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.