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 . . .

.

.

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 ”

.

.

sponsored

by

The Centers for Creative Redundancy

and

The BellWeather Foundation for Selective Philanthropy

presenting

.

ZanaDew Falls

.

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

.

.

 

^ | | | ^

*        *

@ @

^ | | | ^

*        *

@ @

  ^ | | | ^

  *        *

   @ @
     —

.

.

.

      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 . . .

 

.

.

.

while under an august Moon

 

 

 

The Origins, of Kindness

( what Always, said, to Ever, when Ever, said, GoodBye )

.

.

Flamei
go, My Darling, and do what U must do,

and I will never, think the Less of U,

and whereEver U may wander,

and whereEver U may fly,

take My Light to guide

U, so that Wonder

      paints, Your Sky . . .

and to savor This,

of Our Last Kiss, as

each Morning gives Promise

to The Day, remember Always, that I

     love U, and as Always, My Love will light, The Way . . .

 

.

.

what no one Ever knew . . .

and what no one would Always remember . . .

 

June 10th, 2010

 

 

 

and on This Day

( there came a Sound )

 

One thousand and ninety-six mornings ago, we awoke in an altogether different place, in an altogether different time, with an altogether different path laid out before us . . . while the accommodations were not the best, nor were the immediate vicinities on anyone’s most favorite destinations, we were neither worried nor did we care about such trivial things . . . for our particular journey was not prescribed upon any map, nor chosen through the clicks of search engines, nor suggested by any once and former traveler familiar with where we were destined to go . . . just a general sense of where our lives were bound, and an overall hope that we would certainly find such a place that coincided with our dreams, and a rare and wondrous feeling of adventure, combined with a devil-may-care attitude dwelling within our hearts, that no matter where the road might lead us, we were surely to find our way home . . .

and home, was an unknown, unexpected, yet undeniable understanding that was born from the strength of togetherness itself, and it all began because two particular and purposeful people had fallen in Love . . . and it was this Love that bound our spirits and held our wings aloft, as we circled endlessly, embraced in a sapphired sky, high above the vast and verdant terrain that would one day become the pinnacle of our desire, to build a castle nestled in the clouds, and close enough to Heaven that even the Stars would move aside, to allow this great and glorious dream a chance to become one with our lives . . .

and after wandering over what seemed like every hill and every dale, strewn across every mountain and all their majesty, we finally found our place on top of the world . . . and over the course of the next three years, after facing each and every obstacle that came our way, each and every circumstance designed to impede our progress, each and every drop of blood and sweat drawn from our unstoppable faith, each and every tear of uncertainty shed in our unfailing hope of fulfillment, at long last, our dream has come so near to fruition . . . and still, after conquering each trail and mastering every tribulation, we now face more uncertainty than ever before, and not yet knowing happiness, and we have yet to find peace . . .

and these, are the things I wish to address, if only to put them in their place, if only to let U know that I care so deeply that they weigh so heavily upon our collective soul, if only to assure U that these, too, shall be overcome, and, if only to tell U that this is not what I ever had in mind for us to endure . . . never imagining the immense and seemingly endless financial burdens placed upon your shoulders most of all, those that U have quietly borne without complaint, and the myriad of sacrifices U have made without grievance, of missing friends and missed opportunities, and the ever-present shroud of not knowing what is to come of our future here . . .

and no matter what we attempt, no matter where we try, and no matter how much we deserve a respite from the pressures of living with the sum of our choices, I stand before U, in awe, and to give thanks, for not only your solid and steadfast belief in this dream, and therefore in me, and always in us, but in the quality and blessing of your amazing courage, determination, and patience, without which, the ~who we are~ and the ~why we are~ would never have survived . . .

and while I know these words do not do much to allay our fears, or put food on our table, or ensure that the lights will continue to burn in our windows, it is all I have to give U, and ever from my heart, as they have been from our beginning, and yet so bitter-sweetly ironic that they were the primary spark from which this dream was ignited so long ago . . . and all born from the undying hope that keeps my spirit alive, that one day, I might lay at your feet, a life where each and every promise I have made to U, whether spoken or imagined, is allowed to be fulfilled, and thus completing the task I was put on this Earth to do, by the Hand of a God so incredibly and blessedly compassionate enough, to have granted me the supreme honor of being chosen, to be the one, to try . . .

on This, and every Birthday, U will ever know . . .

 

 

 

 

 

from out of nowhere . . .

 

 

Flying Blind

Prologue

June 15, 1944 0200 hrs

 

In the half-light, made all the more sinister by the rain-heavy approach of storm clouds across the face of a moon not long for this night, and without even a glance at his watch, he knew it was just the perfect moment in an all-too-perfect plan. Unconsciously shifting the weight of the package to ease what Fate had burdened him with, he stared out beyond the open maw of the hanger doors, toward all that remained of the final solution no one else had the guts or conviction to accomplish. Second thoughts had no place on a stage set by a world gone mad, and only the sane ever knew from which direction victory would finally show its elusive face, and it was ours.

Easing out from beneath a fuel-soaked shroud of canvas, where he had waited with the patience of stones for hours, he moved with long-practiced stealth from the cavernous hanger, toward the phalanx of planes sitting in the darkness out on the tarmac, like some ghostly flock of birds waiting for the promise of sunrise. After surveying the seemingly endless ranks of aircraft, he finally spotted the one that mattered most by the tail number now scorched into his memory, and smiled, knowing that this particular bird was never going to kiss the sky again.

Just as the last fleck of moonlight faded from the night, and armed with a righteous intent that would surely re-write the pages of an unknown future, he hefted the package over his shoulder, and headed for the back of the plane, while quietly humming the last refrain from the national anthem, and thinking, there, but for the grace God . . .

 

 

 

 

created for a freelance writing/editing assignment on oDesk in August of 2011 . . . as an intro for a biography/screenplay for some long-forgotten client,  which failed to make the short-list . . .