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PURGATORIO XII, 67 - 69
PURGATORIO XII, 67 - 69
Patted the table were they placed the Quija, I could still feel the material world and navigate as a portal from the underworld. Marvelling at the presents involved around Lucifer who is clearly in a separate pictorial field over lapping with others his tributes, only a few can recognised how he appears in his inverted figure. I'm the river between life and death, so, I figured out that if they want to speak with the souls who dive in my river. Those who couldn't make it to any hell or heaven, I might enquire the practises of the spirit.
The Ruler of Hell had all those seating with pride around him, ready to look within the spirits whom by murder, being reaped away from their skin felt homeless with perpetual pain. Looming on the shores of this path, can you intuitively imagine my lost souls without wings trying to breath again between their last memory partly dead, surfing between both realms in my river.
Because I was not pretty aware of whom could distinguish the dead, what they call paranormal, perhaps Marie Jane couldn't see the chains of the Giant Briaereus or the Giant Nirmrod crouching on the back ground, or why would they. The Devil doesn't travel alone, unless you,.... yuUuuu wish to heal them and advance elevating the energy with the respond of the spirits. Or belong to Satan. From this point, everything was boring before the storm, applaudable for the living and quite exiting and adorable. To me, Unbearable.
Unless you like to look and ascend with the travellers to the next terrace, (spiritual level) with questions who reach in, or you think alter forces won't bring you down? No one could see but feel, showing our teeth by the commodity of presuming we know it all, at least fill our space with that sense of fulfilled eternity. But if you like the rush of the adrenaline itching through your veins, call your names a little more there is nothing more unknowing than seeing your faces with closed eyes, then maybe, maybe, maybe the uncertainty of the no-mind call for the Ghost to come further.
And the sun is of no profit to the blind, so Heaven's light denies its bounty to the shades in the place of which I speak. The emptiness and desolation corrals the spaces adequately with protocoled conversations, based on interests, attractions, I'm destine and provoked by envious desires, but it's not me, I know is not me I'm an empty space of everyones water. What is the trigger to make your spine shake, shoot off the spooky. Candy Girls in the outside so overly protected in the inside. Would they have the mark or so to narrate this story have the practice of testing the waters of the river Styx. Let the waves wild, like spines curving serpentine to all its angles, disproportionally. Control. In mimetic fashion, my cloak blends with the pale colour of the rocky floor giving a field. And the lost souls with no one to mourn their lost for the horrors killed everyone around without leaving a truck being to be pulled or remembered.
The penitent souls at least have a place to go in Purgatory and a place to be. With closed eyes, sealed by looking out all the time, glued by melted iron, unpenetrable eyes to the soul. It's true that you can't free the souls from Hell, so to speak. At least those who have penitence have somewhere to go, and the lost souls of the river... the watery emotional transmission, with the sun set over the reddish horizon everything seems grey. I can feel your facial expressions, could taste taste your bones and transpire from your nerve system when you open a portal, the rush in your blood is slower than a scorpion hiding under a rock, at start. It binds to the deserted areas of the dead, will they bother my spirits? Do you really want to purge the thirst from their passions and take them away from my malicious joy. The pointed arrow of the Quija moved rapidly by itself.
Blessed are the pure of heart.
As the flames of the candles grew higher and the doors slam by following creaking steps. Since their passage around the 5th Terrance of Purgatory is away from hell, blessed them before what will follow. Plug with sufficient courage to face the blind souls who can't distinguish the dead from the living. The existential from the non-existential, the novelist from history.
Ask them systematically in a uniformed manner.
What are the questions whom unite spirits to move on.
Of course my questions are rhetorical, cheers.
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