The pyramid is the final vision beyond which there is no passing. It is a moving Kaaba, carried away by angels and forces. There is no way out of the pyramid. When I reach the top it becomes less important as a top and a point. The only way out of the pyramid is to attack it, which would attack beauty and attack simplicity. Observing it is like having every answer given and every mystery solved, except Its own mystery. The Messenger is the Pyramid of Reality.
"A" crowned my head with a crown like twigs while "A" was seated on the Throne. Notice how Baha'u'llah reverberates that it is a different throne, yet in essence the same One. Fire like a rainbow. Notice how a Prophet would gulp when another Prophet is "mentioned". Notice how a Prophet does not need to "believe" in else except God. "C" is same. If I am a Prophet without a voice from God, please don't let me speak. All the Prophets have transparent beauty like "C". Above the City of Immortality is the Valley of the Manifestations. Where the Sun of Reality is home and all the denizens are refreshed and find God again from whence they have left. Nothing but God lies above this Valley and the Presence of the Beloved is aglow ....in every limb. The Presence is enlivening and heavy in vitality. "I hate you, I love, I hate that I love you", echoes to hearts not attune to the Transcendent One. The Presence has a unique energy that allows Them to change the universe of lower natures. All stresses dissipate away. Those Eyes that see all of me. Energy as if from another world, as if always awakening from bed. It is sitting in the Manifestation's Tent. It is feeling Their skin become mine own skin. Light so warm that it is cool. Names have no place here, only Spirit - the Transcendent. I forget myself and instead caught up in "A". The fullness of the Manifestations will soon, soon manifest in all of us. 24 karat Golden DNA.
At the corner of my eye A large, colorful butterfly Lands on a flower bush In aggravation, I shush The brutal wind And open my mind To the thought of My angel above Ever so holy Watching me closely Through the beady eyes Of the butterfly.
We used to talk for hours, Through messages on our phones, About anything and everything, Even moans and groans.
We use to chat alot, Catching gossip and thoughts, About how hot or cold it was, And I'm always wearing shorts.
I used to wake to a message, "Good morning
Was written about a friend who we spoke pretty much everyday for months, about everything and anything. We used to check our phones constantly to see if they had replied or messaged me. But now its like a one way conversation. And its sad. Like we're falling away from each other. Like I've been replaced. Or I'm just over thinking. Probably the latter.