Tuesday, September 8, 2015


The vicious minstrel lives by stealth, all of
his stringed instruments silent. Yet the winged
creatures around him, by contrast, seem to be
making all the noise. There is a blue smoke from
this Heaven rising. I can only lower my head.
We cross the threshold two by two, like Noah's
stalwart samples  -  walking aboard some dream-like
craft. The figure at the entry (no, I do not know what
it is) seems to tell me this is from where I'd begun.
I sense that I have come forth from this feeling before.
There is a master-section in the front, where the aura
of some greater being intensifies the light. Yes, now I
am in that arena, no longer trying to think, for that is of
little usefulness here. I am no longer what I was, the
'Human' of me has now dropped away. I curl and I
twist, only to realize I no longer inhabit those terms.

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