"Let us not enter into your Promise alone, but bring us God, along with all those for whom we pray, into the Mercy of your Hiding Place, beneath your Robe soaked in Blood."

Before sleeping, I wrote this prayer, based upon readings from another prayer book I like to read at the end of the day. Yesterday, I read a great deal about the prophecies of Revelations, the concepts of tribulation, armageddon, the seven seals. The symbolic content of said prophecies, which have fascinated me since childhood, and the potential interpretations of them. Some believe the end times are here. Some feel they are indicative of a spiritual evolution, a transcendence that is to take place on a multi-dimensional plane. Some are able to embrace an awareness of both literal and figurative representations of the revelations themselves.

I am a poet, musician and artist. While I cannot dismiss the prophecies of the Revelations, I believe that God is one for whom all things are possible, and I believe that God can do as God pleases. I am most affected by the knowlege of God as Infinite Love and of Christ as Merciful Saviour.

Once, my mother and I were cleaning her house. She said, "It's dusty as Hell in here!" and then chuckled at her speech, unusual for her. She queried, "do you think Hell is dusty place?"
I automatically responded, I mean, it was a natural reflexive soul response, " Yes, I do. "
"Why's that?" To which I responded that I hoped Hell would be an empty place, because of Our Lord's Mercy. It just came out of me. My mom burst into tears and held me so closely, giving thanks to God for a daughter who would or could say such a thing.

Have I told this story before?
Please excuse me if so. The concept of Divine Mercy is greatly on my mind. This began in the beginning of this new millenium when I came across the writing of Thielard de Chardin.
Is it the work of souls to be revealed in it?

the other night, I was left with this observation from a dream.

"If we refuse the apex, how can we calculate the foundation?"

update

It has been a few weeks since i have been able to resume the practice of morning writing. I have, however, continued with much study, reading and contemplation, and have tried to jot down what remembrances of my dreams remain by morning. Of late, i have kept a notebook beside the bed, and have written some things in the dark in the night. It has been the case that i have awoken suddenly in the wee hours before dawn with specific thoughts. These i try to cull and retain, and they are often brief, one sentence or two, after which i fall immediately back into deep sleep and then dreaming. This is nothing new, and a practice I have utilized off and on over the years, since i was about twenty.
IT should be stated here that i would not dream of obsessing over these events, nor would i tend to brood over significance. I feel compelled only to report, as i have found the content of these dreams to be striking, meaningful in numerous ways, and most importantly, educational to me personally. The uncanny rapidity with which these dreams are referenced the next day is enough to connect my conscious thoughts to the stream of communication taking place between my own sub and unconscious thought processes, and the use of the realm of images that the unconscious mind makes of the provinces of the subconscious are sufficient for me to notice in detail and to give my attention to consciously. I remain prayerful, turning my face always toward God. I have asked God for lessons, training and teaching in both sleeping and waking hours. I have actively requested the participation of spiritual teachers and guides. The extent of information that has flowed into my hands and mind has been greater than i am able to write down. These entries here, as well as some on My Secret Religion and the Cosmic Jitters, were begun in order to serve mainly as exercises so that i might prepare myself for writing full time, in hopes that i would be able to compose the book i have been researching these past three and a half years. However, they also are a log, an honest accounting of the different streams of thought bordering on revelation that occupy part of my many thoughts.
Many of the things I have studied and applied myself to over the years are beginning to coalesce into a greater and seemingly seamless understanding. It is as though I were being brought further back, and the view is one of proportion and perspective. I trust in prayer and humility, and have a natural distrust for my own understanding, that is, a natural skepticism that tends toward testing. However, I find that it is most efficacious to simply bear witness herein to the beauty of potential being revealed to me, a simple wayfarer. I feel as though I am becoming less and less active here in the world, while emerging more and more into a distance beyond its view.
Suffice to say, much of what I perceive will not here be contained. May the Lord of Lords suggest Himself to you through His Holy Spirit in what way He sees fit.
For myself, I am content to marvel and scribe.

The Golden Man

Fitst of all, I awoke before dawn singing "For the Beauty of the Earth.." One momment I was asleep and aware of nothing, and the next I was awake, and filled withthis song. Only I was stumped on a verse, and so was making it up as it went along..

For the Beauty of each hour, for the Sun and for the Moon,
for the blossom of each flow'r, for the Ocean's tide and swoon,
Lord of All to Thee we raise
this our Hymn of grateful Praise.."

I Love this song, and have always sung it, since I was a child.

There is music in my head all of the time. Every day. There is always music.
I used to marvel when I was about twenty, as I could choose entire works and listen to them in my mind. I thought this was like pressing the play button on a tape machine. Nowadays, it is very much like an iPod with its files and files of music. I used to play a game with myself on the train from Brooklyn to Manhattan, and listen to albums in my head.

Some days, I play a game with the music in my head still. I just jot down all of the songs that pop in throughout the day. Alot of them are hymns. I always loved hymns. They comfort and assure me.

My husband came in and kissed me good-bye, he had an early srtat today. I went back to sleep.


Later, I awoke with vague running recollections like flashcards of a dream I was in.

Iwas looking out the window of a studio apartment and realised that I did not recognise the street below! I went to another window and looked out. This vantage point looked out over a hillside, which lowered in steps, like little terraces. On the first one I saw the shape of a large dinosaur down among the trees, which were a little taller than eye level, from where i was standing in my apartment, looking out the window. The sun was filtering through the leaves, and it was a very beautiful day. Soon I could make out the actual shape of the dinosaur, and saw that it was a sculpture made of pressed sheet metal that was stamped with a grid pattern like you see on those big silver tool boxes welded to the backs of Ford trucks! It was bronze coloured. As I looked more closely, I could see that its feet were actually wheel wells, and its horns on top were foglamps! Its snout was the front cab of a hollowed out truck! Then, to my amazement, a man came around and got into the driver's seat. He was wearing a hard hat, and he was completely gold! It was as though he were made of shimmering golden sand! He was like a moving particle sculpture! He started the truck and looked as though he was going to drive, but I had turned and run to the doorway!

I rushed to the hallway and down the stairs to the outside: it had changed again! I rounded the corner of the building, and it had changed again! I was now inside a convenience store/gas station! I went outside into the parking lot and looked out over the hill where I had seen the golden man. There were a number of men working there now, with shovels and rakes and wheelbarrows. They were landscaping tarraces.

I stood, dumbfounded. People were coming and going, and it was just like being at the Marathon station down any street. Then I was stricken with a kind of panic, and suddenly remembered that my baby had been napping upstairs! I raced around to the doorway I had come out of, and nearly ran into an Asian man holding two babies, and I touched their little backs, patted them as I went by. I then began to panic, because the door was already gone, and the side of the building had turned into a boarded up and graffiti'd warehouse, along which the street I had been standing beside had turned into an alley in a city that went under a raised train track.

I looked up at the windows, trying to recognise my little studio. Then I saw a series of images like looking at a roll of film negatives from a movie. It fastforwarded, leaving choppy impressions in my mind's eye, like the staggered speed of animation. Eventually it landed on a woman and a man asleep in a bed. She had a sort, modern haircut. It was all back in time, but it was monochromatic, in sepia tones.