Visions of Light: These were written at a time when health issues were trying to destroy my life.

I see a grapevine that is wild and overgrown. I see a tender shoot-pressing in, is ready to take hold.
 
I see a dove released, carrying an olive branch ascending over a stormy sea, headed for a place unknown but not alone.
 
I see an eagle and its nest in the cleft in the rock. There are eagles of all ages and sizes, moving at different levels, taking flight. Some to return another day, as others move on without notice of

those who stay. I see two light beams dance before me the impact creates something rarely seen.
 
I see two vines--one a phantom, one a reality. One keeps sucking the life from the other. The

picture changes, and the dead vine falls away; freeing the other to abound in an abundance of beauty.
 
I see a well of clear water, purposed to make one strong, that will act as this wheel within the wheel.
 
I see a door sealed from sight, and as I contemplate its temporal lock, I see its seal broken by pure light.
 
I see a furnace burning with intense heat. As I look within, I see the ashes and within them, gems

of rare form restored.
 
I see an eagle, a sparrow, and a dove; abiding under a rainbow, and a crystal expanse in harmonious flight.
 
I see a butterfly flitting in and out, yet it is not to be touched. Left to its own path, this butterfly

leaves an imprint of untold wealth. 
 
I see a mountain that holds many pathways, that are not always understood, locked on target and come to the same end.


I see a fire consuming all that is foolish emptiness while birthing what stirs my spirit, to go beyond

all I comprehend.
 
I see a river break forth in a seemingly dry riverbed. I see a rock garden and a tender vine push its way through. I see me take to the hills on horseback ready for the journey ahead.
 
 I see a fish floating through the air after jumping out of the water, only to land on dry hard ground.
 
 I see a rose-covered in thorns and yet I want to smell its sweet scent just the same.
 
I see a rocky surf crashing on a quiet beach, and yet there is, a great peace as I walk on the rocks. Revealing a hidden cave, I am cleansed walking under the cliff in the remaining mist where I am

led to dive in.
 
I see water lilies floating in a river. I see a tall oak tree, thick-skinned and unstable, become tender and small.
 
I see, several clay pots marred and cracked. I see many with a fragile veneer. I see me, as one of

these clay pots.
 
I see clay pots, waiting on the Potter for what they lack. Left in a pile, they seem of no use. Until one comes to make right the level of abuse. 
  
I see clay pots prepared for the kiln, covered over in gold. Clay pots purposed not to be their own, stay separate, preoccupied and alone.
 
I see clay pots all in a row: some small, some large, some thin and some fat. I see that there is a purpose that cannot be defined.
 
Clay pots some shattered into small fragments and little threads of gold, used by another, to allow

the magic to unfold.



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