- What is it that makes your experiences beautiful? - Is it when you find characters that you consider as ideal? - Or that you are able to live; Free from the detects of society, But by the truth you know. - Or is it in your pursuit to simplify complex truths? - Or finding out that the response to complex truths are simply more speeches; subject to the improvement of subsequent generations. What is it that makes your life beautiful? - Will you call something beautiful if it exudes fine brilliance, although it is "ugly"? - Will you call it beautiful if it overwhelms your being knowing that you are loved even more by those you love? - Does it make you feel superior, Knowing that the deity you revere is the supreme God? - Are you able to confidently push back the idea of a single way of doing your thing? - Can you accept the views of others? - Is it still comfortable when others don't support a common position? If it is, then it is progress; One of the great wonders around. - Do you still feel that spark? Do you feel transported when you receive love from people you admire so much? - Do you still appreciate that: We do not know everything, We can not know everything about life. And this is still normal. - It will be right not to universalise local experiences upon all humans. - It will be right and beautiful to accommodate differences. This is what is beautiful.
There is a place so lofty and high, Beyond the reach of mere senses. The place no eye can discern. The place exclusively separated. . . There is a place where no foul threads The eagles and the great birds of the skies are ignorant about. In vain they search the skies. . . Far beyond the reach of the most brilliant of men. The will of men do not hold sway here. For there is a supreme monarch. . . He is Himself, all by Himself. Here times and seasons are determined. Men are raised and and ranked. Others are weighed and debased. . . Here the Godhead rule by decrees. Only by His sovereignty. Only His will is potent; Not your pain nor grief. . . Neither joy nor happiness, Neither wealth nor penury. All in a mix has no potency before Him. His will is sovereign and eternal. . . You either align or stay out. You either come up higher Or remain a counterfeit; Deceiving the simple ones. . . The heart cry of the wise; "Take me deeper than this; I don't want to remain in the shallow waters. Let me swim in the deep waters: . . In the deep places of your dealings. . . Let your Spirit beckon on me. Invite me into your chambers. Let your living waters flow out. Quench the thirst so deep. . . Blot out the look warmness. Your fire so intense from your presence Your name is a strong tower, The righteous runs in and they are safe. . . Take me to the place where your wisdom reign supreme. To the place were the superiority of your will pedestals over and above my brilliance" . . My ways have been with me from my mothers. Moulded by sight, touch, taste and dreams. But there is a place deeper than this. . . Activate the down payment of Your Spirit within mortal me. Wash my eyes with your water's soap. I want to see clearly. . . There is a place in God Far beyond the simple mind. A place operational by the Spirit of the immortal one. Beckon on me; Take me there.
So i had this nudging; To stand for my friend, And to fight for him. . . I refused to yield. My friend is sensible and should know better. When did he become so numb? . . But the promptings won't go, And so did my straight face. We wrestled and I won. . . And after my victory. I became numb, I was left so free and alone. . . I felt so much relief; "So after all I could be this free". But this was to my defeat: . . My friend was not spared. He was shot in his heart. He bled to death. Yes, he died. . . I knew exactly what happened to him. I refused to cover his exposed heart. And there is no grieve as great as denying the truth. . . Until it became too late, I was proud. My selfishly pride won't let me obey. The promptings were to help me to help us. . . Should I blame my teachers? No, 'cos they taught me well. I knew exactly what I was doing. . . My soul is now badly wounded. The scars will never go away. They are now my tools for teaching. . . To teach the younger generation To know how to humbly obey simple promptings, Even to their hurt. . . Even the biddings of God. For to obey is better than sacrifice. For now I have a useless snout. . . I can no longer use it. To avoid the death of what you so cherish. My snout hurts. . . I can no longer be prompted for my friend. I am wounded. My snout hurts.