WORDS WRIT LARGE AND VACANT

These are the words of joy and purity. They are the soul of flowers, the whispering of sanctity. It is the message of fire and conflagration, as much as it is the message of water and designation. To hurt with a touch, to damage with a look, the spirits of combustion and sanctity forge a moment of being, forge a moment of reckoning. The golden management of worlds within spheres, the spoken agreement of enchantments and conjectures, the dreams and expectations of judgement and revelation. All are within the cascade of cosmos and ether, all are part of words writ large and vacant. Clap hands for the vibration of life. Clap hands for the movement towards bliss as life. Flowers storm the passion, flowers break open the soul of hearts. All is within conflagration of moments, moments that touch the source of eternity. But we are gathered within. We hum the message and we hum the answer. We are touched by gods, molested by demons, transcendent in both...flawed, but transcendent in both. It is the way. Clap hands...it is the way.