From: "gspencer"
To: "Mac Stryper"
Subject: In to the night . . .
Date: Sun, 14 Jul 2002 00:11:23 -0500

EMAIL: INRE: Constanzas prophecy . . .

. . . with continuing hope, love and prayer; for all of us, all three of us, all four of us, it doesn't matter how many more of us. I know my love in infinite. I never have a doubt of that, I know its growth, I know it has not a boundary through creation eternal. My love is the ever expanding universe, not a spreading thin universe but a growing one where creation continues at the core for it is there God expects our mansions to be.

I told you that at night I give my love to all those I ever loved, past and present and future. I give my love to God for loving me, for letting me love for letting me be loved. You are among those I name, Junior is among those I name. But it is still true. I do not expect the great fruition of my being to be as I dreamed. I took, I took, I took, I took and took again but did not give as I should.

Constance is right, she said it correctly; "once Romeo and Juliet are together it is the end for this plane, for this ever so flawed but ever so beautiful copy of Eden. They will only be together when once again they walk the paths of Eden with the first Father and with the first Friend. When all of his children, their children join them."

Steve, I cannot tell how much I want Joe's love to be the answer to the call of your heart; how I want for your love to be the answer to the call of his heart. I do, I cannot tell you how so. I love you both so much. As you do, I sit and I weep for the hurt that you both have received. I do not weep for the hurt that I have received for in truth all that has ever been given to me has been beautiful, wonderful; they are roses of gold with thorns of rusted iron.

For tasting of the tree I, with my eternal partner, am damned here. I wish I could breathe right now, it would be a bit less painful but my mortal chest with an immortal heart within is strained beyond what I expected; it is constrained.

As Amset did before me, I am here at the temple gate. I am ready to battle, willing to battle, the courage and might is here. I pray I have learned the wiles necessary to succeed all in a battle to my death once again in the name of love.

Plastic roses and a subway sandwich. Are the roses red? It is important to me to know this. Plastic roses; blooms whose colors are long in fading, a surface beauty lasting longer than so I may survive. I do not wish to leave you here alone and I do not want his child to be destroyed. I stand at my window my arms to the world, I send my love across.

I send it even now, I will risk the real ones; creations of those who were made in the image of the Creator but not the creator Himself. Creations lacking the essence, the attar of the real but on a level that is significant to rival that of God's. A subway sandwich, was it turkey or chicken? It is something more I need to know. A subway sandwich, nourishment for the body, the temple of the soul. It is not making dinner but it is a struggled compromise to fulfill a promise; just as you saw. It is a step, it is a movement that is not without care.

I had keys made this day. I gave Junior a key to my apartment today. He was impatient to learn the lower door code. I should have written it for him. I had another key made for you. I told him, my house is his house just as my heart is his heart. The same goes for you; my house is your house, my heart is your heart. I will see you tomorrow and that is good.

The witching hour approaches, within minutes it is here. Another thread of love I send across this land, a life line bringing you back. It is sent. . .