| let�s leave this foolish concrete palace and step up into the sky (it�s in a smiling sort of mood today) a little distance from the crowd will do us good and if we do it now we can overtake that choir of doves |
| let�s turn into our real-selves, the ones that truly know about the flow of love, the wingtip touch of breath and kiss, the ocean�s heartbeat and the songs that bluebells sing to trees formless, we can slipstream into All, leave behind the lonely scientists, the dogma-belching theologians, and all the rest, who nibble at the crumbs of Mystery and Magic that high-fliers often drop to earth, (birdseed scattered over nascent garden) |
| let�s be soul-kites loosely tagged to earth (because we did agree to this) by gold-silk cords down which we will pour liquid essence postcards of our angel flight into pure blue. weightless, we can be a new sea-sky, rolling in the breathing seas of inspiration, swimming into bright new harmonies to sing much later, back on earth, making love with the night as we whisper how today we danced with god. *come, it�s a good day to fly* |
| *for you, Alan ... fly, my beautiful |
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