belief & hope

Good Evening Friends.  Here we are again, it hasn't been that long really, only two weeks as opposed to a real hiatus.  I prefer to call it a sabbatical because the word itself conjures something much closer to what I do offline.  I'm not sweetening it, actually sweet is too weak a word when you live in the continuous state of Present Shock where every twenty-four hour cycle is Halloween combined with April's Fool's Day.  The changes just keep coming, never think anything is static. Anything.  The energy fields have been bent to ramp it up. This week's watchword is BELIEVE. 

Last night, directly on the heels of our past few weeks into the fall semester, during which we were inundated, drip fed, rudely awakened from our physically and mentally restorative safe havens of creative vesselship, we were taught, in black and white, beyond all shadow of doubt, how foolish and irresponsible are the designers of spaceman hazmat suits, medical caregivers, mass transportation screeners and military scribes when it comes to pandemic preparedness.  Kinda like if western medical personnel and those just following orders have turned into the Malaysian Airlines copywriting staff for this one.  Why are we supposed to think that? 
I'd like to know what the military thinks it can accomplish by exposing its forces to Ebola, which brings me to Dublin Mick's bombshell post where he quotes Jim Stone on the massive wolf cry of Ebola.  I read it last night and noted the conversation in the comments on my previous post are quickly turning in that direction and feel probably a lot like everyone else which is:
I don't know what to believe. 

Only Jah know what going down.
Of course, I've been over it again and again and unfortunately we have some precedents for this kind of thing, enough so the boy who cries wolf appears to be typical of perhaps, a whining toddler trying to get
his/her way.  But we don't really know, do we.  There is a progressive negative aftermath to all that we've witnessed on our devices.  And for everything we've been thrown, really, there is no other way to think about it.  but still ... hope and belief come creepin' round.  run...

Things come across the internet that intend to produce an effect.  Through this medium, we are taught and shown examples of what is good and what is bad, regardless that these "things" are very often contradictory. 

Perhaps we need to stop believing in belief.  There is only one thing we can be sure of and that is ourselves, but even personal faith is sometimes unreliable.  When it is unreliable to us, we seek opinions from those we "believe" to be wiser than ourselves.   In Present Shock, this crazy, ruthless, over-intense, mind and body destroying avalanche of information can debilitate even the most trusted of our vanishing advisers. 

Because Hope is belief's accomplice.  Together, they are old habits of cowardice in concentration.  Delusional U-turns on a circular beltway.
We need neither to survive.  We never did and still don't.  I shouldn't have to point that out.

Real fact is helpful where you can find it.  Connected to our devices, the device on which you are reading this text, there is unfortunately little, perhaps none, to be found.  Thus, the marketing, development and continuous upgrading of these devices becomes the only way to manage seven billion hopeful believers while the planet is shredded into a million, quadrillion, tiny pieces. 

Erin and Esteban asked me to include some words for our late poet, neil's book, currently in process.  I believe, but do not know for a fact, it is an anthology of his poetry gathered over several years from the many jewels he scattered widely across the blogs.  A number of readers of this blog were equally as fond of him as I was and very likely have something to say as well.  If you would like to add your own expression to mine, we can send it together to Erin and Est.  My email address is in my profile, just scroll down on the right sidebar.

Bags of Love par avion  

neil sent them to me
they arrived by Fedex
at my doorstep
like foil wrapped bon bons
and long stemmed roses
from half a world away
from neil's world of struggle
and loneliness
and rejection, frustration,
local women were a problem
none could be relied upon
to say what they really felt
until it was over

He longed for honesty
because he could never be anything but.

so we gave him honesty in turn
although it was known to be displayed
across the globe
anyway, that wasn't even an afterthought
his honesty
so golden, blush and bird's egg blue
speckled with starlight and moonbeams
an honesty that could save mankind

they say such purity doesn't exist
It existed/exists
we were there, in the right place at the right time
to witness and participate
and take it to our heart of hearts

neil is/was my heartbroken
little boy of Dickens come to life
navigating narrow cobblestone streets
thick with Prufrock sawdust and
yellow fog
in a cap and tattered knickers facing
life out of his chippy's tattered van
homeless it was almost as if
there was nowhere to just be
sometimes his chips were down

And then, a gathering renaissance
rainbows beamed Monet gardens spilt over
into lapis lazuli rivers reflecting moonbeams
his vision clear, his darkness spent
his pastures' promise in the air
everywhere I looked
his writings on the wall
here, here and there and there
positive acknowledgements
arranging the love gathering towards
an indefinite purpose
some sweet finite destination
lay close at hand

And now of course we know

***

In reflection of the spirit
living inside my Dickens Goodheart
in this mortal world of mortal adversaries
in this bleeding, unnatural, world of universal mayhem
and deceit
neil chose a better place
his soul so clean uncompromising
unblemished
rerouted to the higher plane
all karma paid.

peace...