Darkness Falls At Sunrise
by
Chambo Fresh
Mystery it is how often the sunniest of days can be so dark. Darkness. In the clear of day.
I'm not sure if it is some eternal round of tests developed in a pre-earth life to see how many times we would negate the day, ignore the sun shining brightly before us. And after the many good meals we've enjoyed, how quickly we complain about the way our steak is cooked. Or jump into a comedic fit over a tawdry little issue.
I am convinced that this day is a meal that was made just for me.
And if you place yourself at the center of the universe (like me) then I assume it is gospel for you too. Could it be the fulfilling that age-old adage about assuming? But there it is like a low straight against a flush on diamonds that you probably intellectually hold against me. Mystery how sunny days can be so dark. And will I, one day, actually pass that damned test? Not get the score I was hoping for, but actually acquire the faith of mustard seed. The faith to stop my panting and conniving and just do the work of the vineyard.
Mystery how sunny days can be so dark. I'm influenced by the writings of the great Wilhelm Von Shaft. (Don't look for his writings. They don't exist. Just wanted to quote someone) He wrote, "Our appreciation of today is our appreciation for life itself. (Deep. I know.)
The magical part of living is in the surrender. The acceptance of the unknown. I believe it makes for a more enjoyable ride at least. The application of decisions, on a daily basis yield fruit that, perhaps, ripple through the uber-sphere, out into celestial realms maybe. Pink gaseous matter bursting in the sky. Like fabled cloud formations in a science-fiction novel signaling back to us saying, “Hello. Well done thou good and faithful servant.” Maybe there is the Christ smiling upon each intentional action. Maybe there isn’t. But what isn't gained? It is all compounded rip paid into spiritual and eventually material commission. I pray that I may find it. Just live the fucking day with an intentional surrender. Maybe accept that Superman is real. That I see his reflection in each one of us, doing unto others as he would have done unto him. Maybe acting in the margin of what is possible, maybe trumping the flush with Kings, Queens, and Aces calling out hope on man’s little dance. Priests and Priestesses crying from unseen belfries that seal the kingdoms of beyond.
Mystery how the day can look so dark. Evil exists and we must trumpet like angels in the Book of Revelations. We must hold the fabric of the universe in our actions. We must affect the future of karmic brotherhood, prevent the whole program from crashing. Mystery how the brightest, exquisite day could ever be dealt a low straight. Every day is Royal Flush material damn it. Every day. Act and release, baby. Act and release.
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