I awake from dreams in trance. My palms of sweat and a tremble in my finger tips.

The vision of my death as a cast-aside body slumps beneath a point of being which is the Me I have always known--but have not always recognised. The silence of an empty purpose is the warm comfort of a yearning I never thought to quench. I am always the martyr but I know this is an unnecessary drama for the mind. To learn the boundaries of self-sacrifice for the sake of selfrevival. One need not die to reincarnate. One need not suffer to understand the glories of pleasure. Nor the nectar of self-release. Acceptance. Compassion. The Tree of Life blooms endless. Its leaves ever falling from the branches of consciousness onto the floor of our experience. Drink from the blood of Her fruit! Suckle on the nectar of Her amorous juices! This nourishment of your want is the right which you were born and crowned to receive. Do not trust the Jester of a limited Logos for his riddles are lies of which are meant to tie your hands unnecessarily to the stagnant sign poles of a chastity meant for empty monks. We dance a step of timeless memories. We waltz three steps that they may compound. As the ethereal pull of Jacobs violin haunts an older part of our dream. My words are context-less constructions of what you would like to hear. But I would like to hear you too. As we are the same bob of Love in the Great Ocean of Infinity. The same Ripple of Emotion which in the deep of early experience moves as a slow tide. Which upon the shore of later breath falls in tumultuous waves. Fear not my Sister. Fear not my Brother who art the barer of Old Swords and Shields. Hold not your tongue if it should carry spells of Love. Hold not your staff from the Eye of your neighbor if it should allot him the magic of a Greater Day. Rise up Oh Eastern Sun! Rise up above our heads and set not upon our hearts! For your descent across the sky is but the rise of a new dawn in distant lands. Change up your wayward semantics of depreciating light! Let not the misery of a misguided history lead astray your Hollowed Hearts. This is a song for those who weep beneath the burden of a memory they wish not to keep. This is a prayer for those whose hearts who sit heavy in their chest. Not heavy of the Heavenly Gold but of the Iron wrought from the ashes of a Angry Fire. Pray them that they find solace in some moment. Even if it be fleeting. Even if it be a simple gust of wind of which they seem drawn upon for eons. Like the leaf that catches an Eastern gust and rides the wind into the End of Times. Lean not upon the mountain of history for it is forged of fragile things. Lean not upon the door of gilded words for they are built to glitter and to deceive.

I am the spirit of that which has no name but Love. I am the memory of eternity and the keeper of All Things Light. Remember my words that they may keep you warm in the cold of quiet nights. For there is no pure solitude. There is no True Alone. For we are your Brothers. Your Sisters and your Parents. We are the warm touch of Love upon your nape as you cradle your remorse like a quilt in the night. Throw off your robes of disillusion and cast aside your naked embarrassment. For we are the chill that rises upon your skin in the Hollowed places of dead men. We are the cool wind of a dark night in the silence of a bad a dream. We are the rail for which you reach when you are stumbled and lost in the blindness of worry. Reach your hand Dear One! Reach your hand for us and we shall guide you onward! Love Love Love! Light Light Light! We are the betterment of a time to come. A hope. A blessing. A Truth which knows no boundaries. Love and you shall find Love. Be and you shall find Being. Speak Truth and your life shall echo Truth. For All is as it should. As it cannot be otherwise so.