There was a man, a father, a brother, an uncle, and a husband. This man when walking home one day thinking about the duties he would have to do when the threshold of his house was reached, died in the middle of the street. It wasn’t an accident, it wasn’t fate, it was however a deep lack of caring ability of another person who pulled the trigger, all because this man was different than himself. It doesn’t matter if this man was colored, poor, a worshiper of a different god, or affiliated with a different political belief. What mattered is that a human being created by the same god would kill another all for lack of understanding, compassion, or education.

There was this family, much like any other; a mom, a dad, a brother, a sister. This family you see, starved and froze during the winter months. They staved and sweated during the summer. They starved regardless of their situation for no one offered assistance. No one took head to pay attention; no one lent a helping hand. This family was like any other, parents working to make ends meet, children struggling to make the best of things. It doesn’t matter what color their skin may be, it doesn’t matter how they got here, and it doesn’t matter what language they speak. What does matter is that love has no boundaries. That there are no borders in compassion; there are not demographics in hospitality. For how is it that a people who call on a god that should be love, hate another?

I seek to find these answers yet I get no reply. I beg for clemency and no one heads the call. I wonder what fans those flames of discord against a fellow human brother that is built of the same dust and the same breath as you and I. I wish to know why that because one may be different hate is the only course of action.

I have heard of a dream once, where it didn’t matter who was who but that we would be seen not for the color of or skin but by the makeup of our character. I further that dream to that of one day destroying all borders and living free in a world that all men live together in peace. I dream of a world that all men will as John Lennon put it, live as one. I do wonder what it would be like if there was no heaven or hell below. I do wonder if there were no nations to kill or die for.  It is a dream that I see coming true. It is a reality I see taking place. It is an existence that will one day exist.

This dream has many enemies that will strive to destroy any such desires. They will burn you at the stake, crucify you to cross, hang you to a tree, beat you with batons, and deny you the freedom to think. This dream has many martyrs already, men and women that have lead the charge, men and women that have paid the ultimate price. Let not this dream die with them on that field, but let it fly and reign true in your life. Be as Gandhi once said, the change that you want the world to be. Don’t let this dream die but let it live in you.

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A Question

A simple question was once asked. It has been profound to all that have heard it. It has shaped lives and broken down kingdoms. It was just four simple words; four that haunt; four that bless. Spoken from the Master and recorded by the servants. It is a question that all must answer, It is a question that all will be judged to. “Do you love me?”

The reply was such a simple word that that have built civilizations and torn apart lives.  This simple reply was a resounding yes and with it grace seems so easy. Was it that simple? Is it that easy? A simple reply, lacking in syllables flowing from the tongue, a heartfelt emotion bursting from its seems. Was that all it took? A simple reply to appease all the anger, to ease all of the wrath.

Tears flowed as that love grew bold, a forgiveness that only a lost soul would know. “Do you love me?” in all its extremes, is all that is asked. It is one question that all men must answer, it is one choice that all must take. “Do you love me?” It is just that simple, a one word reply. Yes or no is all that is asked, leave the rest behind in their tracks. What more is there for you to do but to simply receive what can never be grasped? Freely it is given and hard to take back, out of all that is asked, a simple reply is all that it will take.

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That Day

Imagine for once a time much like our own, a place not much different than what we know of today, and work that required the same amount of sweat as it does today. Imagine yourself trying to forget the pain; the memories past. Now imagine all of your dreams crushed in an instant; humiliated in despair. Can you imagine this time? I know you can, for what was past is present again and what was old has been made new again. Time does not change over the course of history; it stays constant in its approach. Mankind has not grown nor has it become more civilized. For men are always governed by their desires.

Imagine yourself trying to hold back, wiping any glimpse of tears that would give you away. Think back to that time that all hope was lost; when what you fought for was squashed in its infancy. Now imagine yourself in the shoes of a man whose hopes, dreams, failures, and victories where all washed away in an instant.

This man went back to what he knew, found work in what he was trained, would live out his life thinking on what might have been. As you look into his eyes you would see a broken man lost in a void. It is there you would find a man that had given everything had gained nothing; a wasted time that he would never get back.

As you can see his life is not much different than some of you, his life was full of the same pain that some of you feel today and it is in his life that you can know that hell is a reality. For it is this man who though promised everything could find no hope.

This man as some may guess is known as Peter, one of the inner three. He had dropped everything to follow a teacher, a master, the Messiah. Peter was at a loss, his master, his teacher, his Messiah was dead. He had failed to usher in the Kingdom of God; he had failed to free the Jews from the tyranny of the Romans. Peter you see was lost; lost in a dream that seemed so real, a reality that was so near.

This man who so adamantly proclaimed that he would follow his master to the gates of hell; failed in his promise. He went so far to curse the man that he once called Lord. He denied his Lord three times in that fate full night; in that most pressing time of need. He left his master’s side and fled in fear; succumbed by the nature of his own will.

Setting out to recreate the life that he once knew, Peter went back to his home on the shores of a pristine lake with cool summer breezes inoculated by the cool water. Galilee was its name and Peter was intent on working through the grief, the pain, the emptiness of losing a friend that he held so dear. Peter you see was a man in dismay, seeking to find solace in routine.

It was one of those typical midsummer days were the sun would play gently with the clouds. It was one of those days that the air was filled with the scent of old ropes, the old hewed planks on boats, sweat of men earning a day’s work, and fresh baked bread from the local villas surrounding the sea. It was on this day that Peter decided to make a fresh start and with the help of his fellow friends, with whom he has spent the last three years of his life with, went fishing.

Yet it was one of those fishing trips that you spend hours under a biting sun with no luck at all. It was a strange conundrum indeed, for Peter had spent years fishing this sea, he was sure to know the prim fishing holes. He was a skilled craftsman and he teamed with the knowledge that made him a successful fisherman. But it was strange, a full day without a bite and a dreary night without a nibble; they were sure that they would catch something. With no luck and a warm summer night, Peter found himself shirtless hoping to catch a breeze or two.

It was at this time that Peter recalled the first time he saw his friend. It was along these very shores that he had dropped everything to follow a man that would revolutionize the way he perceived the world. Yet grief struck at his heart again as they pulled in the empty net, it reminded him of that night that he turned his back on his friend.

It was in this early morning right before the sun rose were there was the first light of the day just appearing on the horizon; it’s that time when the sky turns the most velvety pink mixed with the lightest shade of baby blue. It was at this hour that these friends heard a voice from the distant shore implying about their trip. Squinting in that dim light they could not recognize who it was and yet they boasted about their futile attempt in catching nothing. “Cast your nets on the right side of the boat and you will find some” was the reply, and not really loosing anything from the attempt these five friends casted their net of to the right of the boat.

In giving their net time to settle into the water fish from all direction swelled to fill its encompassing grasp. It was then as they struggled to reel in the catch that they knew something was special about that man on the shore, it was then that they realized that it was their friend. But you see Peter was caught in the moment, he saw what was in front of him; the excitement of the catch. He failed to realize just who this stranger was.

Leave it for friends to notice when a friend struggles to forget the past and look to the now, shouted out to a fervently working Peter “It is the Lord.” In hearing those words prick his ear Peter dropped what it was that he was doing, he looked in the direction of the shore, he focused his eyes on his friend, and his heart was filled with joy. Doing as any strong willed bullheaded person would do, he frantically put his shirt back on and jumped overboard.

For you see, Peter had a heavy burden on his heart; he betrayed his closest friend. He wanted to get to his friend as fast as he could to tell him he was sorry, he wanted to get to his friend so that a reconciliation could take place. It was a soaked Peter as he made it to the shore to find Jesus sitting by a warming fire. As peter stood there drying off his friends from the boat steadily made their way to shore dragging with them a net full of fish.

“Go help them Peter and bring in some fish to eat” was the nudging from Jesus. It is interesting to note that when you are at a loss, the world is at its darkest, and you have no hope that the continued work for that which you have been called will sustain you through any troubling times. Peter and the other Disciples  drug the net on to the shore to find it so loaded of fish that they knew they had seen a miracle, for the net was not broken and the catch was so large.

“Come, eat breakfast with me” Jesus exclaimed, for the fire was ready and the company was a delight. These five friends sat around the fire as Jesus served them bread cooked in a hearth full of delicate taste just potent enough to tingle the senses and fish seasoned to the right amount to inoculate the nose. It was here that these closest of the closest friends ate breakfast together. It was one of those times that you could feel the love yet wasn’t sure of what to talk about, you know those awkward long silences were you are just not sure how to break the ice.

After several minutes when these six friends had finished eating that ice was broken with a question. This question was a pain and a joy to hear at the same time. For this question only required a simple response. “Do you love me Peter” was the searing question spoken from the lips of the Lord. This was that ice breaker and what an ice breaker it was, for Peter’s mind raced with feelings form dread to excitement. How does one answer such a question after all that has happened after all that has taken place? How does a person respond when you pledged undying loyalty only to betray your closest friend? With all of these questions racing through his mind Peter could do nothing except say “yes you know that I do.”

Asked again “do you love me” Peter began to feel the sweet in his palms the blood coursing through his head. What am I supposed to say to that, how am I to respond to such an inquiry were the thoughts running through his mind. But a simple “yes Lord you know that I do” was all he could come up with. For you see he was put on the spot, these questions were not asked in private, not in some looked away room, but in front of all of his friends that knew what had happened.

Peter’s heart sank to the lowest point possible when Jesus asked once again “do you love me.” For Peter recalled on that fateful night right before the dawn that he for the third time cursed his friend and denied him in front of men. Peter recalled the pain that he felt as he heard that rooster crow and hearing the words of his friend coming true. It pained Peter to remember that night all over again. All Peter could do at this moment was to break down, all he could do was say “yes, you know all things and know that I do.”

Peter knew that he had been forgiven; he knew that his friend held no remorse; he knew that his friend loved him without measure. Peter was reconciled; he was made whole; he had gained a new understanding. He knew then what grace really was; he knew then that he could do nothing to gain it.

Peter walked away with boldness yet without power, for that day would come. It was at that time that he knew he would follow his friend wherever he led. It was then that Peter saw what it meant to love.

Love is such a funny thing you see, it requires action to show and words to express. It is a multitude of desires and a simple response. Love is what forgives the deepest of hurts and it is what heals the severest of wounds.

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Dissident thoughts remain in the spectrum of light so bent; only to feel that all is but lost on the ramparts of the pit.

Men have trodden these paths before; searching for the glorious remains of life evermore.

Ever so fleeting, a life is spent; before the quickening glimpse.

We reckon to draw near; yet fearful we rear.

In awe amusement we glance; though never seeing the chance.

A chance to see; to have a heart full with glee.

Ever so ready for the call; it binds so many before the fall.

Cling to the behalf; every love bought with a laugh.

Cries of the lost; paid for with a cost.

Knowing is all the same; for once it all came.

Salvation has come; beckoned forth with a drum.

Hark, hark, cries the meek; once more into the bleak.

Laid down and finished; a rise of relief replenished.

Homeward bound is the goal; for pain is for the soul.

Rest will be the end; all the while life, will never bend.


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The Playlist

My thoughts being the most memorable allegiances to what was were betrayed by the simple elegance of the past. Yet I refrain from the prudent nature of my self reliance. At this time, I was wondering down that long and dusty road, were every step found every rock. My steps cried in agony against the sharp pangs of those inferiors’ little rocks, their dreaded little edges laughing in a melancholy air. In my mind I winched, yet my expression stayed serene.  These roads, like many dirt roads of my day are wrought with blinding limestone against the sun. My eyes; tormented by their playful rays bouncing from one to another. In their excitement, they never perceived that they, caused me grief.

There to the right, a split rail fence separated me from the rest of the world, a mocking reminder of what has been. Above me, was the sky in its’ bluest splendor holding the softness that can only be dreamed of. Here I longed for the rest that the sky placed above me. Yet to no avail did my dreams take me there, no splendid peace did my body find.

Peeking his head around the softness of the sky. My friend, who warmed me, was given pleasure to know he gave comfort, though he never knew of the danger that he held. In his game of hide and seek his shadow would give respite just to bare his glory again. Along this dusty road we played this game of hide and seek, but to no amusement of my own. Queer-some this was, never gaining the upper hand. I grew weary from the intensity of his growing strength. Brighter and hotter the day became, the softness gleaning away.

Now the road ahead of me stretched further, every step bound in defeat. The same split rail fence nagging me on as though saying “Hmmm.” More rugged he became that sly ole fence, more snarled in the bitterness of neglect. Weathered was his future, yet there was a wisdom there, that I had not noticed before. It was a wisdom that offered assurance to the mundane, a melancholy of sorts.  No rest did he offer though, and no rest did I enjoy.

My lips cracked under that playful sun, there deep fissures opened offering up their simple treasures.  Sweat no longer giving its cherished remorse. I strived forward, each and every step a reminder.

Then unknown to me, stood a powerful tree that can only be imagined in dreams. Under his strong arms, he offered his shade. There I lay resting, in and among his bed like roots. His fallen leafs’, a pillow to my head. A stream with clear water was his drink, and he offered it to me. I soothed my feet in its’ cool streams. So there I slept.

When I awoke, another land lay before. A land of a bleak waste, not from where I came. Yet this same tree was there but in a reclusive state bare of clothing and cold in chills. It was though it would shiver in the drab gray. Its life source, dammed and dry’ it was a clogged stagnant waste. Pinching myself, I knew I was asleep.  Yet no respite donned itself to my relief.

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I struggle with the compound properties of understanding reality on different levels. These realities that guarantee hostility towards those that adhere to their principles. They are realities that call for strict participation with party lines. Those that know understand these realities; they know how conflicting they really are. They understand that to stand for one, calls for you to turn from the other.

Realities in general are vague, in existence; they are compounded in the extremities that make them real for the hearer. Yet do they really hear it at all? Do they really comprehend the existence of what each actually calls for? Are they capable of deviling into the complete livelihood that each existence requires?

Therein lays the problem that all men face! It is that choice, to die for one or live for none. This problem is the acceptance of a line of thought that changes the way one lives and relates to their fellow man. Which will you choose? Which will you die for?

Once these realities are made known, a choice is required. It is a requirement that enables action to the fullest extent. Yet, in this action, lives are changed and nations are foiled. The action that they enable can haunt dreams or mend the broken. One will provide pleasure the other pain. Which will you choose?  Which will rule the day?

Speaking as though there is the fullest of understanding, one will seek out the reality of least resistance, for it is easier to hate than it is to love. For in hate, actions are easy to come by and anger is so complimentary to the desires to withhold any sense of wellbeing to those that lay around your personal throne. It is in this vain attempt to care so much more about one self, you overlook the stench that drags you ever deeper into a misery that calls itself the kingdom of carnal man. So caught up in selfish pursuits, the poor are forgotten, the week persecuted, the naked striped of even their skin, and the hungered starved even more.

It is in this kingdom, that pleasure hides the reality of death and the putrid convalescence from decay. It is here, that men start their journey; it is here, that a choice is given; it is here, that life is created. Born of this despair and into the bleak ruins of shattered states, the lost will claw out a meager existence absent from all light. Though, as a fly to the light, so does a beleaguered soul seek out a hope. A lousy existence, walking through the mud filled decay of flesh and bones, many are at a loss to the plight of their own drudgery.

Yet stationed within this reality, lies a Kingdom, forever in a state of eternal existence and future blessings. Attainable by all, yet sought by few, this Kingdom will forever be. Governed by light, its populace seeks to light a path for those lost in this lesser kingdom. They seek to pull out its inhabitants in any from that they can. They live along side of these vagabonds of this lesser kingdom, giving all that they have so that one might be freed.

Years spent in service, though no homage was due, this Kingdom built by no man, kindly pays its respects. Suffered in violence and given to the wolves its governing authority is heckled to the brink. But forgiveness comes from the lips; piercing words to the quick. When all else failed, He was kind to remind that only with love will this kingdom be built. So its workers go out into that field, to be butchered and robbed in that world. Left to die in agonies grief, they look kindly on their enemies with cheerful glee. Never knowing the outcome they will further seek, a soul, lost without hope in their realities grip.

Governed by one, we will seek; the truest of the truth of this one realities pursuit. Sanctioned with love and perpetrated with grace all will find, that it is only one that will set you free. Live a life in the boundaries of “do” and formalize the surrender to the confines of “don’t.” live a life of love never worried with fear, for it is then that you will see, that this Kingdom, the Kingdom of God offers so much more.

For a road that may seem easy now will forever bite you, in the end.


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Things I have found to be Interesting


All the war-propaganda, all the screaming and lies and hatred, comes invariably from people who are not fighting.

All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

As with the Christian religion, the worst advertisement for Socialism is its adherents.

If you want a vision of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face – forever.

Man is the only creature that consumes without producing. He does not give milk, he does not lay eggs, he is too weak to pull the plough, he cannot run fast enough to catch rabbits. Yet he is lord of all the animals.

Mankind is not likely to salvage civilization unless he can evolve a system of good and evil which is independent of heaven and hell.

Many people genuinely do not want to be saints, and it is probable that some who achieve or aspire to sainthood have never felt much temptation to be human beings.

Most people get a fair amount of fun out of their lives, but on balance life is suffering, and only the very young or the very foolish imagine otherwise.

No advance in wealth, no softening of manners, no reform or revolution has ever brought human equality a millimeter nearer.

People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.

Saints should always be judged guilty until they are proved innocent.

Serious sport has nothing to do with fair play. It is bound up with hatred, jealousy, boastfulness, disregard of all rules and sadistic pleasure in witnessing violence. In other words, it is war minus the shooting.

The nationalist not only does not disapprove of atrocities committed by his own side, but he has a remarkable capacity for not even hearing about them.

To an ordinary human being, love means nothing if it does not mean loving some people more than others.

War against a foreign country only happens when the moneyed classes think they are going to profit from it.

George Orwell

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What I Don’t Know

I seek to understand the beliefs of such radical and incoherent thoughts that prevail in the ideas of the so called community of believers. Motivated by hate and feed with vile; anger prevails in the senses of rational thought.

In the effort to understand, I change lenses to try to relate to the cultures that are around us. However hard I try I will never know the black experience, nor the immigrant experience; what I do know is the white experience. I don’t know what it was like during the time of colonial expansion, or even the advent of Manifest Destiny, but what I do know is what it is like now.

I never had to suffer the humiliation of having been forced to the back of the buss, or the force of the spray from Firemen’s hoses. I don’t know what it was like to be spat on because I wasn’t welcomed, or being forced to go miles away from home to go to a segregated school even though an all-white school was a block away. I don’t know what it was like to have to drink from a colored’s only water fountain. I don’t know what it was like to be profiled because of the color of my skin. And I don’t know what it is like to live in the ghetto and being afraid to sleep at night. I don’t know what it is like to long for a way out of abject poverty living on a handout from the government.

I don’t know what it is like to live in a country that the majority live on pennies a day. I don’t know what it is like to long for a better life for me and my family. I don’t know what it is like to have to live on the run fearful of deportation. I don’t know what it is like to sweat under the California sun picking produce in back breaking work. I don’t know what it is like to work for less than minimum wage in trying to support a family. I don’t know what it is like to send money back to my country of origin so that my starving family can eat. And I most certainly don’t know what it is like to sneak across a border after already spending excruciating hours to get to that point.

I don’t know what it was like to be forced from a way of life to live on a reservation. I don’t know what it is like to fight to protect all that I know and to secure the winter rations so our old and young may have full bellies. I don’t know what it is like to see my family killed off due to starvation and disease. I don’t know what it is like to have my cultural values thrown to the wayside for the procurement of a so called Christian system of family and community.  I don’t know what it is like to have to drown my sadness in fire water.

I don’t know what it is like to go by the names of negro, nigger, chink, rice burner, sand nigger, spick, wetback, immigrant, illegal aliens, ghetto, squaw, red man, savage, or even gook. Yet what I do know is that my knowledge extends from a white experience, one built on the backs of those that suffered before. It is not to say that persecution has never barred his ugly face in my direction, but that my experience does not compare to the experience of our brothers and sisters of different ethnic groups.

It pains me to see a fellowship of believers divided over the issue of color. It hurts to know that our fellow brothers and sisters in the Lord are persecuted because of their cultural and ethnic background. Though they may be what many call an immigrant, they are still fellow humans trying to eke out a life in an evil world.

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Keep On

Desire to be sought; withheld in delight.

Compulsions to resound; breezes of resilience.

Forgetful of the past; a haze to be reckoned.

Distraught  in pity; reasons to ponder.

Unlike so many others, yours just seems in vain.

Tears dried on the cheeks; pooled on sheets.

Night after night one thought remains; one fear resides.

The thought of being; alone where you stay.

Flee from trust; cleave to anonymity.

Turn in haste; a race to rebound.

Pursue with compassion; fight to withstand.

Onward cries in fleeting hopes.

In all else, see it till the end.

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Your car is Japanese. Your pizza is Italian. Your potato is German. Your wine is Chilean. Your democracy is Greek. Your coffee is Colombian. Your watch is Swiss. Your fashion is French. Your shirt is Chinese. Your shoes are Thai. Your radio is Korean. Your vodka is Russian. Your language is borrowed!!! And you complain; that your neighbor is an immigrant! Pull yourself together and get over yourself!

Though not an all an original, It is good to hear indeed!

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