In dreams I have seen and felt such beauty, glimpses of the eternal spring. Much more than a light, a substance of honor, depth, forgiveness and endless love. Shrouded under ethereal trees. Entrance to the eternal garden. The strength of stone and the elegance of a far mountain river, one that is enveloped in the majesty of the pure high mountain decorated with sun beams and snow of crystal white. Yet as these dreams may be, the glimpses are as rare as the waking world. I may exist in differing states of consciousness, and throughout my body and soul move vapors of heavenly wind, but the light everlasting only reveals in tiny sparks through the mind. This life is labyrinthine, the soul is endless. From everything into dust, from moments into forever. And could it be all within a moment, everything we know might change, releasing into spirit. It is enough of a sustenance. In the afterglow we taste sweet nectar, and our hearts move within the dream. Our far away rainbow that shimmers through a glass darkly. Our moment of time. The promise of grace.