Cry of Beauty

Subtitle

CRY OF THE FATHERS

 

 

THE CRY OF THE FATHERS

 

If

any man should ask let it be known that all of my activity is compelled by my fathers and mothers that lived before in all creation. That they are compelled by the father and mother of all things and thoughts.

 

If

I should go on a river and ask it for its name, it will say that through the ages it has always been water. And so it is for all things of nature that are our companions. Water does not have a life of its own. None of us in creation have a life of our own but go together as if bound by a chord. Be not afraid for it is only the heart of He that has created life. It is male and female and all is compelled after HaHiYa    I know that this creation is sweet. I have tasted it and I am blessed (at this time and now is forever, all the children of creation move and sing).

 

Dare

I change the ways of my father? My earthly fathers seem not to hear the Cry of Beauty of the water. They say it only ripples. They have found the things of their own hands more enchanting.

 

If

I should go on a mountain and know that height and the breadth and the weight then I shall know why men build cities. For the mountain is full of life. The mountain comes in styles and changes its dress in season. It relieves itself of all waste and allows for the balance of its populous. It lives a great life before it is done.

 

 

If

I should go to the animal world and speak with it, its voice will say it has not a will. I can never understand the fathers that hunt for prizes. The voice will say that it is its nature to eat that which was provided for it and nothing more. The voice will say it is not an experimenter but only a follower. The voice will say that there is a crying beckoning unto it so it goes.

 

If

I should go to a plant it will say that it grows from the earth, the air and sun. I have grown from my fathers. I have grown because of their life steps. The plant will say it does not have a history to learn from. It does not roam. That it breathes the world and serves the earth with

its fruit. It lives for the feeling of the sun. This is a creeping affair ever reaching for some crying it feels.

If

we were allowed to visit the background of all things lliving in the creation we would witness the crying that silences in great sweeps of joy. It is the Cry of Beauty. It is but a child or so it seems. It is such a delight.

 

Dare

I change my ways. I know it is against the ideas and ways of the fathers before me and many in my company this hour. Our greatest books have been interpreted and written to give leadership to the fathers. That time is at end. The creator is male and female and envisioned the creation as such and thus it is. Everything lliving has its partner. All life is married. In my building past and present, and the building of the fathers, we mimicked the greatest design, the creation all around us and within us. The fathers as in other times no longer hear creation. They have become unfamiliar with its feelings therefore, the feel of life itself.

 

The

cities of the fathers do not support life abundantly. The buildings are rotten from the stench of minds inhabiting them. Our minds are in orbit of ourselves. The fathers have eaten a great measure of the treasure given the earth for hours of leisure. Nature has been covered up with the false material of technology and the disease of science fiction. The fathers have been made delirious by their handiwork. Love has gone out of the world. It has become a sad place. Admiration and truth look for a mouth out of which to speak. Many are now the villains in a world of tears. Let us grab this fallout and rinse it clean. The Cry of Beauty beckons me and I can hear no other sound none but the

beauty of the silence.

 

Dare

I change the ways of the fathers that have disregarded the platform on which I now stand. My companions are loosing their voice, too overcome with the smoke of the fathers to go on. Witness the natural things now false. The fathers and many others pretend to enjoy them. This is unnatural. The water choking. The animals corralled loosing the language of their fathers. The plants, the trees fouled by the bad breath of the machinery of man. Darkness covers every road with the wildness of thieves and decay. The air sick with the waste of experiments. The earth appears strange to herself. She is so divided with nations crying for more.

HaHiYa

endows us with the freedom of manhood and womanhood. The earth is full with our companions and none here have been abandoned nor left to go astray. When the child hears the water he listens not to the ripple but to the song. The Cry of Beauty beckons us. We only have to quiet our heads.