Life is a wonderful thing to have. It can be as confusing as the world, or as simple as the same. If confusion was not the natural state of mind of the world, a type of creative death of the minds would occur. Think about it. If there was perfect order, there would be no room for the new, the interesting, the obtuse. If things were in order, then there would be no leaps of faith, no reason to follow the unreasonable to discover that which is yet obscure. The following are some thoughts that I've had in the past, only to find that they come back to be thought again when the circle completes itself.
Dancing in the shadows of the land,
The land of the shadows of the moon
Where the sky is the earth
and the land of the man is far below
I sing the path of the worlds
as a prance and a spin and dance
As I follow the myriads of chance
to the one that sings the weaves to life
I see her in the light of the moonlight sight
A picture of the web of life
a singing call is in my soul
A wandering living breath
I see the silvery skeined helath
I sing to her:
Blessings to the way of the Path
to sing the life we lead
To tread the dance we weave
To bless the barith*
We shall walk, sing, dance, and seal
singing of all joys we savor
Give the live of the dancer
And sing of the joy of life
Sing of the song of the waves of lineat**
*Seas of Chance
**the song of the path-ers
The Goddess calls
Singing upon the wind.
Sighing through the falling leaves.
The time has come for rest.
The cold new has come.
The World spins on,
The Horned One rides the wind now.
He cleans the land, scouring it.
He prepares for the new life to come.
Life and Death
Spinning, becoming one.
No ending, only different beginnings.
The circular path that all follow.
So few understand that nothing truly ends.
Paths of Rememory
The Faerys all remember
The ways of being wild
As they sing among the ever living trees,
And the Humans all remember
The ways of lording over
Their own created schemes,
But the elves all sing of the lands they lost
And of the ones they hope to find,
Because they remember best of all
Of what they left behind.
I see the world through different eyes
Ones different enough to see
As I gaze upon the Lordling lands
I am confused as I can be
Why are these things in so much pain?
And why is there so much shame
What is the point of all this pity
And why is there always one to blame?
These questions my eyes uncover
For my soul to dance around
As I will myself to walk the Earth
And try to clean what I have found.
If the fae are here, what do they fear, and why do they stand unaided?
The world cries out for sustenance, for healing hands unjaded.
If it is all meant to disappear, why do we exist at all,
For defending something worth so much is why we exist at all
Is why we stand at all
Do we dare to call to it
And answer an inner call?
Is there a reason to life?
Is there one path to follow?
Is there a plan to this madness?
Is everything going to work out in the end?
Is there even a true end?
Or am I the reason.
Am I a free mind,
Or am I enslaved.
Why do I want to understand?
Understand a world planned.
If it is planned I have no say,
And only ask because it is planned.
I do not want that.
I want to be free.
I am free.
I sit here.
I wonder why.
I want to understand.
I watch the sunset.
I watch the shadows of life
I watch the shadows of death
As they melt into each other
And become one with the darkness.
I begin to understand.
Loneliness is a state of mind.
A state of alienation.
A state of being.
A state of consciousness.
A state of life.
You say the abuse is out of fun,
That he must know it is not serious.
You say he brings this upon himself,
As if he were to blame for what you say.
Blame the victim,
It cannot be your fault.
Blame the victim
He must be the cause.
You say he understands
That you mean no harm.
You say that you say the same
Blame the victim.
Is all you seem to do.
Blame the victim.
It keeps the blame from you.
You say he should be more normal
That all his behavior is wrong.
You say he should act more like
The group to which you belong.
Blame the victim.
He is such an easy target.
Blame the victim.
He is different: He is in the wrong.
It may be worth it.
May be worth the effort.
May be worth the pain.
It is a gamble.
It is a game.
It could get interesting.
It could end quickly.
All know it will end.
All know it has begun.
What is it?
It is an adventure,
A state of being
An interlude between voids.
It is something we all want.
It is something we all fear.
What is it?
It is life.
Why do I think this way?
Why do I not think like others do?
Why do I imagine conversations with others,
Conversations where I actually make sense,
Conversations where others understand.
Or at least try to comprehend
Rather than close their minds to me.
Discounting me in their minds.
Not even trying to understand.
Just putting me below them.
I do not think as others do.
I do not think just on the subject,
But just imagine arguments.
Arguments where I say how I truly feel.
Arguments to learn my opinions.
Arguments no one loses.
Arguments where no one gets hurt.
Arguments that accomplish something.
Without bringing in personal problems.
Without causing pain.
I wish more arguments could be solved
In the way I imagine discussions.
A way that causes no pain.
This is only a dream.
One that may never see this side of my mind.
And the waters sang
And the waters did dance
As the world spun on
In the worlds of chance.
See the living wind as it travels
And watch it as it stops
At the sight of the singing waters
and the lost ones that wait in the evening of the world.
As the stopped wind waits
Along that singing world of water
Our lives feel the sigh of the songs to be sung
As the forgotten wait to be remembered.
Is there meaning in the words I write,
Or is it all for naught,
As I sit here and sing along for those who wait
In the world of water gone?
In the way of thoughts I sing my way
to the world of breaking day
and give the gift of thinking there,
to live a life of thinking gone too fair.
If the spirits will take that world away,
I will give it form in love today
and protect the ones forgotten there.
Will I live, and do I care?
I have no wish to sing your song,
Between my lips it does not belong.
Go on and will your heart and soul
to whomever you think will control.
It matters not to me.
But leave us all to who we are,
and go on to where you wish.
I sing a song to others now,
and will sing it my pitch.
Questions of Technique
As I walk the realms of memory,
Many a question now I face,
Is it better to stand and fight?
Or let the self erase?
Do I let the liars seize the day?
Or do I get into their space?
The questions they keep coming on
And answers I have few,
But one thing I know is very clear:
There is much that is left to do.
I will not let the truth falter,
But will find another way
To stop the poisons from seeping in
And letting havoc play.
Why do the worlds keep to the colliding path
Have we not seen this before?
Why do we need to argue on
Just what is there to do?
The politics get tired,
And the plots are all in your head
Why do you need to have a target to fight,
Some faction to be led?
You say that you walk the Storms,
In this you may be true,
For Storms are what you all create,
And the Storms are what you prove.
The fires burn, the truth is lost,
And in this the battle you start is won,
For I have no wish to fight this way,
And I shall be walking on.
No arguments are left to say,
No fighting left to do.
I will stand in silence on,
And will no longer be your fuel.
With these words I do let you go,
And wish you on your way:
May the Storm that you so much serve
Carry you far away.
And be gone.
Good and Evil
Bits of My Reality