ST8 ... The world's a mystery

governed by a bunch of fools....dying

Some think it's all over and others believe it has just begun. You may be right or you may be wrong, but more than likely, shades of both. The world is delicately balanced upon the earth like tattooed cartooned imagination is upon living leather. No telling what it’s all about or where it’s heading or how it may fade into whatever. The world's a mystery governed by a bunch of fools, psychopaths, a religious science where monies rule. Say the wrong thing and end up in a hard labour isolation den till death separates you; it's all so cruel, old school; fools rule.

world as mystery

In the fields of amber light and forests of falling leaves i imagined i was conscious in some sort of ecstasy. I travelled about free of thought and found a place where i could rest in the sacred silence of a hidden cove. I noticed beauty sitting simple upon the wavy air streaming across the field from a knoll of pine woods. I sat there for awhile until my heart grew heavy and left, light and ready, intimately for another side of serenity. There, you came into my mind like a feather floating across the beauty of life and landed in my warm and open heart for a minute or two. I can't remember how much i loved you there in your purple atmosphere and lovely breath, but you held my soul in your hands to your breast and kissed my pain away for some form of eternity.

towards eternity

I awoke back in the deep dark and troubled streets of the world with the wrecked hearts and crippled minds and watched as things faded into the darkness of this autumn night. Things will come and go and this world will crawl across the tar of progress with or without this mind in time. I walked away, back into the forest and smothered myself in the beauty until the day broke across the plains and i sat there and contemplated.

In the ruins of the last battles the few that managed to stay hid did and flew into safe ground to begin again when the spring arose as it once did and life again twisted its way back into the high lands. For centuries the fall-out remained within the cells of everything; evil dies slow.

in the highlands

"What inspired you to write that", i asked.

"I didn't, this was my new AI Writer's App" answered my daughter Sierra, with a grin. "i set the perimeters; prose(verse), futuristic, short and in the style of WeyWord Times and let it rip and it did, this.

'What's this world coming too', i thought, rather distraught and continued hurrying about in the chaos of the morning kitchen. 'This whole world has gone mad, insane', thinking to myself and watching Sierra step outside straight into the day of post modern times, happy, owning nothing but the trans-love bubbling out of her heart.

I scratched my head to the bone, slipped on my coat, joined in on the world and blended into the minds like a thorn, looking ahead backwards.

mirrors (the way out is in)

The rest of the week moved along like a train full of long hallways, long tubes, hollow sounds spreading around in the clear air. I wandered past a truck load of headlines and literal lies moving towards the heart of the machine. Kept walking found some interesting love seeping out thru the cracks down along the walkways of success. I live in a state of total unpreparedness cept for the automatic response mechanisms that erupt into crazy gestures and unlikely attitudes that are mostly meaningless and absurd but interesting and sometimes dangerous.

I step between the free, news literature and the sounds of silence, the bad silence and all their definite conclusions about things. The world is in turmoil and we still have not figured out why we are here and i suppose that as everything else will remain a mystery. It is better that way. Love can escape unnoticed enticed by the truth for moments of rest. It needs that time in this chaos where aggression is really just begging for some pure soil for growth and death. 

I can't complain, the day is this most wonderful autumn Friday afternoon with the sun-king soft and warm and her brisk air that falls down thru the wet crevices from the rising mountains. I love it here, this mountain life in the highlands, the forgiving woods and streams of sensitive waters, the invisible spirit of the silence, the love that vibrates occasionally inside my bones; sends shivers across the globe.

This world is with me all the time. I can see the pressure that the mind upholds for a space that doesn't make sense any longer and i suppose never did.

As all of us trapped within our thoughts, we make it up as we move along. That is the nature of the mind. I suppose we will get to a point where we all realize the limitations of thought and all of its thinking and will become a class mind of investigators, no need for aggression, just another point of view, one to pursue or disregard. Not in my life time. And i'm not coming back. That is final. 

the mechanics of thought

The cables of information streaming in on the popular lines is overwhelming, unimaginable from just a few years behind. The sheer amount of information embedding itself in the memory coves of the collective mind is enormous. Somewhere along the trail many will explode, go mad, become psychotic. The few creating a more lasting change are imploding with this information into quantum packets of energy moving about the ether free within the chains of change. Great movements of consciousness are melting into the natural nature of things. The saturation realm is overflowing with this love that can't be reversed, the purification is filling up the minds of man. All one needs to do is to do nothing. The pure spirit of the great spirit is beating its way into the hearts of the worthy. The meek, the humble, the down trodden, the kind will be the first to flow along this path. We are not in control, money power will rot in the ruins of the heartless. Decisions will place you in the light or shades of darkness will enrapture your soul, it is up to you, that's just the way it is.

All the way thru the night i could feel the tingle of truth upon my skin, the itch of love just beneath the surface. I attempted scripture, doctrine, praising from a pulpit, screaming from the streets of hell, flirting with the angels above but nothing worked as well as doing nothing, being still, listening, laying down all procedures, surrendering to the unknown, the mystery within and without it all.

Out into the morning light, i waited patiently in the beauty flowing across the misty lowlands, watched as dreams faded into the clear atmosphere and felt that presence within, that indescribable ever presence of beauty flying with love as wings and truth as eyes into the eternal distance between everything.

Time will cover the tombs with minutes of grief and hours of literature before the shadows of creation will change things, forever. The new world is beginning now, orders from above.

watching change form

WeyWord Times / Writing and Images by Patrick Wey

Support My Work …. Image Sales Here