St. Michael Mount

Eye of Sword 17/06/2019

till the 17th
In the Eye of Sword
To become

Here I am , 17 June arrived on full Moon time. An islad, cape, mount, a rock on sea, garden and palace, rocky faces, secrete path, view on the exclusive, winged friends, your temple, thank you Archangel Niezwyciężony. That is the list of mine experience in a telegraphic shortcut: physical, metaphysical and meditative.

Kind of available, however no, tides secure it. Assuming, I don’t know is it an island or continent, but Britain is an Island, so leave like that. Coming on that rocky mount through path, with the „pilgrims” we folding an island, slowly sea folding us, the path disappears, quietly twinkling under water. Back to land is only possible by small boat. I’m coming back next day, patiently we are waiting, until sea open the gate.

Leave at least that much, gardens, flowers, palaces, how human thing it is. Lady plant a little twig, leave the garden, beauty and majesty in the eye, I am pleased, pleased by Lady. Unlimited potential drips on the slopes of the rocks with a multitude of colors, how to take refuge in it?, the symbol of impermanence, will pass away. But yet leave behind so much everyone wants, leave something … Lady will remain, Green Tara, female principle of the base, space without center and borders, in nonduality of both take a refuge.

Rock faces, I can see around your faces, old ghosts or tricks of mine imagination. Freaks, nosy nose, like lighthouses look far into the sea, OHM sounds from your mouth, brave warriors. Protect the island, protect me Niezwyciężony (Invincible), shine from your face, in the shadow of a tree you look deep into the past, thoughtfully like me …

The secret path, where bans the heart want go, to explore the exclusive views. And on this beleaguered island, you can find loneliness, sit on a bench, meditate. Purple my Heart. I will leave a tag, I give you my time and wait for a sign …

Cornish chough. Legend has it that the soul of King Arthur departed this world in the form of a chough, its red feet and bill signifying Arthur’s violent and bloody end. You greet me, I greet you, who wielded Avalon’s metal. Where is my sword hidden?

Are they Saints or not saints, Kings, Knights and Angels, Victory and Peace, twelve around One ?

Invincible as an eagle you fall on prey. I am the victim. And with a feather from your wing on the water I draw a mark. Listen again, it’s blowing the wind. I give you my time and wait for a sign.