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One day I was wrong, hurt me liver, from the morning all day and night Flights To Gwalior. When I was better again, I heard an angel in a dwarf’s throat. Read as in a protest. He cried and cried. And not only that we read the dwarf in the throat, apparently tiny angel, I began to dream, to speak to some unknown language. Linguists would be easy to convince that this is not a modern language, not the old historic language. It is alleged Grabancijaš language. In my own discoveries about the very angels helped me a great mystics like St. Thomas, Hildegard von Bingen and Meister Eckhard.

This entry was posted on Monday, February 15th, 2010 at 6:47 pm and is filed under Travel. Both comments and pings are currently closed.