It was thought that the gods blew on creative people, who would then inhale the god's breath and have an idea. This is the premise of "inspiration": inhaling divine breath and ideas.

Monday, August 11, 2014

He slept like an angel. ...

He slept like an angel... eyes half open... half closed. Lips parted slightly.  Breathing slowly now. Breathing fast now. Peacefully. .. like a baby.   Wiping away life's trouble like sweat. He slept like an angel.

Butterflies kissed his ears... whispering songs of love. They danced around him with joy. Watching over him. He slept like an angel.

Branches of banyan tree grew towards him. Cradling him in their arms. Safe and sound. He slept like an angel.

Days rolled into nights and nights dragged into daytime. No sun no moon no stars no sky could wake him from long slumber.

Sleep my angel... till your pains get washed away. Till your tears get dried. Till there's joy in your heart again.  Sleep my angel.

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