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Where It All Goes

Listen to the dregs of eternity. Follow the misting wisp. Its curtain flows out into eternal space. Walking the line between the spiritual and physical. You will find God over all. Not just the ruler, but the provider too. All life is in His hands. All belongs to Him. All connections come from Him. Look no further with your eyes, but with faith. For in that faith is a resounding chime. A reverberation that is familiar. Your spirit trembles with a resounding beacon. For it was not long ago you were home. Vitality is within your prayers. We were all home once. A place where our spirit bodies were formed, and our intelligence skyrocketed. Yet we hit a limit. One that required a new estate to move on forward, forever more. The earth was formed in Seven days, according to the time of the Lord. Our plan, the plan given to us for a inheritance was forged. Born with with physical eyes. Some green. Some blue. Even some brown. Our hands and physical form is glorious. In the image of our Heaven
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Code - What Do You See (Part 1)

Speaking Ones and Zeros Sweaty hands grips the controller. Mashing the ‘A’ and ‘B’ buttons to slash different attacks. The D-Pad is pressed left and then right. This kid is a natural. Well, a 20 something 90s child loyal to the bone to the very franchise he drooled upon as a kid. A 2D graphic tube TV turned 3D with 4k HDR resolution. Let’s not forget Ray Tracing making the reflection oozing with shivering vibrance. Shading now soft and variable. Pretty much every controller is the same now days. There are four main button, side “L” and “R”, Joysticks and a D-Pad. Every game franchise is different. Some have swords, sneaking around with capes or exploring open space. The variety of virtual space is infinite. Giving something to anyone who wants to create their reality of comfort and adventure. All that adventure, confined to a predetermine set of buttons. We feel, and we know games are thrilling. But all were doing is mashing the same buttons in different combinations. How many tim
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Details to the Journey

This life has many, many details. Details that can break a iron grip. Firm grips lose focus when the tiny fireflies turn violent red or deadish black, purple. We can walk the road out of our kingdom. Just for a bit. Then return to find corruption layered all over the streets. Life once had assurances that wasted away at the right age. Mountains in the distance shimmers no glint. No haze. No snow. The sun becomes the doom that scorches the earth. Flexing muscles, forcing a grin, we enter the muck. Reaping tools to restore order. To make those beliefs not for naught. Bringing the broken seams together, but the line still remains. It is not what it used to be. Seams keep on ripping. We keep repairing. Eventually the length of the dang thing is too small to be worth the trouble. Wandering begins. Seeking a new place. A place of promise where we can adopt a new life. Something worth the time. Details are raw now. The wind becomes foreign. People smiles are suspect. Calling voices preaching
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Going Below to Find the Up

Too often our actions to prevent or erase is the festering problem. We see the terror inside the skin, the lack of judgement or the lack of resolve. Helpless at the incoming jailer sealing the barrier within. This type of challenge causes sickening feelings. Insides tighten because the problem is often months, even years in the fighting. However at the end of all the years struggling, most often than not, we realize that the solution was always simple, and very beautiful to the eyes. There are some people who should avoid water slides. They slip down the dark tunnel, tilting right and rushing down. Feet smash into the glass of water feeling bubbles race up their legs. Instead of popping their heads up and smiling, they begin failing their arms up in open air. When the mind is disoriented, air will seem like water. Life seems to about to end. However those swimmer moments typically have happy endings. The life guard blows their whistle and steadies the awareness of the swimmer. Embarras
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Hands

Hands That Make From the heart, energy rips though the veins down the major lines connecting the arms. Pure intent racing with every beat. A tender finger the first contact of the mind. Nerves spring forth sending messages up and down wrapping the moment whole together. Tender, yet firm motion. A man writing words made to be sweet. Thoughts and imaginations forever written in 1s and 0s.  Down the weathered router, lines connecting to the wider world sending a glimpse of a man. A man with a personal vision, and a warm heart that sees the glowing streaks of sunrise. Major districts of computers receive the signals. Storing truth into nonsense encryption to be made sense with every request. Written stories stored side by side with virtual powerhouses. Among the trillions of virtual homes vying for attention. Glass shops made of pure thoughts selling wares both new and old. Trendy futures begging to be treasured. A hopeful fire ready to spark, and capture the scene as the old one dies down
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Age of Clay

The clay that rubs between fingers has a smooth, malleable consistency. It varies from recipe to recipe from the designers who drive it. Hands grabs handfuls mixing it with water loosening the separation and tightening the order.   Intelligent hands begin shaping. I am both the clay and the hands. A duo of both being shaped and the shaper. I live in a age of clay shaping as I please swimming among the sea of many voices. The age of clay is both wondrous and terrible. Infinite possibility with the power to shape. Shape the very lives we live. Keeping to our mantras as long as they don’t terrorize and bring our hearts low with burden. So many eyes, so many cries of power. A terrible lion among the silhouettes whom prowls the land of shadows. The lion hot with the ticking time. Shadows angry, drunk with rage. The land is swept by the standing wave of a traitor. Cries and more shadows pour in bringing the flames up to white tongues of fire. Shadows dance between flames as the clay bakes ha
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City Within Cities - Part 1

The clouds sway above breathing gently on the city. The whole world seems to tilt upwards as the rain falls down. He breathes in deeply trying to enjoy the tilt in perspective. Metal grabs at the ground piercing the concrete letting the city feel its structure and glass. The old man winces. A drop pelts his eyelid. This whole city was raised up by powerful men and women. He could feel it deeply as if he was a mother tree. Streets and buildings curled like roots bringing up vital characteristics, and the people were like swaying leaves upon a humid windfall. Everything is strong, interconnected and above all else loud. A car races by slapping the wind in the rumble cloud of engine. Bass booms in the backseat of the car giving everyone around a dose of heart beat. Whoever went by was probably trying to forget work. A couple walked in silence, mature in their companionship but loud with the grace of their steps. Feathers rustle dashing the gray atmosphere with colors of orange and purple.
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