Led by Fleece Collars to the Slaughter

Viewpoints to ponder

I.

Everyone’s born with the same circuits right? Everybody’s got the same...internal wiring..the pieces all arranged and packed so neatly. They’re here for us to touch, right here, behind the eyelids.  All we need do is scrunch the bunch up tightly and we would see the promise land.  Then again, most cannot see. Blink and miss it but her eye was darting all over. It cripples and stings but we do tasks all the same..makes me ask about who’s really pulling the levers.   Unknown in this pre-ordained world of plastic cityskapes and dangling press workers. We can know the truth, plain as day, clear as water, holier than bread and all that is. Corruption in our rivers. The salt of death that lines our teeth. The broken backs and shackled knees of these people led by shepherds to the slaughter. Through corridors they stumbled, stone walkways darkened by the shade of lampposts one before the others. Led in due course to the feed room when there they stayed in pitch for years. A cry heard there and there did each sheep hear. In here no one knew a sheep that remembered seeing the lights on. Stiffly, broken into fragments they ate and fattened up, and the farm hand smiled a big cheesy grin with a little fang that pricked the inside. He tugged at their bellies and jumped for joy to see the hope was fading. Hand up and over, thrusting thousands over the rigid metal gate before them.  What lay below, none could tell. They reached the end, staring down as they scampered towards the edge of a cliff, hunched over the wounded vagabond in mourning.  The Shepherd and the Farm Hand joined hands in killing plainly.  They sifted through the bodies possessed by bloody shrieking demons- sending screams into the pit of blades beneath the verdant crest. 

II.

The point being nobody knows why we’re here or what we’re doing, but we’re doing an awful lot of things over and over again.  At a point the question comes to a head and thrusts itself forthright into the minds of every person in one form or another- how many cups of coffee will make me grounded in the life they’ve made for me?  How many bags of chips and trips to the shopping mall will make me real again?  The answer is hard to swallow because it is so definite, and echoes in the chambers of our minds until the end of our time has come to pass.  None.  There is no amount of living in this world of plastic, jewelries, handbags, video players, drive-thru windows and television binging that will bring you towards the light of eternal blessing.  Only the mind can come to live inside the tesseract of its own understanding, and liberate the self from the confines of the words that we’ve been given.  The context is not our own, the history is not our own, and furthermore is not true by most standards- someone wrote those textbooks didn’t they?  And who might that be?  It’s pretty clear to see there’s some agenda-setting going on, and you can rest assured that you were not a part of the conversation!  Forget not the travesties suffered at the hands of prophetized figureheads like Christopher Columbus; a man whose wickedness set the tone for mass enslavement, rape, and death. There seem to be some people out there set on this notion of subjugation- they want to control it all.  Not only trees, animals, resources, but baby hands and feet..the wombs that carry these as well.  You are the authority on all that you create within your sensory perceptions- the universe that is at once inside of you and cannot be detached from spaces outside as well.  Outside and inside- up and down- alive and dead- the essential everything that presides within the stuff of all that is.  Stuff cannot describe...because description comes so often with a desire to control and want for ownership.  It is. You are.  This is.  These moments.  Just moving.  Momentum,  Subtraction. Reduction. Balance. The Growth. Increasing. Redemption.  You’re meant to be here, to understand what you do and to find truth.  The real truth- keep searching where the others have lost their way.  Fall through the bushels and thorns and sprint through traffic from beast to man to thought wave. Find in yourself now the peace to tell your soul the truth - go time for all and still we must sit where we are at times...recognition of our piece in the puzzle.  History tells us we are just a face.  History tells us we are just a pebble unmoved...yet one kick of the pebble and what have you now?  Utter rebirth of what was, and the possibility that new will continue.  Be the sword of your agency.  Choose to peer deeply into the waters of your imagination, and pluck from there the celestial entity that awaits for us where no thing can corrupt it. We move we move.  They tell us stress and break us down to morsels.  They cannot stand that time is tested.  They cannot stand that winds will change.  They cannot see with eyes unsmothered that the cosmos squeezes droplets from the lashes. All that sweat and toil. The machines may know finally Nirvana, how to treat the things that are no longer necessary.  For now we are the headskins that mold over and yellow fangs we like to polish.  Who’s to say what will be tomorrow..yet we race forward fixed to scramble for the reawakening.  So it should be.  So it is, and nothing will stop it.  Everything will end with new beginnings and then the time STOPS.  The ocean of stardust exchanging energy in commerce- language we’ve come close to understand.  She is all a great big mind of things, pushes once again towards worlds unsullied.  Fear- no place to hide. Instead we’ll make a new age of unity with chaos, harnessing the waves of cyclones runs amok inside the fabric. We’ll find it soon as well. Unleash your loads to carry, the planet body light emissions will blind until we cry inside them.  Your tears will be rebirths and rivers towards the life that’s only colors. Splash them all into the pot and drain them on your dripping body. Then laugh and sing those words that no one told you.  Lastly open eyes inside your mind and start to living. We’re all beside you when it melts down into lovely puddles of estrangement.