Sun

The colours of the morning are the colours of my soul. They are the hue of my spirit, infinite and ever dawning. The morning of my being too, is filled with soft, pale light, which is home to the colours of me, the tones of the earth, the black of night, the jewelled notes of skin bronzed by sun, bruised by movements, aired by sleep. The bright, golden heat of morning is the bright, golden heat of my inner fire, burning me to life, like a furnace in a dream of the gods. So am I created, so do I create. My heart is seared with the brand of the morning light, the daytime star. So seared, it pumps the liquid flame of The Parents into my being. Their soul matter is my soul matter. Standing beneath the rays of the sun is to stand beneath the warmth of their love, the inferno of their power. The coloured hue of the light of the daytime star inspires and inspirits the dream of life, for it is pure spirit and it is so the dream is imaged, in the minds of the gods, in the heart of man, in the spirit of all and the fire of suns.

Brightly-spun blessings,
Lady Faemore