Good day wonderful beings of life and change, I sit here wondering the cost of things and the life we live. The moon last night being one that carries the many thoughts of the sleeping being, human and not. A voice of many becoming a sound of one, closed eyes see more then I have ever seen with wide open eyes. Sounds more honest and more noble then the outreach of a thousand hands. Flexing limbs of trees, moans of the cooling stones and river water, the rumble of the distant stars we not hear but with eyes closed, sound is not absent, just distant.

Found in the world since many years ago, a corruption that forces eyes open and ears infected with lies, truth and honesty has become the place holder of lies in the minds of millions. No longer is the words of the honest man heard, only the depictions of the world and how we should sacrifice to make sure that we never hear the honest words again. Betrayals of the mothers we call whores now and the ones who have had the most abortions are hero’s, the ones who dictate the eyes closed to origin and must welcome the most vile in the conscious mind to save nations we have never heard of. Nations who have the rod to the mind and never allow thinking to out weigh the contradictions of the human being.

The trees drop the leaves of the summer to bring forth the limbs to be covered in the white of winter, a cold blanket that has protected them for years and yet the ones who see the cold air for what is not its means, but a hassle of the body know not the warmth of convictions and fore thought of the season. The ones with open eyes never seem to know that seasons repeat, only they see the things that seasons bring that add tasks to the body. When the fallen leaf and the winters snow all serve time longer then we have even walked upright. They have had the eyes of lies closed and the tree has brought forth the ultimate truth in its existence knowing its means. A tree has out classed the human mind in its steady growth and devotion to not opened eyes but the closed eyes of the thinker, the knower, the ponderer and the whisperer.

Seen not in the reflections of light, but in the warmth of the burning stars are things that give us more then the world understands. We have a grand vision for the future but we cannot see the future as it is but as we wish to change it too. The past is not in memory but in the forgotten attempts to makeshift some kind of book that tells the tales of one that over takes the rest. A history and written texts hold truths in the eyes of one, closed eyes and words spoken tell of all others who fell to the sword.

Then again, I am just a fool with closed eyes and a open mind.

Until Later

Much Love

Your Friendly Ginger From The Woods.