A Crackling Dream

A dream of the future
Of a future long on
The horizon of a rising sun

Crackling wood, crisp winters
Bright summers, cozy nights
An axe in hand
A book in hand
The fair woman
Curled up in the plush chair
Her body warmed and comforted
By the bearskin
Enveloping fair skin
Smooth and shining

A wind gently assaults
The stalwart logs
Of a cabin in the woods
The axe splits the wood
The hoe tends the garden
The gunshot fells the moose
The pen carves into rough paper
Memorable words

Seen from the frosted window
The dog chases the hare
Seen from the chair
The cat lazes by the stove
Of crackling wood
Of comforting heat

Tranquility and purpose
Peace and struggle
These things
Exist hand in hand
In the beautiful dance
Of nature and rustic cabin

Blood and sweat to build the cabin
Love and God to fill it
For the Kingdom is made
Through struggle and purpose
Inch by inch
The foot, one in front off the other
A thought on top of the other
A calluse is a path to entry
Bliss is earned of work
Well done

The Meaning of Life?

For thousands of years philosophers have pondered the most difficult question of all; The Meaning of Life. This question is integral to our existence and has been left unanswered, only postulated. There are several questions on the periphery; where do we come from?, what is my purpose here?, is there a God? Asking these questions you can come to why am I here? What is the meaning of all this? Is this real or illusionary?

Due to the profound nature of this question finding the answer directly is monumental. So I’ am going to attack it from the flank. Let me start with a definition from the Oxford Dictionary of English;

create

Pronunciation: /kriːˈeɪt/

Definition of create

verb

  • 1 [with object] bring (something) into existence: he created a thirty-acre lakeover 170 jobs were created
  • cause (something) to happen as a result of one’s actions: divorce created only problems for children
  • (of an actor) originate (a role) by playing a character for the first time: Callas created only one role, and that was Eurydice
  • [with object and complement] invest (someone) with a title of nobility: he was created a baronet
  • 2 [no object]Britishinformal make a fuss; complain: little kids create because they hate being ignored

Derivatives

creatable

adjective

Origin:

late Middle English (in the sense ‘form out of nothing’, used of a divine or supernatural being): from Latin creat- ‘produced’, from the verb creare

Religions have a creation myth and many cultures sufficiently advanced have one too. A vast amount of people agree we are living in a creation of an entity; supernatural, omnipresent, ruling over our existence. Pick your attributes. The attribute that I’ am focusing on is the creator one. At least two creation myths I know about say we were made in the image of the Creator entity. It makes sense as our penchant for creating art, technology, cities, etc, would reflect the inspiration and fire of this Creator, a mirror of the image. If we are in the image of the Creator are we not creators?

Looking at the life systems of our home life seems to have one goal designed to create. A tree seeds, a cell divides, animals reproduce. Every form of life has a mechanism to create a copy (reproduce) of itself.

God ‘brings (something) into existence’, a world and man, the man in his image. His creations create and one, man, creates in the image of his Creator. All of our life we are creating, the blink of an eye bringing a movement into existence, writing a symbol on paper, eating and feeding the division of cells, building ideas made of wood, stone, metal. As you read this these words sixty times a second these words are blinking in and out of this creation.

The Meaning of Life is to Create. The Purpose you have to find for yourself.

Untitled so I name Unspoken

Much today is unspoken

Of the White Man and his flight

From places he alone once tamed

And brought into the light.

 

But plenty is spoken now

Of a vision widely known

Of cruelty, hate, and genocide

Reserved for White alone.

 

The rationale is plain and simple

Those with evil hearts will say

White is the oppressor color

Who still yet rules the day.

 

By declaring the White Man thus

The eternal evil one,

Atrocities easily excused

His humanity undone.

 

Escape seems not possible

From hatred so arrayed

Dissed, dismissed, denounced, disposed

Where is the White to stay?

 

In his lands and neighborhoods

Built with ancestral hands

Darkness comes on millions’ feet

All across the land

 

In his house no peace resides

As the jungle calls his young

MTV, rap rhymes, sexting, Web porn

Evils abound full flung.

 

At work where skill should rule,

For him it never reigns

Handouts go to other’s kin

His whiteness but a stain.

 

In government where law should rule

White finds comfort’s not the way,

Those who hate him have full sway

Seeking his final fall to his dismay.

 

In church, for sure, the house of God

Peace should come at last

To find the comfort of the Lord

Whose love’s beyond skin cast.

 

Yet at church, it brings least peace

As White is often told

It’s in his whiteness the sin lies

He must embrace the fold.

 

Is this embrace like brothers

in God’s spiritual family tree?

“No”, he’s told, “It’s not enough.”

To be Christ’s he must interbreed.

 

There is no peace when clad in White

No place to call his own

The U.S., Europe–all but gone

So darkly overgrown.

 

The Black gets to be a black

The Brown is just as free

But no matter what the setting is

The White may not white be.

 

The Lord made Earth a tapestry

Each kind unto its own

He brings the races to Him at last

To stand before the throne.

 

You see it’s not that we deny

Our brother’s humanity

But if they can revel in their kind

Why can’t we be as free?”

 

Copyright 2013 by Sidney Secular

Lament To Freedom

In a rare moment of inspiration and lucidity I wrote something that did not want me to throw it away after spewing out the words. I was thinking of the insanity going around in the West by governments now blatantly tightening control, how the average person will soon be choked from the iron fist around their neck. I wrote this poem in a matter of minutes without having to edit it, and feel I should not edit it when something like this flows so freely. It is a snapshot of that moment.

I call it a poem for convenience and a lack of alternative definition. It rhymes a little, it has a meter a little, it has a poetic truth a little. So here is some of a little:

 

LAMENT TO FREEDOM

Remember the bravery and honour

Of ancestors gone by

Forge your heart and arm

To steel and light

To shine and harden through the ages

>

Let the righteous anger

Boil to rage

Let the righteous light

Shine through the darkness

So your enemies are blinded and defeated

So the memory of your deeds

Are remembered by the poets of future

So your deeds are remembered by

The generations

>

There is no name except the name

Made for the generations

Made for the children

To honour and respect

Made for the women to respect and lament

Let their moistness

Inspire you

>

Raise with deeds of words and steel

Warriors of righteousness

Raise your flag

Plant your feet

Raise your steel

Harden your heart

Yell your cry

Let none take the generations away

Let none take your memory away

>

Poets sing your song

Remember the freedom

Granted by those of steel and light

Never forget your sacred duty

>

Farmers plant your seed

Nomads shepard your flocks

Scribes sharpen your quills

Smiths fan your forge

Priests light your incense

Life requires your diligence

>

Freedom will not leave our hearts

Lies will not silence our tongues

Deceit will not kill our honesty

Blasphemy will not still our faith

Murder will not stain our shields

Evil will blood our swords

Liberty will strengthen our arm

Our descendents will live free

Note: I had to insert the greater than signs for the breaks to be noticed.