I am on my own path and my own journey. No two journeys are alike. “There is a passage in the Old French Queste del Saint Graal that epitomizes the true spirit of Western man. It tells of a day when the nights of Arthur’s court gathered in the banquet hall waiting for dinner to […]
Softness in the folds of curled blue cloth Gently touching were his words Inward eyes reached below the heart So gentle the caresses held A depth of sublime intention that no one knows. Enough was said. Beyond this state Forgetfulness will be her way for now and another day.
Frozen Castles, mirrored streams, icy breath and billowing clouds, perched high above forgotten dreams, found in depths of tired souls, cracked foundations foliage bare, to be announced another time, repeated over and over again. Determined footing and mossy mound, to be found, to be found, as we return to melted ground.