Following a path of polychromatic light along the peaks of the high range, the simple sky full of cloud paintings. Stopping to gaze at a stream of creation flowing from the clear high range rivers.
Below I see the churning sea of doubt, the last sun illuminating its dark tides; a somber God acting as a stoic helmsman for the bright souls floundering about in search of a clearer course.
The dawn of joy heralded by sky paintings on the day God was born; waves of love transformed simple rivers into polychromic seas for light searchers to sail upon.
A windward heart traveling along the luminous range suddenly encounters the sobbing moon.
We of the high range descend to experience the cold hand of violence that grips the material realm. Experience it, master it in our own lives and ascend again, more somber but more illuminated
Below I see the churning sea of doubt, the last sun illuminating its dark tides; a somber God acting as a stoic helmsman for the bright souls floundering about in search of a clearer course.
The dawn of joy heralded by sky paintings on the day God was born; waves of love transformed simple rivers into polychromic seas for light searchers to sail upon.
A windward heart traveling along the luminous range suddenly encounters the sobbing moon.
We of the high range descend to experience the cold hand of violence that grips the material realm. Experience it, master it in our own lives and ascend again, more somber but more illuminated
