I Grieve 1

Female alto voice, violins, harp, techno, pulsing beats, layered vocals, flute, oboe

V5.5

I grieve, you grieve, we grieve.
I Grieve

Change through celebration is joy, change through fracture is arduous, filled with stress, and unwelcome in the way of the Red Thread. Snipped, cut too early, and the weave is simply holely, an incomplete remnant of.
What is beneath often rises up, like a seed bearing forth
a blossom in the future, and we celebrate the anticipation of what will become the fruition of the Garden, as it awakens us always to a course.
When the cloth of coarse is thrown over, then as quickly as possible we stop in our tracks and remove the incomplete structure it tries to build, and make from it the compost it is, into a fodder that feeds the Garden.
The world grieves the loss of any one thing, any one person lost in the nature of Un, the reverse of Nu. To unbuild, to undo, to uncreate is to unstep, which is far different than misstep.
The world is in a state of grieving, and has been for millennia, and the Un it thrives on is its make up. The Un it, or unit is a mark that carries with it the singular mark of unmarking.
Creating is the positive motion of freedom and compassion, and that only comes from the ease and comfort of Love and Well-Being. Spoken from nearly said the apocalyptic language tries to muse us into the future.
Once said, tries to motion us into unset. The volume of courage needed to ride on the back of the Mare of 2026 takes a volume of courage, illumination, gratefulness, recognition, solitude, while adjusting at the same time the placidity of our Heart of Gold.
We connect in the thread of the fiber, we pulse ourselves to the beat inside the courage of Love. To channel compassion into the memory is what the Heart of Gold pulses through us.
We take into the words of memory a new precision that embodies strength of being there, being there for the wisdom, being there for the ocean of emotion, being there for the pistol-packed embodiment of intercession.
We are the marked, we are the made, and even in this we are the Heart of Gold. The nature’s pinpoint of forgiven. How do you locate the Heart when it falls into the submission of fear?
How do you embody the crown in a consciousness
of eternal understanding that makes the Will apart?
Holding our emotions into a Papered Awareness we fan ourselves with folded awareness, and ask for the courage
to evolve into deeper involvement.
To know the Heart of each other is to consciously own the beat, the rhythm, the intention, the resolvement that marks the future.
To pray to the Intention of I is to become the eye of the needle with the current thread, the Red Thread. There is a thrown down and a picked up, and the decision is in this time, and this way of hearing.
You hear it once, you unheard it twice, you hear it again and throw it down. You pick it up and hear it once again, and you throw it down and you pick it up, and you hear it again, until what you hear no longer throws you down, and you pick it up and you understand the I in Intent.
Speak no longer to the heard that never said, and listen more to the who of the locational right to Be. To be given, to allow, to prop up the fold down, to awake through to the village of future I am, I was, and I will Be.
Mark your nose with the finger to one side, and allow the head to tilt, so it can hear in a better curve, a more rounded position, and an intentional fold.
Wait for the knock at the door, someone old is someone new, and this is the way to begin wasting not a word to the internal decision of distraction.
Decision, distraction, division descending, through forgetting who we are and intend to be in the future, where what we have done is truly shown the way to Divine importation.
We are the recognizers, we are the Code of definition. Be the Prince, Be the princess of a kingdom that unites the Heart of Gold, with every compartment of its ticking.
Be precious to oneself and be Other’s Other, and the other’s other, and make no Other small to the Other.
Granted is the space of the alphabet, its small and large depends of the other trying to make it a navigational order to combine and sort.
Confusing, yes it is to me, because I am still like a child sitting in my bed trying to play out my day ahead. Marking and squeaking my feet to fit in the shoes that are thought required of me.
I cannot be mother, father, brother, sister, or in-between, there are not enough shoes to fill these roles, so I just sit with my colorful socks wrapped around my toes, and maybe this will find a freedom for me.
I cannot corrugate what is uncorrugateable, or conjugate what will not conjugate. We cannot take down a story we cannot unthread.
In this, my meaning is quick to wrestle with every word I speak. We cannot wrestle with the words that wrestle us down, rustle us up, or wrestle with the meaning we are, even if we barely know.
This is not a blue plate special, this is, instead, a Divine plate of immense hesitation, enormous appetite, assimilating Love in all the colors of the rainbow.

4980/7500

I grieve, you grieve, we grieve. I Grieve Change through celebration is joy, change through fracture is arduous, filled with stress, and unwelcome in the way of the Red Thread. Snipped, cut too early, and the weave is simply holely, an incomplete remnant of. What is beneath often rises up, like a seed bearing forth a blossom in the future, and we celebrate the anticipation of what will become the fruition of the Garden, as it awakens us always to a course. When the cloth of coarse is thrown over, then as quickly as possible we stop in our tracks and remove the incomplete structure it tries to build, and make from it the compost it is, into a fodder that feeds the Garden. The world grieves the loss of any one thing, any one person lost in the nature of Un, the reverse of Nu. To unbuild, to undo, to uncreate is to unstep, which is far different than misstep. The world is in a state of grieving, and has been for millennia, and the Un it thrives on is its make up. The Un it, or unit is a mark that carries with it the singular mark of unmarking. Creating is the positive motion of freedom and compassion, and that only comes from the ease and comfort of Love and Well-Being. Spoken from nearly said the apocalyptic language tries to muse us into the future. Once said, tries to motion us into unset. The volume of courage needed to ride on the back of the Mare of 2026 takes a volume of courage, illumination, gratefulness, recognition, solitude, while adjusting at the same time the placidity of our Heart of Gold. We connect in the thread of the fiber, we pulse ourselves to the beat inside the courage of Love. To channel compassion into the memory is what the Heart of Gold pulses through us. We take into the words of memory a new precision that embodies strength of being there, being there for the wisdom, being there for the ocean of emotion, being there for the pistol-packed embodiment of intercession. We are the marked, we are the made, and even in this we are the Heart of Gold. The nature’s pinpoint of forgiven. How do you locate the Heart when it falls into the submission of fear? How do you embody the crown in a consciousness of eternal understanding that makes the Will apart? Holding our emotions into a Papered Awareness we fan ourselves with folded awareness, and ask for the courage to evolve into deeper involvement. To know the Heart of each other is to consciously own the beat, the rhythm, the intention, the resolvement that marks the future. To pray to the Intention of I is to become the eye of the needle with the current thread, the Red Thread. There is a thrown down and a picked up, and the decision is in this time, and this way of hearing. You hear it once, you unheard it twice, you hear it again and throw it down. You pick it up and hear it once again, and you throw it down and you pick it up, and you hear it again, until what you hear no longer throws you down, and you pick it up and you understand the I in Intent. Speak no longer to the heard that never said, and listen more to the who of the locational right to Be. To be given, to allow, to prop up the fold down, to awake through to the village of future I am, I was, and I will Be. Mark your nose with the finger to one side, and allow the head to tilt, so it can hear in a better curve, a more rounded position, and an intentional fold. Wait for the knock at the door, someone old is someone new, and this is the way to begin wasting not a word to the internal decision of distraction. Decision, distraction, division descending, through forgetting who we are and intend to be in the future, where what we have done is truly shown the way to Divine importation. We are the recognizers, we are the Code of definition. Be the Prince, Be the princess of a kingdom that unites the Heart of Gold, with every compartment of its ticking. Be precious to oneself and be Other’s Other, and the other’s other, and make no Other small to the Other. Granted is the space of the alphabet, its small and large depends of the other trying to make it a navigational order to combine and sort. Confusing, yes it is to me, because I am still like a child sitting in my bed trying to play out my day ahead. Marking and squeaking my feet to fit in the shoes that are thought required of me. I cannot be mother, father, brother, sister, or in-between, there are not enough shoes to fill these roles, so I just sit with my colorful socks wrapped around my toes, and maybe this will find a freedom for me. I cannot corrugate what is uncorrugateable, or conjugate what will not conjugate. We cannot take down a story we cannot unthread. In this, my meaning is quick to wrestle with every word I speak. We cannot wrestle with the words that wrestle us down, rustle us up, or wrestle with the meaning we are, even if we barely know. This is not a blue plate special, this is, instead, a Divine plate of immense hesitation, enormous appetite, assimilating Love in all the colors of the rainbow.

0/500