Dreaming of Water
Down the River Bend
—W. H. Auden
Do you know the words that make the hidden door open?
Can you speak my secret name and fix me?
I have no heart, I have no brain
Lord, I have no courage
Can you get me home again?
Could never be heaven without you
Could never be heaven without you
Never be heaven without you.
—Brand New, "Could Never Be Heaven"
JACOB: The sun stretches its rays as if hair strands...light... as if. . from heaven . . penetrates . . Mother Earth's aura... reaches . . our atmosphere.... within. . seconds after its rise. Such splendor ... only those who wake... early .. enjoy.
No one taught me ... about . . the Sun ...... or heaven... or Earth .. or auras.
How do you know all this, asks Arris Annais - the wounded healer, once lost.
It's all ingrained and encoded inside me. There are pock marks on my skin, let's say bark. Why do they call my thick skin this? It sounds like barco in Spanish, maybe because my ancestors when cut down - were blessed to become ships, treasure chests, tables, chairs, even the Cross where the Savior suffered and died.....
Yes, I have thick skin called bark like barco.
Will you sail with me through time, into destiny. . back into Life? Arris is curious about everything; sometimes stays up reading her favorite book for this week "The Neverending Story" by Michael Ende. She reads random pages to break the rules.
Upon waters of endless peace converge the arrises of life.
What riddle is this? asks Arris this time secretly wondering if Phillip will ever take her to visit a coral reef perhaps in Australia or Belize.
When the Sun touches me, it is as if the first time we shake hands - and it is love at first sight. I revel ... in this awesome blessed warmth.
I observe the air. . currents swathing the clouds... angels molding: what seems ... a crocodile; soon it metamorphoses into a mermaid ......laying at the feet of her love.
The space between clouds reminds me of the space between me and the banana tree. She is my closest neighbor. We talk, yet will never touch bark to bark, only mane to mane as our leaves do inter-dwell.
A cloud goes ahead of us all guiding our ways. Will that comet desist? Will we believe in Love? Will we trust Someone higher is guiding us all? Some notice Him. Some don't... think this is possible, and yet they believe in themselves, but not in a humble God who was once a man; not in the blood shed for them but when they get cut they feel pain, see blood. They feel Me, yet choose to ignore me. How could man ignore his own Shadow?
I've been dreaming about these indelible palaces; ones we can't even fathom right now; yet will be able to soon when we become incorruptible, soaring into the higher dimensions, we will have 12 helix strands of DNA.
To be obliterated like a destroyed sandcastle; who would want that anyway? Darkness himself, of course.
But we, children of the ever expanding Light - dream of the breaths of the universe, star dust as ice cream daisies, dandelion seeds like girls caressing caterpillar tender boys, lemon pies pleasing the taste buds dancing on patient eager tongues and in skies ready for angels to lick lips, and tiny titillating melodies like whistles or hums slip from angelic lips as pianos inside jovial jewelry boxes with secret Solomon's Song custom made songs and laughter for the lover's heart resounding at soft finger prints.
I touch the farthest away Star that belongs to soul - the star dust you came from. And emanating are melodies unique and refreshing - rising and calling, falling in crescendoes, echoing destiny, warm tendrils of hair dipped in alcohol here chamomile tea there. Honey spying on your throat heals the instant you drink it, so that annoying yet lesson-instilling-cold may float 'way; in peace leave thee.
I've been pondering these blessed castles, the ones we can't even fathom; rivers surrounding heaven, layers of DNA: ghosts within brick-tethered-with-tendrils-of-grape-vines-walls and waterfalls waiting to wink and be more than this water and fall, fleeing in haste their emptiness, reaching mercifully their inner sanctum and higher heaven self.
Dear one, you are translucently inclining to the cosmos' beauty and becoming music yourself, embodying your true image of soul and light.
Listen, listen to destiny, to the air inside lungs and everywhere you will dance with comely roses who will be singing of secrets that for now hide yet are engraved within the Two Hearts that won the prize.
Doors glow in their magenta: angels dancing in love with God, green and turquoise auras: healing Raphael and Mother Gaia welcome thee, and the queen the one who stole the heart of The Lamb so long ago....she walks this prodigal daughter, only begotten of the Father, there within curtained passageways, in their royal prodigality, they share their combined light and smiles with all who dare take a second look - the guests to the Wedding Supper; and no, not everyone will come. Only those who accept and desire to attend. Prototype of Esther and her King Xerxes, they now share their secrets including kisses, hugs and glances inside their now in the fifth dimension (restored) Garden of Eden.
But I ... I am tucked away on Earth. I am the open heart and mysterious bloom that permeates all true hearts that ever existed, exist and will be: heaven. But for now, I dwell in mud, and this - my undoing and my divinely appointed designed office.
By the way, do you know the secret code to the heart? The Lovers in golden ratio do! They are reflected and emitted in every aspect of elegant nature!
I discovered from the cosmos's plethora and Mother Nature's own arsenal, as I contemplated what once was lost and what lies beneath, amid my essential bed of serene soil sublime. I came across it beneath my gnarled roots—soggy toes, deep inside my tough collection of pale colliding veins. Ah, the secret, of course . . . before my thought runs off with the wind: The truest love. It's real. Not surprised? Did you think I had some . . . deeper secret? But it is deep, see. Look, this thing called love that you humans will eat, sleep, count sheep, dream of, and even die for . . . it's not unattainable, or fantasy— but instead it's a complete possibility, and it's exactly how I came to be.
I've been blessed by El Olam, but I also feel somewhat burdened. I have a charming home; so I'm blessed, yet burdened - I am in paradise yet cleverly was built: immobile — have no other choice but to be defined by autumn, winter, spring, and summer. I am intrusive, so to speak. All right, I'll be honest: I can't help myself. It's, let's say, my calling yet I am also first and foremost a protector. I contribute to Mother Earth's atmosphere, getting rid of a percentage of what they call carbon dioxide; more so, I lend a hand, or branch, so to speak: a day's supply of oxygen to the family of four living inside the two-story home that is founded upon my bed where pleasantly perfumed soil although rugged and insignificant perhaps to some, isn't bothersome to me at all.
The quirky family live on the other side of my window—ghostly mirror and strange pillow—as life goes on reflecting changes of seasons, my moods either bring me down or energize, billows and traces of my breath leave a kiss like mist upon their chilly window. Do they notice?
Alondra and Estéfano are both my daily warm "cup of chamomile tea." That's Alondra's favorite. Estefano's is coffee black with brown sugar.