Mandala, Wheel of Life, turns the tide in the river of direction.

Ah blade of grass I sought you out

From all the others.

Standing so tall and firm against the

Summer’s breeze.

You look like all the others –

Countless green stems bending to and fro

Taking heed on every command

The wind gives them, but not you, strong

And never yielding blade.

And if I should pluck you from your

Homey roots, your last victory would be

My bleeding hand.

You’ll wither, then die — leaving a

Scar upon my flesh as a searing reminder –

You are the victor.

So, I’ll caress you gently as the breeze does.

Watching you grow high above the others.

Proud, ever proud, your growth is boundless

As is my love.

Barriers of thought are just three dimensional visual challenges.  Peel your own reality, to find layers of sub-structures seeking explanations; wanting definitions.

Too much mind chatter is associated with trying to make sense of our realities.  Where is the reality of stillness and solitude?

Fall.

Inward.

Silence.

By escaping physical reality we transform to a near silent reality.  Translucent, almost Spirit-like, we can rest in a stillness until a flicker of thought shatters the line of demarcation.

It’s an inner spiral – a vortex of depth in which you can transcend, trying to extricate yourself from matter — from physical — from thought.

Vibrating light, pure soundless light, thus creating an opposing holographic form of double helix, the pattern of the Universe, of which all cellular structure is created and remains in the fabric of time.

Connective-ess, connective – essential, to the original infinite structure reaching outward and pulling inward.  Identical moments, dissipating the physical until you are truly radiating in pure light.

I used to believe that what you could see and feel is reality and now know the illusion of the senses are mere distractions of common trickery.  In losing your way you find yourself.

We are lightseeds interacting with each other in various Universes, often unaware or ignorant of the multiple realities that exist within us.

Our realities are Infinite.

You must fly with the widest of winged imagination.

Clears away misty morning

Awake birds singing.