The Unborn

We always think God has some grand plan for us, but what if God is an alcoholic who’s passed out half the time?  What if God is suffering just as much as we are? Picture God waking up in the morning with a hangover, rubbing his temples, saying to himself, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this shit.”

I think sometimes facing your reality isn’t easy to stomach. We all have dreams about leaving the lives not truly meant for us, behind. We’re supposed to chase our dreams and end up sliding down the rainbow into a pot of gold. And yet, there are so many of us who never leave the emotional ghetto.

If balance is what The Universe seeks in all matters, there will always be war in places like Syria, and freedom in places like America. Some of us will eat well, while others will starve to death. For every nursing newborn baby, is another being buried in a casket so small the sight of it brings heartache to anyone with a heart that is still beating.

Have you ever seem that meme? The one that says Home is nothing more than two arms holding you tight at your worst? I’m beginning to understand that as I travel the path least worn, because there is no guarantee that you will ever reach your intended destination. You start asking the hard questions after a while, like “what if my soulmate actually is the local drug dealer?” (Not that there’s anything wrong with that from a much higher perspective.)

I feel as if the world is both ready and not ready to be birthed into a new nation. Tupac sang a Ghetto Gospel, but the ghetto doesn’t exist if the playing field has been evened out a little bit at a time.

I don’t always understand the mans plan, yet it doesn’t seem impossible that may be what he’s up to.

Maybe the world is in the shape it is in because it’s not our prayers he’s listening to. It’s the prayers of the hearts of the unborn children who can’t live in a world filled to the brim with greed and corruption, and a lack of means to follow their dreams. The Indigo Children came here to break those doors down, but the unborn children aren’t fighters. They’re lovers. This world is their’s …

So what can we hope for?

The unimaginable.

Especially if these children are being born all over the globe.


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