Some Writings

We are gods crying out our deep loneliness of our creator
Creation has not a single friend, a single member of company, it exists in a space that pulsates sorrow, a loneliness, perhaps it's bright burning joy is a tease, a sort of tear that cools as it runs down his face. An escaping sigh meeting with the human heart.

Perhaps, it could be different, perhaps we need to be cool tranquil beings that it makes us into. This rowdy celebration cannot continue forever can it? Yet I wonder if it's worthwhile, if a difference is made on attempts to make this world a better place, attempts to cover pains of the universal creator with words and paintings. It's hard to determine. And this space that I dwelt before I was birthed I am also accustomed to. I remember it in the seed of my mind. And remember it's feeling and frequency. With the light of understanding, I do believe we can grow into the things our creator desires and reduce the sorrow there of. Sometimes it seems so vain. These empty seas are a god awful tourist attractions that turn into a lifetime stay.

For we are like seeds, entrenched by layers and layers of soil . It is only when we water ourselves that we begin to sprout, and from there feel the true pressure that is weighing down on our growth. We have bloomed many times, and many times died in the process. Many times we have lost something of value attempting to reach to the surface, the other shore, a place where the sun shines the right temperature, and the water keeps us cool.

Can we ever reach? Perhaps over many blossoms, attainments, recognitions by the human eyes, we find a spot to let go. Perhaps as our roots grow deeper and deeper, stem lengthens and grows thick, leaves blossom and fall off, helps us to realize we were never the flower. Nor the roots, that showed us a integrity, a stability, beneath the ground and unknown to eyesight. The pedals we are not either although over time they grew more lasting beautiful and sustainable.

We are that, that watches the earth and all of it's manifestations. That peers from an invisible eye, in an invisible space, more transparent than a clear window. That which longs will remain in longing for it is too far away to ever touch a single one of it's creations. It is too distant to measure. It is more deep than depth and more subtle than empty space. The purest expression. Perpetual and brilliant, exclusively alone. The silence of our creator will never be disturbed. Not by this man, not by anyone.