The Trackless Path

What if we worked for cost but left the profit margin to those who buy?

Rush Rush

Said the Captain,

The Son of a Captain,

Whose Father was Captain before

We drive for the

Nethermost edge of the world

Where we'll meet

The great captains of yore.

We are told

That they wait us

Were ne're a hiatus

Is known on that distant black shore.

But the devil will greet us

And slyly intreat us

With the lie

Just a little bit more.

Letting go of that which you cannot understand.

They believe that we are no threat.

And they are right.

Yet little do they know

The power of Silence 

Though immersed and surrounded by it.

They rarely notice 

And certainly, never give ear.

For there is too much to say.

Too much to do.

Too little time.

They are too busy 

Doing good

To hear.

While all the while Silence grows.

With deafening stealth.

Until…

Silence only knows.

But those who listen 

Hear…and wait.

For the end

We all suppose.

The end when noise 

Has worn itself out 

When words have had their say

When scheming, toiling, and anguish cease,

When all that’s left is deathly Silence,

That will be the day.

The day when silent 

Hearts are still.

And noise is done away.

And then break forth 

Eternal Day!

When Silence speaks

And earth bursts forth

In radiant Life

The fruit of silent

Suffering souls.

Thrice proven

Through woeful noise.

And then crying, weeping 

Covering ears,

The chattering horde

Will hide

In rocks and hills 

And corn whisky stills

With the one thing they can’t abide.

For hide as they will,

The Silence still 

Will find them there

And chase them

God only knows where,

Till Silence reigns 

From plane to plane

And peace

Be our reward

For bearing the grief

Of their unbelief

In Silence.

…

Yes, they believe that 

We are no threat…

And they are right.

An examination of the patron model and its capacity to change the way we think about personal profit for the better.

With downward eye he cries,

But not aloud.

An inward aching, fearful

Shifting from side to side.

A turning tearful glance.

To what? To where? How much?

Alone? What if? And Why?

All at once.

And then to where his soul would fly…

No place, nowhere,

No answer.

But to try.

But he’s worn out to trying

And broken to the fight.

The world is run by wits

But when wits fail, what then?

A report and a little story about abundance.

Taking a closer look at the ideas that surround the second coming of Jesus Christ. There is more there than meets the eye.

Bright lights

And applause.

And women.

And the rush of hallow fame.

It's an illusion

With nothing more to gain

Than cankerous ruin.

Yet they run after it.

Women dress their darlings

For charade

And prance them in front 

Of lecherous men

And crowds set to devour,

All for the empty acclaim

That consumes its subject 

By degrees.

And the winners 

Pay for their fleeting notoriety

With their souls 

And the sound you hear,

That great sucking sound

Is the sterilization 

Of a generation,

Their virility 

Flushed down the drain

That pours itself 

Into the putrid

Flowing sewer

That courses 

Down every street

And in and out 

Of of every house,

Each man lusting after

That which is not his own

And spewing out 

The thing that should be cherished.

And the women 

Having every man

And no man.

And all for the dream

That will not end

And leaves them empty.

For they did not understand 

That the sacred thing

Which they desired

Is and always was

Hidden.

"To your closets!" It cries.

"Hide yourself and dance

Before the dark and mystic

Thing you don't yet know.

Pour your heart and soul

Into that performance 

Which is only seen

By those not seen."

There, in the dark conceives

The cosmic and the real.

All else is smoke.

All else a dream.

Though real it seem.

And high it burns

Into the night!

Into the night!

Buuurrrn!...Buuuurrrn!

"Consume them up

And leave them dry!" 

It says.

"Then blow them out 

Upon the plain

Where their ashes

Mixed with gentle rain

Will sink into the fertile soil.

And from them 

All around will spring

The fairest flowers,

Flowers so sweet 

That little naked children's feet

Will dance among them.

And so for those 

Who think they seek

For fame,

Remember...

That the thing you really want 

You already have.

Seek it in your solitude.

And if you do,

In time,

When the mountains sink

Into the sea 

We'll praise your notoriety

As one who shunned 

The praise of men 

And thus 

In that eternal world

Gained it back again.

Examining the wealth that is held in the community of the followers of God.