WHEN THUNDER STRIKES & LIGHTNING SOUNDS

In the grace of what I am dwells the anonymous presence of a power unknown. The “who” perspective of the created bearers of harnessed wisdom, and the servers of selected ignorance a la carte, have balanced the diminishing field of proposed prospects of intellect.

Born between the beginning of essence, and the dawning of powers profound is the innocence of solemn identity.

Darkened skies breached by the momentary striking of white-hot lights are the elements of this fragmented presence. Crackling, roaring, and shaking are the abode of the couplings of a pledged existence. A chemistry of nature in this mixing bowl of life that has given cause for mentioned possibilities and mad manifestations of minds unwound. Untied hands and minds unaware are the spoils of a liberated soul. Unheard sounds, unspoken words, and the preexistence of time unfettered has favored the lost faces of unborn possibilities. Who might ask of the namer of names, and who dare to tread in this hallowed space? The undaunted character of infantile courage has purged the veil between I and AM. It has ceremoniously betrothed that which is invisible unto that which has the power to cause realms to be erected in the Power of Presence. “I” have become one with “AM.” Stretched across breached dimensions of unfathomable tolerances to the point of fatigued philosophical capacities. These are the bonds that necessitate the unifying of powers. Thoughts invisible become thoughts visible when souls are postured for the ideological birthing of perfected imagery. The “I” that I am has become conjoined with the “AM” of my pronounced presence. Therefore, when asked of my identity I say “I AM.”

T.W.H.