Sunrise March 9, 1925… Sunset January 10, 2015. Proud to have been your son, Dear Mother.

Going Home…

Stepping into the gale of dreams and reason,
we tip between the flux
of lashing wind and pounding rain
searching for the country of our birth.

Senses reeling… emotions battered

intellect pitching on swells of dream entrainment,

we find a cave in the cliffs of clarified mind

and retreat into the shelter of isolation.

Together we drink the quiet peace

We're fluid and airy,

floating through the vacuum of inner space

high above the crawling thoughts below.

And there between the needle's eye,

we pass into the opulent vastness

of the Far Country.

—"Thinning of the Veils"