The Golden Tunnel

I stand.

Knowing that the golden tunnel will take me, cover me, protect me, and show me the way. Wherever it may be, whenever it appears.

And I wait.

For I know that the tunnel is strong. To the weather, to time, and to the elements. The real elements that seek, and sneak, and infiltrate, and devour. The elements, no, the fallen entities that poison and corrupt. The thought-forms that see only darkness in light.

But until I need it. Until I want it. Until I can submit my will to its power. I must learn. I must journey.

So far, my journey has taught me well. That the way of the world is light amongst darkness, flickering with beauty, a flame dancing against the noise, and the drums, and the rage. The machinations of the fallen angel are all too easy to fall prey to. I must flicker, and be flame.

I must learn of anarchy and diplomacy. Of power and mystery. Of ascension. And of falling.

But only then, once I have knowledge of the rhythms of my being, only then will I know how to fashion and forge a route of magic and fantasy. With nothing but the runes, the stones, the stars, the whispers in the air, as my compass.

And eventually, I find myself, as I knew I would. I find myself walking and looking. Learning. Remembering.

See, the images paint a picture. That which has gone before, that which is now here, that which is yet to pass. And through only lenses made of spirit, and tinted with knowledge and humility can I make sense of this kaleidoscope. A thousand words in a picture, yet one that I cannot yet paint. Yet I will know my calling. It will become clear.

But I must remember. Of what I have yet to become. I must reach those heights, so that when my end is nigh, I don’t gaze upon the one who I was meant to be with longing and regret. pity.

I remember that I am one. I am all. I am the guide. I am the compass. I am the unintelligible madness and magnificence of the great abyss. Aren’t I?

The fire of the blacksmiths kiln giving strength in equal measure to shield as to sword.

The gypsy’s tarot cards, offering pictures that decipher and shape destiny.

And the waves crash and Neptune roars, and sings with the thunder for nights and days.

While the whole world sits and prays for the new wind to blow clean the mistakes of the old, I remember that the mistakes, the mis happenings, the chances, the wins and the wars all took root in my solace. And they will all feature in the story that I walk. And as I tell it, I stand tall and proud, daring even. Full of belief. That my story, my journey of the soul will be the armour that elevates me.

But all the same, an armour that I wear with a melancholy, and a bitter sadness knowing that although I am free to move beyond realms my new purpose is to put out the dim lights that have fallen too far. That carry poison, and corrupt. I am the keeper of light and vanquisher of darkness.

And so the golden tunnel, the object of my pursuit, that stands tall as I, that glistens in the sun under which it was born, that has appeared at long last. After searching and searching. With a whisper in the wind:

“my sanctuary you never did need”

And I asked.

“why?”

“Because you are the ocean in a wave. The earth in a flower. You are the sanctuary. And yours is the armour, the only true armour. That you share with us all.

A pureness of being. of protection.”