The image with the prism rainbow is a reflection from my window and I think it looks pretty neat especially as it gives the shadow some light and fits pretty well with the story.
I forgot to add some snippets from the book, so here they are 🙂
There is a silent calm travelling through his life, it permeates his being, his actions, his connections: he is a tree amongst the noises of humanity. Sometimes he thought of himself as wandering in soulless oblivion, then he thought of himself as wandering in search of she who understands. She who is equal to his silence; she who is the shadow to his tree, or he the shadow of hers.
Sitting one time in the silence and deathly stillness of an emerging sunrise he had a moment of acuity, for there on the horizon time was being born. He became aware of how mighty is silence and stillness and of how, even for a few seconds, this gap in time was magical and eternal. He lived in this moment and came to see the endless possibilities of thought.
The raven in the sunshine gleams in its blackness. Its bulky shadow gives flight to its consciousness and thus its intelligence. Its beak points while those eyes, looking beyond what mere humans can see, penetrate the arena and off into the fields of time and mystery where the knowledge of all things become known. The raven in the sunshine gleams deep in the pleasure of its secrets, and at once he sees the beauty of it all, but seeing is not having. He can hear the distant musicians. He can see the collection of art. He can see the butterfly dazzling the flower with its own beauty. He can see the clouds as they move in their silent caress of the universe. He can see the colours of humanity, and at once the pain of it all struck him with sharp needles of confusion.
Naked are the stars in winter as they caress the evening sky with their immense solitude, like so many leaves blinking when they fall and flutter in the breeze as moonlight kisses them. He lays upon the ground watching the rhythmic blinking where he drifts into an unconscious moment of trepidation. Dare he allow himself to sink into the flesh of life shining above him? Dare he allow his soul to touch those many deaths and births? Dare he begin to forget her so he can begin to know her? Dare he and if he dares, how does he begin?
This welcome sunshine
burns away thoughts of that sweet rain
which washed away that radiant sunshine
after it burnt away those morning mists
which dampened spirits of those moonilt fields
whose silence opened to breathe the stars
as they themselves woke the might of time
where it sparked imagination into being
and that life there, that simple dream
taught the soul the art of seeing
and that life there, that simple sight
opened doors to the unseen light
of this dark world, this world of
fragile alchemic blight
where the sun it shines to breathe new life
to give us hope for a world of sight
We are often unbalanced as we move through our lives and often there’s a noise, a vibration, or a gut feeling and these signs are sometimes missed, and I for one am guilty of not listening or not appreciating that maybe the universe is trying to say something, trying to let me know that perhaps I need to relax, to not overthink, and even to open myself to the mystery of my surroundings or to believe in the indomitable spirit of my soul.
Letting things go is good but troublesome in that there are so many distractions out there and so many diversions in here where thoughts run away in tangents of imagination.
So yes, letting things go is tough but once we start we’ll feel more freedom until that smile crinkles our soul into a rhapsody of realities
There are many reasons as to why we are, or feel fragile and also why we fear, but sometimes we fear because we are fragile, timid, controlled or unable to come to terms with our weaknesses or our imaginings of a weakness within us because those who do control prefer it that we stay inside our shells and so we become more and more unable to break free of their bonds and our own bonds.
It is very difficult to stand up, very difficult to say what we think, very difficult to acknowledge that we are anything but their servant, very difficult to believe in the strength lying within and very difficult to be open to the reality of the idea that we are a person of note with our own tools of and for life.
The biggest and greatest tool we have is imagination.
We are stronger holding the belief of our courage in our hearts, in our souls; in our very bones.
You can awake the fragile and you can release the fear but yes it is difficult, very difficult.
It only lasted the short time
until the wax
to reveal the truth of art
for art is born of darkness
in the cold reaches of mystery
where myth blends with reality
and where imagination’s atoms
shiver in perpetual flights of expired