The Chariot, The Bright Light, The Golden Gate

The night is late and the hour is nigh. So late.

The sun doesn’t rise as it used to, yet it rises. It emits rays of gold that this planet hasn’t seen before, every angel and alien in the universe has their eyes fixed on these very moments.

Love grows as the wind blows pushing around persons and people too and fro, cultivating the spirit like how a pick shapes an Afro.

The stars glitter and shine sprinkles of gamma and microwaves through space time at angelic angles, forcing man to comply with the almighty will and power of the most high and his cabinet.

The sun and moon tell stories about the people they have graced with their touch as ripples of their love transpires and aspires to be a part of something wonderful and versatile.

The mushroom fumigates at the gate, morning dew graces each day and every turn, every turn on to make way for something golden of nature and erect like a sun ray. She drips, only to be recycled back into the cycle of constant emotion and reverberation of sauce and class. Her rains wash away the mud for new golds and crystals to be found in the suns grace. If only there was a way to extract milk from a mushroom, if only there was a way to find crystals in the moonlight. There is ! He tell.

He tell stories of great and noble ventures, of a family destined to hold the fabric of time together by sifting through the gold to find absolute stardust.

The mud comforts the toes and stones loving every second of their squish squash.

Don’t you belong to I, don’t you belong to the most high? Haven’t these words been spoken to you before? Maybe in a past time where things weren’t always congruent with the ways and means of culture today. Culture has cultured your way of believing the sand over the puka shells.

Like a certified scientist you dig deeper and love your hardest to ensue this energy can be reflected back through the ether. News flash, it’s reflecting.

The ethereal soup that some call the box holds the information you need to slowly climb your way to the great gates of heaven, whether the angels pick you up in their chariots, whether the aliens beam you up in their craft, whether you decide to head north, everything is being big supplied to you on your spiritual journey to reach your great reward.

God wouldn’t give you something you couldn’t handle, and I wish death upon no one.