Today I am overwhelmed with a feeling and sense of melancholy, even though a very conscious part of me is easily happy. Some inner thread feels wearily weighed down (but refusing to break) with the weight of a grieving world. I so often think of the pre-born babies who have been martyred for existing. When they are annihilated in their mommy's wombs, someone is trying to say "thou shalt not be," or "the world is better if you don't exist." Could there be anything more untrue? Existence is Good. To Be is the first hallmark of God. We are most Godly when we are most purely and trustingly Being. I grieve for these sweet little ones who God loved into existence, even if no-one else would love them. But I rejoice that they are in Heaven w/ the Lord. They do exist. That they do not exist just because they have been martyred is the biggest lie. It is the supreme arrogance to say what or who is not. God says "let there be," and there is! God calls Himself "I Am". Being is God's favorite thing to do!!! ;)
e.e. cummings wrote some poems about being, life, one-ness, touching on my topic. I like this one very much. Here it is:
e.e. cummings wrote some poems about being, life, one-ness, touching on my topic. I like this one very much. Here it is:
one's not half two. It's two are halves of one:
one's not half two. It's two are halves of one:
which halves reintegrating,shall occur
no death and any quantity;but than
all numerable mosts the actual more
minds ignorant of stern miraculous
this every truth-beware of heartless them
(given the scalpel,they dissect a kiss;
or,sold the reason,they undream a dream)
one is the song which fiends and angels sing:
all murdering lies by mortals told make two.
Let liars wilt,repaying life they're loaned;
we(by a gift called dying born)must grow
deep in dark least ourselves remembering
love only rides his year.
All lose,whole find
which halves reintegrating,shall occur
no death and any quantity;but than
all numerable mosts the actual more
minds ignorant of stern miraculous
this every truth-beware of heartless them
(given the scalpel,they dissect a kiss;
or,sold the reason,they undream a dream)
one is the song which fiends and angels sing:
all murdering lies by mortals told make two.
Let liars wilt,repaying life they're loaned;
we(by a gift called dying born)must grow
deep in dark least ourselves remembering
love only rides his year.
All lose,whole find
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