After this age...

...what are you going to do? 

As much as you talk of prayer and scripture, when are you going to release yourself to it? When are going to let go? Whatever it is you think you are now, this is it's first and last age. 

There is nothing in speaking it or passing along the writings as such if your heart isn't given to it. The more you try to shape it or mold it, the more it escapes you, and the more that strong delusion sets in. The more that manna is changed to something of ill-effect, having lost it's goodness.  

The truth is beyond you. It's not what you think! It's not what your logic dictates. It's not the resemblance of your desires or learned suspicions, which are of men. There is no divinity in you. There is no light in you. You of singular walk. You (and I) are not Christ! You (and I) are an earthen vessel. Nothing more. Nothing less. 

So let go! Let it all go! Accept for a moment that all those words spoken on an eternity of sabbaths really do mean something, but your teachers understood not. Accept that perhaps the right way really is narrow and few there be. Accept for a moment that perhaps you really aren't standing. And accept for a moment that all your foundation is formed on sand. 

There are no ascended masters my dear. Those are demons. And your tearchers? They are liars, robbed and scented, dwelling now or soon, in sheol, having followed blavatsky into the ditch. Their cruel directors whispering to them from groves and high places. 

There is no denying the word with what you think! 

The word, perfectly lovely, bringing joy and song to the chambers of my heart. It permeates all things of manifold frequencies. It's field, powerful and kind, working ever so lightly. In it, I've always believed. And in spite of my failings, I'll die believing. 

Under it's influence, I can say of a truth that I love you. I always will!

He knows I'm speaking of him. And he knows I'm sorry.  

Liars gotta lie!

Once a liar, always a liar? 

No path to vulnerability via consistent fabrication. 

Wonderful!

One of Bjorks most under rated songs. I've loved this for a long while now and still believe in the lyrics. 

This is the logical end of honest consideration. 

Morning in Valladolid

I saw that seed bed today. 

Swollen. 

I still remember it's smell. 

The amazing aroma of a mother with child in mid-miracle. 

But what loving and kindness remains is broadcast from the earth

for this is my body talking.

This is the voice of my members.

Longing to embrace one with multiple leaders
who were washed away in a previous age
or blinded by esoteric knowledge.

But what happens is what must.
I turn and run
and hope to keep running from that split tongue.
That one that said she would run with me, but now remains motionless.
That one that said she would be with me, when in secret ran with others.
That shameful thing, protecting a core of incongruence,
and tossed to and fro,
squawking amidst an angry aviary,
who would protect their own rather then protect the truth.

So I run
for in this morning in Valladolid
we are nigh on the eventime of Guernica,
and everywhere the eyes are filled with the spirit of Azazel.

Margarita Gallo

You are a friend and I miss you!

I hope to hear from you again Maggie.