SON OF THE WIND

Sing I your virtues in 40 stanzas every day.
Chant with devotion your name ceaselessly.
And seek I today your boundless wisdom and strength;
your thunderbolt to destroy the diabolical demons
that prey on me from the netherworld of my mind.
Your grace, my protective sheath.

O! Son of the Wind, I carry you in my heart with adoration
in the same way as you do the Lord.

Coffee & a Conversation

So I met a bunch of fellas over an imaginary cuppa in a cool cafe called Gaia’s, with soft, puffy, white clouds around us.

There was a slim guy with longish hair & a crown of thorns; another with blue skin wearing a peacock feather in his hair; one with dreadlocks, tiger skin & a crescent moon; a bearded & ochre-turbaned man; another bearded fellow in pure white vestments; one with long earlobes, a beatific expression, wearing a robe & carrying his hair in a top bun; a grandfatherly old chap with a flowing white beard & a staff and another whose face was cloaked so I couldn’t see it. They looked vastly different from each other, but all had a similar, strange glow around their heads.
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