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Somewhere in a Graveyard

ARC Martin Daley moon behind cross

Somewhere in a graveyard, there is a soul who believes it can be reborn. We can’t seem to locate the origin of the signal, but wait, something undetectable by the naked eye is in motion, and the will of the believer begins to calculate the possibility, and we now have a connection and this contemplation of irrefutable facts identifies the variable yes, I believe somewhere in a graveyard, that which was before believed to be impossible has just been made manifest, a soul has just reconnected to the mind, and the Sun has indeed risen from the West. There is a knocking on the coffin, and the corpse has begun to rise, somewhere in a graveyard, the sight has been bestowed upon the blind, and the lame begin to walk, and the tongue speaks the heart beats a resurrection has taken place and it’s not the savior that you seek. Somewhere in a graveyard.

The maggots have eaten away at his flesh and his breath smells of death and rotten soil, and the rigor mortis has made him immobile and clumsy, he is not some sort of Monster, he should be so lucky to be a fictitious character of your imagination, beneath the surface, no breath to call his own he is the food of the flowers and trees, he is the evaporation of the oxygen and hydrogen in his decomposing carcass, he can feel himself rising out of his physical being, and in this moment of inspiration there is invocation from the origins of intelligence and creation. Somewhere in a graveyard, someone has sacrificed the comfort of stagnation for the struggle of salvation, and that which was once decomposed stands in complete manifestation. Somewhere in a graveyard

Uncovering the bones from the dust, the winds continue raging in anger, and on his tombstone it reads the names of his conquerors, buried deep underneath the fear and the pain and the confusion, there is a spirit and a will to breathe again and taste the sweetness of self-determination. To give and receive the beauty of love in abundance to and with every connection of that experience. The sensory perceptions are no longer dull, the expression no longer stifled, the development no longer arrested. It is alive. Alive and awakened by the power of truth. Reconnected to the source of life the seeds have taken root. There is light, the sun rises, and empty grave, and the wrath of his vengeance has begun.

About Jeff Campbell

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