The unfolding, p.1
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       The Unfolding, p.1

          
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The Unfolding
Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

  (in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)

  Copyright (©) 2017 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

  Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

  Chilliwack, B.C. Canada

  Cover pictures: Top, Marius Kraemer

  Bottom, James Robertson

  All pictures found on FreeImages.com

  Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

  I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.

  Contents

  Foreword

  A Trail Of Vermillion Blood

  Alone

  Compassion

  Essence Of Love

  Falling In Love

  Fisherman's Friend

  Gaia

  Homeless

  Look Upon...

  The Majority Is Always Wrong

  Memories

  Dear Miss Liberty

  My Quest

  Naturist

  Of Tragedies And Horrors

  Overweight And Hungry

  Plodding The Mindless Maze

  Poisoned Earth

  Precocious Passion Passed (A Lament)

  Primordial Passion

  Priorities

  Profit

  Renewal

  Responsibility

  Return To Paradise

  Reverence

  Rich Text

  Roads That Go Nowhere

  Roots Of Love: Passion

  Sacred Dance

  Sadness

  Seasons

  Shadow Beings

  Soldiers Or Murderers

  South Side Innocence

  Stranded

  Stress

  Stupidity

  Summer Skies

  Surprised By Joy

  The After Life

  The Big Bang Theory

  The Dispossessed

  The End of Humanity

  The Eternal Dream

  The Fools Tax

  The Forgotten Ones

  The Future Of The Hunt

  The Ghost

  The Healing Room Of The Heart

  The Village Idiot Box

  The Immune System

  The Last Train Out

  The Military

  Early Morning

  Empty Hands

  Fields Of Dreams

  To Change The World

  The Unfolding

  To The End Of The Universe

  To Vote Or Not To...

  Tv Ads

  Visions

  Grace

  The Woman In The Park

  Evening

  Chaos

  Angel Anger

  A Life Is Freed

  Before the Owl Calls my Name

  Foreword

  These books contain a form of free verse poetry, opinions based on observation, and some humour and imagination, engaging the heart as well as the mind. A critical look at many current issues intriguing and plaguing man. Spirituality, interaction with nature and environment, social changes, dwindling resources. Well worn issues now, indeed. But the poetry and other works in these books gives this subject a different perspective. I daresay that here we can find a "higher" vantage point from which to look at ourselves within the cosmos.

  Who knows but some of the ideas in the books may get you inspired to do that thing you always wanted to do, even if this comes in a very small way, to make your corner of this world a better place to be in. Who knows but you may realize your little corner is a really nice place to be in after all.

  It's all about life, if at times expressing life "outside the box" as the saying goes.

  A Trail Of Vermillion Blood

  There's a trail of vermillion blood

  freshly painted in the sand - and

  for a brief moment the wind holds -

  still, silent, perhaps in awed recognition

  of a billionth blood-bathed sacrifice

  by some nobody of no consequence

  needed by the map-makers

  to draw a thin red line of destiny

  in the desert map of man's desire.

  Anyone can follow the map now:

  follow the red lines of history: roads

  have grown, following man's desires

  long after the leaves fell from spectral trees

  under sand where nothing grows

  since the beginning of time.

  The very first red road you recall,

  they named Abel: it led to the land of Nod.

  It was there they built forges for tools

  and cities made of taller buildings

  for lives trapped by shorter years.

  There are so many red lines now,

  criss-crossing each other, confusion in time,

  not by the substance used:

  the blood is as real as ever, of course,

  but by its corrupting weight:

  the map sags, bowed to ripping.

  Have you ever bent down and listened,

  ear to the surface of the painted desert,

  there, in infamy, heard the death-rattle

  of man's billionth child sacrifice?

  Another thin red line worms its way

  a hundred ways from the back country

  to where they continue to build the ever-taller city,

  firing the forges churning out weapons

  programmed to seek and destroy the sacred;

  to blacken the skies and hide the stars:

  the stars must be hidden - their light

  too often troubles man's dreams

  with imaginings of possible change: that's

  a no-no. The culprit (there is always one)

  will be punished. (Of course, is there another way?)

  It isn't man's fault, any of this you see,

  for he was told long, long ago

  that maps were essential to life

  and the most important highways

  to be drawn in bold red lines - for thus the Lord

  would find his way when he returned.

  Thus would he know of man's faithfulness

  and payback time it would be

  for those who failed to draw out and pour

  the stranger's blood upon the holy sand.

  Oh,

  let us prey,

  for the Lord draweth nigh.

  Would we have Him find us idle?

  Bring the blasphemer, the holy sacrifice!

  Alone

  Alone, of necessity,

  for who could understand

  know,

  the mind of the seeker?

  Only the seeker.

  The park is still green

  and the wind rustles the leaves

  in the afternoon.

  Gulls still circle the pond

  where goldfish stagnate

  and friends still sit on benches

  gossiping, wondering,

  shaking their heads

  at all this foolishness.

  Alone, of choice

  for without letting go;

  without turning from the old

  the new cannot materialize.

  The quester knows this:

  deliberately she turns her back

  on all she has received,

  all she has accomplished,

  all she has gained,

  all she thought she was

  (or could ever be).

  Closure:

  the end of a passage

  the beginning of a new.

  No one follows you

  for the eye of the needle

  is the passage of one --

  one way only --

  would strangle the unprepared.

  No return fare: no return.

  Detachment: preparation;

  Loneliness: freedom.

  Death: resurrection.

  There are no short-cuts --

  the sun must set.

  Compassion

  Walking as in a dream,

  restless of thought,

  I think of compassion:

  what does it mean to be compassionate?

  I saw these words

  in my mind:

  “Would you know compassion?

  It creates the unease of sorrow;

  opens old wounds;

  creates total confusion.

  It turns the world you know

  completely upside-down.

  It demands a change of mind

  about most things,

  especially those cherished.

  On the flip side

  it brings a lasting healing

  that is felt within.

  It gives meaning to the word "Peace"

  and at the end of the road

  cleansed of old addictions,

  freed of old attachments,

  no longer wallowing

  in the suppressed ugliness of the world,

  it will show you the path of joy;

  yes, even more:

  it will show you the Golden Path.”

  Essence Of Love

  (Empathy)

  What is it we call “evil”?

  That which some call “wrong”

  but which is enjoyed by others?

  That which some abhor

  but others find necessary?

  God is Love, some say,

  yet a law of God demands death:

  death by stoning no less

  for a woman who gave birth

  out of wedlock

  and abandoned to her fate

  by the man she loved!

  To some, this is barbaric;

  to some, this is a necessity;

  to some, this is vindication.

  How should we see this?

  Horrible? Normal? Honourable?

  It depends on one’s point of view.

  How can we know what’s right;

  what’s wrong?

  Simple: through a sense of empathy;

  we feel what we inflict on others:

  within months; perhaps within days,

  gratuitous violence would disappear.

  Something to ponder.

  Falling In Love

  They say it's Oh! so nice to fall in love

  with one who melts your heart;

  who makes you feel desired

  and wanted in every way.

  Yes, maybe it is, Oh! so nice

  if he or she is free

  from previous engagements!

  How often I have seen this thing:

  Yes, they fall and one significant other

  is forgotten in their moment of passion

  as lust rises like a tide; ebbs just as surely

  leaving its strange but familiar stench

  in some no-wo-man's land.

  Now comes the time for reckoning:

  the lies flow easier every passing day

  until that other notices the change

  and asks: and always the same answer:

  “Why would you think such a thing?”

  But as the lies become smoother,

  the conviction is equally less.

  They always know; always find out

  and the denied pain hits as a slap in the face.

  That is the way of things.

  Humans sell each other

  to each other: for sex; for a song;

  they lie together; lie to one another

  for a promise neither can keep

  but by an untrue self: time we grew up;

  stop making silly
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