What is being governed, held as right?

kenpepiton Poems

כֹּפֶר the price of a life, ransom {Kopher} for a captive... long now global science of us we, the users of knowledge, by grace. we, the conscious... asking who or even if, we even imagine we know what is being governed, now, after history fed to the greatest generation has proven detrimental to mental satisfaction, after the information age unleashed all we ever knew, at once, into the first television advised generation Boom, watchadodame, - why does it feel so right to break rules, reasoning really, if we did have fore thought, as a gift, that also held hope and all the hell's imaginable, to which any living in a city have been exposed using retellings of Homer et al... so who made the rules? From point A, something feels wrong smart people believing war the good evil, best defense is a good offence, a will to **** for duty and post humus glory, guaranteed. ---------------- How much of the lifestyle, manifested by industrial wealth, and war regulated trade agreements, and a royal arrangement of ancient gens, and primogeniture passed on in trust, true riches never rest, history hides the old wisdom -- scribe, find records of Haman's service to the king. According to the laws of the Medes and Persians, also Daniel, the name from the clock set to messiah proof, -------------------- I laugh, inside, not O L, but I laugh, it counts, does good, like a medicine, heals a rift right ghine phine fine, fine as may be, infinitely small or large, as may be, infinitely expressed as ever itself, ever in always, luckyghucker time to think and make do with probable cause, slight smile, so small that none could notice, but the maker of the slight adjustment from inside the face, looking at you. Did you feel watched? Did you feel watched over? Me and you, anonymous, us time takers, wind breathers, horizonal scanners set at right angles, perpendicular, flat plane, smooth to ever's inside edge, flat as a puddle. ----------------------- Come and see, he said, we hear, he said, the very next day, we assume, some unnamed happening, time and chance, place and position, facing or looking away, per haps as haps may, occur in curving spacetimed minds dragged into ever decreasing space and ever increasing mass, until energy loses any reason and ceases. --------------------- A hap, a done deed, a past intensity set to vibrate, in tune a mileau of all we imagine known, all the why, indeed, all the how, all the non this thats all the not that thiss, and thoses hissing lizard language, legendary tellings of sacred made firsts, first man first wombed man, first figuring self will, auto both knowing, first communion, join objects to subjects, I am you and you, me, eye to eye we see each the other, and if you ever once saw your self in another's pupil, reflected back from the shiny surface of the arranging eye connector linking our mind into init we form, initiation locking gnosis, recon complete, proceed enfolding all we thought to ask. If can is proven indeed, done, then now was done in wordlessness, then, and now we think we can know that, we think we can predict the emptiness, beyond all we think or ask, here we are, carrying our sanity for peace sake, acting as if the material tenon and taches and כֹּפֶר the price of a life, ransom for a captive, knowing, from the oldest whole tales told, by those who take pride in privileged knowing, we wander as the learners, long, long, longing to learn for ever, loving learning left behind in song and dance and ritual geometry, vectors from point to point, looking up, noticing the motion, feeling the earth move, watching the red wanderer sink in the west, as we watch our world roll around as a ball of dough rolled into a loaf, to be baked, in a fire hot enough to seal the spirit in, fried bread invention came after horses, stories change as fast as reasons to believe, just imagine, knowing of the existance of these tools we use with out needing years to learn to tune the ideas into words communicating meaning sought for through instants in prayer to the unknown, spirit form life and the universe share, as spacetimemind. Okeh. We agree, we think in ways the Andrew Carnegie, could not imagine, we have watched children play multi player global war, in virtual reality, we have sat in grand theatrical kivas, in cities builded on shifting shores of pre ice age oceans, not all that long ago, in our long now dreams, looking through today to yesterday, holding certain truths self evident, if, just ifery per se, chance, indeed, pure luck, peaceable, wise to take such a chance, otherwise, you miss the fit, pocket, proper cache for fallen stars, caught in literate child private interpretations, hey, kid, what'd'ya make of that, one knot, Phrygian Turk's head, knowledge found, held, loops in thought that have one side, one edge and potentially infinite width and length, and infinite points in between all pastless, until one manifests in common sense, as certain aha, gravity is to materiality as wisdom is to life. Thought then do, wisdom indeed, grace for grace, deep calleth unto deep, fret naught, the curve is gentle, we discern, we learn, war has never, and can never, win, for one reason, one cost of knowing the truth, and dieing, for it, as that was the set price כֹּפֶר nicht wahr? One and done, live and learn, yearn to make peace seem the easiest option to war prep economy. Be ye warmed and filled, and find that often enough to dare to share because, you know, knowing hap in happiness is luck in life, and the entire precept reception system, is cross wired behind a chirality governing on and off. And when we, or any so sighted form of us, see eye to eye, face to face, we engage circuitry, we enable agreement, mind to mind, I see you imagining timelessness between us, as a distance mere words bridge with no slippery stones to step where there is the pedestal, the pedal to push, to open a fore thought judgement, a precedent, I once followed such a thread as this, with just such a muse as this, described as clear text derived from imaginary messages killed as carriers, open the window atop yo' head, go up… old bald head chrome domed ****** spy, I never believed your cover story, so The Metaphor, or Parable, or Symbolic Containment Field, vast expanse of horizontal and hither and yon, as vast as ever, plain plane flat out out from me/you on any of seven points, counting now a time deemed right now six planes slice us in communions, centered here, and now spinning with effectual prayers to counter balance recognized jolts of merest word gnosis, recoknown, recommuned, ah, we, yes, us, the people filling *** holes in dementiatic wishes to be left to sort ourselves out, if you do not mind, after the rapture, there you are, of another mind, entwined with winning being truth's only edge, no thread we cannot catch breaking, and watch as we once knew the truth never broke, we let be a big old lie, and that old lie became the law, and writing spoken scrambled words, became power, as it is written, so it must be done, the spoken spell, has been offered and recorded in the times of us, we who read at will in any script known, on a thrown away phone, fixed for seven dollars, and a passing focused attention on the techne, old idea, wisdom, principal known, fret not, stop it right now, this is the way we came, we are not lost, nor dead… this was an exciting concurrency. Peace be left with us, let us think we all imagined so