Non-Fiction
True Stories of Our Real World, Real Stories of Our True World

Every Day Acts of Peace

Over 100 Million visitors world-wide
in over 204 Nations and Territories
Google translation in over 103 languages

Friday, September 17, 2010

Los Angeles 2010: Remember Us Kindly

Every once in a while a smell reminds me of death.
It might be incense, coal, kerosene, firewood burning.
With smell travels images of dead, dying, 
renunciation and everlasting resuscitation.

Every second within one minute a sight reminds me of birth.
Sometimes it is trees sprouting new leaves, 
flowers budding, beach waves crashing.
With sight voyage images of conception, 
birth, growth and infinite evolution.

Every day in a month a sound reminds me of life.
Most times it is birdsong, rainbows, comet trails, 
setting suns, moon rises dawning.
With sound journey images of impermanence, chaos, 
peace and eternal spontaneity.

Every month in a year a taste reminds me of existence.
Usually it is sweet, spicy, sour, metallic air, salty water –
with taste ride images of the lure of age, 
the love of old, the old love of the new,
reconciliation rejuvenating my regeneration.

Once in a blue moon 
within myself I touch a part of me
that reminds me of time without end.
Often it is still, poetic, musical, beautiful, 
loving, accepting, restorative bliss.
With touch move images 
of the sacred-geometrical proportions 
of our aboriginal origins.

I often have reoccurring memories 
of a man being beaten to death as a crowd watches.
Survival of the fittest, 
our preservationist anger 
slow-motion-projected into our future.
Our offering to our present and future children, 
the impact of our warring generation.
A heartfelt footprint, 
an endearing bequest, 
a cultural endowment of our civilizing arts.

I am gifted occasional images 
of an old woman in Vietnam 
spitting and cursing me -
children in China 
stalking me, throwing stones, 
laughing and pointing at me.
We are so busy 
safeguarding our high immoral ground,
and defending our wavering ethics,
we may be remembered 
not as conservationists of our environmental sustainability,
but as defenders of our ability to sustain 
destruction of the moral fiber of our humanity.

I remember when we were stellar bodies 
circumventing the outer reaches of our galaxies.
We still are relentless falling stars 
blazing a trail 
across the dreaming sky 
of our heavens.
We sit centre chair 
in the theatre 
of eternal souls 
courting an audience 
with the council 
for answers,
while we hold space 
on the astral 
for our nightmares 
of karmic retribution.
We need to dance 
the ghost dance 
to resurrect 
the wisdom power 
of our reincarnated ancestry.

Every so often 
I remind myself 
that we are all here temporality.
We are accelerated 
time-lapse photogenic profiles 
of extraordinary lives 
with notable personality –
so what ... 
if this life adds up to 
a few years, months, weeks, days and minutes –
it is within the moments 
that second chances 
worth the while are gathering.
I am reconnoitering 
the proximity of reconciliation 
with my true Self’s imminent possibilities.

I once heard a musician 
reprising an ancient song praising our honor,
singing a morning worship song 
for the mourned and the mourning –
candles were lit 
to respect the many brilliant minds burnt out, 
and those minds still burning brightly.
Trails of tears were cried 
to wash away fears -
historical reservations buried deeply alive 
within the hearts of many.
I once felt sages 
throughout the ages 
whisper warnings of sweet nothings, 
“Be. 
Be still. 
Remember us kindly.”
I remind myself every so often - 
be, be still, 
remember my Self kindly.

~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
James Dillet Freeman wrote;

Listen to life, 
and you will hear the voice of life crying, 
Be!”