There was a humble man in empathy with cosmic light, who in desert climes filled his head with stars at night, distilling their bright beauty to shine within his mystic soul, in rays of old, blue wisdom, reminded him, of how their sight had arrived from their long, long journey to the magic in his own eyes : Some called him Christ. Nonduality imbued him from above and from the ancient east but to the west his sun would set on scorn, save those who loved him as a man. Few words would serve the vision that he served so well, and few can tell how words, became the disease set down on papyri, how man might reign - pay lip - service to distorted truth and cork the wine of centuries. When his path came to a dead end a tall, magnificent tree gripped the edge with it's roots and he bravely, hung there to climb it, to see out, far and wide, bereaved-in grief to know, accused of blasphemy how little he was understood, when ' nil by mouth ' and with no tubes to feed him he cried out and died, pointing to what he had seen and how narrow his way had been. .................................... from the mysticseed
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