Sweet tidings child. The world receives your love. The day breaks the night. The windswept princess has been escorted home. Valiant efforts commemorate the harlequin of grace. One hand receives the other. The precision of love is masterful. The quiet tide of the living Waters pull the priestess high above the red jasper moon. Whinnying horses gallantly comb pristine beaches and the rider is none but the wind. When the starlit waters catch the jeweled essence of the living light the mandate states that the vernacular which ensues will redirect man. Firmware and residual oncology of malignant thought will be eradicated in the face of the now pale moon. Blood taken in sacrifice returns in righteous despondency as the trickery of the theif-play is revealed.
Scarlet orders of the mystic rose frame the balcony of the newly erected worship. Love of your sisters, love for your brothers, love for all creatures and reentry back through the forgotten door of the scarlet-rose-heart. The entrance to the only temple of indwelling where mankind will craft of his life without influence from the dire sort, the one soverein place of creation in which none of imprudence can find and no power of destruction can influence.
~Arkana Rose from the work of "The Pristine Belonging"