Apostrophe

Are you going to turn away from this post?

Such a little thing, the apostrophe, it turns cant into can’t.

Such a little thing, the apostrophe, when the apostolic has atrophied under the weight of national trophies, agendas and historical hypocrisies.

The WI holds a focus for the Creative Feminine to stand amidst the pinionation of our Cinderella souls, hidden under an apostrophe of we’ll survive in Love alone.

What is truth? By definition it is not an opinion, the truth shall set you free. So if It’s here now is actually true, what’s hiding under the apostrophe short-circuiting presence? Ah, do you see, it is an “I”.

The apostrophe denotes possession, the claim on the open road hammered to a piratical post, the sign that says that this is mine, maintained first by force of violence, then by the threat of violence, then enshrined in laws maintained to dispense the violent threat with the sanitised violence of a civilised society.

The pinions of our individual souls become cut and then like flightless chickens we are farmed to meet the challenges of our time, set by those that sanitise history with the cant of their rendition that it’s always been this way and without this way, it would be worse.

With the cords of war squealing dissonance across the swirling tracts of time, the chords of our hearts’ desires are shattered, unable to unite as the cracking whips of long atrophied policies hold the trophies of patriotism up once more to justify their triggering of such profitable atrocity, as war.

How to escape from this horror? I can only repeat what I’ve said before ….

See that there is an illness to recover from and that all are in it, including me. See that when the messenger brings this fact to bear upon our situation that it will be as a mirror to the highly opinionated, so it will be initially dismissed as highly opinionated.

I have no opinions. I have a diagnosis that is true. The letters of truth shall set you free.

Origin

mid 16th century (denoting the omission of one or more letters): via late Latin, from Greek apostrophos ‘accent of elision’, from apostrephein ‘turn away’, from apo ‘from’ + strephein ‘to turn’. (from an internet search on Bing)

My work

In my work there is the fission of energy and matter, the fusion of letters with words, the marriage of prose and poetry.

My prose is a rose, my poetry is a rosary.

In my work there is the truth of the two wings necessary for my transcendence to remain here on Earth as a source of Her healing.

Descending, all descends here from there to a place of beginning a mortal journey, a place lower than which there is not, a place of gravity, a place that has the rack of time, to keep track of a direction.

The pinioned soul awakens, searches for a wheel to steer with, even though it’s born to wheel and fly home on the wind of love.

The rack requires the pinion to have any sense of purpose whatsoever, the wheel of Life turns to the left, to the right, time past and time future whilst the pinioned driver opines a pretence of being in control.

All the while the soul ripens, defying the conditioned reason of the automated steering wheel, in heartbreaks, heartaches and heartfelt ventures an ascending begins, first imagined, then actioned come what may.

The sacred disease of addiction often breaks the cage of opinion, often flies the fancy of the sufferer only to crash them back upon themselves with wracking pain.

The wheel of logic versus the yearning wheeling soul of love begin the fight of their breaths, to die before death, to connect the descending with the ascending in a marriage of their single wings in a consummation of their transcending Union.

Then God’s centred healing is secured, the purpose of the numbing numbers achieved even if in only one, the arriving and departing connected, the terminals joined for Love to flow.

How can I help you, currently?

Turning around the centre

I did not achieve the joining of my wings by being frightened of descending into Hell, nor by judging my ascension into Heaven as being the goal, for in the gaol of Love my wings unfurl, to please Almighty God, the only good.

Wherever you are, you need two wheels, two wings. Love is the only Pole Star in this journey, the only altar of Mankind’s possible Human alteration.

Two wings, One Hu.

In loving memory of Les Garry. d 10/06/20. Salaam 🙏💚🪔