Today I chose to be a writer

Tomorrow I think I'll Be a Fisherman


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The Gift

This realm is but a field of knowledge, and we its fruiting bodies.
Torn open, this field of knowledge reveals
a great expanse wherein a turbulent river of pure consciousness flows;
rushing by in torrents of ideas, magic, and divinity,
maelstroms spray mercurial droplets onto ethereal banks in a thin mist.
Deep in its flowing pattern ancient shapes and archaic runes appear, resonating with Intention.
Deep from its spiraling waters rise tendrils of benefaction
that reach into the mind of Being, to provide
the essential spirit of awareness.

To think and reflect, absorb and create. We paint it all with our eyes!
Each Being and seraphic Form a part of the celestial process.
To communicate is a such a gift, to reach into that flow and gather a bit of knowledge,
focus it in the mind and then release it through the mouth.
It calls to me, this field of knowledge-this flow of ideas, like a mythical siren, it calls to me.
To See and experience it, to drown in it…
A warm voice exclaims a dire warning from a distance:

Beware for I am Old and Treacherous, Within there is no logical path and you WILL get lost.

Will i think to myself, as I rush into the chimerical rabbit-hole, Will is all we’ve got.

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