Yet, our spirits spoke little, instead ruminating in wonder, as our invisible friends became suddenly apparent, like a swarm of moths in the dark, only visible when approaching a porch’s light. Then, the rippling of the far-away brook was amplified, as if heaven signaled us with a flutter of wings, making its missive woefully apparent. We descended our Summit to learn what leaving perfection entailed. Each of us were pieces of coal or ‘diamonds in the rough,’ awaiting to be perfectly honed and polished by karma’s demanding jeweler. From “Diary of a Seeker, Tales & Anecdotes of a Life Student,” page 49,”Village of Fallen Angels.”

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