Madison Meadows Spiritual Blog: A Journey into Mysticism, Dreams, Twin Flames, & Healing

She sat on his bathroom floor not sure what she was sobbing for All the things she wished he had said went racing through her tethered head This was her last chance to get through to him  For she knew fate would be cruel to them So as she sat on his cold floor in the dark with the door closed She let the tears come and the pain go for the man she loved for ever more

Sometimes I just want to sit alone with a book. I don't want to quarrel with anyone. I don't want anyone's advice or opinion about my state or the state of my affairs. I just want to lose myself in a book written by a lover of God, whom also searched out those beings (whether be prophets, saints, mystics, or lovers) that understood the lover's inner state. Amongst my kind, I retreat within. This world is full of hypocrites, asses, and demons.

From Journal Entry 2/22/2014 It is an older time - buildings are rustic , roads are all dirt, everyone is dressed in ancient cloth- like garments. There are two groups . One of men and the other of women. A youn g white woman kneels down . She is allowing someone to cut her long hair. The woman gave her life over to God and committed to the monastic life .   A young w hite man has arrived with nothing but the clothes on his back and has also committed his life over to God . E ven though the man and the woman are in proximity of each other, they have not yet recog nized the ir connection. They both have the same longing in th eir hear t and are destined to meet . E ach reflecting back the wisdom and truth to the other. In this dream, my consciousness is witnessing this event from above. I see the drama play out and feel the longing and love that this man and woman have for the Lord. It is very powerful and moving. I also am aware of their meeting that is to t...

Oh, give me a reason- reason to not torture Others or myself with the infractions of my mind I am not sound of  mind, body, or spirit I am irrational, irate, deranged Oh, how unjust this world is and how fictional The next one becomes  If I do abandon all hope for sanity's sake- Will my heart have rest, Or will I always long for truth of the August reason?

I met a man who feared his life He wore a mask a fake disguise He dressed up  in whoremongers' clothes His face tattooed with eyes that bulged His pants hung low below his waist I thought to myself what a fucking shame He mirrored an image from inside my head A futile image that others dread In this image a face of death Masqueraded by talking heads No consciousness or soul or heart did he own No mercy in his eyes of awareness known I likened him to a dreadful demon I thought to myself what a waste of man's semen The man who loves his demon fears his life And tortures others with his tortured mind    

My greatest fear is that the seed in my heart- will dry up, and I forgotten- lost in time. I a fading memory- whisked away by death. My tomb, just a ruin of a shadowed past.