We repeat:

“Our World is dying.

Forgetting diamond bodies that maketh up the Path.

What’s prehistory to those historians who don’t write?
What’s Culture but contagion, handed down through time?

Hermes-Aphrodite was crying, tears of acid cascading to the ground, lacking sound;
fire, without flame, but feeling sort of like water of a lunar tide gravitating towards Soul.

Was the dreaming well-worth the warmth of separation?
Where are your Daughters and Sons, and what is it that they‘ve done with their hands?
How could they have so recently forgotten the fornication, ambrosian Pleasures of the Cornucopia Grove.
An abundant garden world composed of: waves and quarks, jewels, dirt and dust, and
Mind-matter weaving meaning into a polyphonic chorus, suspended by a lyre,
Who softly sings with the strings and Muses’-ic of celestial spheres.

So how could you- just idly stand by as they imagine your garden womb into a prison?”

"It’s so wonderful to hear You-
asking but remember Child that the Learning never ceases
and while the questions are important its not the answers that you’re seeking.
The Restoration is- a process that’ll take as long as is needed, for
Amamnesia- is formally definitive of self-recovery.
Explorers of the depths beneath the folds of timely skin-

Discover-
Dawn’s Original Face, beaming with the shadows
Of a masquerading hologram. As holons individuate
Differentiating between dissociating and integration.

Astral fire teaches light to be just as infinite
As stars shine outside of time but within galactic prerequisites,
Without the Eternal Mysteries, omniscience loses interest
Cause the only redeeming aspect of Life’s strange enactment, is the bliss,
Of ignorance- that makes all-knowing intuition, at the very least,
Somewhat bearable for us mortal Souls.”'