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I quake and knees fail, a long slender hand grasps the white stucco wall.
An emotion uncensored, a heuritic experience entails
That exhausted I slept and shook from the center
An unsettling being was visiting, “May I enter?”
The next dawn, an angel in the coffee shop appeared
Twice the size of man or woman, he gently neared
“Why do do tremble? Don’t you know?”
(with wings, tucked he asked)
“Is your awareness and knowledge ready?” he tasked
Breathless and wrapped with ancient ardor
I whispered, “Tell me more.”
He sat down and had coffee with me.
in La Fortuna, a Spanish Panderia...
“This is where angels train, in cloudy wisps, a wet domain.
Expanding the sense and ability to fly over Earth’s rough terrain, we ride.
Classes in the business of peace and cooking stews of religious release.
We in the spotlights, when you were not aware. Of lightshadows, ensuring your care. When the wind brushes your checck, a feeling of being drunk on life makes you weak.
An iridescent angel, trained where the mountains kiss the clouds, spreading a mantel of luminescent love surrounds.
To see an angel in disguise, look in a pearl or child’s eyes.
We live in things, people and places....
With memory and belief of people,
but enduring life erases us...”
With that, he undid the wings’ laces and floated out;
To attend more human cases.
What angel alights morning noon and night
To guide with powerful force and might
A water nymph from the river arises
Behind eyes and hands their power disguises
To be blessed and carry on what the heavens have told
A mother of pearl, bright and bold
Made under moon and stars, the center of purity peaks
From calcified shells, incubating through days and weeks
Look up...and In to the spherical mirror
To see ivory wings and a piece of angel’s appear.
Bells ring and silence speaks peace
Where the clouds kiss the mountains, a distant horizon of justice
An entrance--porthole to Earth’s celestial domain.
The singular pearl dropped from that angel onto turbulent land
Through the ethers, air, and mist, to solidify a playground.
Where juvenile wings play and harmonize diurnally.
Of saints, of miracles, of prophets, and of Eternity
Challenging others to question Autheniticy
June/July 2001
Today, I bought stamps. A bright and colourful blue picture of the statue of liberty emblazed onto a perfect sticky side in a book that costs $6.80 from the US Postal service.
Will there be a day when stamps are irrelevant? The technology of today says, "It's easier to send an email. It's easier to make a phone call." In all sincerity, why do I buy stamps? I can even make long distance calls and fax online. What's the purpose of paper when everything can be put onto a binary system? The pleasure and joys of actually mailing a friend or enemy could soon be over.
I was second guessing my purchase. Why did I buy stamps? For $6.80, I could have purchased a decent sushi dinner, bought two round trip subway tickets, saved many children in Rwanda, or even a Deluxe Mad Cow Burger from my local fast food restaurant. No, I bought stamps.
With millions of Americans online, the importance of mailing something that takes two days--an eternity in the dot com world seems ancient and outdated.
What if the substance and quality of who you are could be erased by pressing "delete"? Sure, everything important is saved on disk and I have a hard copy of. But, I can't see the handwriting and I can't see the effort taken to write an email or call. I can't see the love behind pressing send.
When signing off of instant messenger or the online account means a cut off of identity, I want to pick up a pen, a brush, my keyboard--and show my power to express.
The written and painted arts of tomorrow will be sculpted by those who marry the technology and classical, traditional styles. The communications that service most efficiently and consistently, the religions that adapt to the times, the literature that speaks to the next generation--the creators of our future will have a balance and a specificity to the evolving minds and culture coming with the technology.
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Hope Stevenson
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