we
see holiness or scandal or authority. if but to endue souls! if but our ante!
to receive a return on our investment. but life is adverse. souls are reneging.
while replacing us is not a problem. our sodden ethics or anti-morals while we
say, “It’s about being happy.” such carte blanch, where life is thwarted,
this mental blockage. we need a masterpiece. we need an orchestra. we desire
significant training. our holy women, so bogged down, enslaved by the holy
image. our nation, trying desperately, to believe in one person. Love would
pry, to see a sentence, or become an attitude. but in dear anguish to cut his
pride, we adore what adores us! birds are whistling where crows are balking at
some thought that becomes habitual. to pace a room at mental praxis where an energy
arises. deeper concentration or monitored souls where Love loves the work, but
loathes the travesties. so charmed of course, to meet or vet, while sudden with
pangs. it was time to ponder it was psychic physics where we understand mind-language:
those splices in consciousness or so in one as distorted while metaphysics is
held on trial: as crossed examined to ask, in a slightly shy manner, “What is
your claim or purpose?” the decision is gray, for we know our experience, but
it’s not something we voice. it might become energy, we might claim it, but
fire is different!
