Three crows were sitting on different telephone wires, watching three fools, wearing masks. The crows, having mutual-consciousness across a grand spectrum of the astral world, danced together with the wind. They sometimes felt another-wind, less sensual, and more erotic. In the human digression, the difference is one similar to that between the skin, the biggest organ in the human nature, and the mind, the seas of mystery. The skin being primarily an organ of the senses , thus “sensual”, and the mind being an organ of the imagination, thus “erotic”.
Birds are, by their nature as divine living thought, philosophers. The masks were a curiosity, and if a crow spent some time on a tree branch, the songs of the underground-roots could be felt in waves of passion via the luminous dark of the Mother.
The stones held memories, and a root gently holding a stone in caresses unimaginable, would feel the stones release another tale, solid with wisdom – these earth-bones sentient librarians in the Mother-mind. Solid is One, sang the gnomes while at work helping hold It All Together Now.
The masks became much discussed. Stones remembered when the human digression wore masks at celebrations of the spirit in the all surround everywhere, free of time and space. The mask an art work from the hands of divine intervention digression, the realm where humans did.
The new masks radiated fear. A burden demanded, and a shaming as well. A human face such a wonder of expression. What dark gods the human digression worships these days, who see breath, and touch, and closeness dangerous.
All those machines in the lost castles of human folly called science … Castles built to the excessive order of intellect alone, the heart’s feeling mind and fiery-spirit-will be damned.
Children then. Still children. Much to learn, and usually the hard way.
The winged folk stirred the air, and the air folk danced to the sounding and music of flight.
The green world shuddered at the human digressions need to kill the tiniest bits of living-ness, on the cross of spirit-less theories. Growth is divine chaos, sure. But life’s abundant joyous chaos does not cause dis-ease.
Were it not for the symphonies of the time-lords, the star folk, who graced each days nights with marvels unending, … the little folk would not have been able to do their duties of manifestation, given how much death lived in the human digression’s mechanistic technologies.
Her of the Moon-nature, bled dreams as the crisis matured and the human digression’s freedom warred with itself. Unity of mind not theirs, at a cost the Mother turned to love, the Mystery undefeated by the madness of spiritual infants.
On the other-side of the Sky, the Titans gathered to consider the next targets of Her Rogue Weather, while the Earth Mother prepared the Gates of Death to receive home many upon many upon many.
The sweeping, of Atlantis off the board of existence, had not been nearly as well attended as is the ongoing metamorphosis of what the human digression currently thinks of as “civilization” – still the Titans of storms and tsunamis and earthquakes and volcanoes worked their arts and grafts, with loving care for All Our Relations.
The three crows wove a wish in the community of air folk, in this way contributing to the dreaming – the astral the human digressions know as the doors between waking and sleeping, living and dying, madness and sanity, and remembering and forgetting.
Faerie dreams, of course. The Forests need the human digression, as do the Clouds. Would that the human digression feel the same in return, that would be a blessing. Perhaps the masks would evolve. Taking on the aura of mystery, except for the eyes, and yet in intimacy – the whole face unclothed, the power of surrender a temple.
Masks of masques of celebration of the return to remembrance of the Mother, each human digression meant to be its own work of art. All that is great in the whole of the Creation, lives in the human. Wisdom of masks, worn on purpose, by choice, decorated in defiance of unwarranted authority over human freedom.