A very soft, lightly colored pulse was pumping into the ether. It was emanating from a very slight domo, tucked into the most inconspicuous spot. Though lacking attention catching volume, the steadiness of the signal got it noticed above suspicions. Gradually it became comfortably familiar. Familiar like an old friend. It was recognized to be uninterrupted. The soft signal could always be sensed, in spite of all the other continuously changing polar events, and vacillating happenings. It was reliable. The colored pulse kept pumping with the rhythm of ageless pastel bright, into the fluid of the atmosphere all about. It is a sacred space which holds the domo. The signal seeking it’s lone. The wave pressures would reach our tissue fondly. Remote aches dissolved in an embrace of delicate cover now holding each lovely. As the broken hearts, of each of the lost, cried despair, the pulsing soft signal provided it’s most profound meaning. Broken hearts heal with the love prayed through the domo. Get well. Get well. You are loved.