I imagine I’m writing many times that I should be praying and giving thanks to the Mother of the (H)eartH. The father just may be next for us upside-down headed children, an experiment, if you will? Will? Who had a choice in the matter? We’ve been programmed to receive some as of yet recognized signal from the angels on this eartH. We may be wingless, but God Almighty can we ever soar… (More soaring, less roaring. Give silence a chance to breathe…) She’s been in her solitude as long as she can remember. She’s been in her silence for longer than she probably even should in order to forgive her children their transgressions. I was programmed to receive, if truth be told, and I’m okay with that. The eartH knows I deserve the lesson… (Time…) (End.) How can Time and End exist, there’s no such thing as either…? If we’re tired, it ain’t from lack of trying… (The sense is as exhilarating as it is destructive.) End our vicious cycle of thieving greed and murder and war and ra...
(The Weaver's Song)