The words kept coming back to him, statement of a mystical truth and a palpable absurdity.
Dreams are like the old stories where wolves are seekers always running, and women carry fire in their bare hands and light the dark paths before them. Old stories hold that the birds will fly all the miles of the world to tell your secrets to the rising moon, and men will walk over oceans of ice to find one truth.
Mystic ways may not all travel but life's riddles we can unravel.
Love, be mystical as the flickering blue flame of night as the fully-awoken moon beneath cobwebs of passing clouds amidst chanting high-tides fuzzy, as my blanket big enough to illuminate a hundred thousand billion galaxies and just small enough to fit into my embrace.
WINTER'S GHOST: Autumn moon incautious in the dark river Winter’s ghost walks with a covered face and silver bones wait in all animals to be bone cloth upon her shoulder wait for her happiness in that they are silver
We think we meet someone with our eyes When we actually meet them with our soul
It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but it was deeper than that. A sense of belonging to a place I never knew I wanted but somehow always needed. It was a home that carried a heartbeat.
Religion is nothing but institutionalized mysticism. The catch is, mysticism does not lend itself to institutionalization. The moment we attempt to organize mysticism, we destroy its essence. Religion, then, is mysticism in which the mystical has been killed. Or, at least diminished.
Life is an art of mystical combination.
Keep in mind my friend, if an answer is not rational, then it is not an answer, but a delusion.
You were the ocean and we were the land You lay down unflinching You lay down forgetting And you were the ocean and we were the land
Drink in the heat of an ancient sun held in the cold fire of water rising from earth and rock Spilling over your cupped hands and drawn to lips and tongue Pouring water’s memory of the azure mist it fell from into the chalice of your flesh Turning your eyes skywards with desire for the freedom it was born of
Beneath the gentle gaze of a god turned in stone holding the dreaming wish of safety in our arms
The mystical poetry of William Blake's artwork also forms the basis for the album cover.