A crown is but the open flower in sunshine's bright.
Inside our thought holds most of the riddle of existence; we interact primarily with the objectively real, but always in companionship with the part of ourselves that is like an unclear halo.
We know it is truly our own, but, in great part, clouded.
It is the marvelous self that is non-corporal.
It is the spiritual unit of our being, and while troubling and source to much sorrow, it is triumphant, as we die to its revealing, we, then, rising.
Trafford Publishing Hinterland rose, paperback/elizabeth clayton
