In thought are believing they are out there winning the battles in life. Yet, their battleaxe to carry is resting at home for when they return and take a seat at the table.
The amount of stories they can tell, for each one a quill and if stuck to their skin will be as a bird with a plume of feathers.
Everything takes its own time to evolve, like a thought to whisper to reach the imagination of someone's brain. First, must be spoken from the lips of the teller, and work its magic, before to touch the senses of another.
To get the dreams moving must breathe life into them. A ship standing on a shelf won't sail across water nor feel the wind in its sails. Or a jack-in-a-box won't surprise anyone if unwound and already open.
Even the journey itself is like crawling out from a hole, where under a rock life had been spared lately. Towards others be gentle, that dummy to consider they'll throw out of the pram, they never even took it out of their mouth yet.
In the forest; keeping a mind high above it all, rise above it, see the direction to go in from beyond. Nothing will stand in the way, not even those dense trees in a woods can cause to be lost. The sense of direction is keeping focused from above. Like riding a cloud higher than the trees. Even if feet are down on the ground but know, for sure, which way to be going.
Isaiah Ch.60:V.20 " - Thy sun shall no more go down; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself: for the LORD shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended."
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