Hands, fingers, pens, pencils, paper, creating words, images, visions turning into magic, from the dream to the page, to the reader, readers, everyone, no one, creating the sublime. Gifting the dream to unsuspecting as the words twirl around there heads, something is happening, from the unknown to the knowing, to the written word, dancing, sparking the hunters imagination into endless possibilities. Smiling I write more for myself, automatic soul to pen, to keys, playing my dancing fingers as if it was a grand piano * "An accomplished pianist is one who brings the audience, to experience something that is out of the boundaries of time, which shackles us in our everyday existence. It is one who is at one with the instrument." My gift, pulls the dream, allowing it to create sparks threw out my fingers, sharing with those who are in soul, out of soul, that have something to say, giving voice to the unspoken, to the forgotten dead, from the ancestors reaching across through time, through the veil to step into this place, reality takes the words to be given openly without judgement, mine but not mine, there's but not there's, shared knowledge, in the dream to the dreamers who want to believe in more, in the moments of "AH HA!" Enlightenment? maybe. Joy? most likely. Miracles? Yes, and more to the readers life offering new possibilities, firing up their world turning it upside down, tossing preconceived paradigms on there axis. I write to pull the dream from the universe to the page, the everything from everywhere to hear, to you. The gift brings me joy, its magic every time I write. I love it. Without you there is no me, or is there? I smile, breathe, create, and find the way, my way, in lone one ness for the hunters who are being hunted, offering a path to find the way, there way, we in unison creating a future of hope.
Duende Naddred (c) 2019
No comments:
Post a Comment