Feeling there is more need now than ever to review everything already written in an attempt to understand.Today is another confusing trail. A sense that something points to it all being 'at sea'. Spent the day scratching around; on edge. Seemingly waiting for something to happen without anything actually happening. A sense of somewhere someone is dragging their feet --- digging in their heels --- going nowhere in particular. Very frustrating progress with all the confusion in the news. Lack of anything substantial with all of it being like an illusory mist at sea. The truth has become like the elusive crew of the Marie Celeste. My attention focussed but unable to perceive anything. Feeling like I'm gazing at a reflection like a hologram. A very tiring day ... without the usual connections or the usual confident stance. I dont however feel anything has changed ... its just a lull again as the trade wind drops and the anchor holds the situation in place.
So today was one of those days. Overhead were heavy clouds. Last night a banshee wandered the around the outside of the house letting its presence be known. It was cold again ... a chilly reminder winter is here. Being the sentry at the post down here in the basement ... it raises a shiver. Especially as I find it hard to visualise something to say.
Companions rest on the table beside me. Soothing Delta rays calm my ragged nerves. Insights have been few and far between today. Some days prove to be this way ... inspiration cannot be forced ... it must make its own way through the conduit.
I know ideas are forming. But there is so much to contemplate. So much moss to pull from the lake. So many distractions. I seek a distant place and I require again the focus of the hawk.
In cryptic format I appear to confuse ... yet I understand plainly what it is I write. I would suffer the consequence of guilt if I were to put in plain view what it is I receive. There is too much responsibility, therefore I must add a lamination to that which I receive. The truth shrouded in obscuring mists to protect ... so only those who share the same resonance will understand what I write. Though it is all here ... apart from those parts which reveal too much to the stalking eyes. I know I am observed by those not to be trusted. Therefore I am wary.
I have analysed much of what is already written; gazed at it all for sight of new insights ... new directions. But much has changed since then. Factors are perhaps not the same as then. Directions of the circle still remain ... that much appears not to have changed. Safety in numbers amid a new life. Accepted because it is promised to return back to the ones who are missed. It is easy to explain adventures to the innocents. But not as easy to comprehend the intentions of the day to day lives of those much older. Especially those who are so readily criticised. A void remains ... like an abyss between what was and what is so desperately desired. Thus the camel stands before that awesome sea ... attempting to be the bridge between the two. It cannot be easy to understand ... or comprehend that time apart. But sometimes know it is necessary ... it is an instruction which cannot be avoided. It is part of what is to make what could be most certainly be. Orders followed ... lead to the outcome desired for all. It is the only way to make it through the storms. Two boats docked in different harbours may well meet out at sea. Exchanging after boarding then going their seperate ways again. But nobody will know for sure anything took place. Vested interests link above the lower degrees and meet those decreed as opposition. But in places they deem mutual unity. The issue discussed and the outcome understood. But only when suffice is done and something successfully completes the circle or the rainbow --- will it be finally over. It is a test of endurance ... but it is essential all eyes watch and all colours learn to know of a name. It is essential for the next layer of the onion to be shown.
Companions not needed here. They lie beside now obsolete. What is gets written makes no sense but then most ... could have been discarded on first viewing. Where the site was made ... where orbs were lifted know there are no happy hands. Where one resides in a northern city ... a knight higher than kin ... he the world will fail to understand. Because the past is the past and of it nobody can say. What was to be made is created now ... seen, observed and reported. That part is perfectly clear because that which started this was planned not undertaken randomly. All means of aid are pushed away .... distractions like fools gold get in the way. Nothing is as it seems to buy a time piece ... a perfect example of waste not want not. All part of the lavish deign ... to work like clockwork because there is no other way. It may be over perhaps before the talk of the adjustment of time once more.
More confused now than ever. Feeling there is more need now than ever to review everything already written in an attempt to understand. Eyes gaze seaward ... to the horizon. To where mystery sails on the high seas ... where the trail is once more beyond detection. Because that is where the destination lies ....
I just wonder where the next sighting will be reported. If it is any clearer than all the rest. Chickenfeed appears to line the pathway now. Watching eyes not knowing what to believe. Casting it all into a cloud of secrecy and confusion ... through which the knights march resolutely on. Nearer and nearer to their intended ending. Something nobody truly understands. Their hands gripping tightly the small hand of an innocent. Dragging the minds of the watching world through the mire of the missing and the abused ... permitting their own imaginations to run wild, without actually saying a word. Silently ... they creep ... sometimes the whistler indicates their position. But skillfully they manufacture a haze ... a shining distraction through which they creep undetected.
I sense however, all of this is about to change ... as the master illusions changes the ingredients of the plot ... and plays a new hand ... another master stroke. But when and how and why? How is it to manifest ... how many suspects along the way? How much closer to the end will this lead it ... or perhaps lead it further away. I suspect I will need my wits about me ... as the tickertape runs onwards once more ...
France,
Germany or France?
Rumours of an old romance ...
Around shock & turmoil figures to dance.
