In the clean, bright instant of rapture. Following the feet of those who’ve gone to sleep before us. We find the fleeting seconds rewarding as they are realization of rest remembered. Into the light we leave darkness as challenge to them who never knew His name.

Trials soon diminished and brought to heel with the powerful focused joy. In the patience of time remembered, we recall the painstaking pleasure taken in our lengthy perfection. Prosperity is not a moment but an enduring measure of expansion versus scarcity.

Which theory rang true without the glaring evidence of closing argument or witness? What direction is the wind supposed to travel when I don’t want it targeting my face with the icy crystals of wayward storm? How may a shield protect its bearer left by bedside or dragged around the ankles as anchor?

The mesmerizing dream captured colors I could believe while regaling me with insight I sought to resist. What fight is worth the bruises? What word speaks clearest in the painful moment of pleasures betrayal? Are we the arbiters of wrong or the purveyors of right and truth? How best to hide in the fold or concealed in the hold when intended for bold predicament?

We doubt what the end is about because we’ve seen the doubtful beginning and listened to the baying sheep in the middle of madness. What leads me to believe it will work out poorly when this joy bespeaks my journey? At daybreak I question the provisions only to find I’ve got more than I thought I’d require.

Into love we are neither injected nor bedazzled but led. Not by potions or words of poor choosing but by the promise of comfort, support and respect for what God designed and intended. What is an effective union if not adding one to one to make a greater one? Sometimes care is given because it was ordered as Californians would acknowledge, by the Universe.

Why is hope so essential and when missing, its absence sorely abused? What is reflected in composite and myriad image if not the signature of time, air and earth? When the sea backs away what is the deafening impulse to follow its retreating wake feeling its tug upon our foundation? What lured you to dream so deeply of purity and life?