Breathe.
We've come this far on the shoulders of giants, fetched aloft as far as they could go, their labors furnishing our feed, their stories tuning the rhythms of our ride. And we grew. Mighty giants.
Some by favor.
Some by faith.
Some, by far, fine structures - minds and hearts and souls sturdy and strong, supple, and full of sweet laughter. Blessed children growing.
Divine.
Remarkable new creations we are, built for all times, our routines renewed in every seaon, our habits refined, our narratives flexed, framed in leveraged languages scrolled across our heartbeats, ever learning, ever seeding our DNA, and passed along in seminal ways with matrixed strands of unblemished truth, unforgettable truth, undeniable truth, unconquerable truth. Remarkable beings we are.
Salted.
(Laboring salts. Leveling salts. Wet and dry. Multiplying mounds of sacred salts. Steadily dripped-upon prismatic ponds of salt set aside - safely off from polluted lakes seeping steadily into swelled seas of tears - birdless seas - anguished seas. Soothing salts sieved from timeless sweat - some wet, some dry - lavishly spread.)
Healed.
(Oiled. Oiled we are by beads of joy. Our eyebrows oiled. Our lips oiled. Our earlobes oiled. Our elbows oiled. Our knees oiled. Limbered. Nimble. Suppled sweet. Oiled.)
Readied for strides of unparalled leaps and soaring heights, with the flaps of genius - envied that much more - built to thrive beneath the fetch of a new breed - a breed beyond the hero. A new creation.
Orginals.
Creative. Adaptive.
A Pollock, a parrot, a player, whether sensational, sensible or supreme, if displaying originality, reason, emotion or empathy: these too are our allied tutors guiding new originals, emerging creatives, evolving adaptives, all borne ever more ready for their fetch and their carry; built indefatigable against backward thrusts and virulent swirls of hopelessness; fetching, carrying (though unburdened), their steps, their strides, their flight, their breaths carve indelible tracks across eons. Ah, it is chips from these carvings and spills from these fillings - (the stirred energies of noble labor blown free by the blessed kisses of a fickle breeze) - that are our sprinkled stardust.
Yes.
So when someone sees Cindi and Cyril and Keisha and Keith glittering and gleaming and shimmering and shining at the ball, even if that someone's eyes refuse to believe and his or her mind is at a loss to comprehend the scene, advise that someone to take all eyes off of sparkles and to follow all paths sprinkled with stardust, and he or she will come upon the pits. Ah, in there he or she will find the makings of our Cinderellas, and perhaps might begin to comprehend why it is easier to spin tales made-up of pumpkins and glass slippers and clocks and carriages. You see, we've come this far - splitted and spliced - through storms, across plains and by way of conquered cees on the shoulders of giants with bruised knees, hammering steel. Not on wishes. And now our tongues are as sweet as honey. Our kisses fill stars and moons with joy-light.
Illustrative
"Isn't it amazing what a boy with a slingshot, a few pebbles, a good brain, and an unconquerable will can do? This is the question a missionary posed to our Sunday School class years later. That night, however, on that box, mommy's eyes and teeth flashed under the starlight and I felt her breath as this story bounced and swirled from her like an expertly tossed yoyo, and this time, David's triumph over Goliath informed me in a very different way." What did the people see?
[ ILICET - A Time To Begin Again ]
ILICET - A Time To Begin Again (True Story) 
