God tripping pen trip

     In the old days, when wars were fought, people shed blood; lost limbs; lives; sanity; virginity; culture and bloodlines.

Call it love; lust; obsession; possession; property; sex, religion, politics, progress. Whatever you call ‘it’, it remains the proverbial spoke that keep our wheels moving, sometimes not forward, but moving none-the-less.

This has always been a survival of the strongest, a dog eat dog world, where the meat on that inevitable bone, takes the form of many shapes and ideologies.

Today’s conglomerates have the power to bulldoze trees

all in the name of progress

regardless of how deep their roots lie and

how much shade they used to  provide. 

Some believe in conspiracy theories, others believe in brands

Unfortunately the largest percentage of any population may think, they actually have a say in the way things are run, when unknown to them; well for the most part, they are simply pawns playing to some grand plan. Like puppets we are conditioned to believe certain religious doctrines and ideologies; like particular books, music, fashion, and the list goes on.  Some believe that systems have been established, to inject trends into society and because many of us are followers, we easily fall into their mouse trap.

“That style isn’t in any more, I need to buy the newest, wickedest outfit that everyone is wearing.”

Just like those night clubs that invite the ‘so called’ trend setters to frequent their establishment, so that the ‘2^nd and 3^rd degree trend-setters following the original trend setters would attend. You hear it all the time.

“That is the newest place in town, everyone who is anyone is there.”

Ohhhhhh look how cute, run for me, come on, run….

And who decides who these people are, is it based on money, attractiveness, social standing etc?  So where does the rest of the population fit in.  Are they any different from lab rats, turning tricks for a treat.

Lovely golden crust

Just thinking about all those theories that provide an alternative reasoning behind life, and the way we do what we do, and the whys. What are the truths?  Perhaps they are all

different and relative to who’s searching. But then what if there are different truths? Life is not black and white, it is filled with a kaleidoscope of colour, hues, tints and textures. What if there were enough beliefs to go around, what if they all had some validity to them, including the trend setters, who live at the crust of society, the top echelons. Maybe they have something to prove, because they live in the lime light, the oven…maybe their God is indeed brands. Who am I to suggest otherwise.

"It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, 
than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God."

Karl Marx elude to religion as being an institution poor people identify with, one that will ease their plight, some justification to their suffering, so they may not question their positions in life. Their God, justifies their situation, gives them hope, I suppose, so that they may not rebel. And their riches are promised in their Heaven, if they behave. While the rich man’s Heaven is experienced right here in this existence.

One God or Many

Gods are made up, invented, passed down, romanticized from one generation to the next.

The ancient Greeks, First Nation People, and other indigenous groups believed in several Gods or deities that were responsible for various stages or phases in life. Quite like our modern government, with the Prime Minister as the head and other Ministers being responsible for different areas in life, Works, Agriculture, Education, Social Development, Housing etc.

What if the God-dom had a similar structure, each God advising someone, what if money and sex were Gods for particular reasons unknown to the deep rooted Christians believers. What if this theory of the father, son and holy ghost is one side of it, and there was more to meet life than what is experienced. What if everyone’s perception of God carried some truth to it, what if we respected everyone’s truth, to lay theories down side by side, and create a single world religion that embraced the many truths we posses. What is the worst that can happen?

TRANSITIONING DREAMS

Good morning papa sun.  Goodnight mama moon.

I rise with the dawn to welcome the sun. My dreams were filled with symbols that I may never completely understand.  This reminds of a particular dream I had a few years ago.

I did nothing out of the ordinary, I read a few chapters from no particular book, the TV was on, as a backdrop, or soundtrack to the words in front me. I had no recollection when the TV went off or when I placed the book on the night table.

The spirit world is but a breath away

I simply found myself walking, freezing, in snow that was 3ft thick on the ground. Everywhere a blanket of whiteness made visibility difficult, I had no clue where I was going, or even when I was, but I became very aware of the large bag on my back.  I didn’t even know what it contained, but it was weighing me down and making movements particularly difficult.  I was thinking something profound, like my bag containing my heavy spirit at the time, but that is a different story.

When I am in trouble he is never far away

In front me, I heard his familiar howl, my spirit wolf suddenly appeared from this white world that engulfed me.  I was lost and afraid.  He was my familiar protector without a name. Huge and beautiful, bigger than the last time I saw him, with a more intense and darker grey coat. He walked up and nudged me, instinctively he was asking me to follow him.  But he wasn’t alone. Behind him, walking sure-footed, crunching the freshly fallen snow was a large cat, either a cougar or mountain lion, I didn’t know the difference. I jumped at first, and then realized he was a friend. A cat walking with a wolf. I smiled

Coming from the tropics, I knew my species of pot hounds, but this cat, wow, I didn’t quite know what signs to look out for.  His tanned coat was thick and beautiful, covered in flakes of white snow. He followed the wolf.  Pausing when he did, walking when wolf moved.

Wisdom comes in listening…

As I stood there admiring their strength. I heard a sound from above. A raven soared above, giving directions to my land friends, I just followed them. The wolf led us, I walked behind him and the cat walked behind me, while the Raven flew. I was taken to a cave. It was cold but warmer than the wind and cold outside. The wolf spoke, not in words, but in thoughts, he just looked at me and I heard him in his silence and wisdom.

              “You will be moving soon, physically and emotionally. Be prepared.

                                          This is necessary for this next phase of your life.”

I understood without having to ask any further question. The raven perched itself on a ledge inside the cave. I opened my bag and it held my favourite clothes and books. I looked at the wolf and snuggled between him and the cat.

Spirit travels before we physically do

It is only in its polarity that I understood that concept of feeling warm and safe, the contradiction of the freezing cold outside. Being left in the cold on many levels, now I understand warmth. I closed my eyes and slept. 

Three months later, I moved house, home and heart. The process would have been more difficult had I not been prepared.  This is a public gratitude and acknowledgment to my spirit animals…Wolf, Cougar and Raven.  

Photo taken from the following site:  http://grandfatherpeter.multiply.com/journal?&page_start=100

October rain Cloud

the poui blossoms are different this year

subtle and soft like yellow fingertips

stretched across barbed wire fences

while feet are planted in boots

stuck in mud as thick as an October rain cloud

an inch is all that is needed

for skin to embrace skin

but no one can move

or wants to move

since fear grips like a tranquilizer

numbing emotions

and I am slowly forgetting

how to feel

yellow petals fall around me

smiles mask remnants of the love I remember

erasing the longing I carry inside my back pack

ever since I stitched and ripped and stitched and ripped

and stitched my heart shut from feeling

i am on a journey to bury the past

sprinkling flowers in this tear-soaked pillow soil

waiting for the first shoots of something

to grow

that doesn’t resemble any fruit

I’ve tasted before.

C. 2011 by Paula Obe

First published by 
http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/caribbean+writers,