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Startrail to the Absolute Everliving Heart Between the feathery voice of pines and some yesterdays that can no longer touch me, on a startrail of the spirit, through moon-saturated air, through open gates to forever, I find my way back to silence, to the One who deciphers the riddle of being, to the One who makes it a simple thing to live audaciously, truthfully, to live in the hereafter right here with the same daring as this exhibit of antiquity, hissing and dripping with worlds. Light years are the script of a relentless Heart that will be here long after Polaris is a jewel-like outburst of dust and gas and ecstatic light and stellar relics are scattered as monuments to dramas that fought hard to stay alive. It all seems so infinitesimal, this worry, this spite, as the weight of immortality on display descends upon the known world, as a Voice full of centuries and spheres and nebulae calls to us one by one: Come Home. Patricia Joan Jones © patriciajj1 - all rights reserved. |
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Last Five© Startrail to the Absolute |
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