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I roamed alone;O, barren dreams.My echoed voice,what lonely comfort.Here is my salvation:I hear the triumph drum;the rhythm of the rising,the long-awaited sun.
Craig Froman An Owl on the Moon: A Journal from the Edge of Darkness
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I roamed alone;O, barren dreams.My echoed voice,what lonely comfort.Here is my salvation:I hear the triumph drum;the rhythm of the rising,the long-awaited sun.
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Craig Froman

An Owl on the Moon: A Journal from the Edge of Darkness

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They are of the dream time. I don't understand it, I can't say it in words. Everything dreams. The play of form, of being, is the dreaming of substance. Rocks have their dreams, and the earth changes. . . .But when the mind becomes conscious, when the rate of evolution speeds up, then you have to be careful. Careful of the world. You must learn the way. You must learn the skills, the art, the limits. A conscious mind must be part of the whole, intentionally and carefully--as the rock is part of the whole unconsciously. Do you see? Does it mean anything to you?