The Gift of Glory

With gratis as a charge, nothing be needed, Without hope as a guard, salvation be pleaded:
Long ago, before the skies knew of their limits, before the birds knew of their beckoning beaks, before man knew of his will-- that of which is free--a thought only possessed the power of the mind it pulsated from. Being that kind of nature, the power of a man was limited, lustful, and lacking. Granted his tangible hands and ability to scheme, lest he devise a more impromptu ideology, a man made his way through the world with no promises, save, his ever so edging closer, eternal demise. Woe unto thy man’s spirits that led his dreams away from the blinding depravity of his illustrious illusion, Woe unto thy hearth, made of mundane mud and weakened wool, Woe unto thy kinsman that sought sanctity in matters better left dissembled in the debauchery from which they became.

To be thankful is to be kind, To be selfless is to be divine:
While the men of the primordial past yearned after their influxes of information, the women remained diligent in their duties. With each rising sun and setting moon, a woman of her family’s home gave all of her living light away, illuminating the lives of her children and husband, day by day. Although never asking for much in return, a woman’s head held much scorn. Yet, as the times of then reflect in the times of now, a woman will never give a scowl (unless she should feel the need to growl, that is). Indeed a woman was--and still is--of a different degree, her mind like a man’s, was all the more lonesome and carefree. Both minds, held by two beings united as one, shared not the creed to make them a seed of something far unsung.

Glory granted greets Garishly, Glory garnished greets Gregariously:
The moment a man or woman can see past their foibles, the moment a man or woman can breathe out their toils, the moment a man or woman can ease out their oils, is the moment a man or woman can sever their cognitive coils. The grandiose gift of glory isn’t simply a method for making life all the more magical, it’s the belief that the power one possesses is the power that propels people to promising penchants of profound perfection. The light which gives life is the same light that inhabits every creature of its ubiquitous operator. Beyond the confines of the mind exists this lucid light, awaiting its destined discovery by any one of its capable creations. It calls out in sunbeams, it reaches out in sacrosanct sunshine, it caresses out in rosy red fingertips. Not all that are created may hear its celestial call, this it understands. But, all that are crafted in its warmth will wash away the vituperative viscosity of a varnished vitality and go on to gambol amongst the timeless shades of lives passed o’er the ridge of reality. That much is certain, that much is promised, that much is a gifted glory.

Tandem vidit gloriam (In the end, glory to beheld)

The End

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