- You Know Sometimes What Is Said Is Not What Is Meant -
(With Complete Astral Permission of The Author)
"Ah. It's You. Good.
I've been waiting a long time to talk to you.
Looking at your hands is useful, in a dream.
Don't worry. This is just where our stories end.
Here by the Grandmother fireside.
Don't you remember? It's always here. Always now.
There was never anything but this room, this hearth.
Never anyone but me... and you.
All of it happens. All of it's real.
And it's all part of the story you wanted me to tell you.
Don't you remember?"
"You were a baby, silly chemicals that had only just strung themselves together. You wanted a story, of what might happen."
"What You'd become."
"And I sang you of cells, little pillows of brine."
"I told you of tail, of flagellum and spine..."
"Remember?"
"And all of the birds and the fish in the sea.."
"...and all of the women and men you might be."
(The Man Who Would Have Been Death) "I thought I was somebody reading a comic book, or...")
"You're everybody. That's how it IS with stories. They're always really about YOU, aren't they? And they always have a beginning... and there's always an ending. For all the stories. For everyone."
"I've been waiting a long time to talk to you. To ALL of you."
"The Sun is rising. Know yourself. Know that you are life, that you are mind. You are the awareness of The Universe. You are Its Dearest Child."
"Space and Time explode into being. Every atom. Every moment. All at once.
The explosion's still going on. This is all part of it."
"We are sparks of its ecstatic, blazing consciousness. And We are All rare.
And We are precious. And We are All One Thing."
"...and all concievable places are in one truth one place..."
"...And all of time is but a single moment. Let us draw in by the fire, and be glad."
"Every one of us."
"Everything is very close now."
"Don't be frightened. Our lives are all a story we've been telling to ourselves, whiling away the long, afraid night of our human ignorance."
"But now We are grown. Now the night is over."
"Now there is Light."
"Ah. It's You. Good.
I've been waiting a long time to talk to you.
Looking at your hands is useful, in a dream.
Don't worry. This is just where our stories end.
Here by the Grandmother fireside.
Don't you remember? It's always here. Always now.
There was never anything but this room, this hearth.
Never anyone but me... and you.
All of it happens. All of it's real.
And it's all part of the story you wanted me to tell you.
Don't you remember?"
"You were a baby, silly chemicals that had only just strung themselves together. You wanted a story, of what might happen."
"What You'd become."
"And I sang you of cells, little pillows of brine."
"I told you of tail, of flagellum and spine..."
"Remember?"
"And all of the birds and the fish in the sea.."
"...and all of the women and men you might be."
(The Man Who Would Have Been Death) "I thought I was somebody reading a comic book, or...")
"You're everybody. That's how it IS with stories. They're always really about YOU, aren't they? And they always have a beginning... and there's always an ending. For all the stories. For everyone."
"I've been waiting a long time to talk to you. To ALL of you."
"The Sun is rising. Know yourself. Know that you are life, that you are mind. You are the awareness of The Universe. You are Its Dearest Child."
"Space and Time explode into being. Every atom. Every moment. All at once.
The explosion's still going on. This is all part of it."
"We are sparks of its ecstatic, blazing consciousness. And We are All rare.
And We are precious. And We are All One Thing."
"...and all concievable places are in one truth one place..."
"...And all of time is but a single moment. Let us draw in by the fire, and be glad."
"Every one of us."
"Everything is very close now."
"Don't be frightened. Our lives are all a story we've been telling to ourselves, whiling away the long, afraid night of our human ignorance."
"But now We are grown. Now the night is over."
"Now there is Light."