Dream I

 the following is an brief Look-at-a-Book, called A StoryTeller’s Dream . . .

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Dream I – The OverLord

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The Voyage of Kings

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The Ring

(My Path)

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      The Prologue, The Waiting, and The Awakening . . .

 

 

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The Prologue

 

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A Bridge, A Cross, Eternity

(before The Beginning)

 

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Far ago and long away, in the time before Was, in the land of Because, a tale of two lovers began . . . on the eve of Nocturna, now known as the wedding of Hope and Fulfillment . . . as seen through the eyes of a butterfly called Avalon . . . as told by an iron horse, named Sky . . .

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from the very first moment, living inside what could only be called Everywhere, was God . . . and within God were borne the essences and the attributes of a man, and a woman . . . and the man and the woman, eternally bound as one, were called Ever, and Always . . . and this blessed union of these two hearts and these two souls, became Love . . .

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and one day, while walking the breadth and the depth of their dominion, Ever turns his eyes to Always, and says, I will walk all the days of Infinity to find one rose as lovely as your smile . . . and so, He did, and from that moment on, until every moment since, no one has known where Ever, was . . .

as Always waited at the center of everything She holds dear, Ever wandered across the millennia, following the Light from a now faint and almost forgotten star, searching the heavens for the meaning of life, and finding only the folly of men, wherever He went . . . and along the way, He was met by travelers, solitary messengers from both far and wide, who told Him of a rose that once dwelled in a place called Avalon, and might be found somewhere on a pale blue gem in the dark velvet sky above Him . . . and as He gazed toward it, while slowly turning to face the day, He whispered, the Light of the millennia, cast from a distant fire, roam it will forever, the path of my desire . . .

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for as long as He could remember, His journey had taken Him far across the cosmos, far beyond the I can Sea, even further than the Reach, and well on past what remains of the Broken Sound, ever spiraling outward, deeper and deeper into the worlds of time and tide . . . and deeper still, into an oblivion that held no memory of who Ever, ever was . . .

as He approached the pale-blue jewel called Urth, nestled in the nocturnal sea of Stars known for its rather milky aspect, at last, having suffered the long dark kiss of Night for what felt like an eternity, while pondering a face He could not quite remember, and the memory of a place He cannot seem to forget, Ever moved forward into the waiting arms of Destiny, and finally came to rest upon a page in the tragic history of a brave new world on the threshold of disgrace . . .

and all at once, as He felt a great hush moving slowly across the Universe, as the air around Him vibrated softly, as if the sky were soon to crack from the weight of certainty, He knew that the rose He had walked all Creation to find was here . . . and just when the Dawn gave up Her promise to the Day, He saw, high up on a hill crowned like a human skull, a sight now etched in His heart for ever, a man, nailed to a cross . . . and the man on the cross was the Rose of Avalon . . . and yes, the Rose of Avalon, was His Son . . .

and so, beyond all realms of chance and circumstance, the story about to unfold before your very eyes, to be held for ever in your heart as a terrible beauty, one whose beginning arose as one has come to an end, yet whose story remained veiled in the passages of Time for two thousand years, is rising ever so slowly to the surface . . . appearing as phantoms, as butterflies, having danced across the ages and pages of well-worn tomes and tales given forth to mark the affairs and follies of men, as they searched high and low for the meaning of life, as they searched the heavens for the Truth, when their Truth had been lain asunder by their very own sword, of blind desire . . .

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and alas, the long dark kiss of Night had followed Him, and it poured slowly down over the kingdoms of Urth, down over the fields and forests of what might have been, to the mountains, and the majesty, and the music of men . . .

and as they laid His Son’s body behind that mighty stone, Ever knew, as He stood beneath the heavens, alone, that He had come so far to find all He had missed, and all they, are those, that this rose once kissed . . .

and this one rose, though only here for awhile, had left its mark for eternity, and for all, a smile, and now this one smile He had searched the stars to be near, was found upon the face, of All Things Dear . . .

so He fell to His knees and began to pray, that He might return to Always one day, and as that rose ascended upon angels’ wings, He smiled, and He remembered, of a Voyage, of Kings . . .

and of this story laid before you now, are all that remains of the Glory, and how, a man once called Ever, who Fate dared to roam, put His words on these pages, in a long letter home . . .

and as He remembered who He was and where He had been, He lit a candle, to tell the world, yes, He would find Love, again . . .

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and He wrote and He wrote for the next two thousand years, through our agony and our ecstasy, and the sum of our fears, and He wrote of each moment of each day of our past, through each chapter and each verse, as though they might be our last . . .

so every dream and every wish that Ever had heard since then, could one day fly away beyond these follies of men, and all that remains of His candle so bright, are these very pages, from long-ago ages, of a Kingdom, of Light . . .

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and so it began, and yes, so it was, under a sky to remember, and in the heart of Because . . . and they came from hither, and they came from yon, and they came for no reason, or just to witness the Dawn . . .

and all eyes were there upon Him, and every soul had come so far to see, what Tomorrow knew, and kept from view, all that Yesterday had ever promised to be . . .

while ‘Lo and Behold, their tale to unfold, gazed down upon this weary world of men, a whisper was heard, and this whisper was the Word, and there began the greatest story, that Ever, told . . .

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The Very First Echo

 

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Once Cast, from a Distant Fire

(Symphonies, of Moments)

 

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an Angel stands with the grace of a swan, and walks to the edge of a sea of glass, and the quietest hush moves as liquid across all that Her eyes survey, for even the myriad of Heaven’s prayers have waited for an eternity to be answered, and held in the Light of all that shall come of this . . .

and She begins to tell a story, softly and slowly, and in a voice just barely above a whisper, yet capturing the significance of the moment as only thunder ever could, and every hope ever dared or dreamed suddenly came alive at the sound of the words that began . . . from this Day, there shall come a Sound . . .

and on and on She spoke, of All Things Dear, pouring forth over the vast dominions of Remember, and well beyond the infinite reach of Forget, out upon the immense mirror of all that Was, and reflected into the very heart of Always, flowed the echo of all that would one day come to pass . . .

and this echo so began its long journey far across the millennia, as ever it chased the speed of Light, in search of a place so far, far ago and so very long away, in a time when the Light of a candle had once asked God for a reason why, from a small, pale blue gem, way off in a dark velvet sky . . .

and when at last She finished Her story, for it went on and on for days, and all those who had come to hear Her, so went upon their ways, yet they all knew She would come again, and harbored no such fear, for as sure as the Sun moves across the sky, She would return the very next year . . .

for Her name, is Aquarius, and Her number, is January . . .

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as the echo glides through the Universe, it gathers strength from every prayer along the way, for the cloak of darkness will no longer keep it hidden from the heart of All Things Dear, nor hinder it from fulfilling the promise of the return of the Light, of Love, Again . . .

and as the hush of Silence guides its path through the heavens, and the memory of the journey begins to unfold, one by one, the legions of Stars assemble in its wake, to cast their blessing upon the upturned faces, of each and every child, of God . . .

 

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The Waiting

(of Angels)

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flying across this darkness that veils the Reason Why, I listen to the echo of the sigh of Always, moving as liquid among Her legions of Stars, as they ever ponder my intent . . . and because of the tears that lay upon Her face, I bow my head in Sorrow’s name, for I have known the folly of men, and I come to cleanse their shame, oh yes, as I come to clear their name . . .

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The First DoveTale

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The Rhythm of Life

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far, far ago and quite long away, and well beyond the infinite reach of Remember, long before the Suns brought forth the Light of Days, and so it will be long after these very same Suns will have for ever ceased to shine, was born the Reason Why . . .

and carried across untold aeons, over uncountable distances, from that moment on until all moments have come and gone, when all that remains in the here and now of this once and glorious Because, is the echo of a breath of a whisper of a voice, telling of a promise . . . and the promise, is the return, of Love, Again . . .

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The Waiting

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The Kiss, of Always

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she had never known a feeling such as this before . . . the midsummer’s eve of her life, up to this moment, had left her wanting, had left the bittersweet taste of regret, of seas not sailed, of horizons not found, and tomorrows not lived . . . and of love once glimpsed, once touched, once embraced, but now, as elusive as the fragrance of roses, there, yet not seen, there, yet not felt, only a whisper, and not quite a promise . . .

his blessings were many, his woes were few, and while the paths of his life were varied, all were fairly tried, and some, were surely true . . . his journeys, his creative hand, the masterworks of his mind were glories of bygone days, of forgotten dreams, of faded pictures never taken . . . his memories drifted like long-lost minutes of a timeworn clock, searching for a significance beyond any wishes Destiny could ever grant, waiting for castles yet to build, on the shores of a lifetime never really lived . . .

the fruits of her labors were abundant, and her memories lasting and long-savored . . . her family, her home, her husband, her son, all were precious jewels in the richness of her life, the elements of a contentment that once shone like a crown . . . but all were becoming the faded images in the portrait of her soul, like the dust of an age lying quietly on the windowsills of Yesterday, like blue-gray ivy adorning the walls of her mind, like phantoms, like butterflies, weaving through the empty corridors of her heart . . .

the fires of his passion and the iron of his will fueled the course of his voyages, while in turn shepherding the path of each of his needs, wants, and desires . . . the hopes of family and friends, the miracles of his wife and son, all were his Universe, all were his inner Light, all were his web of pearls . . . still, whether it is called the drummer’s rhythm or the piper’s song, its essence truly haunted his soul, crafted his purpose, presented the inevitability of his choices . . . and yet, as spectral as the Eyes of Heaven, the guiding force kept its distance, kept its vigil on his heart, kept its grasp on his unwavering allegiance . . .

all she wished for, all she hoped for, all she dreamed of was to hold on to the thread of Love, the fabric of God’s heart, the very tapestry of a life she had crafted with all the blood, the tears, and the devotion of her soul . . . she longed to dance with her muse once more, to feel again the fleeting moments of passion, of fulfillment, to be touched by the breath of Wonder, before the suns of skies beyond died away . . .

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and with an intensity of pure emotion that overshadowed all that ever came before, even in their dreams, and a fevered rush of purpose rivaling the power that ignites the Sun, they pledge their fidelity to the sea of Stars above them, to walk all the moments of Eternity, to capture just one tear falling from the face that is the grace of God, and to savor it, to cherish it, from this moment on, until all their moments fade . . .

and all at once, they heard a Sound, soft and slow, yet with an enduring rhythm of what surely must be Light, cast from a very distant fire, rising as a golden wind, an echo of the millennia, roaming for ever all the days of Infinity, forging the very framework of their deepest desires, melding their hearts as one, delivering them the whisper of a promise, that this time, and this place, has been touched by the feather from the wing, of the Angel, of Love . . .

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The Second DoveTale

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The Pillow of Hope

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woven through the vast embrace of Infinity, and laced within each and every facet of the undeniable Will of God, are the threads that bind a divine purpose, and always therefore, a divine presence, to the very pulse of the human heart . . .

and so wrapped, and held inside the eternal memory of Silence, moving as liquid, on toward a mighty sea of Forgiveness, flows the deep and endless river, of our souls . . .

and from this, there emerges the hope of Fulfillment, though, as Ever, it is bound in the chains of Awakening, and firmly lashed to the tide and time-worn decks of His tempest-tossed ship known as Abandon, and whose holds are now so heavily laden, with all the fears and the follies of men . . .

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The Waiting

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of Kingdoms, Come

(and Gone)

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a small piece by most standards, pummeled and polished by countless hands, just a bit of gold that had witnessed the light of a billion stars in a myriad of skies since its first purpose, so very long ago, had acquired a pair of shoes for a carpenter, who plied his craft on fishing boats down by the river . . .

odd indeed, the notion of a poor tradesman falling so well under fortune’s favor, by possessing even one in a lifetime, for its faces were accustomed to nobler cuts of pocket or purse, lined with a finer cloth or the rarest hide . . . stranger still was the voyage of this coin of a realm, once cast to honor the folly of men, and an empire now two millennia dead . . .

by land and sea, across times and continents, marking a journey of simple and stunning complexity, a coin, all battered and worn, yet with a hidden splendor waiting just below the surface, lies shining under a glorious morning sun . . .

and on this very day, a woman, guided by the grace of God, walking along a path to her salvation, beholds a bright reflection on the well-worn earth beneath her feet, and lowers her hand to touch the rose, now emblazoned for ever upon her heart . . .

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The Third DoveTale

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The Gates of Dawn

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as the Eyes of Heaven quietly gaze down upon the hearts of men, and the Sparrows of WoeBeGone rise up in a thunderous rush to greet the Sun, from out of the swirling mists that often caress the endless River of Souls, there is heard the tentative footsteps of anticipation coming slowly toward their waiting destiny, as two women, each holding the hand on either side of Fate, step forward . . .

and before the morning has ever even heard the promise of a brand new day, and in perfect unison, they begin speaking the very words they have walked all across the millennia to tell . . . on this day, there shall come a Sound . . .

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The Waiting

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The Echo

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on this day, there shall come a Sound, soft and slow, yet with an enduring rhythm, rising as a golden wind, to capture the souls of all men, and to embrace the hearts of all women . . . and from this moment on, until all moments fade, the Sound shall be known as the Breath of Angels . . .

now, alone together, with the fire of Love for ever in your eyes, you will stand with hearts as one, and talk, of days to come . . .

the voyage is upon you . . . place your hand in each other’s, and feel the dream, the desire, and the devotion . . . your hearts will surge with a joyous anticipation, as you navigate the oceans of Promise and Fulfillment . . . you are to become the treasure of all dreams, for if you laced each moment of your lives together with fine silver thread, more precious would they be, than a web of pearls . . .

a bond of freedom is being forged, to explore yourselves through the eyes of one another . . . every moment shared is a testament of your faith, in your purpose, your path, and your passion . . . together, you will grow, and harvest all that life’s bounty has to surrender . . . and a bridge of gold awaits you, crossing one hand to one hand, one heart to another, where two become one, and one, is Always, for Ever . . .

imagine . . . a place where it rains only when you wish, and wishes come true only when you smile . . . or of moving a mountain of shadows from your heart with a simple touch . . . or of searching the heavens for the Truth that dwells in no other place but within you . . . or of gazing into the center of this most blessed union for the Light that Always shines there . . . imagine Love . . .

and tomorrow, in the final pages of your wonderful story, when the end is just a glorious beginning, you will sit once more, with hearts still as one, and talk, of all the days, gone by . . .

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onWord,  to

Dream II – The OverLook

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The Sword

(My Purpose)

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       The Prelude, The Calling, and The Nearing . . .

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The Voyage of Kings ~ A StoryTeller's Dream

buy the new Digital and Print Editions on Amazon and Barnes&Noble

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