crash happens

4

May 4 by The Running Son

I have some comments to answer, and some behaviors to answer for.

I haven’t read them yet, but I can see several concerned followers. I don’t know where to start or how to clean this up. My mood swings have really shown their true power in the last many hours and they are connected to a me that has projected distress, out, into a space of air and sound and volume, unsettling those with their attention tuned upward like humidity that clogs the lungs.

Not sure what to do with the exchange of pain right now. Answers come and go like waves caught in the moon force. The tides are an orderly law, and it’s strong pulls take me first into light and union, then out to the sands of decay and disorder that chaff the place between the soul and the garments that protect it.

The ego is a coat of many colors. It molds and forms to any wind or object. It dresses the single emergence, the particular I, or wave that rolls, with the beauty and synchronicity it sees, a reflection. Narcissus bends over to examine the image and is excited. Slaps the river and watches concentric rings be pulled away, and is surprised by loss.

The moat around the heavenly castle adjusts over the years. The castle decays.

The next generation calls a committee and discusses the moat, it’s necessity, the cost of maintenance and purification, the vulnerability of breaks.

Narcissus decides the reflection is not true. It pulls and boils and is drawn away, In it’s place, another, but different, a reflection, but different this time, dependent upon the unfolding of currents and the natural flow around formations and time-events and lives and laws that make it a river and not a nothing.

The moat is matter and limited and will be scaled by marauders that maraud, a law like a boulder in the river to be adjusted to. The committee calls for peace and a de-moating, with hope for future crowns.

The man pulls back from the river and finds a tree and sits. He cannot take anything permanent from the river. It is the same river but will not hold the reflection.

The man and the king rejoice. Some things are inevitable and death is part of the golden riches and the sound like a river, a bell, a light, the focus and vortex that does not take but gives, multiplying itself into riches that fill all the spaces of a kingdom. Wealth and abundance, a river whose source never ends.

Pohm

Humid rise up and gather.

Reign down over all.

moisture in all

the breath of God.

 

 

I am ok. I am.

~Jim