and The First, know well . . .

.

.

.

The Gift,  of Faith

( A Season’s Ring )

and,  as the

Whisper of Winter’s Breath,

carries the last leaves of Autumn

far from the loving Arms of Home,

away,  to golden Fields of Our Past,

and lesser Days cast a longer shadow

upon all that might have been,  remember

always,  that Hope flies eternal,  and Wishes born

in the Prayers of Children,  live on in The Hearts of Angels,

as their Dreams,  walking hand in hand with God’s Grace,  become

the Spirit of Promises to keep,  for the Joys of all they can be,

lie waiting,  in The Eyes,  of

      Tomorrow . . .

.

.

.

may Christmas find U all,  wrapped in The Presence,  of Peace on Earth . . .

.

.

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from Eden’s Shore, comes a Tale of Yore

.

.

.

Ο

^^

^^

Castles, of Iron

( on The Sands, of Time )

.

                                                                                 ~~~~*

                                                                                      ~~*

yes,

here I stand,

My Sword,  in hand,

bathed in Her Armor of Grace,

the dragons,  slain,  darkness,  dead,

      and Her Light,  will Always shine,  in its place . . .
                              
yes,  gone the Night,  no evil in sight,

Sorrow’s Fate,  having lost the Race,

so walk with Me,  through the Gates

of Her Dawn,  and Our Eyes

      will behold Heaven’s Face . . .

so open Your Hearts,  and

sail away with Me,  across

My River of Tears,  for it is

where Ever reigns in peace,

      for all The Days of Our Years . . .

so come share My Dream,  as

though it may seem,  as We fly

upon this Angel’s Wings,  away,

to The Blessed,  beyond all the rest,

      as We journey,  toward this Voyage,  of Kings . . .

.

.

.

.

when all had been said, when all had been done . . .

.

.

.

In The Wake,  of Devotion

 ( Widows Walk )

.

.

She looks,  out across the Millennia,  out across an endless path of winter,  in the hope of finding one Day’s respite from sorrow,  worn,  as She wears Her faith,  with the courage of Titans . . .

and deep within Her Heart,  lies Patience,  hiding from the folly of men . . . for they would steal from Her,  all they can never understand,  and they would bury Her,  under all they can never know . . .

and She will carry Her burden through the Ages,  as She,  as Always,  has done,  without the comfort of Solace,  without the shelter of Kindness . . . for in this She stands alone,  listening to The Ring of Truth,  telling Her of all that might have been . . .

and slowly,  She turns toward Yesterday,  and smiles,  as Her Children of The Clouds gather before Her,  to bathe within Her Abundance . . . and Her Eyes catch a glimpse of Wisdom,  as She lays upon Her twilight Path,  from Her Basket of Knowledge,  the Tears that became Stars,  long ago . . .

and in the time of a Wink and a Promise,  She forgives all that came before,  as She walks beside Remember,  there along The River of Souls . . . and in the distance,  drifting in the swells that would soon make quiet thunder upon Her Shore,  anchored to a beachhead of impossible Moments yet to come,  stands Fate,  bound to the deck of a Ship,  called Evemore . . .

.

*      *      *

.

and there,  across a Sea of Glass,  walks The Reason Why . . .

.

.

.

and if Heaven might ever choose to call . . .

.

.

noWhere,  at All

 ( and noWhere,  to be )

.

.

The very finest in Insisted Living . . . with stylized Healthcare,  planicured HomeSites,  demilitarized Recreation Facilities,  all strategically placed within multi-generational Requirement Communities, providing environmentally digitized Neighborhoods among zero-tolerant Landscapes,  with artistically enhanced Security,  and politically sanitized Tranquility,  tactfully situated in the surgically mechanized Atmospheres,  of a state-of-the-art,  programmably engineered Lifestyle . . .

.

.

“ if it’s too good to be true,  We built it ”

“ where Miracles can happen,  right on time ”

“ We take the worry out of being entirely different ”

“ and at a price You can live with,  no matter what the cost ”

“ with Your memories in Our hands, Tomorrow will come as no surprise ”

.

.

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by

The Centers for Creative Redundancy

and

The BellWeather Foundation for Selective Philanthropy

presenting

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ZanaDew Falls

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The Hallmark, of Living by Design

.

.

(pricing of available models subject to genetic proclivity, spiritual dexterity, and financial complacency)

.

.

.

comes the whisper of Horses

 

 

 

 

Out of The Myst

.

.

 

^ | | | ^

*        *

@ @

^ | | | ^

*        *

@ @

  ^ | | | ^

 *        *

   @ @
     —

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.

.

      riding . . . riding . . .

.

.

.

.

The 700 . . . The Might . . . ebony left,  and ivory right . . .

.

.

.

whether to build an Empire . . .

October  9th,  1997

 

For Whom It May Concern

.

.

perhaps I could write a conventional, conversational paragraph . . . after all, it was the preferred mode of voicing my heart and mind for what seems like forever . . . although, I must warn you, I have a tendency to slip into ~uniVerse~ without being aware of it . . .

beyond my work, and family, and the ever-present awareness of the blessings of both, my time is centered around an obsession called The Story . . . a symphony, if you will, which illuminates both its creation, and its fulfillment . . . and because each event, person, and circumstance in my life is a part of this melody, my first obligation, is . . . to listen . . .

my endeavor is to understand the process of living, and our subsequent spiritual progression, and to determine how the lessons illustrated before us become the knowledge, and therefore the reason, ever woven within the fabric of our humanity . . . and through this collective wisdom, comes the significance of our purpose, within the tapestry, God’s grand Design . . .

beneath the surface of our ordinary existence lies a rhythm, or balance, or essence, that binds our idea of spiritual oneness with our sense of place, or belonging, within this universe . . . and I am truly fortunate enough to have been blessed with the gift of knowing how to hear the sound of this extraordinary tale . . .

and the sound I hear, is Light . . . and The Light, has penetrated deeply into the corridors of my heart, moving as liquid, as phantom, as butterfly, toward the transformation of each and every Truth, into the words and images on each and every page, where I wait, patiently, until all have passed through the gates of your infinite awareness . . . and I, remain, the last man, standing, before you . . .

.

.

.

.

born in the gleam of God’s adoring eye . . .

 

 

‘lo, through a Crack in The Sky

( a Rush, of Wings )

.

.

.

the Albatross,  whose name has always been Steadfast,  holds within his unwavering eyes the first pristine spark of a SunRise,  now bringing the long-awaited promise of the return of The Light of Day down across the fields and the forests of the Land of Because, down through the corridors of the human heart,  where once was whispered the Music of Angels,  and down ever still into the depths of Oblivion,  whose memory now tries to forget,  all of the darkness we will soon cease to remember . . .

and gazing westward,  which will one day be called EveryWhere,  the Albatross slowly turns to regard the Urth,  now hanging by a thread,  so fine and silver,  and woven from the Tears of Heaven itself,  and he smiles,  because he knows that his long and lonely journey through the endless Kiss of Night is over,  and that all he had ever been asked to do has been done . . . and he lays his sweet sorrows down along the Rail of Sighs,  in the very same place,  where once there laid a handful of nine-inch nails,  whose traces still scorch the time-worn face of Regret,  that are now and for Ever etched into the redwood timbers of the now complete spoke of The Great Wheel, that Always had built as one, of The Seven Bridges of Why . . .

and as The Dawn of The Ages lifts higher above the horizon,  and flows as liquid down upon the realms of Certainty,  the Albatross finds himself standing within the quickening presence of a moment that even Eternity has long been waiting for . . . and from out of the blue,  the Sister of The Sun of Man walks toward him,  and with a nod from Patience, and a smile from So It Shall Be,  She walks on past, and into the embrace of all that Yesterday could ever have hoped for,  and all that Tomorrow could never have known . . .

and walking with a determined pace,  with the might of Titans defining the strength of Her divine purpose,  She steps out at last into Her Universe,  so long denied Her,  and so long and lost in the throes of blind and belligerent desire,  and She lifts Her welcoming arms up with the Grace of Swans, and to the galaxies swirling in Her Eyes,  She speaks . . .

.

ease My Reign

.

for Her name, is Mercy,  and She has come, to seize, The Day . . .

.

*       *       *

.

and deep in the star-fields of the Dominion of Always,  in a place well within the reach of Her infinite regard,  and so perfectly balanced inside the sound of Her voice, a pale-blue gem in a sapphire sky slowly turns to face Paradise,  where an Ibis,  born Resolute,  gazes out across the Shores of a place once called Camelot,  out across a new whirled now bathed in flows of Compassion,  where fireflies dance amidst the laughter of Her Children of The Clouds,  and where roses now grow without the burden of thorns, and where a butterfly now rests upon the back of an Iron Horse,  who finds himself standing still, and staring in wonder at a trail of footsteps left where the sand meets the foam, and revealing the presence of The Prince of Peace,  walking once more and in the distance, and there at the edge,  of The Sea,  of Love,  Again . . .

 

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.

.