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Remember— oh brothers and sisters
that we are the philosophers of our time.
Us haggard poets of principle and measure,
no matter the plight must rise.
Through tears of understanding
with honest eyes do I
accept thy pleasure’s burden—
to see within our time.
One commonality I’ve noticed
Is that, people love to tell others
Not to subscribe to another’s bullshit
But watch, and listen to their own.
Another commonality I’ve noticed
Is that, these same people
No matter how delusional
Will acquire followers like sheep to a Shepard.
And they do it warmly, and with a smile.
And they’ll agree with you entirely.
They’ll make you feel safe.
They’ll tell you what to see and how to see it,
Treating you like their own personal parlor trick.
Their greatest illusion will be their acceptance.
While the bullshit they feed
In return for a profit—they’ll make themselves
The prophet—which they need to feel sound.
One commonality I’ve noticed
Is that, people who can’t be alone
Will do everything it takes not to be alone
Even when that means taking you with them.
They will win your will, with or without your consent.
They will make it feel like your own choice
To gain your trust, and dissolve you of fear.
Though fear isn’t always a negative—
Often it’s a tell tale sign—so
These commonalties I’ve noticed
Are geared to my liking, but at least
I’ve got the peasants fortune to tell you
That, prophets for profit will always be cunning.
And though wolves wear many clothes,
So do Shepards.
Beautiful music plays
while I remember—the worst—
most beautiful days.
I would rather be
a poor man
with a rich soul,
than a rich man
with a poor heart.
Whatever you decide, do it without the need for validation.
To seek validity is but a farce. It’s like aiming to make a splash in a rain puddle.
A child learns early on whether they care to admit it or not, that their choice is theirs and theirs alone. Nobody really cares more than it takes them to realize, eventually with age, that nobody really cares.
Sure, a mother cares deeply, but only as far as it interrupts her well being.
A father can break his back many times, but only as many times as it serves his cause.
Progression doesn’t come from an audience. Progression comes from within.
Progression comes from love, awareness, and nurture.
And although social media tells a different story from reality, we seek it, crave it, we often need it, but do we really?
Perhaps the greatest lesson we can learn from posting our day to day lives, morality, and hardships is that we are all equally as alone as we are the same—myself included.
Not too long ago, there was a time, it seemed, the world was much larger than we could ever imagine.
Driving cross country felt then like an achievement whereas now—after doing it more than a dozen times—it feels more like a routine I’d rather not admit.
Mostly it’s this that scares me.
Desensitization. It’s this that makes me wonder.
What’s the point?
The point is to treat yourself with the same dignity you would a stranger—a child.
The point is to look beyond life’s blessings, with eyes wide shut, and understand that all will be regardless of whatever validation you seek.
We can learn this by simply looking at a flower bloom. We can understand this by accepting that although, it may seem, the flower dies, another will take its place, as equally and wholly as beautiful as its former.
So whatever you decide, decide knowing, you aren’t as separate as you feel—we are all one.
If you’re not sure
then pause, wait
and listen to the sounds
of conscious—nothing—ness.
The only road block
between yourself
and happiness,
is you.
Just be honest and allow the rest to follow.
Children are very important, more in tune
than our fragile adult minds are willing to admit,
because kids know what’s important
and they’ll tell you to your face,
though it’s hard to hear them
with all the nonsense man’s created
to convince the world
he ain’t so little anymore, knowing the truth
once he’s willing to truly listen.
When I was a kid—after bedtime—as quietly as I could, I would crawl from my bed, onto the floor, then elbow and knee my way down the hallway to lay in the doorway of my brothers room to watch his television.
He’s four years older than I am and, well, I thought he was really cool.
One, for having a TV in his bedroom. And two, for probably knowing I was there but not saying anything.
Whatever he was watching didn’t really make a difference but it was comfortable there, on the carpet, with the blue light flashing.
A dark bedroom can be pretty scary to a child, especially during a thunderstorm.
Now that we’re older, we speak when it is necessary, but not all the time.
Probably less than either of us cares to admit.
He’s a busy working husband and parent while I’m pretty much all over the map.
Though when we do talk, it’s a meaningful talk of mutual reflection. He provides me with information from four years down the line and I remind him that I’m listening by offering whatever small insights are on my mind.
I thought he was great then and I still do now. No matter the distance the bond between two brothers is strong and unwavering.
Basically what I am saying is I look forward to the next time we’re able to watch a little TV, crack a couple jokes, and just hang out—without any pressure—even if it means the carpet or floor, that’ll be enough.
