MY NAME IS PROPHET

My name is ‘Prophet’ but they call me, ‘Hey, you!’ I am a penniless drifter shod poorly. I’m diseased & despised. I sing for a seat near the hall down the path to the shed used by swine. I’m gleeful with joy for any place to dine. Crafty by circumstance, I am blessed with a spark of divine mind. I trade hope for shelter. I barter truth for a comfortable lie. I feel privileged, indeed, honored to share my most cherished possession with whatever lurking beast or saint there may come a knocking on the door of my rice paper heart. The possession I speak of is my inner light, my love; the most powerful force in the universe. More often than not I possess neither food nor shelter but light has never me down. My huckster mind tries to convince me otherwise yet to the joker inside my skull I say, “Shyster thoughts be damned!” Belief does not make an invidious fantasy real. Those evenings I am cold, angry, lonely, rejected & filled with remorse for coming to this place in the first place are the very same evenings I forget to be grateful. On these occasions nights crawl painfully slow to that trickster called dawn. What I lack in essentials I make up for in wisdom. Vagabond wisdom is priceless so I give it away for free. I must. Like my father before me I stand hunchbacked, just as his father before him. My deformed stoop is the result of an incalculable weight I carry upon my shoulders. Sometimes I wonder if being born deformed & senseless is easier to bear than this weight, this soul numbing weight. I fear the worst should I stumble or fall. I fear for the innocents striding between land & cobalt blue seas. When I fear it is because I’ve abandoned gratitude. Sometimes my unbridled dejection paralyzes my connection to god. It is easiest then to dismiss divine light as a dreamer’s hallucinations run amok. And I do. Yes, I do. I dismiss like a diva.

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE TITANIC ~ THE LUSITANIA ~ THE MAURETANIA ~ THE OLYMPIC: TRAGEDY OF GRANDEUR ON THE HIGH SEAS AND THE (UNSUBSTANTIATED) UTLEY CURSE DECONSTRUCTED

THE UNSINKABLE TITANIC ON HER FIRST VOYAGE:  

LIVERPOOL TO NEW YORK CITY

titanic fyfyfy

The TITANIC struck an iceberg on April the 14 of 1912 at 11:40 PM and sank a few hours later. It was early morning of April 15, 1912. They were four days out to sea on their way to New YorK City.

UTLEY COAT OF ARMS

utley coat of

The UTLEYS were GOTHIC before Gothic was in. The UTLEYS are world renowned for being so far ahead of their time, if pitted [in a foot race] against the speed of light, the speed of sound, your dealers stash, or your greyhound who goes by the name, “Speedy Gonzalez”, (I didn’t name him), haven’t a snowball’s chance in hell of besting even the lamest UTLEY. Although there is no such thing as a LAME UTLEY, there may be cripples perhaps, but you will never hear anyone refer to an UTLEY as lame (and live to speak of it). 

It is interesting to note that the UTLEY lineage begins with (documentation secured) William the Bastard, the first Norman King of England , and his marriage to Matilda of Flanders,  May 20, 1058. This is when the parish of UTLEY was founded; a  gorgeous piece of land just a stone’s throw away from what is now the city of Leeds, Yorkshire, England. Even now, nearly one thousand years later, UTLEY parish remains barely unchanged in architecture or attitudes of its brilliant offspring. All men and women of UTLEY are above average.

It is interesting to note that the UTLEY lineage begins with (documentation secured) William the Bastard, the first Norman King of England , and his marriage to Matilda of Flanders,  May 20, 1058. This is when the parish of UTLEY was founded; a  gorgeous piece of land just a stone’s throw away from what is now the city of Leeds, Yorkshire, England. Even now, nearly one thousand years later, UTLEY parish remains barely unchanged in architecture or attitudes of its brilliant offspring. All men and women of UTLEY are above average.

THOMAS UTLEY & SONS

The * UTLEYS were one of the leading maritime brass founders in the world, having also produced sidelights for Lusitania and Mauretania. They made many of the brass fittings for the Titanic and Olympic. These included the Titanic’s bells and Gothic patterned windows for the ship’s bars and dining rooms.

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Utley Family Crest, Coat of Arms

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The disasters of the RMS Titanic and the RMS Lusitania were two of the greatest maritime tragedies of their era.

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They were all too similar in scale and loss – the Harland & Wolff, Belfast-built Titanic sinking on its maiden voyage in April of 1912, after colliding with an iceberg in the frigid waters of the Atlantic ocean en route from its final port of call in Queenstown (now Cobh, Co. Cork) to New York. One thousand, five hundred and twenty-three of the 2,240 on board lost their lives, the confidence in one of the grandest ships ever built shattered.

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tit sin

Titanic’s bells and Gothic patterned windows for the ship’s bars and dining rooms. 

titanic_casting_pattern

I know Utley women who speak of premonitions. They even bank on them.

I don’t bank on anything. I don’t trust banks.

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Utleys have been burned or hung in England (and probably in the early American colonies)  for being witches. One documented example is Sarah Utley, hung 1620 in London. Mother Utley was the name her people called her. She was accused of witchcraft when all she really was guilty of was being a bit misunderstood. The Utley women never speak about their clairvoyant powers. Perhaps because society associates premonitions, miracles, telepathic powers, etc., as demonic, satanic or of the dark occult; to be feared when it is just the opposite. It never ceases to amaze me. Almost everything we have taught & think we know is really just the opposite.

ACTUAL LIVE FOOTAGE OF TRAGEDY

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September 13, 1907:

Lusitania arriving in New York on her maiden voyage,

sailing past Battery Park.

lou lnl.Lusitania arriving in New York on her maiden voyage

 

CELESTIAL ORCHESTRATIONS performed by the Author: SCOTT UTLEY

I once witnessed

A brilliant platinum galaxy

Abruptly vanish

Into a hovering cloud

Of dense

Erotic black

*

I saw a stunning world

Hanging on a mid-night sky

Like a black pearl

A world

Just as ravishing

As our very own cobalt orb

Explode

Into lava-red flames

Then cease to exist

*

I was once

A butterfly who loved

To dance in circles

To the beat of the sun

*

I’’ve been charmed

By the ruby-red eyes

Of dusk’s

Swollen sky

*

Suspended

Mesmerized

I’’ve been hypnotized

By defiant stars

Pelting Hercules’ sky

Over an Aegean Sea

*

An infant

Opens her eyes

For the very first time

And the Universe is born

Once again

*
Truly
Every face

Is the face of God

The lovely face of God

*
But
Never
Have I ever
Laid eyes
On one so beautiful
As you

RING OF FIRE

I walk briskly at first. Shuffling sacred boulders between each foot, I teeter on the edge of humanity. I skirt  the jagged precipice of earth’s flaming lips. I am stunned by this porcelain cup brimming over with exquisite insanity;a wondrous mathematical equation, all of earth’s treasures scattered before me. I jump high-I rise-sail and I soar up and over,  down south into the west over & over,under again, about-face up I jump. I take a high-dive, I skydive into the heart of our miraculous ,breathtaking mothership. I am a skimming stone on a great pond we call the ring of fire .

 I am a skimming stone on a great pond,we call the ring of fire 

IS IT ANY WONDER?

 

I was born of vapor rising from the hairline cracks of skyscrapers. I could fly before I could run. I could run before I could walk. I’ve seen the world in flames. I’ve heard my mother sobbing. I know your pain because I am an old man dying as I inhale the newborn’s breath. I am the wind that churns. I am a young bird weeping. I am the center of the hawk’s red eye. Is it any wonder why I cry so hard? Is it any wonder I laugh so loud? I am a towering tree. I am a shooting star. I’m the ocean I swim in, the mountains I climb, the lovers I’ve known, the light & the dark & the children at play. I am the song of souls singing this melody called life. Is it any wonder it’s been perfect from the start? I’ve always known how to sing, I simply forgot the song. I am old man speaking my borrowed wisdom to the universe. I am a songbird singing good morning to the night. I am its mother laughing all the way, every single day. Is it any wonder?

MY PROPHET RISING

My prophet rises from snow white sands. He is cut & bruised with bloody hands. His metamorphosis is marked by purple flowering feathered wings immaculately conceived. He reaches into the eye of the sky & fondles memories from before my time, back when this river flowed with twice its heart & the sky more volatile with twice its strike. When this desert land was twice as young, He walked along these very skies now dusked across my mind like a churning holy electrical explosion. 

My prophet rises from the deep blue sea with gaping wounds for all to see. His metamorphosis is marked by the inhalation of deep & conscious breath. His yellow diamonds are draped upon his brawny chest strung side by side with cosmic thread. He is future, present & the past. He’s courage fed by fathers brave & mothers strong. They’ve taught him well, both right & wrong. This world unceasingly expands its view. With opened eyes & a child’s pride, He is my harness. I love this ride.

My Prophet rises. I am He. I’ve wept in pain but now I’m free. Upon this sand my heart is burned. There is so much I have to learn. My metamorphosis is marked by the song of my soul echoing through the cathedral of my mind. I know I am more than looks perceive. My well is full. I have no greed. Christ is here & surely bleeds. He is my lover. I am He.

 

 

Candace Owens on Her Journey From Left to Right (Live Interview) – VICTIMOLOGY – The Top 5 Issues Facing Black Americans

I am posting this because it clarifies truth and it is easily applied to any race. I often wonder why at WE ARE THE UTLEYS (F-Book Group) lacks a Black presence when I know for fact that there are as many Black Utleys in the USA as White Utleys. Why are there so many Black Utleys, is in itself an interesting topic. I once sat down when I was still a teenager and called all of the Utleys I could in a national phone directory. At least 50 percent were Black Americans. I think there is a chasm here which can and must heal if we are serious about growing into our humanity. Where there is a will, there’s a way. Fix it. We have a planet crying out for its survival and all of us need to become one if we are serious about saving our souls, not to mention all the beautiful creatures this planet is overflowing with.

EDGE OF THE WORLD

I followed the song of the nightingale through the forest to the edge of my mind. I remembered to cut lilacs from the bank of the creek as I raced to the place we first met. The Muses found me naked singing lullabies to shooting stars over a blue harvest moon. Fearful for my sanity, they summoned the Elder Blue Sprytes & the Green Wood Elves; odd creatures revered for their great healing powers. 

Do you remember the cliffs of desire where we first met at the edge of the world near the temple of the heart where a forgiving ocean meets the grateful sky? Do you remember Frey, the golden bear who wished us well?  

The Elder Blue Sprytes were certain I must be either crazy or insane from hunger so they fed me cherry blossoms & tried to distract me with fantasies from the other side of time. The Green Wood Elves, being more grounded in reality than their cousins, insisted I was a sign from the great source of our belonging. They proudly displayed their magic to me. They showed me how they had learned to make stars sing. I had never heard a true symphony until that day.

They taught me how to expand my heart beyond what I had believed was it’s ultimate frontier. They showed me how they weave their magic spells with hope I might finally free myself from the ghosts of my past & the image of you when we first met. I could never let that happen. Sometimes Green Wood Elves can be so naive. 

I love this cliff near the den of the bear where the sky drinks the sea & mountains stand tall at the edge of my mind where we bathed in an ocean of forgiveness. That was 10,000 years ago but here I still stand. The Western Wind says you will be home soon. I knew you would return. Hurry. My whole world is waiting for you. I am still holding lilacs too.

          

BRIGHT EYES

 

Although I can often quote the Bible. I have never read it. In case I ever do, don’t spoil the ending for me. Thank you in advance. Now, maybe you do not believe in God. Maybe God doesn’t care. Maybe, just maybe, God doesn’t believe in you. Think about that, why don’t you? 

It’s not like it makes a difference. How kind are you? Are you making every effort to be a better man or a better woman to our world. Are you a being who, when after you are gone, our planet will lovingly whisper to the western wind as she races past,, “I am happy they came. I am sad to see them go but I am happy they stayed as long as they did.”

Now you know the reason why clouds cry. The rains are tears of joy. Hmmm … how kind where you in your life? That will be the only question. That is all that will matter then. It is all that matters now. 

The upshot to this story is:  Trust your instincts & follow your heart. That is where God resides. Maybe you will rewrite the Bible or whatever other scriptures you hold close to your heart & by doing so, change our world for the better … or not … your worth as a living being was measured in full when you were born. Do nothing if that is your desire. That’s what I do. It may be your destiny. I hope it’s mine.

FANTASTIC DANCE

His ascension came twenty-one days to the day he left his beautiful body. A silhouette was all that we could define through the sun drenched smile he wore. It is impossible to mistake his world-class smile for that of any other. A starlight flurry of goodness blotted out the pain of our broken hearts just as dawn galloped in.

We told each other later that we had witnessed a chariot of gold sutured with platinum thread; a glistening chassis beriched beyond conception with spinning, light-bolted studs & each masterpiece capped with an astonishing precious gem. Some jewels were not of this world. Some jewels were not even of this universe… such magnificence as none of us had ever seen nor would ever see again… a true sweet chariot of the gods propelled by the holy willed power of four & twenty black maned stallions of equal majesty. They pulled the suns & moons from galaxies nearest our own across a royal blue-blooded, yoke-tinged, cobra-laced sky.

Our souls, bedazzled & breathless, reflexively thrust an ovation onto the astrolabe of dawn. Only delicate golden orioles could be heard singing good morning to this beautiful day. Alex preferred it this way. In a favorite past incarnation he was a Roman Augur, therefore his heart was rich with fondness for every winged being he ever knew.

Ruby red diamonds, yellows, blues & Tahitian black pearls from yet another sweet time & place rained upon everyone~ pulsing unified code~surfing crazy shiny-mind waves of Mother Milky Way. Their mirrors reflected wondrous images. Among them were holy men washing the feet of beggar men & the women who keep the fires burning dancing a fantastic dance, millions of them & more but numbers do not go up that high, especially where numbers don’t count at all.

There were many women dancing a fantastic dance. I was reminded of the Black ladies who sing the gospels; from the hips, hands to the sky, left then right; a supplication out to front then down to the ground and over again.. There were smiles everywhere & love, joy & more joy. If you could get close enough to these mahogany ladies you’d find that there is a lot of space & a great freedom around each one, yet from a distance they look packed together moving in unison; perfect choreography like a water dance; up, down, left, right & happy. Did I mention happy?

This must be the part of heaven God has reserved for poets, from the first poet to the last, from infant poets to great ancient oracles. Everything alive & electrical is heading the same way. Everyone loving the same because love moves in the same direction as our galaxy & the cosmos. It must be the joy of the spiral, from helical strands of DNA to the great spiraling universes. It is a perpetual blossoming. It makes a happy sound. Our nature is a happy sound. Laughter. Smiles. It is a great way to live. It would be a wonderful way to die if there was such a thing as death.

Alex smiled his way throughout the universe just as he had done throughout our lives. He never cared for anything in the world but pure love. God loved him for that. We all did. We all do. More than anything else, more than his mind-blowing mastery of numerous forms of art & branches of science, Alex Johns was a great poet. They say the same about saints who come to visit us. The love of great poets defies profound. Such purity of soul makes you want to cry. I don’t know why they bother with us unless it is because they love us so much… as much as we love them.

ALEXANDER M JOHNS

1966-2010

PER ELISA

 

I am sitting on a filthy floor in an emptied room in front of a fireplace that has never seen a true fire. I survey the battlefield before me. I silently marvel at the accumulated detritus of three years worth of grief. For a flicker of a moment I think this is not the war I fought. The war here is so much bigger & far more brutal than the lonely war I fought. A moment passes backwards until I remember this is the place & I am the lone survivor. Below me is the exalted grave of a spiritual warrior.

I wonder at the emotions & the crack-hearted questions splattered all over these wounded walls. There is blood on the floor leading into a darkened hallway. I thought I knew where that hallway lead to but I don’t remember now.  As hard as I try to recall, all I see is a blank screen. I am a television turned to mute with thunderous static. If I were not deaf I would go completely insane. The channel I am looking for has been moved to another world where I do not get the signal.

I vaguely recall a man’s heart dripping a trail of tears; tears of blood from a shattered heart. That is what these stains in my eyes are. I see that much. I remember that much. I remember a man squatting in the corner of this room, his eyes shut blind & his ears with no sound to hear. He looks like me. I turn my head away as fast as I can. In that moment I am afraid.  I am almost too frightened to breathe, but not afraid enough not to cry. It passes. The moment passes into eternity.

In the next moment, war is over. I am alive. I am crippled, but I’m not lame. I have been forever scarred by razor blades deeply etched into my soul’s flesh, but now I hear a song. War is over. I hear music even when it isn’t playing. I know I shall sing again.

This is a bittersweet farewell. I see these snapshots of your mind & I wonder why I even wondered how this debris on these walls and that floor ever came to be. I don’t remember now. Thank you for taking my mind to a different sort of landscape. These soul creatures are quite beautiful. The ones you have sent to cover my heart in winter. You are the most kind. 

You of the many muses remind me that all I have to do is turn the television off. It is as simple as that. That is what I have just done. I hadn’t noticed that the songbirds outside my window are singing as if their lives depended on it. They are so happy to be alive. That must be why they sing as they do.

I suddenly feel like humming a tune. PER ELISA. You loved PER ELISA but you never told me that. I only know it because I saw you in a window early one morning dancing your heart out to PER ELISA. I had to smile. Alicia sings like an angel from inner space. She came to us from the peerless library of our dear friend, Marty Lont, in Amsterdam. Remember? I know you do. I also remember, it is the simple things that matter most. Farewell my beloved. I will sing for the both of us until we meet again.

 

 

 

THE SKY GOES ON FOREVER

In this dream, I am falling free without fear. Suddenly, my descent is intercepted by swift moving clouds. Each one has a distinct face yet they all share the same radiant smile. They carry me along for thousands of miles, pointing out strange and wonderful lands. The spectacular sight below of fantastic creatures roaming free upon a paradise found makes my heart tremble like fine rice paper. In this super world unfolding, predators are never triumphant because predators are never born. Without warning, the cloud faces are gone. I continue gliding along the path of the rising sun in the company of a thousand golden eagles. I soar around our mother earth sailing effortlessly on a grand solar wind in the company of a thousand beautifully plumed golden eagles, and the sky goes on forever.

 

 

THANK YOU ~ DIDO

This beautiful parrot is native to the street I grew up on. A very rare and near extinct species, the Woodside Blue Headed Yellow Bellied Bliss Street Nut Eating Squawker Talker Parrot once roamed the entire borough of Queens, all the way from Long Island City to Far Rockaway, from the shores of Jamaica Bay to the dunes of Fire Island. Because of hunting by unknown suspects of the Second Court (THE MET’S SECOND BUILDING of FIVE on one very long block which includes 48-25 46th Street), along with glue-sniffing hippie pot farmers of Sunnyside, this lovely, once  ubiquitous (albeit obnoxious) parrot has been reduced to just a very small section of its former habitat. To be exact, the courtyard and fifth floor roof of 48-25 46th Street, Woodside, Queens, NYC, NY.

There are an estimated three left but the Bronx Zoo is leading the way in bringing this gorgeous nut eating bird back from the brink of extinction. (They think.) I happen to know two specimens are naturally homosexual males. Neither one shows any interest in conversion therapy. Researchers are enthralled. That very fact bodes well for the species. Researchers world wide believe that gay parents are the only parents worthy and smart enough, overflowing with enlightened compassion to save the universe. Good luck with that. If I had my druthers,  I would nuke the planet into sense. I don’t though. I would  never do such a thing. Perry Mason and Alfred Hitchcock make life worth living.

WOODSIDE SQUAWKERS DID NOT ALWAYS INHABIT THE ALLEYWAYS OF BLISS STREET
THEY HAVE THEIR ORIGINS IN AUSTRALIA WHERE THEY CONTINUE TO MULTIPLY LIKE RABBITS

COME PLAY MY GUITAR

 

I tossed and turned throughout the night. I felt something amiss, not quite right. Thunder rolled across black skies, lightning struck shut both my eyes. My bed lay shattered upon shards of glass. Clouds swirled by like comets, fast. I wondered if this night would pass? I prayed to God this would not last.

Take me away, my soul please spare this doubt, this pain, this noise I hear. This heavy night I cannot bear. What I can’t see is what I fear. When sunrise creeps into the day, what in G-d’s name will loved ones say?

Morning came, morning went, my body wracked, my spirit spent. The day turned into early eve while deep within my dreams did weave. Finally, my conscious broke into a world where flowers spoke. The life I’d known was all but gone. Rocks and trees sang sweet love songs.

I looked around for someone to share this miracle I swear I hear, someone to see the Robin’s egg jump up and dance upon the chair, someone to play that old guitar driving by in her yellow car. I realized then, it’s just me, alone again, just me who sees. I wiped the sweat clean from my brow. Who would believe me, anyhow?

SHE’S MERCY – HE’S KIND

You’re my lady in waiting. I’m your man on the moon. I’m Magda. You’re Anjum. We’ve Indigo eyes. I’m Mosena. You’re Sallie. We’re two of a kind. You’re Marty. I’m Moses; We never chose love, it is love that chose us. We’re sisters & brothers, spiritual lovers … 

… I was an innocent in the time of the great plague. I survived while all of the giants raptured around me. I believe I was meant to live before and after the great deluge. I believe we were all meant to live before and after the rapture. The most merciful and kind were the first to go. Only the good die young. We’re still alive. Only the strong survive. It is the meek who shall inherit the earth.

Life is short but terribly eternal. Regardless the seconds or decades we are gifted with, the remaining moments of our journey will be mercy and kindness incarnate. We are sisters and brothers. We’re opened windows without any walls. If one of us trips, all of us fall.

 

MEMORY of YOUR FACE

 

Burnt onto the pages of my ancient history,

is the story of our love;

a spiritual decree.

Penned onto the memory of my simple,

fleeting life,

is the epic of our union,

quite beautifully described.

I am stunned by the depth of your soul.

Shall I be forever mystified?

And this evening,

brazenly confetti’d up on a Hollywood freeway overpass,

I saw your initials set upon a fractured heart.

While my soul bleeds adoration in silence,

I wonder if this is love’s crucifixion?

Is this the way Mary felt in the garden?

An answer is of no consequence,

for what I shall remember long after I have died,

is the memory of your face, 

indelibly inscribed.

 

 

HARP OF THE GODS

If you’re mystic, come this way & play for me.

Tune your strings sharp & clear with all the  pressure I can bare.

If you’re mystic, stroke my hair, kiss my lips.

Take me to your Mother -ship. 

Rifle me with your tough grip.

Anchor me to your bright blue. 

Show  myself to me through you.

Your platinum strings ring clear and true.

Play your harp, this is your cue.

I know you’re mystic, I am too.

Let me play my harp for you.


sco kyf u tufy olyg

 

 

 

 

 

WANDERING ALBATROSS

Throw caution to the wind. She knows what to do with it. Follow me. We’ll have fun playing under the desert sun. As you, I need to feel free. I am. That’s why I am so fond of you. I see me in you and love what I see. You have wings that never stop flapping. You are a great wandering royal albatross.

As dusk turns its cover,  the rising moon will extend an olive branch. It is a great honor for us. Grateful, bedazzled, with euphorica brimming over our trembling lips, we shall graciously accept. Over the oceanic river of our ineffable mind, a starry domed astrolabe will sparkle ovations. You have never seen anything like it. I promise you. Shooting stars from inner space circle thrice. They’ll then take their dive kissing heaven on the other side. We’ll watch holy coyotes yelping shouts, throw cactus darts at cunning hares. Life being lived without dark imagining is life being lived.

Have you ever met a kit fox? The last time I was there, it was a full moon past midnight, silence & solitude with no one anywhere in sight. Appearing from as if thin air, a kit fox trots a few meters ahead of my car. She just as mysteriously stops to stare at me with a smile. What a smile. What a night. Come this way, she beckoned me. I was enchanted. 

All along her pathway to surrender, she searched for specks of gold. Almighty God, she found plenty, too. Her mischievous smile seemed awfully bold for such a tiny thing. She, the kit fox; nothing at all but her luminous smile & two of the biggest ears you will ever see. She tripped me out. You’ll trip out too, I promise you. I promise, you won’t be afraid {as I am now}. I promise you, if you follow your heart’s desire, I’ll run away with you. I promise you. I can’t promise you tomorrow, but I can promise you that.

HAWK & THE RAVEN

Full  moon silver frosted leaves, glacine dew robed sycamore sleeves. Sagacious spiders (masters of weave), slept snug & warm beneath my eaves. The creek roared fierce with a late spring rain. All things full must surely wane. Perpetual blossoms should not be sad, but I can’t sing when I’m feeling mad.

Atomic beats drove me insane. The sight I saw played on my brain. I wondered if the sky felt pain? Raven soar’d in for his attack. The Hawk’s quick eye did catch the beast but not before the Raven’s feast. The Hawk chick fell from the sycamore to the rocky banks of this canyon floor. The rest, of course, is etched in lore: 

An Angel garbed in feathered dress descended from her perch of rest. The battered babe, his blood now cold, rose from the dead on wings of gold. Miraculous in the Phoenix mold; fell from the sky then resurrected: A God-shot is quite unexpected for when the Reaper comes it’s time to go. Since earth’s first dawn this has been so, but then again, how would I know?

Heart returned to our beloveds’ sky, then the sweetest glint in our dear chick’s eye. The babe ascended his lofty nest to the greatest comfort, a mother’s breast. Successful in her Angel quest, our heroine in feathered dress returned to where all Angels rest. To this day this lore I’ve told delights all children, both young & old.

 

 

SCATTER JOY ~ MOONLIGHT SERENADE ~ GLENN MILLER 1941

Just say no but mean it this time. Don’t bring jaded fame and infamy to your mind or your lips. One rule rules us all: All life is sacred.

Truth is everywhere  … all of a sudden … it is everywhere … it may seem to have just made a startling landing on earth, but it never left the altar of our souls. We longed so very long for that which we held close to our hearts without ever seeing what was right in front of our eyes.  Since before the first dawn, as we saw the first light, right where it remains in motion to this very day, and it is beautiful to behold. And all this time we could have been friends.

We are a strange race of creatures. We mean well. We are not too bright not to go insane every other moment, but …. we mean well. The only thing that’s changed … is our eyes are now wide open. It must be that time of the season. For only so long can the man or woman with eyes born to see the world in all its glorifying spiraling love, see only their feared imagined darkness. That my dear, is delusional. There has only ever been light but some of us shall insist on blinders. Do not question their desire.  If you feel you must say something, say nothing instead and  lead by example.

Those who  cannot see …. or will not see … risk collapsing into a void of no end or beginning. So many of us, most of us, have opened our eyes as if on cue. This magic moment makes one think there is a plan after all. 

Our Legacy?  Weary fools tripping on inconsistencies, choosing the wrong roads leading to nothing. We know we are better than that. Our personal God is our personal world. Our personal world is our very own aurora borealis. We remain stunned by the beauty of life in each and every crevice and ocean with  mountains in between. This is life. This is living. Like an aurora borealis emerging from the silence of our inner ocean,  we stand stunned by the beauty of life. 

Just say no. Mean it this time. Don’t glamorise infamy. One thought pulses through us all: Revere life. Those who see only a bloody mask in their fractured-mind -mirrors are to be allowed to return back to the nothingness from whence they came.

If we as one humanity, one people on one singular glowing orb of cobalt blue are to prosper, know peace. Give our children their well due inheritance, as we have been given by those who came before us. Perhaps progress itself should step back into a time where pieces of art such as we see and hear here flourished on our living virtue called hope.

Sometimes in spite, in times of grief, sometimes when I forget gratitude, I think that what is called the greatest generation, gave birth to arguably the worst generation. If our children (most still not yet teens) think that they are out of the woods, deep in a dark, dank room without doors, think again. Let’s enter a time machine and go back to innocence. Scatter joy.

The glory of our magical maker of all is right here right now and you are next in line to guard luminescence as if your own children depend on it. Never give up. We shall be fine. Our twenty and twenty-first century experiment with lightning bolt paced technology is a wasteland without breath. With a deep breath, a pause each day, to ponder what it is which truly abides (its not money, honey), maybe, just maybe, just maybe, we can all stand tall, with love in our eyes; your eyes; those sparkling lights every mother knows so well, and honor her devout wish we should all know joy forever more. This is just not a dream some of us have. Love as if it is going out of style.

KING OF THE GALIATHANS

 

 

In various shades of suede stood Rex, King of the Galiathans. The Great Dane beauty had lived his life according to the laws of our universe. Kilos of muscle, tendons & fierce intelligence griped the cliffs. Behind him, carrying a pail of lotus leaves galloped Alex, a prince of a man. I loved him for that. I saw a field of Orange Mandarin Poppies bleed into the horizon. I saw both giants lay dying to their earthly vessels.

Where the sky meets the raging sea, dreams weeped along the mouth of the mourning coast. Big Sur cried throughout the night. Angels sighed as the ocean, lapping needling pines, felt such fiery, scorching compassion that the rain came. As eve dipped into the pitch black ink of night, these two giants laying there gave witness to eternal splendor. I loved them both for that. Frosted lava waves breached the shore where I lay crying.

Morning came without her sirens. All was calm, when before my eyes I saw a dream come misting forth upon the western wind. I looked to where the giants had laid down their heavy journey. On the very mark they had been supinely entwined near the raging sea, ocean-eyes wide open, were two splendid Giant Birds of Paradise. I loved God for that.

At that very moment, a clicking in unison caught my attention. Just where the waves turn to froth, there they were side by side, riding the tide with their Dolphin tails. They shot forth into the sky spiraling downwards then flipping back. They were happy. I smiled. They then waved so long for now. Yes, indeed, until we meet again. I love God for that. I love God.  I love you.

 

Image

ALEX & REX at 8 weeks old.  San Diego.

WALKING ANTS

MR SINJI-GAN: “Oh, Mr Scott, Mr Scott, happy-glad to see you, my friend, lordy goodness.

… Mr. SINJI-GAN lost his entire family from the US dropping of an atomic bomb near a breathtakingly beautiful pedestrian bridge at the center of Hiroshima. He was sick with flu so he survived  the endless summer of the ‘Walking Ants’ made zombie-like by the “false sunrise & great wind”.

He was at his grandmother’s home recuperating. Her home was far enough outside the radius of the giant mushroom stem with its power to evaporate human souls en mass.

He says his friend told him about a man who lurched forward many steps trying to flee the bomb but his feet were amputated. He was running on the stubs of his knees until he fell; dying right where he fell. The Walking Ants could not do anything for him.

Yet he remains a happy man. He was so cute today; a little old man who does nothing but smile with laughter, loving life. He is a gentle man. His name is a MANTRA which may open the hearts of the most heartless among us. 

 

 

Fire Island Pines: On The Pulse of The Morning

My eyes hold their place amongst the wreckage of my face. I’m thinking, one more cocktail with this blue-eyed slab, (paid for twice over, but never to be owned), will not subdue the bestial morning’s sadistic appetite. The secret is out; Fire Island tragedies are lurking under star-crossed pines in paradise. My eyes are held in place midst the wreckage of my face by shear will. I think, perhaps one more cocktail with this blue-eyed slab paid for twice over, but never to be owned, will obliterate a debauched morning hangover. What about an aspirin or a bloody Mary? Maybe if I take a dive into the raging blue Atlantic waters of forget me nows, my sins will be erased along with yesterday and my inhuman slurs and beat you down puns. Even if the divine in divine mind could muster mercy for my soul, yes, even if I acquiesce and bow to their Latin liturgies, and I finally see that all my prescriptions are merely the fleeting tonics of a foolish mind, I will never find repose. Consequently, (I will not deny this) a loaded Colt 45’s horsepower is my medicine of choice. What other elixir will suffice when you wake early on a brand new day and your mirror is exclaiming, “You’re old, decrepit, and to boot you’re gay? These are but the rage-dreams of a narcissist’s self-absorbed preoccupation. In ephemeral brevity, my spirits rise high as the sun glides its way into mid-day. I take a second look at that man in the mirror I know as me. I think the history of my face and the fractured emerald matrix of my eyes look familiar to me. I confront myself. Are you ancient splendor garbed in hues of wisdom’s wonders? Or are you a masked imposter stoking a Fire Island tragedy lurking under star-crossed pines? My eyes hold their place amongst the wreckage of my face. I’m a silly man. I think I look dashing as my life and times and face decay. I think, “Oh, what’s another cocktail, or a line of coke or two, with this blue-eyed prince of a man; paid for twice over?” The fine print says ‘on loan, never to be owned.’ Nowhere does the contract state ‘this stud, despite his sublime stature cannot subdue another debauched mornings’ hangover revenge.’ On Fire Island, ghosts lurk scarecrow, screw-faced under littered dreams. Theirs is an insatiable hunger for any soul so predisposed to join their twisted spirits in a ritual of howls. Paradise Lost Paradise Found Over The Rainbow Smashed To The Ground. My eyes hold their place amongst the wreckage of my face as I slowly turn to ashes. Please, just one more cocktail with you, my beloved, blue-eyed Aphrodite! I’ve handsomely paid for you twice over, could you love me for any fee? No. Not he or any living mortal can subdue this debauched morning hangover. Finally, I take yet another look at that man in the mirror I know as me. I think the history of my face and the fractured emerald matrix of my eyes look familiar to me. I confront myself. Are you ancient splendor garbed in hues of wisdom’s wonders? Or are you a masked imposter stoking a Fire Island tragedy lurking under star-crossed pines? My eyes hold their place amongst the wreckage of my face. I think, one more cocktail with this blue-eyed slab, paid for twice over, but never to be owned, leased but never mine for evermore, will not change the fact that no mere mortal will ever subdue my demoralized mornings spent between heaven and hell. You see, here on Fire Island, ghosts lurk screw-faced under star-crossed pines howling without sound

BORN TO SHINE ~ DAY LABORER

 

Our queen is a day laborer. We are the lords of her kingdom. Blessed be our lovely queen, forever and ever. Amen. Our queen is between our eyes. She never calls herself a guiding light. We do. Her wisdom is priceless.  She gives it away for free. Not because she has to, because she wants to. Why do we call her holy when she passes us by? Why do we burst out joy wherever the sun touches her face? Our lover, the sun,  also touches her face, her grace. The sun, our lover, is reason we bloom. She is our perpetual blossom. She shares the same face, same heart, the same earth. We spin; we are double helix strands spiraling souls into one perfect utter bliss. Her Grace reminds us we were born to shine and light the sky. Her face? Shimmering jewels of wisdom gifted unto us by the lonely vagabonds of her heart & the holy swine who rule this place. You may if you wish. Go ahead and touch the sun. Don’t get burned. It is a diamond face with spinning nuclei. Buddha is in the middle … another face. That one is not human. Our Queen is a lonely piper of tones in shades of love. She is a continent on a lonely planet singing joyously with the universe, and the universe next door.

BORN TO SHINE

Our queen is a day laborer. We are lords in her kingdom. She says we were born to shine. We say she was born to shine. Blessed be our lovely queen who dwells between our eyes. She’s nobody’s prophet, she says. We say she is. She never calls herself our guiding light. We do, but never in her presence. We know better. When she blushes, the sun becomes a scarlet moon. Her wisdom is priceless. Give it away. She gives it away for free. Not because she has to, but because she wants to. It is her destiny calling. She is the lady with the holy in her face. She’s a humble force of a beautiful mercy. We burst out joy whenever the sun touches our face. We are reminded we were born to shine. Her face is shimmering jewels of wisdom gifted unto us by kings in vagabond garb. Swine who help her rule this place are angels with purple flowering feathered wings immaculately conceived. We are reminded we are more than looks perceive. Go ahead and touch. You want to, so go ahead. She will not mind a gentle touch. Hers is a diamond face; spinning prisms of nuclei with Buddha in the middle. There is another face, but that one is not human. Our queen is an elegant piper of tones in shades of love. She is a continent on a lonely planet singing along with the universe, and the universe next door.

gong-li-8-5-2017-su-la-ca-usa-2

SOUL HAS YOUR EYES

I’m standing at my kitchen window. The dusk is passing into early eve. There is a wind storm going on. I’m concerned about a hummingbird nest that is in a young ficus tree raised from the dead itself; a stick two years ago in the backyard of my neighbor who had neglected it. I thought I’d just water it and see what happens. It grew. Now I am worried the wind will blow the nest away. I just saw some photos of baby hummingbirds in a similar tree across the street. They are so beautiful. That was earlier today. I won’t venture close enough to these here in my yard… just in case. But I think …

If all animals feel, and they do… how often have we seen the pitiful agony of struggle in their eyes against that which they know intend harm? If they fear they must know joy, they must love life. Instinct just doesn’t cut it. In fact, dismissing such behavior as reflexology is near-devious. It is verging … no, it is ignorant … it must be another form of crime against life.You see fear in all god’s creatures.

If all creatures feel fear, love life, know pain and sorrow then they have soul – if you consume soul – you must be an animal without one – or perhaps an animal who has yet to open their eyes wide enough to see – so – I ask, think upon this. I could be wrong – I know I’m not. 

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WE CAN ONLY SPEAK of HOPE ~ ANGELINA JORDAN ~ FLY ME TO THE MOON

 
Here is Angelina Jordan … she just turned age twelve. This clip is directed by the same woman who did the illustrations on Angelina’s book. She is the grandmother of Angelina… from Oslo, Norway, but her grandmother lives and produces in northern Iran. These are two stellar talents, to be sure. Imagine how poor our world would be if we did not fulfill our true manifested destiny? We are here to be of service and laugh as much as we can. Make someone happy. Fear has nowhere to hide. If we rebelled against the tablet’s call which Lady Liberty holds with fierce compassion and pride (just a stone’s throw away from Battery Park, Manhattan), we would be the poorest people on this planet. Many of us are, regardless how much liquid assets we drip onto an ever changing canvass.  Must I repeat those words? “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”*  Open your arms, your hearts, your homes to all people who wish for a greater future today. If you give respect, you will foster respect … and hope. All there is worthy to speak of is hope. You want to live? Then you must learn how to think.  Scott Utley LA CA USA 1 17 2018 4:04 PM PST.

In 2015, Angelina published the book Mellom to hjerter (Between two hearts) illustrated by her grandmother Mery Zamani. The book tells the story of Angelina’s meeting with a poor motherless girl in Asia to whom Angelina gives her shoes. In return the girl promises to always pray for Angelina. It is allegedly based on a true story which Angelina cites as reason for always performing barefoot.[11] In 2016, Angelina launched her own YouTube Channel. After Angelina’s debut Christmas EP My Christmas released in 2014, she’s working on her first album for release in 2018.

Photo: Tore Sætre / Wikimedia

TOPEKA ‘PREACHA

 

He says he loves Jesus and Jesus loves him.
He’s a modern day prophet forgiving your sins.
He’s a radio pirate with a cable show too,
A mistress in Paris, an eye out for you.

His brand of religion breeds heartbreak and pain.
He’s a born again Christian with something to gain.
Deceitfully convincing his flock of salvation,
In return he receives a standing ovation.

His glorious sermons preach schemes of division,
Exquisitely crafted to prevent any schism.
Triumphantly pitting his will against right,
He lusts after money & covets your wife.

An unnatural affection for boys under ten,
He’s drugged quite a few on his couch in the den.
He’s suspicious of women and fearful of men.
There’s a gun by his bed marked ‘specially’ for them.

He’s a beast. He’s a monster. It’s sad but it’s true.
His secret agenda keeps Jesus from you.
He’s afraid you’ll rise up if you find out the truth,
Afraid you’ll tip off your wife & your youth.

He’s a huckster, a shyster, and the devil disguised.
He’s a freak who insists only his god is wise.
This prince of invective is consumed by desire.
While preaching forgiveness he’s stoking his fire.

 

 

MOON BEING

Part of my face is an immense crater. It is here I spend all my free time, sitting beside myself sipping tea on the lips of my cheek bones. I talk endlessly about your perfection; what a profound  defect of character that is. I then respond ad infinitum. We compare notes. We laugh, cry, and wistfully whine, sitting beside ourselves, sipping tea, watching you.

DIAMOND EYES (LOVE) LOVE LOVE LOVE ~ OF MONSTERS AND MEN

This life is amazing. It really sucks though. Sometimes. It is like Rosemary’s baby. Her head is spinning in circles in a movie called Psycho. She is screaming out 3-D green vomit into your mind (which was already pretty darn fractured from being alive in the time of plagues), yet still it shatter-cracks like blown glass murals on the day Pompeii died. Right? I know. Life’s a bitch, then you die. I think that is called a cynical statement. Who cares? But  … other times it doesn’t feel like that all all. It is a glorious joy-ride through the heavens of a very beautiful sky of emeralds & diamond eyes that are even more beautiful than that. That is what life really is, the rest is bullshit.

 

 

African Watoto Choir UGANDA

MORNING AGAIN

 

My body rises before the sun.  My eyes flutter just as filament in a clear light bulb does. Dark and alone with myself, I fantasize the universe. Just for a moment, my filament eyes become beacons illuminating my life; All my sorrows, shame, thrills, love, loves and fears It will be several hours before the sun pitches her amber shards into the heart of this silent morning twilight. Silent if I don’t heed the frenetic beauty, voice of a madman. Songs of love and precision’d chaos ~ my mind on this fine day. I am strummed tight like the bow of a Stradivarius.  I am a finely tuned instrument ready to play this song called life.

 

ISN’T THAT THE TRUTH?

 

A spiraling orb of sea-green-blue burst into a ball of fire-red flames, leaving nothing in its wake but silence wrapped in an inky black coat of inner knowing. You beside me smiling that smile only you can smile said loud and clear, “Everything will be just fine”.

Isn’t that the truth? Isn’t it

Our feathered wings were royal purple newly sprouted.Dancing with joy from one cloud to another, we flew into our future with our unconquerable souls, and our unshakable faith in glory and the arresting beauty of perfect faith.

We both smiled that smile that only knowing God can bring. Pure joy! We filled the world with pure joy!

That’s the truth! Isn’t it though.

momo

COMMAND THYSELF

 

The_World_TimelineWallpaper_850x320_animation

“Command thyself to be healed, to be loved, to love, to forgive, to be forgiven, command thyself.” A preacher man taught me that last night in a parking lot after the sunset … somewhere near Reseda on Magnolia Avenue in San Fernando Valley. Bingo howled at every passing dog from the rear window of my car. Joel & I ignored him until I finally commanded Bingo to stop that XXXX! 

Let me tell you, there is something true and all-powerful in the words of that young man. I listened to him without effort. I knew what he was going to say before he even spoke. I’ve heard it all before. I listened anyway with kindness.

He held up a tattered Bible when he wanted to drive home a point.  I always thought I could rewrite that book. I’m certain I could have made it more accessible to youth (I was well on my way.), but I was young, just 14, and my F.O.S. (FRIENDS of SAPHO) sponsor said, “No way.  What are ‘ya, nuts?” Turns out it was the other way around. It’s always like that. Do you not agree?  

I was not nuts, not then or ever. I was as sane as you are now. My F.O.S. sponsor was crazier than a bed bug. It is neither here nor there but he was also loaded all the time. It’s just not fair. Anyone can dish out profound advice high on an eight ball. It just goes to show you. Sponsors of anything are nuts by nature, or haven’t you heard?

Although I can often quote the Bible. I have never read it. In case I ever do, don’t spoil the ending for me. Thank you in advance. Now, maybe you do not believe in God. Maybe God doesn’t care. Maybe, just maybe, God doesn’t believe in you. Think about that, why don’t you? 

It’s not like it makes a difference. How kind are you? Are you making every effort to be a better man or a better woman to our world. Are you a being who, when after you are gone, our planet will lovingly whisper to the western wind as she races past,, “I am happy they came. I am sad to see them go but I am happy they stayed as long as they did.”

Now you know the reason why clouds cry. The rains are tears of joy. Hmmm … how kind where you in your life? That will be the only question. That is all that will matter then. It is all that matters now. 

The upshot to this story is:  Trust your instincts & follow your heart. That is where God resides. Maybe you will rewrite the Bible or whatever other scriptures you hold close to your heart & by doing so, change our world for the better … or not … your worth as a living being was measured in full when you were born. Do nothing if that is your desire. That’s what I do. It may be your destiny. I hope it’s mine.

blackjesus

DISCOURSE AT OJAI

HE SAID:

I am only human. My voice is powerful so I never shout. We share many of the same thoughts. We come from the same womb. The source of all our inspiration never cries but laughs a lot.

HE SAID:

If you abort a child whose heart has begun to beat then that is murder. If you have not, do not worry or force your views, for The Great Source of Our Belonging will see to a loving rectification. If you have then remember this: I have seen the light of forgiveness in the eyes of eternity & your story must be told. Your wisdom must find its home, so speak your longing.

HE SAID:

Our Bible has sharp & angry claws yet great & wonderful truths are alive & found everywhere across its pages. Stay aware of deception concealed with stunning craft. There are lies stitched into the timeless fabric of a clarion call to salvation. They are scattered seemingly without rhyme or reason by infiltrated minds who hate love. There is nothing random or unintentional about these untruths. Do not allow the haters of this world to keep you from loving life; loving god; loving me loving you.

HE SAID:

Judas is my brother. He loves me very much as I do him. Judas was not a traitor. In truth, my beloved Judas gave the ultimate sacrifice for me. A fox may outfox a fox but never can a fox outfox our Father. If you buy into that deceit, silly you. Without Judas, our Father’s plan could never have come to be. Love Judas as you do me. I care only for lovers. I love only those who strive to be kind.

HE SAID:

Do not take it upon yourself to sit in judgment of your fellow man. A man takes the life of one man & then you punish him by taking his life. Who will punish you for that very same offense? Compassion makes me happy. Forgiveness gets me high.

HE SAID:

Sift through pages of The Word. Discard that which your heart says is untrue. Listen to your heart for it is there I dwell forever. Everything I am is within you. Go there now. Ask if these words I speak are true or not. Feel if what I tell you resonates with the piercing sound of truth. Either way I am the light, I am the way.

HE SAID:

Be happy. It is your birthright to know joy forever. When pain comes & come it shall, embrace it rather than run away. You will never be able to hide. Sharpen your courage. Be kind. Love life. Kiss the ground you walk on. Take the path your heart desires. This is my devout wish & hope & plan for you. Let there be light.

He smiled ecstasy as he turned into a ruby-red mist scattered within with blue and yellow diamonds. He was no longer there to see. I now know He never left at all; ever again, before or after. Let there be light. Let there be light. Let there be light. And then there was light.

 

 

 

 

CELESTIAL ORCHESTRATIONS~WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY SCOTT UTLEY

I once witnessed

A brilliant platinum galaxy

Abruptly vanish

Into a hovering cloud

Of dense

Erotic black

*

I saw a stunning world

Hanging on a mid-night sky

Like a black pearl

A world

Just as ravishing

As our very own cobalt orb

Explode

Into lava-red flames

Then cease to exist

*

I was once

A butterfly who loved

To dance in circles

To the beat of the sun

*

I’’ve been charmed

By the ruby-red eyes

Of dusk’s

Swollen sky

*

Suspended

Mesmerized

I’’ve been hypnotized

By defiant stars

Pelting Hercules’ sky

Over an Aegean Sea

*

An infant

Opens her eyes

For the very first time

And the Universe is born

Once again

*

Truly

Every face

Is the face of God

The lovely face of God

*

But

Never

Have I ever

Laid eyes

On one so beautiful

As you

MOSENA SEBOLA ~ SOUTH AFRICA ~ Abstracting Truth For The Mass # *1 by SCOTT UTLEY LA CA USA 01.01.2018 11:11 AM PST # *1 of 21 …

MOSENA SEBOLA ~ SOUTH AFRICA ~ Abstracting Truth For The Mass # 1 by SCOTT UTLEY LA CA USA 12 31 2017 912 PM PST Mosena is one of 21 people I searched out while horribly disfigured and confined to one room for three years. I found people I admired for what they give this world. I’m doing these abstracts of each … they all still remain my friends … true, real friends …. loyal and loving ~ courageous and always questing for good.

MOSENA SEBOLA ~ SOUTH AFRICA Abstracting Truth For The Mass # 1 by SCOTT UTLEY LA CA USA 12 31 2017 912 PM PST bbbbb

BECOMING A MAN 

I am shocked to learn of the passing of a man who would be the only guy in my life who’d ever come close to being a role model to me. I may have pretended sometimes not to understand or even hear what he had to say, but I never missed his meaning or his message. I grieve his loss, along with my closest family members & so many other great people made greater for having known him.

Dear Michael, a wonderful father and brilliant husband to my beautiful sister, Johanna. Michael Spoljaric … his greatest gift, among many, was his ability to make us laugh. More than that for me, from early on in my life he taught me the most essential qualities of what is required to become a man; walk tall, hold my head up in pride, be true to who I am, never forget where I come from. To know that a real man isn’t afraid to cry … and of course, when the going gt tough, run like hell knowing he would always have my back.

I hold these truths to be self evident to this very day ~ over half a century later. What more could a kid who was going his own way long before that notion became popular among rebellious youth ask for? He certainly didn’t have to, yet he did because he cared.

A rare breed is the man whose powerful inner bravado is made of the courage & faith of a ”man’s man”. He never lost sight of who he was; the real deal-a take no prisoners straight-shooting from the hip no-bull man when it came to telling it the way he saw it. He was a king of tough love. Only a prince with a gentle soul can become such a man. There is no irony here, one is the prerequisite of the other.

He found himself when he found the love of his life, an everlasting love in the heart & soul of my remarkable sister, Johanna. With his guidance, we all watched in awe as Johanna stepped into her own power. With his patience and deep love, we also saw her bloom into the woman she is today, a woman who has strength of character so finely etched unto the history of all our lives, who is loved so much by those who are also blessed to be brushed by her gentle heart.

It is a new world dawning, fast becoming a woman’s world. Thanks to the trailblazers & such a one is Johanna. I wonder if Johanna knows this is how we feel about her? To marvel at the two of them together is fitting. There is no Michael as we know him without Johanna. The two are forever one fierce force & fiercely loved in the eyes & divine mind of our beloved creator.

Michael was the rock in our family. He held the demons at bay which at one time had tried their best to get the best of us kids and my beloved mother. How does anyone say thank you enough to a towering figure of such profound impact? I love you? We all did, and not just for the reasons I say above. It bears repeating: Michael was a wonderful father to his children, my niece and nephew, Christina & Michael Jr., and his beautiful grandchildren. He was a brilliant husband to his equally brilliant wife decade after decade, my beautiful and compassionate sister, Johanna.

I am there along side all of those who loved him for being a true human being. “Life is short but terribly eternal.” Some of us are mortal, some of us are gifted immortality. We do not choose one or the other.

Dear Father, who art in heaven, the ball is in your court. Michael has achieved that which cannot be gained without you, dear loving creator, holding his hands from the moment he was born until now, as Michael is born once again. Some people are just lucky that way.

A MODEST TRIBUTE TO A GREAT MAN …

MICHAEL SPOLJARIC 

FOREVER YOUNG 


GOD IS THE GENIUS IN YOU

 

DEBBIE GUILLIAM POSTED ON HER FACEBOOK PAGE AUGUST 14, 2017:

[For those of you who still have your parents in your lives: You are so blessed. But some of you are too blind to realize how precious time is & that your parents won’t be around forever. You should really try to be patient with your parents so that you can enjoy their final years with them because once both your parents are gone. they won’t be back.  You will not be able to make up those days you choose not to spend with them. Since I lost both my parents I feel like I have nobody. Sometimes I wish G-d would call me home because my heart feels so empty anymore. Nobody in the family really talks to me, or my beloved friend, Ronda Wade. We pretty much have just each other, our husbands and our kids (when they feel like being around us, otherwise, most of our family wrote us off when we were little, tiny girls … except for a few loving family members.]
 
mantis
 
DEBBIE GUILLIAM: G-D MUST BE MISSING AN ANGEL, BECAUSE YOUR POST IS MORE VALUABLE THAN ALL THE TEA IN CHINA. IF YOU DO NOT BELIEVE ME, ASK MY FRIEND, GONG LI.
 

GONG LI 8 5 2017 SU LA CA USA # 2

GONG: Oh, yes.Debbie, your intrinsic value is only surpassed by this post you gave our world.

SCOTT: Ms. Li, why do you say that?

GONG: From personal experience.

SCOTT: Can you, or will you clarify that statement?

GONG: Yes, I can and I will. It pleases me to be of service. In my life and in the place where I was raised, it was matter of fact to honor your mother and father. It is tradition, but it is also much more by extension; all those who have come and passed away. This is our way in rural China, not so much in the great cities. Sadly, not so much anywhere anymore.

SCOTT: Do you believe that humanity can return to that state of being where the elders are respected?

GONG: Of course.

SCOTT: Honor thy mother and father. These are beautiful words. Must they be taken literally?

GONG: Nothing should be literally taken without contemplation. You may extrapolate this “saying” to mean much more or even much less. In general though, I believe it is a metaphor for honoring all those who come before us. By doing so, and listening to what our elders have to say, with all their wisdom, is a great source of direction along the way to fulfilling our own true path. Do you understand me?

SCOTT: Ms Li, I do. I understand completely with clarity because you speak that way. Thank you for your time. We appreciate you so very, very much.

GONG: Thank you. May you always remain blessed.

龚:哦,是的,拜拜,你的内在价值只有你给我们这个世界的这个帖子才被超越。

SCOTT:李女士,你为什么这么说?

龚:从个人经验。

SCOTT:你能或者你会澄清这个说法吗?

龚:是的,我能和我会的。我很乐意为我服务。在我的生活和我所在的地方,尊重你的母亲和父亲是事实。这是传统,但更多的是延伸;所有来过的人都去了。这是我们在中国农村的方式,而不是在大城市。可悲的是,不再是任何地方了。

苏格兰:你相信人类可以回到长老尊重的地步吗?

龚:当然。

SCOTT:尊敬你的母亲和父亲。这些都是美丽的话。他们必须从字面上看吗?

龚:没有什么事情应该没有考虑。你可以推断这个“说”意味着更多甚至更少。总的来说,我相信这是一个比喻来尊重所有来到我们面前的人。通过这样做,听着我们老人所说的话,用自己的智慧,是实现自己真正道路的重要方向。你明白我说的吗?

SCOTT:李议员,我做。我完全理解,因为你这样说。感谢您的时间。非常非常感谢你。

龚:谢谢愿你永远保持祝福。

MY PARENTS (I’M FIFTH OF SIX CHILDREN-MAY 20-AS ART N ART & CHER-TWO MY MY FAVORITE ARTISTS OF ALL TIME). MY BABY SISTER, APRIL CARNEGIE-CANNON-MURDOCH. AND I SHARE A 10 & 13 YEAR GAP OF AGE DIFFERENCE FROM THE ORIGINAL GANG OF FOUR).

MY PARENTS WOULD BE APPROACHING 100 YEARS OF AGE IF THEY NOT BOTH DID AT 87 FROM COMPLICATIONS of ALZHEIMER’S. MY FATHER, A REVERED, MUCH LOVED MILITARY WARRIOR ICON (USA, MULTI-DECORATED MARINE FOR THE BATTLE OF GUADALCANAL DURING WW II, AN ARMY OFFICER IN KOREA & FOUR TOURS OF DUTY IN VIETNAM. FEW ARE THOSE WHO CAN CLAIM SUCH FEAT.

MY TRUTH IS SIMPLE: THIS MAN, SAMUEL LUKE, MY FATHER, HELD IN SUCH GREAT ESTEEM, THAT WHEN I WALKED INTO THE BAPTIST MEMORIAL & FUNERAL, HAND IN HAND WITH ANITA SPAWN, I WAS, AS MY SISTERS, APRIL & JOHANNA WERE, EMBRACED WITH SUCH ASTOUNDING LOVE, IT SHOOK US TO OUR CORES.

IT’S NOT A SECRET THAT I HOLD MYSELF QUITE BLESSED TO HAVE BE CHOSEN AT BIRTH, OR BEFORE ACTUALLY, TO BE BORN HOMOSEXUAL. THE BAPTISTS THERE WERE AWARE OF THIS, YET IT WAS OF NO CONSEQUENCE (ALTHOUGH THEY BELIEVE THE LIES & MYTH OF THAT “PERVERSION”, WHICH IS, IN REALITY, GOD’S WAY OF SAYING, GOOD JOB, GOOD JOBS. “I HONOR YOU WITH MY MOST DEVOUT LOVE, FOR YOU ARE TRUE DESTINY’S CHILDREN.

THERE IT IS. SO IT IS, FOR IT IS WRITTEN … ANY WAY YOU LOOK AT THE LIFE & TIMES OF SAMUEL LIKE & HIS ACHIEVEMENTS, SOME OF WHICH ONLY MY SISTERS AND I ARE PRIVY TO; (OTHER MOMENTS IN US MILITARY HISTORY THAT CANNOT BE SHARED.), ANY WHICH WAY YOU LOOK AT THIS, IT IS A GRAND ACHIEVEMENT FOR A SOLDIER AT WAR.

I BELIEVE, UNSHAKABLY SO, ANY NATION AT WAR IS A FAILED STATE, NEVERTHELESS, MY DAD WAS MORE LIKELY THAN NOT TO HAVE BEEN ONE OF THE MOST CRUEL AND DEBASING, BRUTAL FATHERS UNDER HIS ALCOHOLISM THAN ANY YOU WILL EVER KNOW. MURDER AND MOLESTATION? THOSE ARE CHILD’S PLAY COMPARABLY SPEAKING. BUT HE REMAINS A PILLAR IN THE HEART OF ALL WHO WERE BLESSED TO BE GRACED BY HIS PRESENCE.

EACH ONE OF MY THREE OLDER BROTHERS, JOHN, CRAIG & RICHARD,ALL USA VETERANS, MET THE MOST GRUESOME PASSINGS, NEVERTHELESS, WHEN SAMUEL LUKE, MY FATHER, LAY IN WAKE, MY TWO SISTERS AND I FLEW FROM OUR PERSPECTIVE HOMES, AND WERE PRESENT IN FORGIVENESS, FOR HE WAS OUR FEATHER FOREMOST, AFTER ALL.

WE BELIEVE THAT,… BECAUSE OF & PRECISELY SO, WE STAND ROCK SOLID IN FAITH OF, “HONOR THY MOTHER AND FATHER”. THIS IS EXPANSION-ABLE TO THE GREATER WHOLE AS GOOD. THESE ARE NOT JUST PRETTY WORDS TO SAY.

IF ALZHEIMER’S HADN’T TAKEN OUR PARENTS “EVERYTHING’” AWAY FROM THEM & US, THEY WOULD BE DANCING IN THE STREET AT 100 YEARS OF AGE, ALBEIT, MY MOTHER IN HER HOME TOWN OF NEW YORK CITY, MY FATHER IN HIS, MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE.

PRESS HOME, PRESS HARD THE IDEA OF RAPID RECTIFICATION, WHETHER PEOPLE BELIEVE THEIR MOTHER OR FATHER WERE ANIMALS OR SAINTS BECAUSE THEY CAN AND THEY MUST IF THEY ARE STRIVING TO CONTINUE THEIR INDIVIDUAL PATHWAYS TO A HOME OF THEIR OWN; A DESTINY FULFILLED WITH HOPE… AND MOST IMPORTANT…  THE MOST IMPORTANT QUALITY OF MERCY; LOVE. DEBBIE, G-D IS THE GENIUS IN YOU.

THANK YOU FOR HELPING “WE THE  MULTITUDE” TO HEAL.

d61a1-beautifulyoungwomaninmagiclightanimatedgifsfreedownloadstockphotoimagesphotographymagicanimationprofilegirlinagoldenstarsuperlightflashgifanimationphotoeffectsppt

IRENE HOLT

 

 

ART MIXED MEDIA

COURTESY OF THE ARTIST & AUTHOR : SCOTT UTLEY

SCOTT@SCOTTUTLEY.COM

INFO@NUCLEARMIND.COM

 

 

HARP OF THE GODS

If you’re mystic, 

come this way & play for me. 

Tune your strings sharp & clear 

with all the pressure I can bare. 

If you’re mystic, 

stroke my hair & kiss my lips. 

Take me to your mother ship. 

Rifle me with your tough grip. 

Anchor me to your bright blue. 

Show  myself to me through you. 

Your platinum strings are clear & true. 

Play your harp, this is your cue. 

I know you’re mystic, I am too.

Say the word, I’ll play for you.