Sitting with the silence And I shall speak of God, and I shall speak of charity. And will not worry about the gender, or the colour of his shoestring, or how destiny is being re-winded, on a shoestring. And whether the devil lost his fiddle, to a guy from Georgia, or where to put the dark and the light, or how to make it shine. I shall speak of my ignorance, and the way of negative theology, and the theo-logos, of the ancient ones. A living reality, not a dead letter, on a parchment. An invitation, not a proclamation. And shall speak of the Red Room, and not the red gowns or cardinals. Or if I speak of Cardinal, I shall only praise the bird, that met me. On “Lemuria”, on of my travels, and traversations, of space time. And I shall speak of Love, until it once again, it becomes a living reality, in our heart of hearts. And until I can speak of these things, in Truth and Beauty, I shall gently bow to the Great Silence. In the gratitude, of her asking for so little. As a wise bard once sung. Meet me there.
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