Visions: Prologue

In a study about the belief in "Luck" participants were asked whether they consider themselves to be either Lucky or Unlucky. In one part of the experiment they were asked to walk a course on the college campus.  Along the course was placed $20 bills where they would not blow away but could easily be seen. The participants that considered themselves to be Lucky almost always saw and picked up the bills. Those that considered themselves to be Unlucky did not. It is not that the Unluckyists keep their heads down in their maudlin stupor, their world does not include the possibility of random beneficial events, so no $20 to be seen. The Luckyists believe in fortune, in positive happenstance, and therefore $20 bills are manifested. Both present themselves with that in the world they are looking for: what they desire and what they need.
Vision is a complex process.
I have lived through my eyes. The visual experience is a personal artifact, one in which I have been willing to place a profound significance. Between the world and the seeing of it, vision and the experience of it, the experience and the meaning with which I endow it, my universe resides. When I see what I define for myself as an Omen; it is a gift from my own better angels. And when my mind is quiet, after focusing on an image,  visions come to me. They are the life I have been unable to express through my own living. They are my soul's familiar.
I want to offer those that will bear witness my testimony; some of what has passed before my mind's eyes. If after these three posts you consider me to be insane, assuming you do not already, that would be altogether appropriate in today's world. I find my life to be equal measure of absurdity and meaning. I fear neither and embrace both with fervor. In fact I find no reason to separate them and little enough reason to find their borders. If this defines madness, so be it.

Transcendent

We are greater than any one moment flowing past the here and now. We are infinite beasts that can only be grasped by the surface. All our yesterdays are here. Every sunrise to come is here. I am forever a child in my mother’s arms, my father’s heart. My hand grows still as I feel my passing from my daughter’s waking dream. I lay beside my lover, soul in soul, in excess of creation. All this is alive, nothing that can exist will ever fade.