Ancient words surface, old roots uprooted, songs of the light language, in a tongue of foreign lands.
The words come on the wings of angels, they whisper in my ears, they want me to work hard, work non-stop, “I have purpose”, they say.
I write, the words cascade in my ears, like a crescendo of symphony of the best orchestra this world has ever heard, with harp music, songs of light. Life is wisdom on the winds.
Let’s talk words.