Riding beyond the affect of time, space or created will. Preserved from all reaches of influence seeking shelter from the sphere. Gone past tomorrow into the winds of seas not yet imagined driven to shores painted upon the creative will of God. What say you to the torches and tunnels of tomorrow? Shall you run free on the mountain slopes of memories unwritten or follow the terminal road of existing thought as it comes to sad ending upon the Rock of Ages?

Hand in hand we remember the treasures though few precious beyond measure. Time bows to those experiences hard felt and tested by its hand in the courage and emotion of each overcomer. Dawn has come for those who would believe beyond the potency of man’s measure. What will come excites, what will stand shall do so without the help of gravity’s capture but through shear intent to become and be for eternity. What measure have we of things beyond our own reason for which no words exist or no pleasure may tell.

We are the strange few that believed even when the costs for so doing were almost immeasurable. Tempered hearts employed reason and could not see the missing variables nor compute the quotients attached to their definition of frailty or foolishness. The dance of calibration as each of us were tried, tested and transformed or left stuck in the wagon ruts of our thoughtful passing. What then of dreams gone by written to libraries intended for such keeping. What imagined few will find the blackboards of time and space to codify our passing? How then to eternity if no understanding or character exist?

We find home, not in the terminal sense but in the ideals and annals of rest. For their is no rest from temporary trial but reconfiguring. Only in faith, hope and righteousness may the new ground be found and planted. Only in the mind of the God who mints creation’s next iteration may the home sought perpetually be observed, found and occupied. We are not the thing of dreams but of imagination and likeness and a quest for all things pure. Through love we have breathed the dusty winds of time, through time’s death we will find that which lay beyond the silky rainbow of our trials in the rest of the only One to provide such quiescence.