"The work of shining, the work of shining, the work of letting yourself know. The work of shining, the work of letting yourself go. And he points himself north, and he takes himself forth. And he hears the eagle crying as he walks, he walks along."
I’m crawling on the floor, feline, and this is god in her million faces.
The muse has come again tonight, a constant gardener. She’s come in, and nothing else matters but to sip from her cup. She always has the most appropriate elixir to bring truth to life. Even the candles light is dim in the midst of her illumination.