The Morning of a Night of Chaos

The night is magical. It allows the recesses of the mind to concoct realities that satiate the extravagant and the complex desires of the intellect.

In the glowing darkness and the reverberating silence, the possibilities of improbabilities are galore.

For the creative ego, this is an olympian field. The performances exceed the prestige of the stage. Winning isn’t in question. Technique is. Showmanship is. As is the finale. Melodramatic, sacrificial, and oh so heroic.

Every performance, a layer obscuring the heart’s prescience. The technique -making the layer impenetrable. The showmanship- making the heart invisible. The finale, spectacular, yet missing the immaculate.

The heart remained aplomb. In quiet comfort, she declared the end of the night. Allowing the win for the Mind and knowing that the real sport begins in the arms of Morpheus.

When morning dawned, the heart and divinity had redone the field. The grass glistening with dew, the stands cleared of odds and ends. The aura imbued with faith in divine flow and presence.

Every intentional breath declared the champion.

Isn’t that a beautiful sunrise ?