do not complain.
your ever constant prayer must be:
thy will, Lord, not mine be done,
it is your wisdom that irradiates blissado,
not my limited, human intellect.
it is your love unfathomable, Lord,
that decrees the shape and the shine,
not my frailties and shortcomings.
whatever obstacles you set before me
i will accept them unquestioningly.
through all swamps and deluges
i will sing your praises and your beatitudes.
amid all saharum and antarticum
your halo-grace and miraculo-wonder
will comfort, fortify and uplift me,
do not complain.
do not lament, wail and sulfurize.
let not your soul know combustion.
is it not true that when you behave thus,
you are in fact saying:
i neither understand nor accept
your will for me, Lord.
i am not content with my lot in life,
my flash-roses and flare-orbs are insufficient?
does not the complaint entail
that you are upset with the hurdles you confront
enraged with their height and breadth,
fuming, fomenting and hydrochloric?
always remember that just as some
men are born great, some men become great,
and some men have greatness thrust upon them,
so too are some born with the yoke,
some men become enyoked,
and some have the yoke thrust upon them.
the Lord cannot decree the same amount
of delecto-pleasure and whip-pain for all.
in life some accident must prevail,
some snarling lightning-hazard must occur.
it cannot be that life unfolds in a pattern,
that progress and regress equally expand,
that each receives the same strike-womp,
and all harness coequal star-blithe.
the unexpected renders life beautiful,
the unanticipated enflourishes us with cloud-wonder.
it is mystery that unleashes the awe-surge,
enigma that motivates the engine,
and it is dilemma that propels humans to enact.
undoubtedly many will say:
yes, i agree that some junk-spit must foment,
that some vesuvia must vexplode,
i understand the necessity
of the black pieces on the chess-board of life,
but i do not understand
why the sulfur-storm so violently propels,
nor do i comprehend the necessity
of the superiority of malignum’s shade-claws.
why does the hurricane uproot
so decisively, so categorically and so wholly?
why tsunami, why soul-quake, why nazi-tumult?
when katrina blighted new orleans,
why could not only five hundred have died,
rather than the fifteen hundred
that eventually corroded in worms?
when the tsunami belched its omnivorum
on the indonesian coast,
why two hundred thousand dead?
why not fifty thousand or half that?
why did the africans endure two hundred
years of american bondage,
why not one hundred or none at all?
this reasoning as well radiates fallacy.
you are willing to accept pain-thorn,
but only that which does not challenge you.
you want pain to resemble the doctor’s appointment.
you know the when and the where of its occurrence.
you are able to prepare for it, envision it,
you have felt its wasp-sting before,
it will in no wise lash you with spike,
nor will it seriously uproot and enthrall you.
if you were an athlete you would easily allow
for some propensity and skill in your opponent.
you can tolerate being behind in the game,
but not entirely trounced and desperate.
a challenge is fine, if not welcome,
but a wholesale route and frenzy-fire
represents an irresoluble dilemma.
i do admit, beloved, that perhaps one
in a million have confronted a rage-dragon,
that does gouge the soul too hideo-violently,
and does wrench the individual too heart-slashingly,
that they have suffered a hurricane
that seems too wasp-harsh to withstand,
and too megalo-striko to bear and receive.
nelson mandela twenty seven years
of unjust pain-jail suuffered,
he endured years of deprivation,
years of mind-crash and furnace.
and many more nameless a similar
fate of barbs have suffered.
yet we do not know indeed if they are real.
God, the author of all things,
the creator splendido and overwhelmo,
His manufacture of the bizarre an enigma,
could manipulate such as puppets,
true phantom-humans us to frighten,
themselves shades life mirroring,
not actually sensing and lamenting,
yet only scamming us into more anxiety,
life a more looming nightmare
at their sight than it in fact is.
ourselves not having created the universe,
we thus are unable to know all its parameters,
nor probe its full layers,
its myriad chambers a mysto-riddle.
anything is possible,
your limited human science
only partially the universe can decipher,
your narrow reasoning and analysis
sees only one side of the moon.
you also have no way of knowing
the compensation such jobs
might immediately receive in the afterlife,
their souls showered with honey endlèssan,
their minds harboring jasmo-blithe eldoradan.
when you complain you contradict your faith.
should not your regular refrain be:
whatever ghastlum i confront,
whichever shade-demons i encounter, Lord,
i will accept them unquestioningly,
i will wrestle with them silently,
thy will not mine be done,
your wisdom astral and shinning,
my intelligence faltering and webbed?
should not your constant adage be:
through all nail-storm i will praise you,
amid all siberia i will enflower you,
it is i who proposes,
and your grace unfathomable who disposes.
it is i who strives and aims,
you who decides, implements and blocks?
although i can barely penetrate your wisdom,
although i hardly have unraveled your knots,
i will nevertheless fully submit to your will,
all crosses accepting and receiving,
to your decrees fully compliant.
when you complain that you loathe
the callousness of life and reality,
and abhor this earth’s mud,
the nefarians your halo-peace disturbing,
are you not one more step closer
to renouncing God and faith,
absurdity to be your only truth,
righteousness no longer your son?
is it not illogical to say:
cursed be this life’s ash,
may it envelope in chlorine and methane,
yet i love God completely and entirely?
is it in reality much more natural to say
this life corrodes in worms,
it burgeons in acid and hate-slime,
its lilica is too few and far between,
thus my faith is now a dream,
my worship of the creator pales,
my moon now eclipses my sun.
thus when you complain you are
one step closer towards embracing
atheism’s horrential pluto,
and allying yourself to the hopeless mold.
as the maledictions spume forth,
the tyrants of infidelity approach,
and the killers of pessimism arise.
be strong, unflinching, resilient.
let no concession to the fiend be transacted,
let no alliance with night be completed.
complaint is the weapon of the enemy,
gradually it wilts the resolve,
slowly it dust-fades the optimism.
it gives succor to the defeatists,
and provides sanctuary to the alarmists.
always remember that life by no means
eternally brilliates luxo-dance,
and that celebrasha is a rarity and especial.
recall that by the sweat of our brow
do we eat our food and sustenance,
and labor amidst fields of heat.
let not those promising paradiso hoodwink you,
nor those promising a fail-proof elixir
lead you into the night-ditch and the blade-forest.
instead armor yourself with the shield of persistence,
bathe yourself in the lavender of determination,
withstand all lashes silently,
tolerate all mind-shrapnel with glee-joy.
for there is an arcadia for those who are patient,
there is a mind-wonder for the faithful and vigilant,
be surging, brilliating and robust.
