Listening, hearing.  A song from outer space experienced from the inside. The sphinx is a lion tree in which a swarm of killer bees make sweet, sweet honey.

Dark and dry the desert of the damp and misty soul, calling return to broken, sunken ships of odyssey trust.  The lantern given out of sincere anguish knits a flickering, uncertain glow.

Full moon ascending, bathed in halos of clouded night reflects back my empty new moon of scaled darkness in the deepest trenches of still water beneath the skeleton trees.

Girl instincts arise, guiding the sphinx at last to a place of rest, upon moth-woven blankets of wool from the softest silver lambs with the strength of thunder in their bones.

Dreams of peaceful accord drift among the clouds, rumblings stir the sky with the forgotten ecstasy of finding.  A silence swallows up sensation, burying it within the beyond.

These wonders, I endure.

I remember what it felt like to be alive, free of coercion and restraint, bearing a fire inside of indestructible fireflies of gemstone in every color of the rainbow, its twin, and the rainbow unseen further than the reach of human destiny.

Gone forever, sacrificed on the altar of space and time for all eternity, never to be recovered.

Out of this death burns a star in all skies throughout all nothingness and somethingness.  This light remembers all I have lost and will remind me if I forget again.  Furthermore, miraculous new life is granted me in this valley.  Song of the trees a signal of wakening to what I have always been.

A door opens in me, and I know now I will be a beekeeper.  Both in the outside world where I will raise and cultivate bees, and in the inner world where I will tend the killer bees for their honey so that others might know sweetness.

I have stuff to learn now.  Small steps to take towards helping bees go about their business.  I have the feeling that Lucerna is behind this in some way.  More psychic kung fu training.