She saw the Faces of the Echoes in the roundedness of the burnished stone entrance of the Gate, rubbed by the countless hand oil prints of all the rainbow relations of the Wom.

Black, Red, Yellow, White, Black, Red, Yellow, White, Black, Red, Yellow, White…Green. Blue.

The Faces turned, looking and staring, and saw her Seeing, and that her Sacred Eye was being kindled to Empty. Empty, as in ripe with possibilities, having not settled for anything. Maybe never settling for anything ever again, living in a constant flow with the Re-al. True and self delivered.

Tears pricked her eyes and she felt the wash of it. So poignant, unpretended and so tender. She could hear her Eresh the KiGal weeping and those mirror tears washed through the ethers on rivulets of lighted sea strands. 

“Fuck this Sh-It,” she was saying.

I am publishing my book in 2023.