Days
Commentator
Faith is a fire, it burns in your bones, it breathes in your frontal lobes, it quickens your soul, it won't let you go free. We are all born here in confusion, we spend our days in some vain pursuit, not really knowing why we do, what we do. The lucky amongst us, have a passion, it might be an art, it might be a profession, it might be a hobby, but they are driven to perfect it... and they get back what they put in. But it still is like mining diamonds, we tunnel inside ourselves looking for something, some kind of answer, some explanation for living this short human life and then leaving... a riddle that perplexes the land of the living and always has.
Is there any road that leads to the promised land? Is riches the answer? Religion? self rule? discipline? harmony with nature? balance? Which of the arts brings us to perfection? If you ask the masters, who seemingly have attained it, they will tell you it doesn't exist. I've stopped time, I've caught the arrow out of thin air, I've drunken poison and come up alive, I've walked in the fire and joined worlds, I've fought with the dragon and wounded his head, I've seen the bright white light of heaven and walked the hellish streets of man. I can tell you, it can be done, and yet, in a multitude of angels, standing before the throne of glory, and leading the sons of men to a new age, even here, there is no perfection, there is no answer to why we came here, or why we go, where we go.
I am that I am, tell them "I AM" sent you. Names are labels. What's in a name? If I sell you dirt and label it "fine quality wheat" ... will you eat it? Faith is a fire, it burns in your bones, it breathes in your frontal lobes, it quickens your soul, it won't let you go free. We are all born here in confusion, we spend our days in some vain pursuit, not really knowing why we do, what we do. We seek to be free. But we don't know what freedom is. We can never be free from ourselves, who we are, what we are, what we do with our precious time, and what we think inside ourselves. Would we recognize freedom if we tasted it? What are we trying to be free from?
Is one life more glorious than another? Is one death more glorious than another? Who will stand and judge? What criteria will the judgment be based upon? If I believe something with all my heart and soul, does that make it true? How can a man know the difference between clinging to a false hope and keeping the true faith? Where is the path of the righteous? Does it tread upon the clouds and hide within the waves of the sea? Can a living man find that path? Can he stay on it? And if the path is so elusive, was man meant to search for it, or did religion lie to us? Who is this lying spirit anyway? What is a cherub of glory - is it the rainbow of many colors that arched over the throne? Can perfection lie to you? Has perfection lied to you? How many times, how many thoughts, how foolish are we, and who is fooling us? Does our maker play tricks on us? Does he toy with us? Does he test us? Knowing we will fail? Just to scrape us up from our confusion, put us back on our feet, to watch us try again?
When does it not matter any more, what we do upon the earth? What is the blow from the angel that makes us walk lightly upon the earth all the rest of our days here? Faith is a fire, it burns in your bones, it breathes in your frontal lobes, it quickens your soul, it won't let you go free. We are all born here in confusion, we spend our days in some vain pursuit, not really knowing why we do, what we do. We seek to be free. But we don't know what freedom is. We can never be free from ourselves, who we are, what we are, what we do with our precious time, and what we think inside ourselves. Would we recognize freedom if we tasted it? What are we trying to be free from? Man is born to die and his hope is to be joined to the heavens. Man yearns to be free of his earthly bonds and yet, he is terrified to depart... and leave those shackles behind.
Why do you toil in vain, labor at some craft or love, hoping to perform some great feat before you die, or some small feat to give joy to your time here? What drives the heart? Why is man jealous of each other? Why does he seek to stand out from his brethren? Or dispair in his self defeat? Is there any reward in temporal glory? To discover the perfect relationship between a circle and a square? To craft the perfect bridge over troubled waters? Or canoe the still waters of serenity? Is there any moment here, that lasts, that won't yield to the next idea, the next dream?
When we go home to our creator, what do we carry with us? Faith is a fire, it burns in your bones, it breathes in your frontal lobes, it quickens your soul, it won't let you go free. We are all born here in confusion, we spend our days in some vain pursuit, not really knowing why we do, what we do. We seek to be free. But we don't know what freedom is. We can never be free from ourselves, who we are, what we are, what we do with our precious time, and what we think inside ourselves. Would we recognize freedom if we tasted it? What are we trying to be free from? Man is born to die and his hope is to be joined to the heavens. Man yearns to be free of his earthly bonds and yet, he is terrified to depart... and leave those shackles behind. Only time will answer what our plight was all about. Only death will teach us why we lived our lives. Only heaven can answer why we walked through hell. And only God knows the answers to all our questions, and the questions we didn't know to ask.
Is there any road that leads to the promised land? Is riches the answer? Religion? self rule? discipline? harmony with nature? balance? Which of the arts brings us to perfection? If you ask the masters, who seemingly have attained it, they will tell you it doesn't exist. I've stopped time, I've caught the arrow out of thin air, I've drunken poison and come up alive, I've walked in the fire and joined worlds, I've fought with the dragon and wounded his head, I've seen the bright white light of heaven and walked the hellish streets of man. I can tell you, it can be done, and yet, in a multitude of angels, standing before the throne of glory, and leading the sons of men to a new age, even here, there is no perfection, there is no answer to why we came here, or why we go, where we go.
I am that I am, tell them "I AM" sent you. Names are labels. What's in a name? If I sell you dirt and label it "fine quality wheat" ... will you eat it? Faith is a fire, it burns in your bones, it breathes in your frontal lobes, it quickens your soul, it won't let you go free. We are all born here in confusion, we spend our days in some vain pursuit, not really knowing why we do, what we do. We seek to be free. But we don't know what freedom is. We can never be free from ourselves, who we are, what we are, what we do with our precious time, and what we think inside ourselves. Would we recognize freedom if we tasted it? What are we trying to be free from?
Is one life more glorious than another? Is one death more glorious than another? Who will stand and judge? What criteria will the judgment be based upon? If I believe something with all my heart and soul, does that make it true? How can a man know the difference between clinging to a false hope and keeping the true faith? Where is the path of the righteous? Does it tread upon the clouds and hide within the waves of the sea? Can a living man find that path? Can he stay on it? And if the path is so elusive, was man meant to search for it, or did religion lie to us? Who is this lying spirit anyway? What is a cherub of glory - is it the rainbow of many colors that arched over the throne? Can perfection lie to you? Has perfection lied to you? How many times, how many thoughts, how foolish are we, and who is fooling us? Does our maker play tricks on us? Does he toy with us? Does he test us? Knowing we will fail? Just to scrape us up from our confusion, put us back on our feet, to watch us try again?
When does it not matter any more, what we do upon the earth? What is the blow from the angel that makes us walk lightly upon the earth all the rest of our days here? Faith is a fire, it burns in your bones, it breathes in your frontal lobes, it quickens your soul, it won't let you go free. We are all born here in confusion, we spend our days in some vain pursuit, not really knowing why we do, what we do. We seek to be free. But we don't know what freedom is. We can never be free from ourselves, who we are, what we are, what we do with our precious time, and what we think inside ourselves. Would we recognize freedom if we tasted it? What are we trying to be free from? Man is born to die and his hope is to be joined to the heavens. Man yearns to be free of his earthly bonds and yet, he is terrified to depart... and leave those shackles behind.
Why do you toil in vain, labor at some craft or love, hoping to perform some great feat before you die, or some small feat to give joy to your time here? What drives the heart? Why is man jealous of each other? Why does he seek to stand out from his brethren? Or dispair in his self defeat? Is there any reward in temporal glory? To discover the perfect relationship between a circle and a square? To craft the perfect bridge over troubled waters? Or canoe the still waters of serenity? Is there any moment here, that lasts, that won't yield to the next idea, the next dream?
When we go home to our creator, what do we carry with us? Faith is a fire, it burns in your bones, it breathes in your frontal lobes, it quickens your soul, it won't let you go free. We are all born here in confusion, we spend our days in some vain pursuit, not really knowing why we do, what we do. We seek to be free. But we don't know what freedom is. We can never be free from ourselves, who we are, what we are, what we do with our precious time, and what we think inside ourselves. Would we recognize freedom if we tasted it? What are we trying to be free from? Man is born to die and his hope is to be joined to the heavens. Man yearns to be free of his earthly bonds and yet, he is terrified to depart... and leave those shackles behind. Only time will answer what our plight was all about. Only death will teach us why we lived our lives. Only heaven can answer why we walked through hell. And only God knows the answers to all our questions, and the questions we didn't know to ask.