The Cartouche

..........the wind blows harsh in this new founded garden. I came seeking peace in this place only to find invasion of the darkness evil manifests. Is it a natural occurence that these things should follow, or is it they seek me in the light? The heart of me does not indulge the distasteful light of Lucifer.Yet, he seems to be lit by the love which shines in my heart. Is it he who is thief of the energies light gifts me, and is it to acknowledge him for the beggar to cease? I do not give of this darkness where evil grows, for I cannot see in its shadow. Distortion blocks my memory and my thought forms begin to fade in this negative light. But once in opposition they are lifted and claim fame with love's reign.

Now the valley becomes a mirage in the light despite this darkness and I climb the slopes of the mountain to gain heights where the perspective of truth can be known. Though the steep climb exhausts me, I find new hope surging in my blood with the sparks generating new patterns for my memory to create vision. ....in that I can see. It is now I am climbing these heights to return home.

As I near the top and look down from where I'd come, I see the jagged edges of my wandering. I wonder how it was I made it so far, now so near that final destination. As I look up in to the sky the sun is shining, filling my soul with the truth of my origin. I know the last leg will be in temptations tide, where the force which does not wish I fulfill my lifes goal tries to pull me back out to dark depths of sea or to the cliffs edge precariously set to fall...........Suddenly I hear music within my head of these new found vibrations, many tones leading to sounds which speak from those dead. And yet, I feel vibrant and alive, clinging as yet to the mountain side, all the while gazing up into the blue sky as it sparkles through line of the sun's rays.

It is only now, at this time, that I look down and see my seeds dropping like pebbles in the wind, planting themselves only to adhere the density of soil and germinate, so that I might see what I am. Gazing through that mirror of time I see the tree who found growth high on the mountain top as the winds during storm lifted it up settling gently on the steep incline where only the stones breed. As my branches cling, though outstretched along the mountain side, I feel no sense of danger, rather one of peace. My leaves are soft, living in spite of the distant moisture. Though they still are drawn high into the air seeking the mornings mountain dew, finality of this moment draws near. The circular lines spiraling down to the centre of my being seals the last line in memory of my life. Now that I have let go my seeds the story can be told for the future. Alas, I can claim freedom.

Now in death, or this backward running reel as it flashes my life, I see the constant spinning cycle of regeneration. I know it is the way of things and somewhere down the line my concentric rings will reappear to tell the same story. In death we do not part, we gain the rest of the story. That is all.

Somehwere along the threads woven in the patterns of life it began to unravel. Identity now mistaken was found in line and curve of the fingertips touch or in the circular rings of this tree. Lost amidst the rubble, cummulative to mark the winds drift through the generations that cannot be undone, it flows in water only to rise in heat of the flame. Misgivings grow and gain strength only to falter in time. Where from this root buried in primordial sustenance lies spark of the one element to sustain and once again trigger life. And beneath the soil, or in flow of the tidal oceans depth and hell's fiery curse, regeneration sprouts in the cry and laughter of spring.... It is drawn of the eternal promise life is to be resurrect. Etheric links illluminate density and darkness as the conductive force generates the message encode for existence, and the sprouts cry breeding of this dedifferentiate nuclei. A simple set as logic is founded in root of the complex matter of creation. Here all things spring into the flow of waters and pull of the tide as the wind blows and we climb, once and again to the heights of our being.

There is an internal turn around of these things we do. For as we view from the ladder of this new perspective we know it was inside of us all along. Though our affinity to cling to breath shall fade and the likeness in the mirror on the other side shows a non existent distortion, all the while veiled in the facade of empty dark spaces where fear is generated of the illusions professed, there we are still amidst feelings and in awe of life. An undo wish for humanity to survive is decreed by the prophets who do Gods will and profess these things.....and so they too shall pass. In death it is, we come back to the present where magic of the mind and miracles exist. Our faith consumes us and we return to the truth at once and again.

In life's full spectrum we are lucid of our dreams, and life is good here in this present. The past fades in light of this and the darkness becomes flourescent as the energy of the universe is unlocked. And when you find you are here and you look around at all the familiar faces, then you as I shall come to know the roots which began to grow so very long ago in distant soil of Earth.
Deep inside we know of this place, temporarily failing to see as our thoughts evolve in refraction of light's alternating pulse from the source. Truths are hidden in the rent shade of the mocking shadows and the colors manifest in lieu of disturbances creating a picture our eyes somehow see, but fail to interpret as the mind twists our tongue. Reason now lost, as the circulating iron pulled against the strengths of our hearts. Therein ones mind doest not reason, for the reality should not see what is hidden in the dark spaces. It is the heart that should light our way, illuminating the distance and steep edge of the cliff we climb. Do not fear. You will not fall as hinds feet give stability. Do not cry or beg for mercy as there is no need. And when you reach the height of your climb, look back in awe of the journey. For your destination is not one bequeathed unto you, it is that of which you asked. Rest, take leave of the weakened knees, so again you can walk climbing the mile.

Move on forward in motion as you lay foundation and way for all of those to follow. Do not tell trail of your being, as they will know who doth tread before them. Praise God for showing the way. Realize it is the God inside you, the one who is always there and sees, allowing you sight of which only our thoughts do realize.

For held in the fingerprints or imprint of the cartouche is the path you must tread. Be not overwhelmed by your task in life for that is minute of the things of our creation. Love and let live, sharing all the wonders your eyes captured. Generate good thought out into the circuited winds of time. Know always, that just as the leaves of the tree fall to the ground, so too shall you fall from the weight you put upon time.

The time is not until the winter to precede the thaw has moistened the ground and your seeds embedded solid begin to germinate in the spring to follow. And as their roots take hold praise your journey as the sprouts of joy cling and reach to the skies with growth of a new tree. It is one that looks in mirror of the self for remembrance of you. Lay down and rest in it's shade for in your decomposition your seed will mature and then one day spread its seed.

Life is a circle. The never ending story. A story written in time which reflects the affect life's distortion bleeds refrain unto our true humanity. Lifetime's children are spun out of golden threads and will create the past for that which we are. And when their time has passed, then we shall all once again come to be in the light of our home.

And does not this pain of birth find one unwilling to let go? It is to cling and nurture for our own comfort sake? Yet, we must let go if they are to find their garden in which to grow. All seeds blow in the winds of time to find the streams where thoughts converge in the soil of being, laying down and planting solid one's feet into the ground. Tiny seedlings who do not suffer the winds harsh dictation shall become brittle and falter in the storms. They will not strengthen to withstand the windsof time. The one who bends in the winds is strong as any grand oak might long or any man might wish for his son. It is in the letting go we each come to be. And we must let go, not fearing they will not reach their destiny. For if it is just to break their heads above the soil , or to be plucked to feed the crow or deprived the sun's nourishment on a cloudy day, it is just meant to be. And this root to spread in time, it is not lost, and will come again seeking the place from which we all came. In this cyclic return of being is where the temperament of time cannot trample on or undo the way of things.

We are never to die and our death is not an illusion as it marks our place in time. It is the time inflict on our space here on Earth which is in disequilibrium. It is in disconjunction of ryhthms harmonic and as the light shines leading the day and the moon reflects darkness for our way, then we see that times illusion has displaced the energies of light and it is in the shadow of the wave we only fail to see the truth. In time it will be the light and in the day it is night.

So be it that in our space here on Earth we shall inflate with memory to gift the truth of our origin. Our face in the mirror as sound and light synchronize will show the lines in our eyes and the curves of our jaw which defines the sum of things. In those eye's prism will be reflect all into the mind and heart of man. We will see who and why we are and no longer fear this place we live inside us.

No we are not dancing fools, but the graceful ballerina whose moment was only frozen still. And who in the thaw of the winter's cry suddenly began dancing in the spring, twirling and spinning on the tips of her toes. She is smiling now, radiating the pleasure of motion. It is one never ending where in cycles of a lifeform, time marks the place in line and curve leaving each individuals true identity with their imprints etched in the cartouche or sands of space and time.

We are creatures of thought who feel the intense vibrations of life. We do not need eyes to see nor ears to hear.

And this tree of life, how it grows so near, yet so far. I long to feel of it, to take hold and never let go. Yet, just as the leaves fall to the ground, so too do our lives fall from the weight we put upon time.

- Blanche McLanahan