You were right dear teacher when you said that time and memory distort. Yet the trail of crumbs emerged when the Lady appeared to comfort me.
Such love no mortal has ever known.
She who loved, she who gave life,
she who mourns as a widow, and she who accepts.
The Lady. How could I have ever forgotten her presence
in those visionary realms where dream and waking
intertwine in her name?
ISIS IS IS IS IS IS
She, mother of us all, she of the mysteries and she of my heart.
ISIS IS IS IS IS
Amarjah – to Ron Mangravite