The Sun stopped shining in the middle of the day The ancient tribe panicked, a cry of dismay Aztecs afraid of divine displeasure Grabbed one young ****** for a ****** counter-measure Her heart taken out, beating and warm Priests chanted their prayers so the gods would be calmed Suddenly, outside, the light was once more The priest rejoiced, yet the were stricken to the core To appease their gods, ten more virgins were grabbed A horrific image painted with crimson red
Breathe Steady 10.29.20 go forth then, unto God and his Glory, abounding and rejoicing in the power and peace of that holy dwelling place. abide, therefore, forever in the Love and in the Light. -sayeth the channelings, sayeth the distorted mask, sayeth that through which sound passes.-
sons and daughters of the Earth who bathe in the waters drawn of love/light/wisdom in the bathhouse of the higher densities and inner planes. Bath waters of golden white light, brilliant in a radial pouring forth of tangible understanding and freewill. scarcely can such energy be described in so cumbersome a language, charming as it endeavors to be. underwhelming must the emotions evoked be in comparison with the All Glory of experience of that which is spoken of. the death ****** of the fire-bird serves as its own inoculum and womb; two ends of a terminus in polarity.
I activate in order to combine, dwindling dread. I seal the upswing of trans-dimensional laughter, with the everyday tone of exodus. I am guided by the advent of thermals. -I am a solar riptide, surf me-
and then time slowed way down. the semi trucks were like great sea mammals with their whale calls and slow passage by the flanks. “Who are you?” “I am the Kalachakra.” “Did you hear that?” (hushed tones, hands cover the phone.) I was quite close to the illusion of Death. The opaque specter, shaking and rumbling the very fabric of the matrix about me. wavering not within the sinkhole of indifference lest my terror turn manifest. I’ve risen from a pillar of salt, I’ll rise from the embers next.
The face of tomorrow might be the last of my sight for the world; and when my pain ends today then how could I ever feel the love of one's presence before who might save me from the eclipse that is passing, from a story of lachrymose?