The Magi

Today is the day of the Magi. Pillars of light walk upon the planet between the shadows of sleeping consciousness. The dark tendrils of lost souls seeking the light faded with the rising sun. Shapeless forms holding to the physical, as though it would cover them and allow them to hide from themselves, took flight suddenly when they perceived that the blue light crack that had opened was the door to their own presence on earth.

The physical events lose power in the coming movement of nations seeking security rather than peace. The Magi stood this morning on the mountaintop. As the sun rose he was not concerned with the red chromosomes and duplicated fragments of soul, marked still with the uncertainty of future memories. Those eyes shading their actions, as though just by looking away, they could hide the mark of their tracks across time.

The bones remember and recollect their faded forms in the growing presence of ancestors, who are the children of their grandchildren. As your own eyes recollect at some faded time in the future. You ask, how could you forget, as you search for the key to the inner home? Locked out and alone your feet find no resting place. Perhaps because the land is poison and the water tastes bitter and hard. Crossing the circle of your own life, you shudder as the wind reminds you of the openings where it blows through your fragmented soul.

And so it is that today a decision was made . . . as billions sleep through the day and into the night, only waking when the brain shuts down and loses its capacity to sleep. Standing alone, waiting for one sign. Silent. Only silence and the secret test that awaits the impatient mind. The tenderness of heart at last as the vortex enters the stillness of the storm. Not to be seen. Only to be felt. The Magi, with all his wisdom, did not know in which way the sign would come. Within crystals of stars is a memory awaiting to be born.

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