There R trails of life that still call the truth negative if it moves them from their insanity.
In 2012.
And mind tricks that keep people clinging to their suffering because they're in love with it.
It's my observation, however, that they never express love for it.
Ever.
There is only one truth. And that's the truth.
It's interesting how often people supplement thier opinion for the truth, simply because they R trained, unused to rep'ing it, or shady enough to not speak the truth, live it.
Then, when U relate that there's been a literal explosion in their front yard, they dismiss you and call you "negative."
For all of U New Kids or old souls, freed beings or true yogs out there, who live vastly in the underneath, without invading the sacred energy space of life--of other human beings or living creatures or places of sanctity--because you know stillness, I testify in your direction U R not negative, crzy, or the problem when you stand there, even if you stand alone--like a Golden Swordbearer, painted by them gray--speaking the holy truth, whatever that may be.
Your words, they surf across the borders and over the trees, touching the moment between thoughts 4 those of us who live only to know it.
You R the newscast we wait for, amidst the liars, heaps of trash, soul invalids who are common, far too numerous to count, and who look to nothing with honor in their eyes.
You are like the sweetness that permeates cells--energized in-body to where everything sparkles--even cafe tables, pavement, and flowers in planters. It moves the true, then, in soft, swift actions lacking superfluousness. Before you know it, cracks are in the pavement, and the world is jarred from normally allowable sub-par and/or cesspool realities, narrowing God's preferences, raising the bar on what is desired, required by the omnipresent.
For some of us, nothing has changed except our perception that inevitability has come knocking. WORD UP, Inevitable!
And though we R civilized, when does a good ol' a**-kicking become once again relevant when common men, who we used to believe we could assume to at least be decent, have redefined themselves as cretins but refuse to acknowledge their backwardness because acceptability 4 them is still, unfortunately, about "everyone's doin' it."
And the pure are cast away with the opposite side of the bell curve because at least most people can agree on one thing: The crucifixion of Jesus probably wasn't the best thing or something to repeat, so we'll just abuse and steal your chi the nice-person way, which is insidiously, because an outright show of beating up an enlightened person might be cast as "negative," as previously mentioned.
Murder-through-silence, thru Source's spiritual beauty realms, is much more "appropriate," easily hidden, and, therefore, bothers less people, at least for now.
Except that it has manifested as a monster-ish appearance that all the neighbors simply dismiss as old age, especially since Mitch Nelson has a resonant-looking knob on the side of his head. Everyone assumes it's hereditary. Probably is. And everyone from the Blake's house down is slumped over and has either these crazy dark circles under their eyes or a floppy-bird-arm issue (just the women) because they hate on the statesman to the point where he's developed a rare, degenerative disease and is told by his top-notch physician it's just arthritis, as well as doing the same thing to the Maurice's because they were Black, and so the Maurice's straight up moved! And yet, all is well--tho' not in heaven or on Earth--since it was a team effort, keeping that wretched "negativity" down on low.
And no one even had to go to jail.
Now that's freedom.