This is. Warmth of a
lover on cold nights, hearts literally sewn one inside the other, the other
inside the other. Training daily with
humans who know they have souls. Mending
tasks using earth, water, air and fire, really white fire binding your mending
efforts into art because every cell that is, is in need of some repair; and art
seems a sincere tool. Knowing the sky
and the ground, the clouds, grass, trees, birds and the like; because you strain
to see, hear, touch, taste and smell.
Sitting in the silent morn with The Ancient Of Days and believing there
is no better or rather place to be. This
simply IS.
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