Every conception is a stretch.

So much going on in us creation that is so vast to bear- to the scientific mind and at the least: the unscientific mind. Every study opens the monstrous chasm of improvements; improvement is the acknowledgement of imperfections. Therefore when we improve, we daily acknowledge the existence of perfection and we are from that country, although now lost in labyrinth but that country’s nostalgia buried in our sub-consciousness becks.

So many lights at end of tunnels have just been mirage. Like circle we go round and round our moribund life; generations unborn will catch up and join us in the dance.

In the beginning it was not so. To know what the plan was, God chose for man to reason with Him: man to think with his unripe brains until it becomes ripe in the frequencies of God, and remember himself in God’s bigger self. That’s the light which completely vanquishes all synthetic rationality.

That way all things in creation and out of creation will make higher sense. Not only screaming Eureka for a distinct dot portrait in endless canvass of universe pointilism.

The struggle is to share such thoughts in language.

Trying to speak in plain language but waking to the sound of soul flowing in vers libers- tonight we run on trackless field.

Everything is poetry.

The truth of which is a consolation to folks who can sit and laugh alone or cry alone at the games played by life in the soul. Every honest thinker raises the imagination to the frequencies of God, whose signatures in the entire creation is the highest poetry that all poets past, present and future are stretching to grasp the fringes of it.

I share with you my thoughts BEYOND NECESSARY. 

“There is a sweet melody in multitudes and multitudes of church cacophony – the lady of the paramount groom. There is a push on you to be made to break sound barrier and escape the zone of earthmen gravity and soar. There are those huge ears of the creator that listen to the unsaid of every said before giving rewards or repercussions. He is the silence that gives magnitude and direction to sound. The groom is the ultimate sound of silence, the ultimate note that all creation longs to align to in perfection. The church is rehearsing, although in great many imperfections.  The church, I mean you are in the mix up; a travesty of being – and song of drunkards, trumpeters of both songs and slander – River of both sweet and bitter waters. The music director is both stern and mercy. Let the mirror be turned in your face, let the judgments begin in the house where the treasure is kept. Let the unquenchable flame consume chaff where cockatrice hatch her young, let the flames sweep matters which beset, let the sleepy bride shake off the dust from herself and adorn for the groom. Let the music director swing; then let the church prothalamion ascend from a healed throat to God and man.”

The legendary third world are not looking for a polymorphic city but the mythical spiraling, nerve tingling, head spinning edifices of the present developed world, not for want of imaginations but the harassments of reality summarized in people. But to aspire is free.

The developed world aspires the future city with all unimaginable dainties of a delicious future. But I realize; the future city of the third world has the same people as those that will eventually be or aspires to be in the future city of the developed world. Though the sharp knife of evolution could truncate the people bodily but not the people in the body.

More scary than all weapons are the mental justifications for them - ideology.

The doom of the future city is man the builder of the future city.

Yet there is a future city in this present city whose builder and maker is God.