The sun set this evening in a blaze of pinkish coral and sherbet orange outlining the cottontail tufts of the sky high thunder clouds … the ghost trails were more distinct than I have seen them in many moons … hot white traces of memories the Summer has yet imagined while spinning in the dew cuddled rain … eyes closed … all smiles … not caring if we fell in the mud or forgot our way home for a time … the sky was that which childhood has daydreams about when it cannot react to hearing Mother calling it’s name … it is too lost in the beauty in the pureness the butterfly must know all too well … and those of us who have been lucky enough to love from the bottom of a hungry belly cling to when we sleep alone one more night … at times I trace the cloud edges with my fingertips … other times with my mind’s eyes … on days like this, however, the gods do this for all of us … we are all favored in the Light and in the Love which originates from the collective … Sweet and Bright Blessings Brothers and Sisters of Spirit … I must sleep.
Love and Peace to you all,
I have been away far too long. Oh so beautifully sublime is this your pen’s possession set free for all of us to share in. Thank you for allowing us to glimpse inside your gossamer globe. Namaste
The edge of the bamboo grove is still the eye of the storm spinning roulette in my crown caravan wheels … I sit on Tara’s throne in the cup of a lotus blossom and wait … it has been two thousand years since my oath was taken … it has been only six days since the last battle was waged … my wounds are healing … the rainbow comes each morning to nurture me in the colors given by the master of creation … at times there are seven shades … at others seventy hues of the heavens … yet, more warriors than not can only perceive The Absence or The Light … I soak in the Rain of the Father who brought these children … his Bride nurses my wounds with her herbs and spittle … All is silent in this glimpse beyond witnessing … my construct of sheltered shamelessness … where the voices of the atmosphere are all one hears … until it is time again to listen for the whimpering of battle … to engage … until slightness perceives a wrestling along the lines of demarcation … between peace and those who cannot surrender their slit soaked war … I am honorably armed and thus, I rise to bear the sword of my soul once again … blood thirst emotion not yet mastered … my humans unable to lie down the spear and saber even when the helpless slaughtered can be seen … I seek them beyound the gates of illusion … their Nirvana hidden in the storm clouds the bamboo grove swirls beneath … I face the Void wuxia as was the Buddha.