Mind To Mind

The door is closed. Behind it are the congregation of the saints and as the silence churns, each listens. From each tower flows dharmata's peace, the sum of emptiness, the breath of the divine. From fantasy as this, the lore of hope— a flood, bare of design, emerging, feeding its perfection, bursting as a flower to share a precious frailty in its uniting. Now the welkin has its sway; come rein the horses with me, for the mystic skies are full of thunder and the day is ours. Come quickly. Who will pass? You know. You are the keeper of the door. ~