The old seagull in me never stops flying.
Flight becoming hunger ,Space becoming food.......Not flying into nostalgias of any sort -- none of those pool of honey.......to drink-- only to drown ??

Each day has its own nectar sufficient and nourishing.

Grey skies, swollen evenings of late autumn ,cold rain or soft morning sunshines...all fall tinyly into my soul, with their entrances and exits --- No hangovers for a soul who sees only their healing light ....... Here ! all cries of the heart ends, ....only the sweet equilibrium when the poetry of silence awakes.

The whole existance are eyes awaken to the eternity in the human heart...

And what comes to me does'nt come like a dawn, but like a season ---- like an entire Springtime,

The heart metamorphoses, into a flower upon a tree ,that has stayed naked too long...

or should i put this way....... a flower , in which the tree is not yet a seed ......Whatever that should be .......so much is still waiting for the endless to blossom out of each one of us !!!!

What does Thelema say???