Marks across the sky. Whispers of things beyond the Earth’s curvature. What transparent revelations move the heart to action? What dedicated freedoms move man to try, create or long for solution and continued attempt upon it? What sponsors direction? Must the liquid nature of ambition or aspiration perpetually seek the low point en piso? Or is there an intrinsic yearning to reach for angelic insight? Is the birth of reason a quest to find beginning or learn the path transcending all endings? What is the danger and blessing of contentment?

Palsied comfort. Possessing the blessings of mentality, morphism and marching and indifferently choosing quiescence. Storms to seed, worlds to imagine and stars to reach, yet my anger has no enemy. No joy in conquest. No passion for enslavement. No taste for usurpation. Simply being and becoming the mystery programmed within the reasoning of God. Is the dawn relentless in its beckoning you forward, not to right or left but to certain unknown effort and momentary destination leading to eternal growth? Do the whims of governance and rest construct mobius performance and disconnection? Or is the burning gold of morning calling to something beyond understanding, talent and capacity? A Promise not of place, time and season but of continuance in glory?

Let me be the drip that weakens stone before me. Let me be the breath of God to sponsor lively spirit. Let me be the resting hand that refreshes heals and finishes. Let me be the dusk promising slumber and refreshing. Take from me the raging seas and super nova’s blasting. For I am the helping hand of planting and to nourish. Fill the bucket to rim with fresh Earth and know that soon a forest will be tended, providing shade and color, depth and shelter. Let me be the sigh between the call of chrysalis. The waiting hand of change to shape destiny, mass and thinking. That all may be acquainted at gathering to their Maker.