Pissants and the Power of Prayer

History and science have proven that it is not wise for us to allow mans current prevailing state of ignorance to blind us, not only to the possibilities, but to the realities of life.

Nothing exists in the temporal world unless it is first imagined and then realized. Prayer is no exception. Prayer is not magic; it is real and bound by the natural laws. Prayer simply operates through a science that is beyond mortal comprehension. Human arrogance will never allow the ignorant, and fearful little man to come down; to descend from the towering peaks of his narcissistic construct of so-called human progress. And so, he will live and die this way.

But I must pray to both God and man, because where does one end and the other begin?

My prayer to God:

Hear my prayer and read my lips.

Hear my prayer and touch my heart

Let the fires of redemption be stirred

Help me up! Help me up! Give me your hand!

Kill me with your kindness that I may be born again

With a much better likeness, and much closer to perfection

My God, Help me up!

My prayer to man:

Help me up, give me your hand, you may need someone when you fall down

Help me up, give me your hand, you may need someone when you fall down

I was a fool to think that a man could laugh at the gods and go it alone

My body it aches from the poison I took and it's burning a hole in my head

Help me up!

Help me up!

But you must go now, and you must run very fast! Go, and seek the advice of a physician.

Who has seen the power of prayer working in and around the world, yet could only deny it.

Who has mocked both the prophet, and the simple minded man of faith.

Who will die a miserable death on his own account.

Hear Ye! Hear Ye! All men who are filled with mortal fear, run to the physician that you may be healed. Run, run to him now, or you may get much worse. The cancer inside you will only multiply. The broken bone will go sour and begin to rot. Yes, run to the physician, because you do not know how to pray. But I find no pleasure in your confusion, for my body convulses, and I am only weeping.

Who are these giants among men, although they are not, although they are no longer? I have seen them and I have been touched not only once or twice. I was invited into their holy council, and she stood as a witness. And she was white, middle aged, and European. And so a very long prayer was answered. All of my life was broken apart, and so I witnessed, with a great sadness, and with an even greater disbelief, as it fell into pieces. I shouted out in anger. I cursed God and the council:

"You know that I'm a man! You know that I am weak! How could you do this to me? What pleasure do you take in my misery? You have heard my prayer, and I have prayed for deliverance, but you have only taken my life and replaced it with the life of a pauper! This is not what I had dreamed. This is not what I have wished for. This is not my purpose! "

But as I continued, they only gathered me to them, as one might gather together a handful of mint, or parsley, and so I was in their heart. And they began to laugh out loud. Was it a minute? Was it an hour, or even a day? I cannot tell, but so this is how I came to understand.

Nothing exists in the temporal world unless it is first imagined and then realized. Prayer is no exception. Prayer is not magic; it is real and bound by the natural laws. Prayer simply operates through a science that is beyond mortal comprehension. Human arrogance will never allow the ignorant, and fearful little man, to come down from the towering peaks of his narcissistic construct of so-called human progress. And so, he will live and die this way.

I see that you brought a folding chair and some refreshments. Did you find a society of pissants? In your backyard, or nestled between the cracks of a broken city sidewalk.? And did you observe the comings and goings of the little creatures for just an hour? Did you hear their pretty pissant songs:

"I'm a little pissant short and stout, here is my handle, here is my spout ..."

or perhaps:

" I'm proud to be a pissant, where at least I know I'm free. From the lakes of Minnesota, to the hills of Tennessee ..."

or this popular song of inspiration:

" I am pissant hear me roar, in numbers too big to ignore..."

or maybe you heard them singing my all time favorite:

" Shot through the heart, and you're to blame. You give pissants a bad name."

My God, why is this necessary, and why have you left me to die here all alone?