Time to leave the cave once more.

what happened?

Your words sound so sad? why?

The final chapter in a book of love. Innocence was lost, and the breath of life was taken. The promiss of a dream was broken. The forceful imposition of reality took place.

Now the sea of time is filled with hollow shells, and the flame of thought has become extiguished from within. The illusion cannot hold forever.

Describe the cave.

Paradise was lost, but paradise will return, don't doubt it.

true, can you please not be so cryptic?

to op, can you not be so cryptic thankyou

The cave is the veil that blinds us from the pride in our purpose. It is the state of mind that humanity is born into and re-enforced by structure of time erected from outside one's self. To follow the foot steps of the past only confines us in the present.

It holds my love for humanity and all life. The power of its presence is too strong to awaken the keepers of my heart, and they now have become so consumed, the objects with in the veil are worth more than my existence.

I met the flaming fire in the cave, but I was'nt burned. The presence of the Almighty was in the cave. He gave me something in the cave.

And now, I said, let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened: --Behold! human beings living in a underground cave, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching all along the cave; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which marionette players have in front of them, over which they show the puppets....The time is near..They have no thought to what they have started...But it will be finished...

Yes, but I had to be burned to know. My gift was knowing, and the open door for the journey I am destined to take.

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The cave I returned to was on the top of a high mountain in the cloud mists.

There was a burned and scarred man in a dream I had. I was touching his scars, and I hugged him.

I felt that it was Jesus with deep whip lash scars.

The white rider stands before me, dressed for battle. He sits upon his stead strong and proud. I bow my head in wonder, and he reaches down to lift my chin. He says " I have not failed you yet".

and who are you dear heart?

tell me about the veil and your existence, I will listen.

The white rider came for me too, and gave me hope as well not to give up, back in 2005 I believe. He told me I was so very loved, and He would return soon.

I am a man, the second half to a sister. She is one that is a keeper. From here, I learned the interwoven nature of human souls. We thought together, and I spoke for her as Arron did Mosses. As I grew, this was made to be taboo. The world around me taught me that this was impossible. Slowly the connection was muffled into background noise as sense of insecurity developed in my mind. I experiance things that are not possible, therfore my mind is broken.

I then experianced something that some of you might refer to as the holy spirit. I was still a child. I walked out my front door, with my imagination strong. A flash of light hit my "soul". I saw my movement through time, and events taking place interacting with the presence of my being. I then flashed back to my front door. And what I had seen began taking place in the same flow of time as before. This was a marker, or a "show of intent" if you will. It had no significance at the time. This opened a vision. The very same year, I began having dreams. They are re-occuring, once a year.

They dreams show me something coming. Dark and fast, but I am to keep hope for something else comes. A parental bond is felt from something beyond this body of flesh.

I dont know it's meaning but it has awaken something in me.

Believe me, once you get past 40, you don't become obsessed with that shit anymore and life becomes life - not some long gut wrenching relationship battle.

Check out Plato's Cave, that should keep you busy for looong time.

I wrote this thinking everyone knew the alagory. If you hav'nt read it, please do.

THE ECSTACY.
by John Donne


WHERE, like a pillow on a bed,
A pregnant bank swell'd up, to rest
The violet's reclining head,
Sat we two, one another's best.

Our hands were firmly cemented
By a fast balm, which thence did spring ;
Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread
Our eyes upon one double string.

So to engraft our hands, as yet
Was all the means to make us one ;
And pictures in our eyes to get
Was all our propagation.

As, 'twixt two equal armies, Fate
Suspends uncertain victory,
Our souls—which to advance their state,
Were gone out—hung 'twixt her and me.

And whilst our souls negotiate there,
We like sepulchral statues lay ;
All day, the same our postures were,
And we said nothing, all the day.

If any, so by love refined,
That he soul's language understood,
And by good love were grown all mind,
Within convenient distance stood,

He—though he knew not which soul spake,
Because both meant, both spake the same—
Might thence a new concoction take,
And part far purer than he came.

This ecstasy doth unperplex
(We said) and tell us what we love ;
We see by this, it was not sex ;
We see, we saw not, what did move :

But as all several souls contain
Mixture of things they know not what,
Love these mix'd souls doth mix again,
And makes both one, each this, and that.

A single violet transplant,
The strength, the colour, and the size—
All which before was poor and scant—
Redoubles still, and multiplies.

When love with one another so
Interanimates two souls,
That abler soul, which thence doth flow,
Defects of loneliness controls.

We then, who are this new soul, know,
Of what we are composed, and made,
For th' atomies of which we grow
Are souls, whom no change can invade.

But, O alas ! so long, so far,
Our bodies why do we forbear?
They are ours, though not we ; we are
Th' intelligences, they the spheres.

We owe them thanks, because they thus
Did us, to us, at first convey,
Yielded their senses' force to us,
Nor are dross to us, but allay.

On man heaven's influence works not so,
But that it first imprints the air ;
For soul into the soul may flow,
Though it to body first repair.

As our blood labours to beget
Spirits, as like souls as it can ;
Because such fingers need to knit
That subtle knot, which makes us man ;

So must pure lovers' souls descend
To affections, and to faculties,
Which sense may reach and apprehend,
Else a great prince in prison lies.

To our bodies turn we then, that so
Weak men on love reveal'd may look ;
Love's mysteries in souls do grow,
But yet the body is his book.

And if some lover, such as we,
Have heard this dialogue of one,
Let him still mark us, he shall see
Small change when we're to bodies gone.