There they were.
Just letting their voices be heard.
They’re all women.
Women with ideas and concerns.
Women with a strategy.
These women, they’re onto something.
I want to serve them,
But I’m imperfect.
I’ll go to the end of the earth,
I thought about it.
You get one life,
Whose cause are you gonna trumpet?
I believe in them.
On the city street.
How’s that work?
You reap what you sow,
It comes back to haunt you,
Visits when you can least afford it.
As you rise to the pinnacle,
What you sowed in your reckless,
And the rules have changed,
Now, you’re stuck
With what you did.
And you can’t get away from it.
There’s a swarm of stories and
The more you fight and deny it
The greater the whirlwind,
You have no choice,
You are the example that
Saint Michael, the prince of angels,
fought the dragon and defeated it.
He and his army went to battle
with Satan, his dragon and his army of angels.
The devil prevailed not.
Saint Michael, protector and warrior,
stood for the children of his people.
He fought for them and won again.
Like all angels, he is a messenger of God.
His nature is spirit. In action,
he is servant and messenger.
Moving like an electron between spaces,
making quantum leaps.
And although he questioned why God
wanted to create humanity, he was spared.
His army of angels perished in flames
for arguing that God should not have created man.
Why then, was Michael spared?
Perhaps because his loyalty was never in question.
that the night would never end.
In the moonlight,
in the irises
with Pachanga Maria
and St. Michael.
Who defended us in battle
from those who seek the ruin of souls.
Protected us against
the wickedness and snares
of the Father of Lies.
The dragon prevailed not
and was asked to leave.
Our prayers were answered,
the night is still alive.
There was a rumbling in the attic,
like something was running up there.
The insects are dying in droves.
It’s not an accident,
money and science
have produced a precise
kill of the fauna.
you can kill all the insects.
They are responsible
Which is how we eat.
Hurry and finish the drones.
The bluebird of happiness,
it turns out,
was at home all along
in a cage.
It sang a melody that was
but largely ignored.
Because familiarity makes us
take things for granted.
But what about the bluebird’s happiness?
If there really were a paradigm shift,
maybe the power dynamic
that enslaves nature for
could be stopped.
And then, the bluebird herself
might find happiness
perched on whatever tree it wants.
Cross built into the red rock hillside.
The red blood of Christ implied
in what was once clearly an ocean floor.
Long before humanity was even possible.
The notion that Earth is six thousand years old
is like saying the sun is a hot balloon.
Why does Christianity need to make natural history its victim?
Chapel of the Holy Cross built in 1956. Inspired and commissioned by rancher and sculptor, Marguerite Brunswig Staude. Design executed by architect August K. Strotz.
On the site of one of the Sedona vortices.
It’s raining diamonds on Neptune.
In the deep blue hydrocarbon seas.
Strangely beautiful and completely devoid of life.
Here on Earth we have a deluge of water.
Inconvenient, but more valuable in a million ways.
The queen of diamonds represents two diverging paths.
Which will be ours?
Preserving our treasure or
drowning in inorganic riches?
It’s a big time money deal.
So they play the race bait.
To get the cash come rainin’ down.
They cyncially market with the color animus.
It’s the Irish boy’s brain,
they don’t give a rat’s ass about.
The head trauma pays.
The race drama plays.
They’ll have few years before
the hand shakes start.