Aug 10

Love Your Enemy


“Walk with me.”

“I can’t.”


“You are beyond my reach.”

“I am you!”

“I can’t.”

“Listen, I want you to listen carefully now.  They…are you, a part of you.  Your torturers are you.  He who murders you is none other than your own will made manifest, and God’s will executed.  How else do you wish to exit?”

“I don’t understand!  Make them stop!”

“Take a deep breath…  I’m with you!  They’re torturing you; I can feel your agony.

But I ask you to turn your other cheek.  Bless them.  Love them as they pierce your flesh with their probes, as they lacerate you…  Embrace them as they insult you.  Savor them as they devour you…”

“I cannot!  What you’re asking of me goes against everything I hold to be true.  I am mortal, and frightened, and feel pain –“

“And feel love… Let go of this illusion of duality, it no longer makes any sense.

You’re being silent…

All I’m asking you is to…love your enemy with all your heart and embrace him even as he mortally betrays you.

Remember, two become one to make three.  Conception bears witness to epic metamorphosis culminating to death from the womb, birthed into material world, and eventually through the tomb where birthed yet again.”

“What about love?  Shouldn’t I have regret for lost love?”

“It’s written in your destiny.  Love is the highest achievement of your will.

Love… It’s eternal, never lost.”

-Iliad Terra

Aug 10

Butterfly and candle


Give them hope…

Just kidding — don’t mean to sound so blatant, but… well, I kind of do!

Look, here’s the deal:

No one, and I mean NO ONE, will buy a damn thing if they don’t want to! And here’s the rub: “…want…”

So, at the very end of the day, an “Apple” is just a fruit, with so much fluff — I mean has any of all this technology done a darn thing for human evolution or happiness? Nope, nada, zilch!

We have a clutter of gizmos and the world is hitting the fan and it stinks to high heaven, despite the latest whatchamacallits and whodunits!


Rule 101:
Give the buyers what they want – it’s that simple! Once we understand that simple rule, then it all falls into place.

So the question we need to ask ourselves is what is it they want. What do these silly old Humanz WANT?  Snake oil?


Aug 10

the color of letters



My father was dying…
He had returned after twenty-five years from Japan, to die at home.
On his deathbed he had one request from me:
“Be gentle with my friend in Tokyo…,” as he scribbled her name with teary eyes.

I hadn’t heard about this friend previously.
In fact I had not heard much about my father’s life while growing up.
I grew up imagining the vastness of the Pacific Ocean, separating me from my father.
I grew up learning the meaning of infinite void while I searched for a father’s love…

After his death,
I took the scribbled name he had written with his trembling hands,
And resolved to find her.
I flew to Tokyo.

Upon arrival at Narita Airport I found myself in a sea of Kanji and Hiragana
And quickly learned to swim to a hidden out-of-the-way rinjin.
There, I found a weathered wooden gate wounding a white-washed wall,
And rang the doorbell.

4:00 PM, no one was home, I thought, and was about to leave
When I heard wooden clogs shuffle along hard pavement behind the door.
My breath caught. I stopped, and turned back around,
And stared at the door with all my strength.

The door opened with a soft wooden whisper,
And revealed a beautiful woman with onyx eyes and graying hair.
She looked at me bewildered, not a word passing her lips,
And collapsed in my arms.

We spent the days visiting tea houses,
And looking at ancient koi,
And watching raindrops splatter on lotus leaves,
Until it was time to leave.

“Here, all this is yours.  Take it all, I have no need for anything,” she said.
I asked her to take me to his den library.
It was a room lined with books from floor to ceiling, lit by a bank of north light.
The room smelled of moths and even older thoughts eating the Turkish rug.

One book struck me the most…
It was by a man named Vladimir Nabokov,
Speak, Memory.

And it was the only possession of my father I brought back with me.

That evening I left her with her graying memories.
Upon our farewell she took the train back from Narita,
And I flew to San Francisco,
Over the Pacific Ocean, even deeper than a child’s imagination.

Mid-flight, in the dim cabin light, with sleeping passengers all around me,
All of us hurtling forty thousand feet above a dark ocean,
I opened the book to chapter 2,
And learned about the color of letters

-Iliad A. Terra

Aug 10

the color of words



So I imagine I’m the sad little boy and you’re the flower…
Fascinated as I’m with your light… and you fascinated with me looking at you?

Or should I imagine that I’m blessed with your beauty and you have imprisoned me…

Or perhaps you are alone and so you’ve learned to shine so that you can see me see you…

Or maybe, just maybe, you’re a sad little flower, the last flower on earth.

Perhaps we go round each other, you and me, me and you…
With love so true the world is new…
Alas, were it so…
So I sing you these words so blue.