« Vous devriez savoir que je .., » she whispered as if clearing her throat, as she looked across the scenery outside overlooking the newly cleaned roofs spotting a black cat poised between two chimneys.
Her eyes, dark hardly reflected a sober afterlife. They said, she had died one springtime when she was ageless. Before Life takes over, every frame is being kept in it’s veils for whatever reasons perhaps a story in the morrows. Perhaps for creating a new world, a new morula. Nobody knows … everyone else is too busy playing the games, getting caught like moths to flames. Some not knowing are just, following the crowd … these are nice for the parade. Golems, and sometimes Gentiles, are necessary to paint the parades more colourful, selling more confetti, sugar-flags, and party poppers.
Well, someone has to pretend to be a banker and churn out state capitalism somehow. Unless one can start entrusting the government, state social may not be such a brilliant idea. Reverse engineering solutions for the future of Earth can be enticing. Lip service sometimes, backed by media pundits, can direct the flow of events and cause change … and a profitable platform unless one has three eyes, and more.
That is why she speaks in a language that need deciphering. Only the Darkness understands her, and the Light converts what is of necessity for the maturation. For society. Right now, it has to do with dreams. Startups, real-estate, moving mountains between the West and the North; and the South to the Easts.
Perhaps she’ll change her mind, if she decides to stay. They said she came back for something, or someone. They said women are good at many things but that — Anything but mercurial unpredictableness. To love a human is not just in loving the divine manifestation but also to have the courage to embrace such civilisations throughout the inception through the endings of all endings — Love is sacred and aren’t design for the bourgeois. If each of them are granted such ease, nobility of the heart would be lumpenproletariat.
Only a rare few indulge in such flights. It is too painful a devoir to even contemplate undertaking.
The heart has started beating again. That day a week, perhaps two before I was informed of his sudden passing. It was strange to feel the pains of a heartbeat after these months, knowing that one’s lifetime, one’s journey is between that, between those breaths consumed yet is breath breathe by those innuendoes between stories and civilisations; between a love one profess having to gift, and share with a lover … with a human.
Only humans, for they have attained to that state of perfection. All else are still in disguise, in the masquerade — between mud and fire.
Tonight I see myself on the mounds of Deauville. One can taste the sea by just breathing in the air. I am hoping the fresh channel winds will brush my skin, lifting my lungs out of its miseries of the humid heat in Asia. I used to do that in Paris, when the Seine was eager to freeze over in the eighties. I could easily be floating in one of the vessels facing Aswan or AlWasta from Amarna, watching the gazelles or the stars from there.
Of course reading is not reading without it. When things change it sometimes is for the better. Even Lucy doesn’t mind after-all, a thousand more is like a breath refreshed. And the stories continue, each love affair is still connected to Light, even if the darkness play a backdrop in the hues of civilisations’ imaginative histories.
There can be no end when there’s no beginning of excellence … the idea of not uniting the one god believers is obvious … they are still in the veils of duality. That is why their pilgrimage are still journeys, and your’s are already awaiting to be read by the hidden royalties, bearing the sceptres of life in their souls. And for the world to fully transcend these have to be awakened even when the soul of the cube has recently transcended home in the heavens.
Sometimes, consciousness would come and pat (the) heads, the fontanels gently creating static to remove whatever base-memories left, and giving it nudge of approval to follow suite therein the balance, positivity or negativity it really doesn’t matter — they are similar in nature from a certain perspective of course. I have also felt your heart, and it’s longings, it’s tears of defiance although you refrain from telling anyone, how you felt, brushing away any signs of such sentiment. Like lint on woollen suits. The more you brush it away, the longer the door stays unopened. No I don’t complicate things … men do when they have more than a trophy-spouse and some interests. The excuse of course is always that they’re men.
Well it doesn’t give them the right to cheat. Or lie.
I would also advice Pascal to gently breathe especially when the heart is weakened but courageous men always say otherwise. That’s why they are either performers, heads of states or change-makers. Over the months these will heal too, like forgotten dusts at cemeteries when names etched on tombstones fail to attract eyes to read them.
That’s why We Create, and they read. Always in that order. Not everyone is privilege to ascend or awakened. Sacrifices, even for that MH370 flight was unnecessary.
It defeats the purpose to gain leverage in the repositioning. A round table meeting is essential with El.