4-25-22 – 1:19 p.m.
There needs to be divine justice for the world to make sense. Otherwise, our lives are meaningless, and the wicked get away with everything. I saw glimpses of redemption in my father’s face before he died. There were shards of light in his dark eyes that shined amid the hazy, drug-induced stupor.
There’s a part of me I don’t recognize. It’s the part I repress and push down; it comes bursting forth sometimes. The collective unconscious is very real, no matter what you may think. We are not blank slates, and we’ve lived many lifetimes before this one. Each soul is reincarnated and recycled.Continue reading “New World (Part 8) – A Poetry Journal”