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Post Script
Words are spiritual. There never was and never will be an inherent meaning to words; rather, they echo eternity. Thought conveyors ... rickety thought conveyors ... these poor words, clacking through some mine of time. Would that words could convey Me to you or You to me and end our lonliness.
Alas, I leak through my words like water borne in hole filled buckets. I convey, not me, just the dripping containers. Be quick and see me falling through my words. Reach for me as I am reaching for you. Help me. Hold me. I am falling away.
Alone again.
No! Never. The words fail but the thoughts persist. Thoughts will not be contained; not by words, not by space, not by time.
My thoughts can see through the abyss of Me to You. See me if you will, but have no doubt, I have found you. Beautiful. Searching. Have I found you in time?
You are not alone in spirit or in pain. We are so fragile, yet so strong. We break and we mend. We live and we die. We know and we press on. The pain is in the knowing. It is neither good, nor evil. It is essential. We cannot deny the pain. We are divine art. We paint our beauty on the canvas of our pain.
And you, so important to this picture, you stand too close. You see only empty canvas. This is but a place on the canvas of All knowing. Step back and see the glory of your work. Now, apply your colors my friend. Fill this empty place with the beauty that is you. We serve each other.
Know that I need you. Know that I love you. Know that I am with you, always and forever.
Amen.
Last update: Tuesday, June 19, 2001 14:07
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