. . . soars amongst the stars . . .

100128 05:41
Soar like an eagle
live like a dove
be love four squared
when you love give yourself

To know this in my dreams, what awakens and writes, still soars amongst the stars
. . . if I weep for joy it is no shame, for a person who knows death, knows life better. Your time will come sooner than you know it now, for you are held in the highest regard by the Author of Love;
We all are.
I do not write for you, or for me, but the source of light seeking us in the darkest, coldest frozen night. And I am but a paper match struck in the infinite mirror night sea covered with stars soon extinguished.
Regarding love, I was and remain, will always be, a Wild Child. Whose reverence for the Other/others is profoundly silent. Night en-kindled and burned luminescent. My love rejected, or welcomed, remains constant, since it is mine to give. We are love. Suffused in Love. Yet long for it from others until we love ourselves enough to know it now and definitively our own--given/received.
Attempting to understand the warp and woof, the spinning clay of this day, or iron of those in harms way disintegrated, I listened to the State of The Nation and following commentaries. What remains were a few comments, rude and salacious, regarding the mockery of us. We who voted and thought we were moving forward now slipped back into the mire of loss.
Everything is either political, theological or philosophical. Our value is ours to give and can never be measured by those who send us, or take our gifts, to their own power or profit.
Spiritually I stand in line for the showers/ovens of Auschwitz, in the night’s snow upon the mountain passes of Afghanistan; skull cap, helmet, or Swastika I become all persons enslaved to the agenda’s of those who purport to administer life and it’s meaning.
In my self I become love for others and through them The Other who created us equally.