With apologies...

With apologies...I genuinely do not enjoy reliving that dark beginning of my life.

My dearest friend in this world is a devout Christian...a strong warrior for Christ.

Understanding our life paths together...where they crossed...where they merged...and where they separated would be such a laborious task that I will not now begin to tell that tale.

Suffice it to say that of all the spirits that I have known...hers is the most...goddess like. Three aspects she combines and I respect her wisdom in many, many things.

She too, graces me with that same absence of malice where my faith is concerned, having been a lifelong friend she has heard many of my stories in repeated telling...so too did she know my last posting.

In no way do I disparage, hold animosity toward or view in contempt anyone based on any theological or spiritual difference...I believe that the path to serenity...the entry to the gates...the road to glory...the way through the door is not held by any one faith, nor by any one set of rituals or rites.

I believe that there is a deeper magic...a most wonderful stream...that there is another truth which holds eternal...

I believe that deity, that power and energy which is eternal can be called by many names.

I believe that deity loves us and wants us to succeed, be happy and bear faith childlike.

I believe that deity wants us to grow both spiritually and intellectually, and through that growth become positive, loving, helpful and kind.

Therefore...

I do not, and never shall believe in hell.

I do not, and never shall fear my god.

These last two statements led me to write my previous post.

There are those, well, some well meaning folk and some that I believe are always simply looking to fight and confront that which they do not understand.

I took very personally some of the statements that were made to my e-mail account.

It surprised me to read statements like "God has a special place in hell for you, fag."; "You are going to burn."; "Repent and be saved or burn forever."

Sixteen messages in one day...all similar...spewing hate and avarice...and why?

Were they invited to view this dialog? Were they forced to look and required to comment?

Or were they simply looking to attack someone?

The latter, I think.

So...to my dearest friend and all others who thought that the last posting was a bit heavy handed...

I am so sorry...the posting is not attacking you or Christianity in general.

I simply needed to tell the story...and in the telling, my emotions of that age, my emotions of reading the hate messages and my faith all stood up together and took over.

I never stopped to think how someone reading here for the first thyme my be affected.

This is not at all to say that what I wrote was in any way inaccurate, nor do I retract any portion of the entry...it was all real...it happened...it may simply have been too heavy for this blog.

I will attempt to minimize my reaction to any more negative emails...

I have a delete button...you know.


Blessed be...

Lord Glade


smilinginthedark

"Oh do not tell the priest of our dance, for he would call it sin..."

Sigh...so it's happened here already.

First, I want to thank you for being so tolerant as to not post directly on my blog. I don't mind the words, the direct emails or the warnings of my eternal damnation. Thank you for not cluttering up my space with comment thus.

I have now had 17 emails to my account praying for my salvation, blessing me but hoping I will return to "God", extolling the virtues of Christianity while at the same time threatening me with your merciful god plunging me into a lake of fire for my damnable faith.

Oh, and one that want's to know if I have a better picture of myself.

Sigh...

It is difficult to make humans understand that faith...pure and absolute...can come from within. I have never needed a preacher to stand in a pulpit and tell me what to believe.

As the christian god once said...."I am."

Let me tell you a story.

Once, there was a woman with two children. Boy child and girl ages 5 and 3 1/2. This woman had no husband as he had seen fit to end his life by a single bullet rather than to provide hearth and home for those he brought into the world.

The woman, she tried hard to provide for the children. She worked two jobs and took in laundry to make ends meet. During the day the children were reared by a female friend of hers, but the friend wanted to marry and start her own life.

And so it was that the woman, mother, found a new love...a man who was a lay minister, a man of "God", he would provide for her and the children...he seemed so loving and playful with the children. This man would tend the children while the mother worked...a...bit...different for the early 60's...but then...it was a time of changes in the world.

Life went on for the woman...but for the children...darkness fell.

The man...he had a fondness for little boys.

He was also powerful...to a 5 year old...he was a monster.

He would take off the child's clothing and whisper how he loved the child...the boy child...and then he would...do...things...

Well...he would do things to the boy's body...

But...the boy...this innocent...he would close his eyes...and he would leave...

There was a place he could go...far away from the sick, sexual torture that was being levied upon the frail body...

There was a place....

I remember the sound of pipes and laughter...the sound of wind and blowing leaves...the smell of grass and heat of the Summerlands upon my skin.

But most of all...I remember the watcher in the woodlands...the forest friend...the protector of the innocent...

...and at 5 years old I had no name for him...needed no name for him...

He was the shaggy man.

Together we would play...he piping from the shadows...me dancing...flying butterfly kites...skipping across the clouds on the surface of the water...drawing finger sigils in the sand...stacking stones in mystic circles...

...being told the truth... of how He...was so sorry...and how He...would never leave me.

And he blanketed my mind from the pain...I was ok...

When the boy would wake filthy, hurt, spoiled...raped and laying in the dark closet...

...he would speak to me. A purring, growling, wordless statement that told me this:

"The evil that the man does is not power. The strength to endure it is power."

He would hold me in the dark, close to his chest, sobbing for my pain...and I know in my heart of hearts I felt his tears fall atop my head.

He sang soft songs to me and told me that He and Mama loved me...and that I would have to choose my path...that he so feared that the man had destroyed the child...that I had every rite to hate and destroy or forgive and grow...by the rite of the blood spilled and by the pain that I had endured I could freely choose...

...and He would lend me his strength to succeed.

At 5 years old, I was given the strength, and the power and the authority of a god.

I chose the path of Pan...the shaggy man...the forest friend...watcher in the woodlands...protector of the innocent.

I will love, and protect and defend those weaker than myself to the end of my days.

The pure faith of that 5 year old boy is still there...10 times the years later...it never has diminished.

It was not "God" that held me at 5...nor was it "Jesus"...the spirit of the Holy Ghost never descended upon me...no angles came to protect me...no flaming sword to defend the innocent...no burning bush...no thunderous voice...no pillar of fire...no...I was left to be tortured...at the hands of a "man of God".

I knew from 5 that either:

"God" isn't there.
"God" doesn't care.
"God" is evil.
"God" let's evil men wear his trappings.
Men of "God" are strong in the world, but Pan is strong in my spirit.


No...I have no need of bibles, or pulpits, or preachers.


I am...and always will be...


Lord Glade Panmot...Brother to Pan.


smilinginthedark

fear not

Tho darkness be swept about me and my feet be lifted from the earth, I shall not fear.
Tho thunder crash and lightning strike and zephyr winds howl hard upon my naked flesh, I shall not fear. Smiling...in the dark.

In my thyme will I be taken and ne'er before.
My Father and Mother keep me, mama and papa protect me... within me all the days of my life they dwell. A living thing am I, by will of the Gods created and given form, by grace of the gods given voice and sight, by virtue of the gods given faith and life. I am a vessel.

Thunder and wind my instruments, sit and watch as I call the lightning flash.

Rain and stone my rhythmic drums, beating the life course of the earth.

I stand, high upon the mountain top, wavering apelike from the tree limbs, walking catlike cross the rooftops and rafters, unshaken, at ease...without fear.
My father, goat god, sure foot, forest friend, protector, he has other need of me. I am not the one to let fall. Gentle hand on my back, I feel his strength and support, and I am treated to a view no one else shares.

Landscapes painted for my eyes only.

Darkness falls and across the landscape I run...for fun.

A child tripping in the moonlight...at 50...feeling 5...I run.

My mother, ever watchful, her eye upon me, somethymes wide with wonder, other thymes slit to a flashing peek...mama...watching her son play for her pleasure. Swimming, sky-clad cross the lake in the moonshadow. Playing leapfroq with the fire and smoke. She ever is smiling down.

I fear nothing, for nothing can harm me.

A child of the gods am I...In my thyme will I be taken and ne'er before.

Blessed be,

Lord Glade

smilinginthedark

~ Moments Trapped in Amber~

Mostly I remember the big stone.

There was in my grandfathers back yard a "stone".

This stone was a fallen monolith, 2 foot by 2 foot square and 10 feet long, it lay beside grandpa's tree. The stone was a never ending source entertainment.

Between the stone and the tree I was in my great castle. Climbing up the tree trunk turret I could see beyond the long moat of a driveway on to the ocean of dirt road that was all my kingdom.

I was a benevolent king, safe in my castle, tending to my clothespin subjects and arranging my clothespin guards along my borders...

A perfect peaceful kingdom.

Climb upon the back of the great flat stone and I was riding my dragon, FlameStrong, over a landscape of clouds and mountain tops. We looked for those in peril to rescue, and songs were sung by the people of my lands about our grand rescue of my sister's Raggedy Andy.

Over the years I remember the stone as rocket, elephant, cliff, surfboard, and ultimately the place where I would sit and have chats with my grandfather.

Years before I had been thought about, the stone was there. My grandfather had marked the stone, his initials forever embedded into the great stone, my fingers found them smooth and often.

My grandfather espoused wisdom from our stone...that great seat of learning.

Some 40 years ago my grandfather passed...and not a day goes by that I do not think of him.

I recently had to drive past his old house...he would have been sad to see the condition of the place.

The tree is fallen and nothing remains but a jutting stump...

...but our stone was there.

For whatever reason I have found myself now, closing in on 50, thinking back to my grandfather.

There I stand on the stone, while he ties my shoe...and coarsely rubbing my head he says,

"I won't always be here for you, boy."

Yes you are, grandpa...yes you are.

Funny, but whenever I sit down on a stone ledge or concrete slab, I find myself tracing his initials with my finger.

I miss my grandpa.

Blessed be,

Lord Glade

smilinginthedark

This passage speaks to my heart...

'This is the place of my song-dream, the place the music played to me,' whispered the Rat, as if in a trance. 'Here, in this holy place, here if anywhere, surely we shall find Him!'

Then suddenly the Mole felt a great Awe fall upon him, an awe that turned his muscles to water, bowed his head, and rooted his feet to the ground. It was no panic terror— indeed he felt wonderfully at peace and happy— but it was an awe that smote and held him and, without seeing, he knew it could only mean that some august Presence was very, very near. With difficulty he turned to look for his friend. and saw him at his side cowed, stricken, and trembling violently. And still there was utter silence in the populous bird-haunted branches around them; and still the light grew and grew.

Perhaps he would never have dared to raise his eyes, but that, though the piping was now hushed, the call and the summons seemed still dominant and imperious. He might not refuse, were Death himself waiting to strike him instantly, once he had looked with mortal eye on things rightly kept hidden. Trembling he obeyed, and raised his humble head; and then, in that utter clearness of the imminent dawn, while Nature, flushed with fulness of incredible colour, seemed to hold her breath for the event, he looked in the very eyes of the Friend and Helper; saw the backward sweep of the curved horns, gleaming in the growing daylight; saw the stern, hooked nose between the kindly eyes that were looking down on them humourously, while the bearded mouth broke into a half-smile at the corners; saw the rippling muscles on the arm that lay across the broad chest, the long supple hand still holding the pan-pipes only just fallen away from the parted lips; saw the splendid curves of the shaggy limbs disposed in majestic ease on the sward; saw, last of all, nestling between his very hooves, sleeping soundly in entire peace and contentment, the little, round, podgy, childish form of the baby otter. All this he saw, for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered.

'Rat!' he found breath to whisper, shaking. 'Are you afraid?'

'Afraid?' murmured the Rat, his eyes shining with unutterable love. 'Afraid! Of Him? O, never, never! And yet— and yet— O, Mole, I am afraid!'

Then the two animals, crouching to the earth, bowed their heads and did worship.

Sudden and magnificent, the sun's broad golden disc showed itself over the horizon facing them; and the first rays, shooting across the level water-meadows, took the animals full in the eyes and dazzled them. When they were able to look once more, the Vision had vanished, and the air was full of the carol of birds that hailed the dawn.

What is it?

The energy surge...I had felt it before, only not so "pure?"...is that the word I am searching for?.

The first time that I can recall feeling the surge I was 8 or 9 years old. I was in the backyard of our home...it was summer...lazy summer...on a daydream kind of a day.

I think that my love of clouds stemmed from this day. I lay back on the warm metal of the slide that was attached to our swing set and bracing my feet against the sides I managed to stay in place. From my reclined incline I was at my perfect viewpoint to watch the clouds play...great rolling balls of steamy cotton running a constantly changing picture show before my eyes.

It was the bird...high up and circling that intersected with my dragons and clowns dancing across the field of blue...the bird that I saw without seeing...I was simply aware of him.

In his circling segue he subtly clipped the edges of my parade until finally, my unconscious focus was on him...and a singly windswept word that fell across my ears...fly.

Fly...

In a heartbeat I was looking down upon the landscape familiar, luminescent and awe-inspiring all at the same time...rooftops, trees, antennas, the school house, the fort, my house, my backyard, my swing set........ME!

I dove into myself...and was startled out of my day-dream by the shrieking call of a bird swooping upward and away from my position...yet in my memory I held the wind in my ears, the breeze across my body, the sensation of moving myself upon the gifted breeze...all as nature had intended...and to a young day dreaming boy it was natural.

I didn't understand that not everyone could do this.

I thought it perfectly fine and a grand way to spend an afternoon.

At nearing 50 now, I still dream of that first flight...and still see the dreamy eyed face of that little boy as I flew myself home...

Blessed Be....

Lord Glade

smilinginthedark

...speak thou little, listen much...

Sweet cornbread, coffee and strawberries. Well, it seemed like a feast. I sat there listening to an enchanting old man speak volumes with few words.

Before I go further I want to make one thing absolutely clear...

TRUTH.

This is something we all understand and can recognize. There is a sincerity in truth, a living absoluteness, a solidity and an aura. Truth is. When the man before me spoke, there was iron in his words, a faith so absolute and so resounding and pure that I believed each syllable as if the god himself were speaking to me in person.

I was introduced to several concepts which pulled in me a unity of ideas that had been spinning in my mind for some years:

Energy is never created, it exists.

All magic is energy manipulation and movement for cause.

The tools common to witchcraft were rudimentary learning devices, not necessary for the manipulation and control of the energy.

The heart and mind combine to form will, and by will alone can one move and control the energy.

The open heart and open mind allow entry of the gods and thus by dwelling within we become one with them.

When one lives apart from the gods, the journey becomes a leap from point to point and and exhaustion of calling the gods temporarily from place to place...When one allows the gods to dwell within then we take steps in the name of the gods...we set ourselves apart.


Lord RiverStone smiled at me and asked if I had ever heard the phrase "Caelestis valiturus".

Shaking my head I asked it's meaning.

"The Power of a God Resides in Me", then he paused and said the simple word...CaVa'

The word had a music to it, a power, a force unto itself.

CaVa'

I could feel it

The word had form...it was a magical sound all to itself.

CaVa'

Rolling it over in my mind, it echoed of an ancient thyme, the word rang into my soul...

...and in the distance I could hear the sound of pipes and laughter...



Blessed Be...

Lord Glade


smiling in the dark

Introductions

I remember most of all, the feeling of being breathless and covered in dust and sweat...my drum-worn hands nearly numb from the tingling, the heat from the bonfire at my back, I stood sky-clad in the dark with my kindred spirits.

It was Midsummer, and since it falls close to my birthday it is my favorite ritual and I celebrate the solstice and my life's journey at the same time.

A young neophyte named Widow approached me and asked me to sit with her and some others for further fellowship...and...as a practical matter of being tired and starting to chill I grabbed up my robe and wiped off my sweat a bit and walked with her to the edge of the circle and together we sat on the rough straw bales that had been placed round the quarters.

Among the gathered group of 7 was one elder male. Eyes which shone crystal blue in the fire light. He said nothing during our conversations about balance and duality, men and goddess relationships, covenants and declarations of love...it seemed as if the group assembled were nearly too attentive.

In one's and two's they excused themselves and went back to the rivalries, all but the elder. He drew up next to me and opened a discussion with these words, "When I was your age in years, I had the vigor and danced with the power you do, but you, Glade, you speak with an age that waits beyond me."

I knew not what to say, and as I opened my mouth to speak he held up his hand.

"I will be leaving shortly, but it would honor me to meet you in a less distracting space. May I call upon you tomorrow?"

Of course I accepted. I started to tell him where I had parked my truck and pitched my tent but my arm was grabbed by my good friend Bear who was in a dance spiral and in the chanting and laughter and drum beats I got swept away round the fire and back to my drum...and the elder was gone.

The nights revelry wore on and eventually I made my way back to my truck and tent and fell into a heavy, happy, peaceful sleep.

I dreamed of walking down a wooded path, carefully stepping around stones that got bigger and bigger as they went. I tripped and fell trying to get around them when, after picking myself up once again, I heard my grandfather's voice say, "You know, the difference between stumbling blocks and stepping stones is where you place your feet."

I next remember waking to smell of smoke and coffee. I had fallen asleep on my sleeping bag in the bed of my truck and rolled over to see someone sitting next to my tent. Knuckling the sleep from my eyes I got up and walked over to an elder man with short, fluffy "Santa" beard and a ring of white hair revealing quite the bald spot. His eyes, crystal blue in the morning sun and his smile put deep crows-feet in friendliest, wisest places by his eyes. He peeked over the top of his glasses and said, "Do you have anything sweet for nibbles?"

This was my introduction to Grand High Lord RiverStone. I didn't know it at the thyme, but my life's journey was about to change in a most wonderful direction.

More tomorrow,

Lord Glade

smiling in the dark...

An Intersection of Points of View

Interesting intersection of varied perspectives along a common theme.

What's in a name?

As I have been blessed to travel round these lands I have been allowed to attend and speak at many, many circles. This posting is of lighter note in the discussion of names.

From my view, the names that we use to identify ourselves in the realms of magic are come to us in one of three ways: Self-Created, Bestowed or Tagged.

Self-Created names I have seen are usually taken from something that has touched us in a mystical place...a sound or scene or item that is held sacred and precious.

I have met hundreds of Dragon somethings Raven what-ever's. That is not to say that the name in itself is neither appropriate nor sound's odd, it is simply that for many it lacks imagination and at times the name feels so forced. I once met a young neophyte that had taken the name Gwythbwyl (gwith-bwil) because he liked the way it looked when typed. It was nearly impossible to state his name in a circle and he would jump to correct it if mispronounced...later he changed his name to Rowan.

Between all of the Thor's and Maebs and Rhiannons and I often get the feeling that I am meeting a traveling group of D&D adventurers out on a quest rather than a group dedicated to the worship of the ancient gods.

The names Bestowed are often most intriguing. I have met the embodiment of "Laughter", stood holding hands with "Meadow Rain", been thumped solidly on the back by "Winter Oak" and seen the sparkle in the eyes of "RiverStone"
There is an ease and inner pride when the bearer of a name blesses me with the sound of it. As one who has gone through the trials and been brought up into a circle and been given a name by the gods it is my opinion that there is an insight from those around you assisting in your training, that your teachers have reason for bestowing the name upon you, and if you are of great faith, you believe that the gods whisper your name to the Priest and Priestess just before it is bestowed upon you.

My two children, Pendragon and Twilly are examples of tagged names. My son's name in the world mortal is Arthur, named for a king and so the tag Pendragon came naturally and once he is of age he will decide whether or not to enter a circle and take another name.. My daughter was a tiny fairy, a flittering little dancer within the circle, a bringer of joy. I am not sure who uttered Twilly the first time but it stuck and she loved it and still some 18 years later the name brings her joy.

I have had complex mathematical magicians and astrologists express to me the importance of numerically reducing your "christian" name to it's root number and choosing a name with a number that matches...others say it should be the "opposite" number (a very complex concept if you ask me).

I have seen pictography used, cards drawn, runes scattered, blinded eyes flashed, skrying all done for this important task...and no one way is right for anyone.

Your name is the sound with which you present yourself to the gods. It should be a heartfelt manifestation...the sound or image a verbal representation of your true self...special, secret sound that is to be uttered in the presence of the gods or within a group like-minded - shared as a gift.

My sound is different depending on the circle in which I stand.

In the circle of my "christian" family I go by the sound my mother and father gave me. I honor them and they honor me with that sound and symbol which identifies me.

In the circle of children I go by the common sound "dad" and occasionally "father". This sound and symbol identifies me to them alone, and is precious.

My grandchildren use the sound "grampa" and no other children get to use that sound to call my attention. This sound to me is one most beloved.

My betrothed alone uses a special sound that I choose only to share with her. She alone claims the right to that sound which takes my attention from all else.

Within the circles the sound is "Glade" or formally "Lord Glade" which identifies me.

And when speaking to the gods, I use simply the sounds "Mother and Father", for that identifies my relationship, my kinship, my love and my devotion to them.

The gods have a sound for each of us also...when Pan wishes to speak to me, my attention is called not so much with a word, but a laughing, pipe song filled emotion that is indescribable.

So...what's in a name?

You decide.

You can call yourself "Sky" or "Lord Prancing-Dragon-Stump-Hopper"...

Both make me smile.

Blessed be,

Lord Glade

smiling in the dark...

Naked in an dark room.

The image above is borrowed from www.thebluefairy.co.uk

Upon meeting with neophyte students I am generally presented with their "tools" as they seek outer approval of their structure, construction, appearance, materials and other bits of energy that they have put into the assemblage of symbolic elements for the working of magic.

While I understand the need for tools, it is the belief of the CaVa' that with teaching and self discipline one can manipulate the energies constant without the use of tools, symbols, herbs and stones.

This discipline is best understood as we examine the teachings we bestow upon our children.

When one wishes to teach a child mathmatics and it's relationships to money, one would take first the child and a handful of stones, teaching by counting on fingers, drawing the symbols for the numbers, counting out the stones, showing the child the coins, demonstrating what can be purchased at the store for a penny, a nickle, a quarter, relating all these things symbolically until the concept and knowledge have drawn into the child and the relationship of the coins and their intrensic value and power become second nature to the child.

Then one adds in the lessons of how to acquire coins by the exchange of personal energy, (time, sweat, trade of knowledge, etc) and the child relates the concept of the use of personal energy to create greater energy and power. (By giving of myself I am blessed with the ability to choose my reward.)

Thus it is that once a neophyte has entered into the studies witin the CaVa', it is with the goal of setting aside the outward symbols and tools and choosing to study the deeper magic that allows us to walk within the world...changing it as we go...unobstructed by those who mean well...passing by those who seem to stop their studies at the height of fashion and show...and proceeding on to our singular unity with the gods...

We covet neither wand nor staff, blade nor bowl...for these things, as beautiful as they are, detract us from the movement pure of energy.

As GHL Riverstone so elequently put it, "The energy that is taken to empower a tool is misdirected...it is focused through elements instead of being sent out directly. When you speak to the gods it should be as if you were a child holding tight 'round your father's neck, whispering in ernest your dreams and wishes, hopes and desire...in absolute faith that he is listening and that he loves you and wants you to be happy."

When I first met Lord Riverstone, as a neophyte, I showed him my ritual and my tools...I showed him my dance and sang stong my song of life and love for the old gods.

When I was finished, he told me how he felt the energy and how wonderful it was...then he asked me...

"Would you like to learn how to create that same energy naked in a dark room?"

The statement was not missed, and the lesson lives on in me.

Blessed be

Lord Glade

smiling in the dark

Merry Meet...and welcome...

I have been silent... watching... listening... dwelling inside myself for the past 3 years.


It is time once again for me to sing the song of the gods.


I miss Grand High Lord Riverstone. With his passing I was heart sick...and believed that the word was lost.

I threw myself into the wind that roars through the chasm and thought that without his guiding hand I could no longer give my lessons...I took that blind step off of the precipice as the Fool...and on a fools quest I found myself.


I apologize, for I have run ahead of the tale...always was my problem...run headlong to deliver the answer when the question is not fully known.


I am Lord Glade...High Priest and Founding Father of the coven of Shade and Sweet Water... Father to Pendragon and Twilly...Student of the BlueStar...He who holds the Northern Bone Sword...Master of Ghost...Formerly one of the Traveling CaVa'...now a simple, quiet carpenter.


I entered into my 49th year of life last June 13th. Sacred numbers these...49 (7x7), 6 & 13. To those of you who practice such things I leave you with the understanding of this set of numbers, for the others simply understand that to me I am in a powerful time of my life...a moment in my living hour when it becomes necessary to sing.


This medium is foreign...blogging...messaging...websites...for it was GHL Riverstone who bade that the teachings be given in the traditional, rabbinical fashion...word to ear...ear to heart...heart to head...head to hand.


With his passing, a witch for whom I have great respect stood in his place as Grand High Lord. His bidding was that all media be used to teach. Regretfully I stood down shortly after his ascension, not with any disrespect, but out of mourning.


Thyme has passed...and it is now thyme for me to set aside the sorrow and stand again in the circle...and sing the lineage which it has been my honor to carry.


As in the past, I am called to speak on that which touches my heart. Primarily my lessons will continue to center around "Men and Their Relationship with the Goddess", The "Weapon of Love", "Living In Balance" and "Equality within the Circle".


I will attend this computer area at least once per day. I will also monitor my email at smilinginthedark@gmail.com on a daily basis.


Should no one choose to respond I will let this go...and keep on my journey.


Blessed be...

Lord Glade


smiling in the dark...