As another Lame Cherry exclusive in matter anti matter.
I do not understand the being I have become, but I understand more fully the persons others have become.
There are not words in this, but feelings. I understand God is Love, but do not understand Christ the Word in the Let there be, for how can God talk in creation, and create all this communication of interaction, and all I hear are the waves of emotion.
I am generating on the Prophetic keyboard. So many notes and players, but none is playing the emotion I hear.
The Prophets witnessed in the figurative and heard in the literal. The I Am speaks and we see, feel, hear, scent and know.
To touch the matrix by the Holy Ghost is a mystery, for it speaks back not in absolutes, but in humans on this side. Those humans. A year ago I felt them in the millions, and now they are silent. I felt them this year in their rage, and the rage of one. That which was June is become July, but July does not ever ask why, as August in year becomes ashes to ashes and dust to dust. In September dreams it is what it seems, for it dreams of October and I feel, that one, the one sent, the fixer of suns to be born.
I feel the emotions and thought they were mine, the anxiety, and yet it is his, the fixer, the one sent, the maker of suns to be born.
The rage of them which held the sun, and then it all vanished in the night of setting sun, and became that one sent who appeared, so serene, so dressed in white, so calm in purpose of solar storm, and yet so filled with anxiety of not completing what he lives for. So dressed in white, now not as he appeared in the spirit of what he was, but what he is.
Now the anxiety is gone, just that serenity of becoming death.
Not a father, but melding with the creation, a false light, of the let there be, of tiger, tiger, burning bright, in the forest of the night, I wish I may, I wish I might, wish on thee, the first star I see tonight.
To feel, to lock on, to have this ocean of pressure building, ringing in my ears, the more I focus, the more I feel, the more I connect to the other side and to this side, it is here am I there and here am I here, and here am I inside of him, here am I outside of him, feeling, knowing, the frequency of electric connection like a pulsing nerve.
It is in the soft spot now, the event gliding along unknown, so light like a butterfly, so heavy on course. It slips away in speaking in waning charge.
End of line.
agtG
