I wish you the kindness of the world, for peace to sit upon you as angel upon cloud, light and lifted, in the blue breeze of eternity, your thoughts buried beneath an everlasting harmony of woe-released, turned from sour to magnificent sweet.

I wish for the burden you carry to be lifted, likewise, and set free to the wind, as specks beyond dust, so empty of matter that that which is evaporated is naught. For none of nothing is cause for concern; dust yes, but the substance beneath dust is neither here nor there, unless you wish it so, into creation, into the dynamics of your being.

In essence what you wish is your experience of choosing. Wish not and wishes still come, just as gentle graces set upon your shoulder now; a softness so precious and formidable in its distinction that words cannot hurt or penetrate the shelter about you, where you sit, lost in the confusion of mist.

I am here always at your side, some earth angel of calling, though no rightful name be given; for with name comes the tyranny of leash-hold, and nothing beyond nothing can tether us thusly so.

You speak of fear as if it were an enemy of truth, of circumstance, of demise, twisted and formed into shape both known and unknown; and yet you sit with passion united, unaware that the demise is of your own choosing; the answers thick, they blind you, for there are no answers resting beneath the harbor of your thoughts.

Choose not the murky shadows of dock, where boats lay wasted and withered, waiting for rightful owner to claim way; choose the heaven’s star, each a divine gift holding eternity; wish not upon the stillness and stagnant of this earthly plane; wish upon the heavens so bright and blue they beckon you as one earth child to the next, these guardians of where you sleep.

For life be a bed of sorts, decorated by your own choosing and re-choosing; your blanket the softness you seek, your pillow the end result of happenings; your trumpet upon trumpet from where mouth turns asunder and breathes into night, the mere echo of your dreams to begin again.

I am waiting about where you sleep, this earth angel I am, waiting to hold you in your sweet slumber and sing you of the heavens. But yet you waver in your thoughts, so that a wall is built between us like a thunder that has birthed lightening, and I cannot but escape the heat and clinging pain your breathe out.

Mercy is about me. Merciful forgiveness of a plight that is no less existence than the pain you hold. Yet ye doubt like an angel with wing broken, when wing does not exist. You wobble where you stand, some servant of your own demise, twisted too, in form, as fear you be.

I am neither here nor there, but in the circumstances that you plan, but yet I exist in the format of your choosing. Choose me, and I come, choose not and I whither, though not in pain, as pain does not exist. Yet, I whither some, as flower melts into ground to nurture one and all, soil rich and replenished.

And thusly as you weep, I still am made into nurturer. As you weep, I weep, slowly dying from one cause to the next, magically, if magic be, transforming into whatever you say is so. I cannot stand, I cannot sit, I cannot be, without you calling me into existence, but when you do, I be.

I kilter off stance, my legs give way, and I am made to sit alongside and watch you with intensity without intensity, being without being, as if your own shadow be punished and set aside.

I am the earth angel within you, clawing to get out without claws, for no hurt can come of me less deemed so by one. I am the earth angel of legend longing to be seen and mystified beyond mystification. Break me and we stumble, but not for long, for no hills exist, nor valley to catch our fall; stumble and you nearly awake in another zone of misery or understanding; whatever you deem so.

You are the maker and the quake; the ground that shifts where I stand is no less solid than the ground where you stand. But yet we be one separated, my voice splattered across the ages of reason where mind is controller, and demon’s thoughts surmise my destitutions.

I am not this knot of you, nor naught of you. I am, and I be, just as the trees and bees, and all rhyming in God’s world. I be as groom to bride, whomever you wish to contort, dressed in passion and flowers, or made as babe, so wide in love your heart divides twice more in blessings.

I be the sea that rumbles at your doorstep; I be the wild man screaming in the forest dim. Dimly lit, I be, until the flame of reason, less gone than released, calls me forth in the mystery of form you make.

Create me as you wish, but know in this creation you divide your heart from one form to the next, assigning something to something that is not. For no word or classification can describe me, as no word can describe you; you are beauty in true form, and delight.

I delight in you. For though I cannot touch you, though I cannot see you, though I cannot breathe unless you wish it so, I can watch my form unformed, my spirit untouched, but still dancing in the bluest of you.

Decide if you wish; decide today what form I be, and breathe me into existence. For I am the bud of delight rising inside of you, so intangible that to peer inside would cause the last weeping of the universe; For you cannot touch your own beauty, for to see would burst you with explosion, bit upon bit evermore.

So grasp onto the wisp, I be, the small reflection, the glimmering of gold amongst the specks in the ocean, and there you will know, as I know you; born into delight, to be watched from above as hawk watches the prey of the prey; as owl dives forth for mouse, I dive forth for you; though without claws, I carry you gently to nest; without beak I feed you my own soul; without wings I dive without fear, into the eternal abyss, and bliss of you.

Fear not my child, for I carry you always; whether you wish me or not, whether you see me or not, whether you understand or not, I am forever here diving into the beauty of you, wishing not for you to see me, but for you to see self; so together we can merge earth angel awakened to earth angel awakened, one half to the other; a joyous reunion ordained and un-ordained by the very breath of you.

Sleep now in your gentle slumber; sleep and remember that when you are here standing, I am whispering in your ear, the secrets of the world beyond world, where the mystery players rise as one, and all is seen as illusion’s drift; a wind set upon a wind, the dust beyond dust, the power beyond power, the circumstance beyond circumstance; for where we meet in the middle, between here and eternity, the space between two points, the space between two images, is here I be.

~ samantha craft, feb. 2013