I watch the Red River in inner stillness not due to indifference but rather understanding that the projection can´t be change from outside... if humans are the projectors than the inside is the place you search for in order to transform what´s perceived.
I listen the silent scream of spirits unable to express their true potential in this place where to many tears of blood have been drowned.
Those are not my tears, I´m simply the observer of the insanity reflected in the Red River.
Countless spirits have been here too long that the sunshine´s visions and the feeling of green grass touching the skin, were just lost...
Surrounded by this scenario it comes across my mind the memory of that moment before the madness begins.
- They came with such great intentions and seeing theme selfs in clear beauty and glory, never doubted about their journeys and capacities.
Once bound in human skin and not being able to remember their magnificie lineage, they fall like tree leaves in the autumn season.
The few remaining are real the ones with strong blueprints and missions.
The showers of wonderlands and no one´s land.
They are wingmakers and peacemakers floating in harmony with the waves of cosmic energy.
by: Ricardo Amaral