The unfolding, p.1
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.
A Trail Of Vermillion Blood
Essence Of Love
Falling In Love
The Majority Is Always Wrong
Dear Miss Liberty
Of Tragedies And Horrors
Overweight And Hungry
Plodding The Mindless Maze
Precocious Passion Passed (A Lament)
Return To Paradise
Roads That Go Nowhere
Roots Of Love: Passion
Soldiers Or Murderers
South Side Innocence
Surprised By Joy
The After Life
The Big Bang Theory
The End of Humanity
The Eternal Dream
The Fools Tax
The Forgotten Ones
The Future Of The Hunt
The Healing Room Of The Heart
The Village Idiot Box
The Immune System
The Last Train Out
Fields Of Dreams
To Change The World
To The End Of The Universe
To Vote Or Not To...
The Woman In The Park
A Life Is Freed
Before the Owl Calls my Name
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.
let us prey,
for the Lord draweth nigh.
Would we have Him find us idle?
Bring the blasphemer, the holy sacrifice!
Alone, of necessity,
for who could understand
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
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).
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.
There are no short-cuts --
the sun must set.
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
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
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;
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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