...Groves of tree where visions be...

Alexander Volenski



Volenski's page: The home site of all pages and books.
Journeys 2: Home site of all 9-chapters.
Dawn Rising: Chapter 1, of Journeys 2.
Dawn Rising 2: Continuation of chapter 1, Dawn Rising.
The Meadow Hill-2: Continuation of chapter 2.
The Lake: Chapter 3.
The Lake 2: Continuation of chapter 3; excerpts Journeys 2.
Darkness: Chapter 4.
The Ancient Book & A River Beyond Time: Chapters 5 & 6, excerpts.
Apocalyptic View: Chapter 7.
The Black Island: Chapter 8 excerpts, Journeys 2.
Total Truth and Love: Chapter 9, the final chapter of Journeys 2.

The Meadow Hill

Journeys 2, (C)1995 (C)2007 A. Alexander Volenski; unedited excerpts.


Chapter 2
The Meadow Hill

  As the twinkling stars do shine, alone we stand with stillness
in the night, as we continually see and feel a message there,
their-message universal, starlight shine.  A message, midnight
glimmer, silent emissary communicating with light.
  Heralded peacefully and quickly, the starlight-message comes like
one living phrase following another phrase-like moment.  One minute,
entrained with a message, linked too and becoming another; 
connection starlight shine, coming moment to moment.
  Imported gist like point, starlight shine, coming like a kiss to
warm and soothe the heart, a kiss to softly touch the brow, arriving
as a feeling sought -- emotions realm to awaken; night time starlight
shine, messengers endowed by the heavens.
  One in one, all in all, a soothing whisper kiss, a kiss made to 
press lips so soft with a 'sounding touch of thought', as those
heavenly stars above reach encompass and convey, propelling themselves
to caress our lonely awareness with their accuracy -- silent whisper
kiss, starlight night time shine.
  Yes, alone we stand within the night's unlit atmosphere, ecliptic
shadow earth, as though we were encased inside a 'Cimmerian-Darkness',
for only twinkling stars we do see, stars which continually remind us
of how far away and alone we are within our cosmic-solar-system realm.
  While skyward glancing, we must surely muse, as our listening 
quintessence tries to comprehend and convey to us, what 'it' is that
must be out there -- starlit shimmer, night time shine.
  Remotely as we gaze into the shadowy swarthy sapphire-blue of the
starlit Universe, we most surely must wonder of the hidden-obscure
concealed, which resides within us and also out there -- night time
shine, twinkling stars.  We also must surely do ask and wonder many
things about ourselves too -- of how we are connected to that vast and
mysterious realm, starry heavens.

     'Did we originate from out there, did we come from out there?'

  Our questions are many, if we take the time to listen to ourselves,
questions which continue to pulse on, questions that will never go

     Oh, dear love, where did we begin?
     Sweet desire, what is this place of life all about?
     Soothing passion, why are we here?
     Oh, persuasion, do we have to stay?
     And love, are we really free to go?

  These are human questions, which one must find their own answers
and comprehension.
  The magical and imaginative, are like a living substance sent to
grow and function, magical enchantment sent or lent, has come to us
enclosed within a 'cryptic source'; divine purpose, original blend --
or is it something else?
  As the magical swirls and glides, we seek answers to our questions
life, inquiring examining asking, as aloof and within an original
blend, the starlight glistening shine twinkles toward us --
'messages sent...caught in light', messages perhaps even caught in the
grasp of our own divinity; or of other divinities--as so it seems
divinities everywhere are easy to come by, within humanities solemn
Centuries, Earth.
  We surely wonder, as our questions tumble on about this life, the
Universe, and our Cosmic-Connection.  Whirling questions sent through
an endless span of time, and what is it we want to know and
understand; or is it just our human need asking questions -- a human
need, which is struggling, reaching, hoping that some day, some year,
some hour, some instant moment, all will be shown 'to uncatch-us' from
the grasp of confusion and chaos.  We must delete and erase confusion,
so the total truth can be known; so our truth can be shown.
  Wide our horizon, and simple the texture of thought, and complete
too is the ingredient to blend it all; and complex the way so it seems
for humankind to find it all.  Human kind, so easily caught within the
teachings of impossibilities; impossibilities which they have granted.
On they go, man boy youth, woman girl youth, both sexes caught in
the drought of time, and can they find survive and still remain
  Yes, here it all seems to begin, yet in so many ways, we
silently know and understand, that it was not here where this all
began; and who else will agree, that we are somehow caught in an
exterior maze of confusion and untruths?

    Where are the flag-bearers of the 20th Century, to break 
    through and enlighten, where are the flag-bearers for human kind?

  Human-kind, born freely with a breath and a cry, and so full of
promise and wonder, and what does the human eventually grow into,
and what does it allow itself to become?
  If only humanity, coming from the land of truth, and going to the
land of truth, would build a world of truth here, here in these
graceful and gentle confines of a planet, Earth.
  When will the original composite be known?  When will the truths be
freed from the locked away confines and shelves, of 'a system', which
surrounds us?
  The Earth, a heavenly sphere of perpetual motion, a solar
embodiment, a global design, one that presents a world of growing
substance and wonder, one designed as haven for body, and mind.
  And who has ever asked themselves, why this planet Earth is the only
one that sustains life, as we presently define life.  Are we so closed
in our thinking and conceit, that we do not realize (that) at one
time other planets too in our solar-system held thriving life, until
the 'great imbalance' took place.
  Let the imagination free, free to explore the hidden confines of 
your mind -- delve deep into your subconscious domain, learn of that 
which was before, 'the great-imbalance'; open and see, be courageous 
and listen, be strong and stand firm upon the way -- the way of truth.
  Connect the living library within your mind, know and understand,
and do not be censored, for it is imperative that all learn of and
realize 'the Great Imbalance', and what happened there -- planetary
spheric and starry sky.
  But now to the meadow-hill and two who visit there.  It was
early morning with summer time warmth, and the sun shown brightly,
and the sky had some cloud in amongst its soft blue hue.  Gentle
breeze fresh and fragrant, the sound of birds chirping, distant
crows cawing, butterflies and bees; flowers in bloom, some already
gone to seed, natures floral arrangement all alive and well.
  Two youths, a girl and boy, walk and talk as they stride toward a
meadow, a meadow that over-looks a lake within a valley green and
surrounded by mountain ridges; ridges covered a little with snow.
There was a small knoll upon that meadow, a meadow of shared
innocence this youthful day for a girl and boy, who do seek answers to
a dominion of many questions of which they have; a dominion where
their inquisitive selves live.  A gentle domain that inquisitive
dominion of questions, as both youths look about them, curious, eager,
probing, asking.
  The realm of youthful mind is embraced this day with the child-like
character, and fly's as upon the wind.  Free the wind roams, a wind
of the examining kind, a wind in search of truth, and all that truth
contains.  And how does youthful girl and boy deal with finding truth?
They begin by opening themselves and their minds to immediate 
surroundings, and by asking...'of the moment questions'; simple
questions which come with observation.
  Minuet and Virgil, a youthful pair, a coupled pair they truly are.
And as they walked, Virgil looked into the sky and asked himself in
thought, 'why is the sky blue, and why is the color-blue spelled the
way it is...is that spelling correct?'  Carrying his thoughts and
questions further, he wondered who determined how letters must combine
to spell 'blue' -- and what authority placed the letter-combinations, 
to be the way they were to describe the color-blue?
  The child-like qualities, and their inborn intellect, breathes
freely within Minuet and Virgil as they explore the meadowy, even
shadowy region of linguistic pattern.  And where did the word 'blue'
originate, where did the letter combination (blue) for a color, really
start, and where does it lead?
  If Minuet and Virgil accept the tone and spelling of blue, is that 
the correct way, or is it a linguistic entrapment of some sort, with 
many limits and cold confines?  How does 'the naming' limit the 
unlimited-mind of youthful innocence--girl and boy?  What of 
vocabulary, with patterns laid out to form language?
  Virgil wondered who...what kind of mind determined the naming
patterns, and was it a mind unquestionable in character, a good
person, or bad person; maybe a mixture of both!  'The naming-pattern',
he thought, 'could even have been a design by an Alien-Mind'; a
hidden-concealed Entity, who roamed silently upon the Earth.  The
child-like nature looked around itself, peering, seeing, wondering,
asking, and questioning, while Minuet and Virgil together now sat
quietly upon the small meadow hill, both looking skyward.
  Minuet, gazing into the sky of blue, mused to herself, 'I wonder if
my blue-sky is the same color as his, or does Virgil see a
different tint than me?'  And if he did see a different color, how 
could he convey such a reality to her?  Then suddenly a butterfly
fluttered by, and her wondering-mind is suddenly captured by hovering
flying friend, and questions of color-blue are set aside.
  This girl and boy together upon meadow hill, spy skyward, watching
butterfly in flight; quick sly gliding, butterfly fly's along, very
whimisical joyful it seemed.  Minuet and Virgil atop small hill are
alert aware and inquiring of all nearby.  Butterflies, bees and flies
buzzing-humming, birds chirping-flying, a multitude of flowers in
bloom--plus far away trees upon distant ridges, where high and above
clumps of cloud linger all bunched together, appearing like pillowy 
white couches adrift in sky -- and Virgil continued to question 
himself (in thought) of the color blue.
  [Virgil thinks] 'why is the sky blue and also the sea, some flowers 
are blue, and some people have blue eyes, some birds and fish have 
color blue too, are these things all related to each other in some 
way, even some rocks and gems have blue in them.'  Then he began to 
wonder about a language he must learn to speak and spell, and how 
limited it seemed, as his mind swiftly moved along trying to answer 
query's blue.  Virgil surely understood more than what letters, 
words, sentences, could capture and express.  For deep within his 
child-like character there was a hidden-language which he already 
knew, a language he was born with, perhaps a more expressive language;
and how does his hidden-language compare, to what he is being taught?
  Quickly, astonishing butterfly glided next to him, and his examining
mind with thought of blue, are also set aside.
  Butterfly, so fleet of wing upon summer drift, freely-intimately
soars and dances with warming breeze, gaining altitude as it flutters
along, going higher and higher and further away as it eventually
disappeared from view.  Where did it go?  Then Minuet looked to Virgil
next to her and asked, "where did it go, how could so small a 
creature be so smart to disappear, as though through an invisible-
door there in sky of blue?"  Virgil returned her gaze, his eyes alive 
with excitement, as his mind reeled and tumbled within itself, 
pulsing as though like a butterfly flying; while his mind searched 
for a reply to her question.  "Where did it go," he responded, "I 
don't know, it must be still there...if only we could fly, then we 
would know."
  Perceptive perception has come alive, as girl and boy with their
imagination and thought, create and combine, entwine and embrace
their inner attributes.  Perceptive perception, is helping them find
explanations which are free and alive with translations. Translations,
and interpretations, which exist completely and openly;
interpretation, translation, and clarity, alive and held within the 
living-library of their mind.  The living-library of the mind, is a
library-reserve, within a realm very real and personal, a realm 
interacting with the land and atmosphere--a site where their child-
like character resides; a Dominion of the Innocence.
  ...Minuet was wearing a knee length white dress, pink silk-braided
beltd with lengthy tassels, she also had a pink ribbon in her long
blond hair.  Virgil was wearing white shorts and a white silk shirt,
blue weaved belt with a gold buckle; both were bare footed, and sat
on grassy small hill, while a warm breeze flew upon their sensitive
and tender brows.
  The sound of the bee was everywhere, buzzing-busy, those gathers for
honey; and sweet scented the air from flowered bloom--peaceful, quiet
place, this hill top mound arrayed with carpeted herbage; fresh and
peaceful that site shared by two in delight.  Then unexpectedly as
they looked toward the horizon, they both caught sight of 'butterfly'
approaching--ambling, fluttering, pulsing, coming in their direction.
"There it is!," shouted excited Minuet, "I see it too," answered
elated Virgil.  Both locked on eyesight, and followed the flight
path, as white butterfly fluttered along within the back-drop of blue
sky--with horizon green ridges in the distance.
  Excitement and elation changed instantly into exhilarated joy, 
for now they saw nearby another butterfly; two whitened creatures--
airy wings.  "There's two of them!!," they both shouted, and as they
observed those delicate winged flyers, who were soaring airy sky,
closer and closer butterflies did glide.  Silence now was the answer,
while instinct counseled the way, as youthful two sat quiet and still,
both watching rippling-quaverous flight of butterfly approach.  Two
white butterflies target in upon hill-top mound, while sweet flowery
breeze fluffs them along as though something precious is drawing them
there--the love thoughts of Minuet and Virgil, were surely coaxing
them on.
  The nearer the butterflies came, the slower they appeared to fly,
wings seemed to move in slow-motion, while surroundings took on
another kind of dimension, as day-dream atmosphere, like an invisible
overlay, now ringed Minuet and Virgil with nearing butterfly approach.
The twosome Minuet and Virgil, focused their eye's upon moving dual
whiteness, mobiles-maneuvering in rhythmic dance, cadence-like sway,
hypnotic swing--nearer and nearer butterflies slipped along, traveling
the air currents like dolphins of the ocean travel the waves; both
butterfly and dolphin cruise to the singing currents of the wind and 
  Energetic dual sentinels, or messengers, with destinations fixed,
those airy-courier's, butterfly-advance--and they knew exactly where 
to go, centering in upon young girl and boy alone within summer-time
meadowy place; a place no-one-else this moment would know.  Euphoric
image, those angelic butterflies seemed, as surrounds momentarily
faded, while Minuet and Virgil concentrated only upon the flying
white-winged presence.  Everything including time itself, now seemed
to pause as the real awake surrounds shifted, overlapped, merged with,
and embraced, a realm where only solitary dreams might dwell.
  ...Spontaneous thought creates, as the grand-array inspired by the
child-like character, projected choices to help answer all questions.
Unlimited projections contained in the mind, exist and transmit, when
imagination is free to dance or swim within the vastness of ones
intellect.  The hidden-language within Minuet and Virgil was precious
and complete, and true to them.  They both instinctively understood
as they gazed at butterflies in flight, that the size of something had
no-limit to what it can contain; as with the butterfly brain--unless
one was taught to believe otherwise.  For restrictive teaching, if
allowed control--is a control that limits, censors, even attempts to
dominate the free pattern of thought.  ...Everything is born with us,
we are created with the absolute ultmate universal, all is contained
within our own individual language, a language (hidden-language)
linked to our future intention and design, even individual purpose.
  The youthful two, were not taught or told this, they knew it freely
unquestionably, for they have not yet been 'taught' to deny the truth
of themselves.  They were in touch with their inner telepathic-truth,
and not yet controlled by the word of a logical lie.  And the hand of
emotion reached out to the hand of imagination, as Minuet and Virgil
sat and observed, listened, and felt much love, while two butterflies
continually flew closer.
  What do butterflies think and feel, and do they speak, what shared
thoughts could they have, flying along together under mid-day summer
sun.  The two flyers glided along like a conversational song of shared
love between two.  Melodious song, with harmonious emotion--a song 
transmitted upon the breeze, a song arriving as a spoken winged
message--transmitted winged words; something butterflies all do.  And
the Poem of the Butterfly, with its unique verse now began to sing
clearly within the warm and sunny air.
  The boy-butterfly spoke first, "meandering is so much fun, as our
flittering flight carries us along, and we speak in our own way, to
convey our feelings to each other...feelings are thoughts of shared
love between us, and appear as imagined reflections, sent by a 
meadowy summer messenger, messages given to be sealed in a province
of the heart, sent by the one of love."  The boy-butterfly continued
his verse, as he looked to the girl butterfly flying next to him, "as
I wing along next to you, your love reaches and touches me like a 
colored flower touches my sight, bright, endearing, sweet to receive,
as it (Love) reflects, influences, kisses, like the perfumed breeze 
upon which we both glide.  I yearn to be with you like the dew, which
blesses, caresses sweet petals of flowered, kissing as sprinklings
within quiet nights.  Our love is like the breeze, gentle and soft,
yet spontaneous, uncaptured and free."  Butterfly-boy, fluttered up
and around her, and then spoke again, "love is so complete for me when
there is a silky wind, and you are there stretching your wings to the
melody we together dance too.  We are relaxed in the meadow, both
feeling the quiet within, which we understand is to be shared, while
we unveil our love--a love which sings freely, silently to us."
  Then girl-butterfly, looked over to him, she knew now he was more
than imagined love, for his words told her--he had become a love of
love, her love.  Girl-butterfly now spoke her verse in return, "come
to me and sigh as we fly, and never say goodbye, come and be as we
always have been.  Time has such sweet feelings, when we two are
together in the meadow of our summer.  Joy, becomes so full of
warmth and good sensation, that suddenly our hidden desire seems able
to arise, releasing itself, arousing all inside.  Eagerness has
awakened, for we feel emotional thrills, even warm sensuous tingling;
beautiful and natural the tingling."  Girl-butterfly, glided closer to
him and continued to speak her feelings, "the magic of love, is as a
song of entirety, the spell of love, is as a swaying flower, flexible
in the breeze, the light of love shines too on a crest of meadowy
hill, and that is how our love...loves free."  Now both butterflies 
twirl a few times, then continue their flight toward Minuet and 

     The Image of Love, the Imagination of Love, the Imago of Love.

  The 'image of love', reflection as from the mirrored self, appears
with semblance complete, embodiement to perform, conception to be.
Projected likeness of thought, hidden-vocabulary (similar and the
same), often comes along included in another.  Familiar, intimate,
and often unspoken, the 'image of love' comes to us, speaks to us,
can touch us, if we let it.
  Girl-butterfly glanced and looked occasionally to her love, boy-
butterfly, as they floated along, and she knew as he knew, that they
were two in the same.
  The 'imagination of love', releases stored memory, images love,
blending, fusing, recombining, to create new signs; images love
assembling recall, so two love's will find each other and link;
'would one wish for anything better'?
  Former recollection freed, ideal creations, consistent with reality,
spring onward--distinct, powerful, resourceful, 'imagination of love';
love is always present, coming to be.
  Now boy-butterfly swung closer to her, for a momentary glancing of
white wings, letting her know how he felt, and she twirled a little to
tell him she understood, recognized, and recalled, their
'imagined-image love'.  Both winged along toward the small hill, while
Minuet and Virgil sat waiting; neither butterfly thinking of that
grassy mound, for their touching wings, with twirling fondness, had
gathered all their attention.
  The 'imago of love', like an Ancient Elixir, embodiment,
quintessence, ambrosia; 'imago', idealized and formed, retained
complete, ever unchanged.
  'Imago', and the loved one--two butterflies, two youthful love's, 
both hearing their hidden language within; and like a metamorphose
dream within a dream, metaphor for metaphor--the imago of love rouses,
revives, stirs--for it accomodates the greatest desire.
  The 'imago' of love, born freely, conceived and created perhaps 
during the pre-birth stage of birth, stepped softly and quietly into 
the spherical realm of conception.  Pre-birth happens to be, and from
its beginning, pre-birth grows into a being of birth, and is born.
The 'imago' of love, attends, cares for, serves, and is one with
  Pre-birth, where actuality-transparency-thought, and much more,
all meet, complimenting and yielding to each other, as they bow and
show homage, one to the other.  Pre-birth, a culmination of nature,
where the corporeal-incarnate source, consolidates, merges, unites,
and links to the hidden language within, as it embraces genesis,
and a world of nativity.  And the 'imago' of love, ever veiled, or
shown freely, flourishes as a destine beam of light, to be warm and
soothing, like comforting summer winds, where winged whiteness of two
butterflies glide in fond flight...

[continued at: The Meadow Hill-2, listed above]

[text is yet to be proof read]

                                    page created June 99
                                        updated 2007

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