Does Dastardly begin within my own heart? Do the resounding arms of evil move through my best intention, self-justifying to keep myself free from the weight of causality? Am I my and the worlds’ worst enemy? Am I the ticking time bomb of prideful discoloration as my perspective paints all in swaths of red, black, yellow and gray? These are not the times to stand the field of battle only to fall upon unsheathed sword of personal power and protection. These are the days of fealty, faith and predicaments in power beyond my own capacity.

I have tasted the despicable nature of my own heart’s desirous implication. Calculating all effect within parameters of my own fulfillment, taking careful disregard of the need of those around me. That having been stated, there is freedom to be found when finding liberty outside the boxes of self-service and rebellion. The confidence of knowing the voice that is followed belongs to the one who gave us life, sets those in that understanding apart from the animalistic or brute beast proclivities of mankind. The difficulty then resides in not judging them from action’s potential, but by fruits delivered.

I have seen war and the unsavory cravings of man to feed upon the innocent in a quest of consummation. Evil is no surprise though its flippant treatment of the precious will shock those finding creation a gifting. I will not stand by in the allowance of torture of the innocent, feeble or to those of measured years. We must make statements in our choices and defending life is the greatest of these offerings. What is a man who allows the precious spongelike nature of youthful exuberance to become prostitute in observance? What is a man who collects regret instead of standing against the usurpations of wickedness?

When do my paragraphs, descriptions, explanations and definitions stop beginning with I? Where are the origins of my thinking if not emanating and perpetuating the hungers of my own aggrandizement? What is transformation when held outside ideology, rather consistent with doctrine and mystical, miracle of superior reprogramming? How did I get here if I was incapable of defining or getting here in the first place? Realization is something beyond self. The Palpable understanding of mysteries beyond conjugation. What then is grace when held through insufficient perspective or outside the field of cognition? It is parable without requisite insight.