A Scribe’s Epistle; Bridging the Gap between man and spirit.

Hidden by Shadows; Masked by the light, my wings of purple shimmer behind lids of flesh.  Lost from view upon awakening  this morning–The center of my soul sinks & I search murky memories & return to a blank screen disintegrating in the daylight:Edges of periwinkle shift behind feathers white. A whispered call, sadly forlorn, a Peregrine falcon morns a mate’s empty nest. As I morn delights passing into a cold grey morning…lost to the day 

Who am I?

A pained, injured human or the dream, trails suggesting an angel of purple and gold? Taller than ceiling’s height, drawing back into clouds of brown and gone…

What is my purpose here?

Recording transparent images fading before I understand—never known truly? A scribe catching dangling … images, fading, lost by the act of searching. The gift of waking between the worlds—veils loose as dandelion fuzz—the glimpse melts as the mind’s awareness unfolds.
The candle’s wick lowers, snuffing yellow—transforming bright into gloom.  A child chasing butterflies high above her downy head… Gone, yet not forgotten. The circus wheel of life distracts and spirit closes her eyes.

What do I desire?

The words of a story flowing from my True Self, kissing the pages of a new manuscript that brings Love, Truth & Beauty into the world. I, the scribe, a willing channel of love, sharing tales to the world. Will ego allow tender passages flow… Best left scribing in the darkness of inner lights.  Yowls of Malcolm changes the peace of meditation, pulling me into the world created by man.

A Scribe’s Epistle, Bridging the Gap between man and spirit.

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