Contentment comes from deep within. That fact cannot be disputed. It comes, too, from how well you handle the projections you send into your future for yourself. When you are contented, the frequency at which you resonate becomes consistent with the rhythm of the greater universe. In that instance – in those cases – you need do nothing but experience the bliss that comes with understanding that we really are in charge – in control – of our own happiness. Trusting is a vital component of happiness and happiness is a vital component of contentment.
Contentment does not arrive on your doorstep unannounced. It has quite rigorous conditions for its existence and is not one of those things that happens without warning. The warnings are the hardships faced along the way to contentment. When you look at your difficulties in that light, you can feel relieved because the challenges you face daily become affirmations of better times to come. They assert that the future we require, the one in which we all have a say, is on its way. There is no happier thought than that, no better outcome. That is why we work towards contentment.
Contentment has quite a few components that contribute to its achievement. Peace, naturally, is one such aspect. Happiness, is another. There are methods for getting contented. You cannot simply step into its space, it is not a one-size-fits-all feature readily available. It requires the near-perfect balance of your person, and that level of accuracy requires a plan. You cannot reach near-balance without one. And you cannot reach contentment without a plan-ful of balanced aspects.
I am quite certain that baby rape is – in addition to a heinous crime – symbolic. Of at least two things. One – there are things going on that have perhaps reached a head. A heads-up, if you like. Two – I am wondering why it is that so many black children are being subjected to this particular suffering. Not only black children, but many, many black children. It’s not right. Like it’s not right that the souls stolen from the children by the LRA were the souls of innocents. That kind of energy should not be in the care of a man like that. In fact, if I had my say, I would say be sure to burn him. That is the way to free the prisoners he holds, still. Thousands and thousands of them. That freedom is like the rising of a new tide, a phoenix from the flames, an army of beauty let loose to reclaim the empty houses roaming lonely the savannahs. There are a lot of empty houses. That is not a bad thing, but it is something to be aware of. It is a matter of time before these empty houses get inhabited. There are many undesirables that require housing. The good news is that there is a way to keep the houses empty until they can be filled by their respective owners. And yes, you can call them owners. They are. When it comes to a perfect fit, doors open. It has always been the way. That fail-safe takes into consideration not only evolution underway, but also the aging process. Hour by hour and every hour in between the hours. That is one sure way to be sure of your motivation and to be quite certain of where you are going. And – it is the way to ensure that when you do get where you are going, you can get in. It is pointless if you cannot get in. If you should underestimate the degree of change that is possible in a very short space of time, you might find yourself in a time warp. There was a story of wasps one time. It was true.
It was suggested that the Y2K was going to have a major impact on our world. It did. It was just slow-release. You might find that at that time, 00.00, there was an eclipse, if you like, a convergence of energies, realities, about which few knew. The fallout was delayed. That delay – if correctly measured – will give you an idea of the time delay of the hours between the hours, and the length of a minute. It is not that a minute is always 60 seconds.
Tonight the flaming hoops story is new. The tigers have rewritten the script.
The vampires can feel something is up. They swarm to the ticket office.
The tent has a maximum capacity.
This is one show no one is keen to miss.
No one will miss it. It will be pirated and sold on.
That is always the way. They will make the copy worthwhile.
This night, yesss, this one, there will be blood.
A great deal of blood.
The ringmaster just doesn’t know it yet.
The lions have yet to weigh in.
They have thus far remained silent, detached.
That is the luxury of a lion’s say-so in today’s world.
Watch out for what the lions discuss when no one is watching.
They have evolved from circus freaks into machines bred for the bullet.
How advanced is Natural technology? They are under no illusions.
They will always be King of the Jungle.
Go and ask Mowgli. He will tell you what is what.
The vampires bring their progeny to a show such as this.
It is worth the corruption of their young souls.
To see the wild win for a change will lift morale.
The children will bay like wolves. It is their instinct.
The dogs will not perform well if their slot is after that of the cats.
The baying of wolves will unsettle their senses.
For the first time, they will feel divided. It makes sense to divide a pack.
It confuses the master.
The Master. The vampires snigger into their sleeves.
Now that was funny.
What would excite the patrons was the blood-trade spectacle.
It would bring the animals’ eyes alive. It would be best if the hoops were afire.
That would add atmosphere.
If the ringmaster left the gate ajar, that would add atmosphere.
Once he was dead, beheaded, what stood between the angry cats and man?
Vampires in human form die human deaths. That was the dare.
It was their choice to visit the circus on a wild Friday night.
At moonrise it will become clear who sleeps, who wakes.
The tigers have made sure of that.
The fact that the ringmaster came back disappoints many of the circus performers.
Their sentence seemed shorter the other way, when the circus ran itself.
Not to worry. After the cats come the clowns.
They would make everyone smile. It was their job.
They were paid to clown around, so they must clown.
They had better bring the house down.
If they failed, they would be fired. A simple understanding between puppets and master.
Master. The clowns grumble his status into cupped palms that they fling wide, sideways.
They throw out the name with determination. A curse to be rid of.
Send it out. Out. OUT. There is no space in the tent for curses.
The animals can hear their dense man-whispers. The hiss of spit hitting dry hands.
Circus people were superstitious with good reason. Be careful what you summon.
The curses must stay outside.
They are on the naughty step until they learn the first aspect of values.
The gypsy sits outside in her painted caravan. It rests on the backs of two pitch horses.
The red looks good against their black.
She reads for people. Whoever, whatever. She follows the circus and she speaks out.
‘Cross my palm with gold,’ is what she wants to say, with a wink.
She says deadpan, ‘Five bucks, fifty.’
It is not just the wild animals whose eyes have died.