Times have changed. The Promised Land.

A rolling stone gathers no moss.

Freedom.

Has a cost.

Free to be you and me.

Has a cost.

Going back in time looks and feels strangely familiar.

As before.

One way or another……..

Foolish as we are, we think and pretend to cheat, skirt, the way the system operates.

We think so, “ short skirt and short term” simultaneously.

Thank God.

He knows our hearts. And. Every circulating thought we have and may share. Before. Now. And After. To Him. The order makes little difference because He knows the outcome of intentions.

”A rolling stone gathers no moss.” sa.

Yes. And.No.

The answer lies notinsomuch in the interrogation but in the intent. The intentions carried in the baggage of a life void of expression. Admittance. Repression. Seeking help is not for the weak, it is for the strong.

Yes.

The strong.

We, though, foolishly learn “along the way” that we may gain from another’s misfortune and we feel a confidence in the new gang of stupidity. The fools we have become replace the naive we once were.

A rolling stone that gathers no moss may instead grow the hurts, hangups and things we refused to face when we were faced with immense hurt.

Us.

Yes.

We came to see the outside world as our buffer and rode it to the high hills of other people’s ignorance. Strengthening our resolve of lies along the way of their not “getting it.” Empowering even. We were left with our own devices of feeding our own vices on the backs of someone else.

And it felt good.

For awhile.

Until someone rang us and called us on our fraud.

Then.The cover up began of “ What to do.”

We could not “play our hand” anymore.

Nope.

Proving our weakness that losing someone important to us “did matter.” After all. They were gone. Now and then left holding the bag of who knows whose or what lies were sold.

We flew away.

We ran away.

We walked away.

From our responsibility.

They may have also.

But since they are gone.

We are left with dealing with the fall out of the fallout. We were friends. We are not anymore. We should respect the outcome. We don’t.

We go someplace new. We visit the place of old. Hoping to make sense of it all.

We can’t.

The promised land is a place.

The promised land is a mindset.

Of our own personally held beliefs of what can be.

Humans can muck it up in a gagillion ways. And we do. We bring to the table our fast, our hunger, our fist, our wonder, our finicky and we leave thinking someone else owes us for our “isms.”

They do not.

We do, though.

In recognizing our nature cannot be all that we had bargained for. Or didn’t bargain for. What difference does it really make? The one holding the bag of our life holds your life in His hands.

In. His. Hands.

And.

If he calls you home sooner rather than later.

So. Be. It.

He needs you up there more than he needs you down here as he needs us to fill Him in on what has been going on. We ignore the clues and cues sometimes.

We miss the boat.

We miss the appointment.

We miss the shot.

We miss the light.

We miss the cue.

We miss the clue.

We miss the opportunity to see truth.

So we run from here to there hoping that the there will not know the real “us.” Notsomuch the moss gathering hideout of what we could not face from the hurt of the loss, but the face to face of admitting,

it hurt.

Big time. And then admitting. We can run but we can’t hide. The bottled up and simmering emotions have no where to go but up and out.

I do not know what to do with all of it?

Can you help me?

The old way is not working.

Traveling as a stone gathering no moss takes precision and meticulous specificity. I used to flee the state, flee the mental state, all in an attempt to flee the hurt. I came to realize along the journey the baggage followed me wherever I go or went. Not many humans cared to take my place come hell or high water. Which really meant the relevancy of my existence became inconsequential.

And,

Who wants that?

No one with a beating heart and a bated breath.

Why?

Are the naive the only ones who really believe there is something worth fighting for…..even if and when they are not sure what it is. Believe. That’s says a lot.

Yes.

A strong heart and moral compass bears a nay sayer with a golden opportunistic agenda—hand over fist.

Fist over hand= The ability to see what the muck is and keep soldiering on.

It is not easy to see the forest from the trees as they all look so, the “same.” Obstructive, overwhelming and defeating.

We have more power over our intentions to forge onward in an attempt of solidarity. We just don’t always know that we do. We re-set to old practices be cause we conclude they worked for us in the past so why not. Why the heck not?

We should be grateful that growing old and lazi-ness do not go hand in hand.

While we forged along with our past and its overconfidence, certain we forgot that times demand a different us than the old us. There is no getting out, moving on, until we admit that the old us ain’t working for the new us.

No matter how much we spin it and wish and hope the safety of the numbers quickly becomes a place we do not wanna be.

What to do?

Send in the cats?

They will scratch and paw to see another day.

They are tired and hungry and opposing the same old kibble.

Now. Viewers and potential buyers beware.

The cats are poised to pounce on the inequality of life that got them to this point in time. The imbalance of inequality lives on.

The question now is who will take the bait?

Or.

Who will live to see another day.

Time will tell as it always does.

We live to see another day, or wish for another day left to see.

In the end, against at all odds.

It is only up to ourself.

And. Of course—

Him🙏🏻.