A Psychic Manual

Time is a coverlet of secrets not to be withheld, but dressed for the revealing, just as humankind sits down among the gods partaking of the succulence of truth, and no priority may interfere with that vainglory of the feast. See, it has begun with whispers in the air, alerting us that it is there surrounding thought like friendly shadows frolicing, calling out to passersby that there is always more within. It is the hour when judgement slips away... the inner ear entices in a strange romance, and everyday is set aside to clear the way for new dimension, moving in. You may attune your mystic sight as flesh retreats; the field is vast enough for you to play, embrace its green and celebrate the day of your awakening. The fresh halloos reverberate across the miracle of this new consciousness, our hidden friend for many years, our self emerging from the sleep of alien domain, an infancy to suck upon a proffered breast quite unaware it only pacifies. Halloo! There IS a crystal universe. There is a holy light upon the sky. There is a company of messengers that we in blinded days ourselves considered aliens. We called them angels, yes, but they were winged of mere intent, unseen yet with the song of bounding and rebounding love alone and only now, yet evermore to be. ~