May 29, 2003
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Hunger for truth, let it drive you wild. Lost child in the Garden, which flower blooms for you? Scent intoxicating, liberating, these are the night-blooming flowers. Thus, few see them. Keep awake.
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The poem came to me first, on April 30, 2003. I was at work when the image of a dark haired magician appeared to me in a garden, holding his arms wide, with a flower in one hand, telling me the above words. Then May 28, 2003, the image came briefly, wordlessly, of a dark haired magician offering me a very large and fragrant red rose. I swear I could almost smell the incredibly scented rose. I knew I had to capture the essence of that potent image... ...I did not know until later this 'magician' is really an aspect of myself. I am the figure in the moonlight, a lost garden-wanderer holding a bloom I am at first is not sure is mine. Only after a test of deep inhalation can I be sure. Then I want the mysteries, all of them, and all their layers. Experience alone yields proof.
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