Stream of Conscious

Hurt defined as a warning here to deeper healing .


Late June in the northwest region of Indiana brings the sound of crickets and other musical insects out at night.  The warm pavement of the drive ways under bare feet and the soft cool grass of the back yard lawn.  Midnight used to feel like dusk and the white star constellations were the only maps to our souls as a teenager.  The break of cigarette smoke and college texts speedily turned youth into their young adult stage and the pressures of a new decade paved the way.

 Another soft ball game, and another dollar goes to patterns of summer breaks and risks.  Some hurt more than others such as the manifestation of dishonesty and resentments entangled with dissaprovals unmentioned.  Who can keep count anyway?  Divine dreams hurt since unity is one and alone we come united we stand.   You ever go through the day using your strength for the higher road. Then its growing into the use of Gods Will for you. Its amazing if you can endure this stamina for yourself before the trouble, God creates a holy bubble.

My eyes light up it seems to see youth filling the seats of Gods house.  Some come from afar together in teams.  The struggle is keeping a up with ease of life through the strife only you can faithfully plead.  Cleave to His every Word, the sweet whisper over the worlds sinister.

In brief
Ms. Struggle


Signs across the highway, in depth knowledge, unchanging spoilage.  The french fry delight, hamburger special, a cigarette in the middle of winter, ice frosted everywhere, is Indiana. Answer the phone, dont. The little things of whip cream lines and kisses undefined worse rejected.