Welcome,
to my old website. For your reading pleasure and as an archive, I have decided to keep it online. But if you want to see my new website, then please feel free to visit it here:

Bullion Grey
Imaginateur


A Strange Qube

ďthe whole universe originated
in the dreamĒ

†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† --Buddhist traditional thought

Qube

Qube floated down that silent stream riding on the green leaf. Dahlia was blossoming and had the openness of the air and her graceful warmth was a symbol of what it meant to be female.

†But no one knew where the Mole was digging itís deeper and deeper hole. No one cared to find out what the mole knew, or didnít know. The mole carried about itís daily dig, in pursuit of nursing morsels of pleasure.

†A fern grew by the fountainís edge appearing as a one plant garden someone intends to love. To say that it sits hedging itís life, one leg in one world, the other leg in another world would mythologize it. It is the fern that grows between two worlds.

†A white dove touches down on the center mantle of the fountain, sipping softly clear, cool, water. Slowly it looks around to see this Aquarian conspiracy. seeing that harvest has long been passed , and now leisure time at last, this it would be good, we would say, if this were our own day.

Beautiful music, harmonize about, without visual view, crowds of good traditions sought after for luckís firefly.

Color in lines and sound mature as more of the melody is heard, allowing for a construct. So beautiful, yet so peacefully loving, certainly I could live here forever.

A wagon pulls up in on the other side is the symbol of the man whoíll take me on my ride. I reluctantly stand and head towards the steps. All of a sudden I notice above the darkest sky, and temperatures dropped, I can see my sigh. The man he whistles and whips horses - jostle to start, soon on his journey.

Then as I open my eyes, my cat is in my window, staring outside, and its five in the morning... and my dream becomes a memory.

†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† Fin

During the night, when the conscious mind is asleep, the heart is able to tell the story.

††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† ---Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee