the place is the womb,
the place is within
the time is folded in future curtains...
each jolt of strength we deploy
building a project like insects about the anthills;
we only labour for a generation unnamed.
we sow seeds in the fertile womb of the of the earth
seeds we shan't live to reap of their fruits
through the muck of night the current
runs through our muscles;
we are guided alone by its very light
surging up from the unborn Child.
welcome to the WORLD OF HAVEN VALLEY
I am not a cut different from the ordinary human who walks the street. But in my journey, I strive to understand the music that surges from the wide worlds within every individual, that which makes him/her that fragile and sacred at the same time. I have found myself sometimes looking at someone farting with thumps-up as though goading him on to sanity. Seemingly meaningless things have been things that have communicated sense to me especially during louring hours. That is what this journal is. I offer these thoughts to the world with wonted pleasure and gratitude to all that awakens the human in me.