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The Shame of Religion [rev:15]

Page 6 of 110 ~Pine Cone Diary~

Why do we seek revenge, when our Soul

        Is a ghost without identity; that seeks peaceful universal assimilation?

Those who capture other’s souls of Faith, caged in hate or repression, have honed their zeal

        To inflict retribution as righteous judgment, on all “un-holy” dissidents.

Unable for their hearts to control their tongue or their scourge.

 

Love’s prerequisite of understanding, dampens volatile gun powder

        And buries the sword of hate on the path to Nirvana, Olam Ha-Ba, Heaven, and Jannah …

Or any place else that is soft enough to dig with your hands, under loves direction, to bury your hate

wrapped in your inability to leave it alone. Silent until you truly understand.

(Having found on that path, without harm, a pure gentle human heart melted in living flesh

That had no eyes, nor memory, floating freely, Holy above the intellect in senses

without shame, I found myself without anything, for my Love, to have to explain.)

 

 

 “In the universal silence of nature and in the calm of the senses the immortal spirit’s hidden faculty of knowledge speaks an ineffable language and gives [us] undeveloped concepts, which are indeed felt, but do not let themselves be described.”  Immanuel  Kant

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Song Of The Morning Glory’s Lover

White washed fence, stretching to bright blue skies,

Melting snow, quenching bent brown winter grass.

In spring rain and sunshine, true love called

Winters’ dormant love. Having fallen in fall,

Shedding the cloak of her covered heart;

 bared her bosom, rising above it all.

She peered from earth, to arrive,

With blinking green eyes.

 “Oh love of love in gloom and in despair,

Harsh and bright as thou art fair,

Cast season’s displeasure, in sweetened warm air.

Awaken and choose what color to wear.

I have stood tall, waiting and sturdy;

Stretch and climb into my arms in hurry.

Awaken from your winter sleep, embrace me,

climb onto me, my sweet morning glory.”

 
 

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Solstice Child

Steel gates, familiar barriers,

Fountain on the front lawn,

Frozen at Christmas with welcome.

Stubborn memory

Beauty to be seen,

If eyes are open to a rising child.

 

You sit in humble hut sharing pieces of your art

With words, stitching, and molding clay;

From poverty to joy and into creation with surprise.

Each day, each passing season

From lengthy nights to early light,

A child, an amber in your heart

 

Sits there each day and every night,

Accepting the growing creative warmth  

With stage struck awe and sudden applause.

The last day’s door, left unlocked,

Entered a glowing amber and a chauffeur

Carrying a request, to visit the gates at Solstice.

A heart and mind aging

Is still open to the ‘morrow’s guests.

Some not yet arrived, sent their invitation

To visit the sunrise, of the best wall hanging, doll,

Clay cup, bowl, and saucer,

On the lap of New Years Child.

The gate was, as you supposed,

Never closed. Open for a year of original art.

 The driver drove inside, thru melting steel gates

And a gushing fountain in the front yard.

Invitation accepted!

 

Inside,

Tea and light is served in a babies cup,

Sitting on a brightening lace doily,

For you, when you arrive.

 
 

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Notes Found On The Refrigerator: December 2014

Thanksgiving in Arlington 2014

Walking… the pace was quick,

Following from behind.

An old black man noticing wing tip shoes,

Heels worn, and needing a shine,

Stood in front of me pointing at my shoes,

Eyes crusted with his last night’s sleep,

 “I can fix that?” floated through a smile,

Snapping a clean white rag and with an ear to ear grin

Half whispers, “where you goin’ lookin’ like that?”

 

C’mon Pop! I heard a voice say.

I went around, following the call.

Trying to catch up in my saunter, synchronized in thought

Behind young feet, I crossed the street, to the other side

thinking, I know my shoes and their vast shiny miles.

I have no place I need to go! So, I follow from behind;

Traveling on busy city streets on a child’s path,

paved for shoes, just like mine

****

Christmas List

The only gifts

that are recognized as gifts

to be given away,

are those you once received.

Where, in the giving,

passing the significance,

you are just as astounded

as when you once received it;

with gratitude

and accepting its importance,

whether it’s a baseball hat,

or, a newly minted

silver penny.

 

****

 

The sounds of gaiety and murmur promised, as season and family unfolds,

prepares, in an old soul, with urgent activity.

Reaching highs and lows, bending and gathering, blending into hearing,

on a Holiday, the season and the family, gaiety and murmur,

in one peaceful, enlightened note

 

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A Myth About Satan

Hatred, struck with punishment, expelled from the Holy house,

Fallen from heaven, Satan, the angel,

Took the blame, discouraged and angry from the fall.

 

Myth, gave him the armor of obstruction.

Religions forged a path, going around him.

To err in his embrace, was servitude and destruction

 

Within God’s power and might.

 

But, we forgot, he was forgiven in the New Testament!

Not really mention in the Old Testament…

The Holy House extended its hand  

 

And said “go and sin no more.”*

Fly, shed your pride, go back home

Where you belong!

 

(“Repent: through humility. To turn back from a world

that sins… erring in pride and defeated by obstruction

of arrogance… may be blotted out …with compassion”). **

 

Now who, continues in malicious hatred actions,

To say the obstructionist is to blame? Now sitting in the heart

Of a Forgiven House without any level of shame.

 

He isn’t here making you err! What devil?

 

Hatred in sterile procreation

Is barren in this argument.

It’s only you, in obstruction!

 

Completely responsible for your actions

Yet justify perfection

With miss-direction.

 

Free will? Squandered! Melted into armor,

 

Prepared for an ideology,

With an inability to seek an angel

By your side; one that is unable “to sin no more.”

 

Gather yourself, no one to defeat anymore.

It’s time for tea in the Holy House;

To take a seat in the heart of forgiving prayer.

 

*John 8:11 **Acts 3:19

 
 

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MY GRAVE MISTAKE

 

“If someone renounces themselves,

then whatever they might keep,

 wether it be a kingdom or honour

or whatever it may be,

they will still have renounced

all things.”

                                                           Meister Eckhart

 

I have lost everything I loved,

trampled below me and from above

I cannot find those things anymore.

They have been sacked and plundered, scorched and scored;

Expelled from the belly of a Trojan horse

Wrapped and gifted, without remorse.

 Perhaps, I had to abandon those things

 in my surrender, in my winter before the Spring;

Empty handed, on my knees,

To learn there is nothing sacred, for desire without need.

 

As I grow older, more mature, more disposed

to release those things  I can’t believed in anymore,

You, have stayed at my side, through this resolution,

to help me place the plastic flowers of illusion

At the grave sites of what I thought was at stake;

 

Allowing me, now, to be peacefully embraced

At the foot of my grave mistake.

 

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Easter

Renewed garden

Serpent coiled beneath earth

Irrigating roots

*

Open Eden’s gate

Fallen apple growing seed

New fruit in blossom

 
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Posted by on April 20, 2014 in Beginnings, Lent, Love, Poetry, religion, thoughts

 

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