There’s danger in passions. There’s trouble in dreams. I sense you keep pain with company—a map of scars, tinted by indestructible.
To discover Faith. To battle self.
More suits; more blues; jazz was marvelous.
And Love was nice, something unexplainable, left wandering through prints.
I sense rappers read scripture. I sense after a while it begins to speak, to hurt, if God was only nice.
I know: Blasphemy!
I tire of saying in absence those truths as they dance.
I was with ambivalence today; looking to an Anchor, enduring Adullam.
It meant so much—us as kinfolk; willing to believe in it; it was a great let down.
As adults we feel intensities, part beauty, part rain, part anxiety. To look and smile, knowing uneasiness, I’ve come faced by darkness: I’ve come faced by miserable beauty—as defined as holy, as described by paradox, as left in the secret.
I notice changings inside. They manifest outwardly. There’s a connection between outer and inner. Jesus demanded the winds to be still. Without thumping too much, there’s a great secret here.
I know it was as it screams needing something to acknowledge the alienation.
I grabbed science to clear out delusion.
The mind was a clinic.
