Eternal energy is all matter of living.  There is much forgotten wisdom need pass through many doors to enter through the one door of deserving . . . that which, is soul-peace.

Red door
Image: Credit: Bhutan, photo
by Ami Vitale via http://www.pinterest.com

Sweet silent solitude—air of sublime tranquility . . . ‘muse’ of desire seeking attentions of heart and ear in fervent need of discerning understanding of moment’s what comes of stories of long ago of a childhood’s journey across waters of silent reflection of intertwined storms of chaotic rhythm to show the child things of before of the things of a love so pure once been but never wavered: A moment come to show a child called, the way to lessons once known of long ago given to perpetual remembrance.

Am I of moment?  A child of moment did ask.  A ‘muse’ within did answer, “You are essence of instruction—seer of great battles of will.  Step away from the left and the right of imprisoned mind, for there can be no more accepting of questions not answered, nor answers not questioned. Glorious Earth’s blood has been drunk dry, her own made drunken in the drinking of precious fluids of calm and scale.  Come . . . come now through unreasoned pangs of darkness of realms leading nowhere.  Stand hence forward at the center with unseen Masters . . . the intimates of first beginnings.

Called by names they’ve been who’ve yet to be stilled of untold pains: A cumbersome tolerance given to bringers of Love to realm of heavy hearts—bringers of knowledge to teach faith of move and might entrusted to ‘see’ all things of were and still to be.  An eye of great moment opens doors of redbloodlines forgotten of flow from a dawn of standing unguarded: A sacred ‘something’ of must; a hidden protectorate.  Eye of all moment gives memory’s doors to let spill freely unto now’s paths of place of forgetfulness.  Walk hence in delight of grace and joy and peace of memory’s Locus of persistence.  Just be but a candle giving light, a warrior of memory given unto battles for Love’s sake.  Let wisdom be a quiet intention of the fathers’ given to all who wish to ‘see’ all things of a planned progression of dignity’s Divinity: An awe of understanding of all things of connective creative imagination.

A child of wonder wonders still upon full-grown shoulders of a wondering of questions to ask ofanswers unquestioned.  Moment comes now full circle to life giving kindle-ment; a quelling ofincessant darkness of hearts bearing history’s gross thieving.  Eye of moment gives of mind a life ofrhyme and reason—riches spilled ten-fold upon the hearts of violets and golds.  Look back not onthe secreted nothingness keep-sacker; a nonsensical false key-master of ungodly and compromised logic.  Only one door is right for the ones of the one.   All others lead to empty paths without remedy.  I am awe of all moment, did say the ‘muse’ of moment.  Welcome, child of mine through the doors of ‘muse’.  Answer you must wisdom’s knocks upon blood memory.

Life is at play and  is constant through moment’s conflicts of contradiction and constraints of relentless humanity’s insanity.  A Judgment of thorns is now issued upon the rose of pretense, and justice of thorns’ judgment is mine unto the hearts of grim; a refusal to listen and heed the words of the heart of all hearts—place of offering of eye to ‘I’ to ‘see’: A reason begotten of move where Queens and Kings sit on edge of deciphers reign of patience.  I am moment for gathering forbearance; a surrounding to further weaken the weaknesses of hegemony’s reign over the thoughts of mortals.

Oh yes child, a will begotten of attention is mine entitled glory and deserving states of awe.  ‘God’ . . . the eye of moment indeed I am: A humble assurance near forsaken.  Living matter is of eternal energies.  There is much forgotten wisdom to be remembered and need be passed through many doors to enter the one door of deserving, that which, is the blood-door of place . . . of peace.” ©

-epc

 

“A Place Called Gratitude” . . . https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uKQSINC9BK0

My favorite place . . . outside the world . . . in the solitude of poetic silence.

 

 

 

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