego thrives within its repetitive sense of toxicity.   This is nothing more than love of an idea and not love for a living being.  Love then becomes idolatry and loses its truest depth to that of illusion.  It is easy nowadays for us to all fall in love with the idea of love.

The idea of love makes it easier for us to project what we expect of love upon another being.  The idea of love liberates us from fighting Love’s eternal tug o’ war within us.  But I must mind you—this is a battle that cannot go unchallenged.  It must be fought and you must come out loving yourself more than you love any other.  Not to say that you should always love yourself more than others, but in order to fully love, you must first love yourself.  Then that love will trickle down and water the seeds of love planted all around you.  If the war within goes neglected the idea of love swells into a fantasy. It will become one that you may never be able to escape with reality in tow.

It is when we turn and face the ever-lasting war within ourselves that the truth of Love starts to surround all that we see.  Once you look Love in the eye, everything you see looks to be layered in spirituality.  Then the physical aspects of Love give way to a more spiritual stance in life and as to what the shape of true Love really is.  It is when we go to war within the dualistic nature of ourselves that the spirit and soul team up to squander the ego—with its illusory demeanor—once and for all. This is when we finally break free from the chains of selfish desire.

Spiritual Love

It is human nature to love physically instead of spiritually. The physicality of love is fragmentary, mixed with a passionate desire that distorts the true meaning of love. Physical love often prevents us from seeing another’s personality as a whole.  Instead we direct our perception upon the other’s fragmentary pieces, and offer our own sound advice on how they should put their own puzzle back together.  This is of course done without any sort of collective bargaining agreement and the puzzle within remains incomplete.

This is why it is important to put your own inner puzzle together before you allow anyone the chance to do it for you. There isn’t a single soul out there that can piece your puzzle together except for yourself and God.  And once you begin to see the truth in this, you will find your puzzle being pieced together with an inner peace you thought had long been lost in the infinite fray beneath the couch cushion.

Physical love is impotent because it is unenlightened and partial, spoiled by selfish ways and bound by the strivings that bind with the lust of Ego. Physical love is tainted by a jealousy that positions love in the realm of idolatry. This is where the idea of love carries more clout than the Spirit of love. But it is true, Love is more than a feeling.  It is more than an experience.  It is the manifested presence of God in your heart.  For love is the fruit of the Spirit.

Spiritual love is not meant to consume physical love in its entirety, but to transform, enlighten, and strengthen it with a transcendent force that is relative to unique wholeness and to the meaning of that which is unconditional love.  Spiritual love is a seed planted within you by you.  It is a seed planted alone, and the fruit only grows by watering the seed with faith.  For it is the fruit of the Holy Spirit that describe to us what true Love really is.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.  And those who belong to Christ have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also keep stride with the Spirit.  Let us not become conceited, provoking one another, envying one another.

Galatians 5 : 22-26

You see God created us all in His image. This means we are created to love.  We are created to need love and more important to give love.  We are all connected with Love, tied by the thread of God’s Love for all of us.  As the world stands today, a lot of people do not know what true Love is. As society becomes more focused upon external distractions, love is being developed as a distorted physical feeling, piling up like counterfeit debt upon the lost soul.

My question is how do we transition this upon the facet of the future.  We can start by teaching this to our children.  Because let’s be frank, our generation is pretty much past the point of f*cked.  It’s our children that we must plant this spiritual seed of love within. Even if you do not fully believe, it would be wise to plant the seed of God and Love in your child because once the seed starts to grow within them, it is only going to grow within you as well, because you are a part of the Tree Of Life.  We will dive deeper in the depths of this problem down the road.

If there is only one thing you take away from this article, let it be this.  When you see that love surrounds us, it thrives in us, because it is God that lives within each and every one of us.  When you see that the grace of God is love, you will finally experience true Love, for you are feeling the presence of God’s glory.  God is love and God is spirit, so therefore the Spirit of Love exists in each and every one of us.

-BeLove


Living The Dream

Recognize what is in your sight, and that which is hidden from you will become plain to you. For there is nothing hidden which will not become manifest.

-Christ

These ends of mine

should mean to meet

one would think

when walking down a one way street.

 

So for now take a seat

kick back and relax those feet

—go on get some rest

as the day is undressed

by tonight’s nurtured nest.

Soon I’m going to need you all

at your very best.

 

But if you have any needs

while I’m tending to these seeds

in this garden of good deeds.

I’ll be right over here

serenading songs of Shakespeare

through a distant whisper

for it is true—Love is something

that all souls can hear.

 

But it is time for a new endeavor

something with a bit less pressure.

Once stuck in the depths of a river

that flowed to a place called never

but upon the horizon I now see forever.

 

The pounding beneath your chest

might be me giving it my best

because of time I am no longer pressed

see these steps—they move sprite with zest.

 

So as the sun it sets to the west

sung low by a choir of light

smiling in the shape of an angel’s flight

 

It is God above that fills my heart

and I feel something within—brimming

my mind no longer spinning.

 

For that was the day

when fury went the way of forgiven

and greed—well it turned to giving.

You see my friends

It was but a day

when life looked Love in the eye

and the dream took to living.

BeLove © 2018


As It Always Was

Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.

-Christ

I’ve always stood still

though tall in a shadow

scattered with fear.

Then came a window

left wide open

only to walk the tightrope in.

 

It is now the sands of time

through which I sift

into the direction

of the sun

my sights they shift.

 

In the beat of a heart

it all shines through

The love, the light, it’s in all of you.

Somewhere between

the rock and a tree and Love’s jubilee

I found you all

in the finesse of me.

 

But again came the call

from a distant squall

one I’ve heard

my entire life.

The one I now know

for I must follow.

 

It’s harmony that sings

in the joy it brings

through the gospel we hear

to make the choice

from a voice so clear.

 

It is as it is,

as it always was.

 

It echoes through eternity

down the path that guides me.

The divinity inside thee

has now become my reality.

BeLove © 2018


 

 

 

 

Be Wilderness

Above all else, guard your heart, for all that you do flows from it.

Proverbs 4 : 23

Over the last decade, I have had this intermittent dream.  This dream has sometimes haunted me but it has mainly kept my spirit fed.  It’s one of those dreams that feel very real in the midst of my slumber.  So real, that I wake up disoriented and it takes me a few moments to establish what is real and what is make-believe.  It was only until then, and now again, upon another rendition of this dream that I’ve started to claw at the surface of it’s significance with the hope that I can pin down the purpose of its meaning through intrinsic interpretation.  The dream always begins in the same exact setting.  My actions and decisions in the depths of the dream have always been the driving force as to which direction I take to reach my destination.  A destination that is still very much up in the air, because in the dream, I never reach it.  Not that I am aware of at least.  I would like to take some time now and share the dream with you.


I come to be awakened on a mountainous boulder.  I stand upon shaky knees balanced high above an extravagant raging river flowing furious with Old Man Winter’s runoff. The morning wasn’t breaking so much, as it was infiltrating through my blurred vision.  I am entrenched in some vast and splendid wilderness.  The only sound other than the deafening silence of loneliness is the symphony of an unhinged river’s rage.  My first thought, is whether or not the trout are biting?  Where’s my fly rod?  I look all around and see that it is nowhere to be found.  “Son of a bitch,” I mumble to myself.  My head floats on a swivel as I assess my surroundings.  There is a vague plume of smoldering grayish smoke about a football field’s length from where I stand.  I assume that it’s the remnants of last night’s warming fire, or maybe it’s a burning bush.

Campfire

I am captivated at the spectacular scenery that encompasses me.  It’s the most picturesque sight I’ve ever laid my eyes on.  The morning sun is awakening from its slumber and painting the mountains purple in their majesty.  As the golden hour washes over the craggy cliffs that tower over me to the north, I think to myself what a sight for eyes sore with solitude.  There is a chilled crispness to the air that is evident with every breath I exhale.  I shiver with the essence of something similar to seismic activity rippling through the core of me.  Could this be a celestial vibration that I am on the right path?  This tricks my mind into believing that a shroud of warmth will follow in the friction of my frivolous movement.  Which it does, but only for a waning moment.

Without an inkling of warning, the radiant brilliance of sunshine is swallowed by the looming threat of a surging storm.  The wind begins to carry a swiftness behind it that nudges my stability into a stumble.  In the sense of simultaneous, I reclaim my balance and I manage to reorganize the awareness of my environment.  My complacent moment of reflection is now superseded with a sudden urge to seek some place a bit more sheltered.  I succumb to the shivering sound of silence again.  I am cold and extremely parched from thirst.  I barely gather myself and plot my escape from this elevated pedestal of uncertainty.  The only way down is a slippery slope soaked in imprecision.

Fog

I start my descent down a trail I have no familiarity with whatsoever.  The brewing storm begins to serenade the uncharted wilderness with a booming, marching thunder—sprinkled with flickering bursts of magnificent light.  A steady mix of cold rain and snow beckons from above.  My walk moves into an opportunistic sprint.  I sense a hint of fear and become scared; unaware of the conditional circumstance that awaits my lack of carefulness.  I stumble again but this time balance escapes me and I fall.  As I fall, I try and let my limbs go limp.  I do this under the instinctual cognizance that external limbs are less likely to break or snap like twigs when not constricted with fear.  In focusing upon this my head introduces itself to the hardest substance it has ever felt and I fall unconscious.  After a few moments, I come around back to my senses.  By hook or by crook, I manage to pick myself back up.  My head is screaming with a sharpening discomfort that buries healthy pleasure with an unsettling pain.

In the depths of my agony, I realize that I clumsily yet successfully maneuvered my way down the mountain.  I stagger around for a moment and slowly digest that I have no idea where I was before, let alone now.   The smoldering smoke from before is now thick and heavy—its density has consumed every bit of clarity I had left about me.  I start traipsing through the fog; I have no sense of direction.  I feel like Vertigo is just sitting back, waiting to confuse the issue more than it already is.  I walk for what seems like an eternity, feeling like I will never reach a destination.  I think to myself, am I dead?  Could this be Purgatory?

Thirst is all I can think about, what I wouldn’t do for one sip of water.  My head is still screaming at me and the smell of some metallic tinge is following me like a wafting cloud.  The genesis of exhaustion steals my strength and I decide to take a breather.  I lay down with my burdens in hand, crossed upon my heart and I close my eyes.  Thirst and warmth fill my mind but even the comforts of home can’t keep the exhaustion at bay any longer, I fall asleep.  Even with all of the misfortunes that have graced the short-lived morning I sleep like a rock.

I am startled awake by the sound of a snarling animal.  Scared, scarred and shaken, I quickly stand up—dizzy.  Sudden fear enshrouds the wooziness in my head and I make sure my presence is noisily felt.  Adrenaline alone allows my equilibrium a chance to achieve even distribution.  I can see nothing in the fog, but the snarls are now more of an echo and seem further away than I originally thought.  I gather anything I can find that will help me defend myself, nothing more than a few sticks and stones.  “Hopefully they wouldn’t break my bones,” I whispered to myself as I collected them.  “At least my sense of humor was still going strong,” I thought proudly.  With a ginger demeanor, I walk in a brisk manner towards the opposite direction of the echoing snarls.  They seem to be growing closer the further I get from them.    In the shuffling madness, I catch my breath and I start to run again.  All of the sudden, the stability of solid ground was flooded by an icy soaked, but buoyant brook of excitability.

Hallelujah, it was water.  Miraculously, I had happened upon the river again.  In a baptismal elegance I fall to my knees, submerging my aching head into the rivers depth; my hands interlock themselves into a chalice.  The river is littered with glacial silt.    I remind myself to not let gluttony get the best of me.  I allow myself enough to quench the parched feeling that had hindered me throughout this shortened pilgrimage.  I am tempted to indulge until my heart’s delight, but I know that will only be detrimental to my well being down the road of this journey.  In my ecstatic behavior of blessedness, I neglected to notice the snarls were still very much on my tail.

The Perfect Swimming Hole

The denseness of the fog was lifting itself in a tedious manner and visibility was beginning to show itself again.  The only way to safety was through this river of Doubt.  I vaguely glance upon an echelon of rocks, strung together and placed conveniently for my stride.  I take the steps one by one, slow and steady wins the race, I thought.  I turn to look for whatever it was that has been trailing me since my fall.  In the faint distance, I can finally see what has been hunting me.  I see a wolf that looked to be plotting his next move, for he is as thirsty for blood, as I was for a drink of fresh water. I have a hunch that I haven’t seen the last of him.

I continue upon the stepping-stones with ease to my stride. The river grows mighty in its wake.  The farther I follow this path into the remote midst of this river, the more vibrant and sunny everything becomes.  The air has a warming touch to it now and I was gaining strength as clarity was becoming more constant.  The steps were starting to demand longer strides and I even had to wade in the water from time to time.  Then came the next challenge.

I was walking these stones for at least a mile and still no sign of the west bank of this river I have now dubbed Doubt.  Now here I stood on the last solid rock.  The glacial silt seemed to ablate itself from Doubt.  Roughly twenty feet below me was a budding stretch of backwater; followed by another pattern of rocks that perceived a promising path.  I carefully careen myself down the last slab of solidity that I could see.  I am knee deep in Doubt now, her waters, clear and chilly.  I drink from her until my heart’s delight.  I am amazed at the pulsating autumn hues that grace the forest around me.  The bursts of orange, yellow, and red—paint the landscape with a buffering beauty.  I shiver again from the soothing sensation of vibrational purpose, and wade with bewilderment.   The reverence I have for this wilderness is deep.  As deep as the river Doubt is about to get.

Up Close Waterfall

The pattern of rocks only got further away from one another as I waded towards them.  In my carefree comportment I didn’t notice that Doubt’s waters had risen with rapidness.  I began to panic, and as it grabbed my legs, well you know?  It pulled me in.  The icy and submerging blanket of water acted like shock therapy and triggers that everlasting instinct for survival.  I notice a large piece of driftwood floating with more poise than me and push my way towards it through the vicious current with every ounce of energy I have left.   As I am within arms reach of my saving grace I shiver again; followed by the most acute pain I have ever known.  The last thing I remember resembles the immersion of drowning.

I come to be revived on a pebbly beach.  I was spooning a piece of driftwood half my size as though it was a pillow.  My head is splitting with an ache but the air is steadily warm now, almost arid.  My damp clothes are the only thing between the luxury of warmth and me.  The river Doubt had turned into a creek that was now just a trickle of murky looking sludge.  The harsh reality sinks in that I have drifted far away from where I believe I belonged.  For the lush wilderness had become a barren desert.  I take off my top layer of clothing and lay them out to dry.  I canvas my newfound surroundings and see that there is only an inkling of shade beneath a ballooning bush of sagebrush.  This shade could only be used as shelter from the scorching sun for maybe two hours a day. I look behind me and see the monumental mountain reaching for Heaven above while nothing but sagebrush and high desert for the foreseeable future ahead of me.  Hunger pangs are making themselves known now.  I scrounge for something to eat.  I find nothing but a handful of ants.  I eat them and it is true, they are crunchy and sour.  I make a fool of the pangs by chewing on some sagebrush.   The sagebrush becomes a brief but nonetheless shaded shelter from a fierce sun and its cold-blooded heat.  I take off my shirt and use it as a pillow.  The shade summons me silently to sleep.

Vision

I wake up blistered from the scorching sun.  The sun was at its daily peak burning everything that lies in its wake.  Shade was nowhere to be found.  I put my shirt on and it feels like the incendiary ants I ate earlier as a snack are stinging me.  “Karma, is an instant bitch,” I scream silently.  The pain quickly becomes unbearable as it feels like I am being broiled.  I have no choice to go back into the wilderness, but first I had to climb the monumental mountain.  The mountain of eternity seemed to rumble with agreement as rocks start to tumble down the slopes with an awaiting earnestness.  The mountain was as massive as it was intimidating.  It interrupts the rolling desert plain with an abruptness that sprawls ten thousand plus feet into the horizon, almost out of midair it seemed.

I was more ready for this climb than I believed I was.  I start singing at the top of my lungs; maybe I was hoping for one last possibility that someone might hear me, or maybe I was just a bit stir crazy,  “Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams, telling myself it’s not as hard, hard, hard as it seems.”  I try my best at impersonating Robert Plant but I am positive I do it no justice whatsoever—I imagine the Hammer of the Gods are laughing out loud at me.  As I expected, only silence followed, still I felt a little zanier yet confident than just a few minutes before.  At least my sun-drenched sanity was still sticking around for the time being.

Moondance

“Time to go.” The voice said as clear as the afternoon was. I spun around, spinning with bewilderment.  There was no one within a day’s walk of me.  Yet the voice was shrilling with a sense of comfort.  Maybe it was the stern approach that would not allow me to take the demanding tone lightly.  Without question, I started moving with fleetness.  I proceeded to blaze my own trail up the mountainous terrain.  I must’ve gotten my underrated second wind because I covered an extensive amount of ground, in a short period of time.

Just before dusk I had to slow to a steady pace to assess my situational circumstances.  The wilderness was becoming thick and the forest was filling itself out like a puzzling maze.  Humidity filled the air and night was beginning to fall.  The dew was beginning dampen the environment with a chill that stuck to my bones.  Though the colder air acted like aloe on my scorched skin, and I welcomed its comfort.  I slowed down but kept moving at a steady pace.  My path now carried more clarity with it than I had seen so far on this everlasting journey.  My motivation was bullying me into another exhaustive state but the adrenaline wouldn’t quit pumping through my blood.  I came to a sudden stop, when I thought I heard the snarls again.  It was nothing but an insect the size of my forearm, humming a sort of wilderness lullaby. But in the distance I heard the howling of a wolf, and instead of becoming frightened, I felt security wash over me, I was no longer the only living entity within this wilderness.

I stumble upon a path.  This is another sign that I am indeed headed in the right direction.  And as I come upon a fork in the path that heads in different directions—I become surprised with the pleasantry of a sign.  For a sign, signaled hope.  The sign shared the following morsel of wisdom.   Here lies the confluence of two, once mighty rivers.  One was called Soul, the other Ego.  One must choose between the paths wisely for there may not be another opportunity for you to find your way to the Promised Land in which you seek.  I kneel and pray, the voice answers with a vibrational pulse that echoes through my entire being.  I walk towards the merging trails.  I converge my steps between the both of them and I walk with purposeful intention through the valley of the shadow of death.  I begin to bushwhack my way through my metaphoric fear and leave it behind, where it belongs.

IMG_7889

I feel a few raindrops grace my presence and notice a mountainous thunderhead forming over my head.  I do not fear this storm because I know it is all in my mind.  But as the storm begins to drop golf ball sized hail upon my head, I pray for something to shelter me from the storm.  I walk brisk down the path and as I turn a corner, much to my delight there is an old outhouse.  I fall with exhausted grace into its storm-shielding demeanor.  I am content in the solitude of this ageless four-cornered Calvary.  And I see an inscription of scripture carved upon the wall.  And just below it was an insignia of biblical times.

Arrow

He made my mouth sharp like a sword; in the shadow of his hand he hid me; he made me a polished arrow; in his quiver he hid me away.

Isaiah 49 : 2

As I finish reading this profound scripture the walls around my head start to cave in, and I hear the shrieking laughter of a child.  Soon there followed the sweetest voice my ears have ever heard.

“Daddy, wake up.  Naptime is over.”

I scream startled waking from an afternoon snooze, dazed and confused.  He had dove  upon my chest.

Shaking with sudden comfort, he says to me, “Dad, what are we going to do now?”

“Save the world my child, at least for you, that’s what we are going to do.” saying with confidence.

“Okay, but first can we go to the river?” he asks.

“Of course we can kiddo, but after the rain stops,” I say much to his dismay.

The steady rain patters away on the roof, putting my mind at an ease it hasn’t felt in quite some time.  My vision is no longer blurred and I realize my purpose now.  The light flows from my heart to my mind will never be dimmed ever again.  It was time the dream turned to reality.

  -BeLove


Potter’s Field

The crypt you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.

I climbed the fence

to old man potter’s field

where the fog hung low

just above the ground.

 

While I looked all around

those eerily empty tombs

this is what I found.

 

Where there stood

a certain headstone

void of a name

instead etched with inscription

’twas a bit of wisdom

written with a twist

and this is what that epigraph read:

 

“Remember me, as you pass by,

as you are now, so once was I,

as I am now, you too shall be,

so prepare for resurrection and follow me.”

 

With a pen and paper in hand

I left a silly note—

a small little anecdote:

 

“To follow you, I won’t consent,

for I do not know which way you went.”

BeLove © 2018