Within its gates I heard the soundOf winds in cypress caverns caughtOf huddling tress that moaned, and soughtTo whisper what their roots had found.(__ Dream of Fear_)
trees [-] Inside their wooden samurai armor they are geisha beauties, each one a __erson-of-the-arts,_ limbs dancing, arranging flowers, carrying the wind__ music, the calligraphy of their roots pure poetry, rhyming earth and berth.
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trees [-] Inside their wooden samurai armor they are geisha beauties, each one a __erson-of-the-arts,_ limbs dancing, arranging flowers, carrying the wind__ music, the calligraphy of their roots pure poetry, rhyming earth and berth.
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Now you see. We are all fugitives. We have always been fugitives from the void. Whatever comfort, whatever power we gain from outside of ourselves diminishes us -- because comfort and power, unless they are won from the void inside of us, are illusions that make us forget the emptyness that carries us. When we forget that, we believe we deserve comfort and power and so are capable of any evil. We deserve nothing but what we make of ourselves. We deserve nothing else. And when we understand that, then nothing is enough.
Haunted trees covered behind the curtains of their own leaves stare at the dark from the fringe of streets.
With great abilities come great responsibilities; great power comes with great assignments.With great age comes great reasoning; great actions come great experience.With great battles come great victories; great trees come with great tap roots.However, if a little faith can move great mountains, what then will a great faith do? Mysterious things... I guess
All forests are one... They are all echoes of the first forest that gave birth to Mystery when the world began.
Only the trees, only the trees. Like a key they see beyond the mystery, waiting patiently ever holding me while I hold the sky.