*Based on a recent dream…
I held tight a familiar, comforting hand, my whole palm wrapped around just one, strong finger and let the vibrations overflow. This time I knew I was about to go under. Feeling the beat echo through my soul ~ wOhmm wOhmm wOhmm. That warm, heavy, rich, unfaultering, bass-line. I slip futher into the deep, velvet, tingle.
The wave drops. I fall and feel my perception blur. The momentum takes over and I become a passenger. I do not resist. I am blind to all but a truthful searing vision. Love-rites the rythym. Truth sings and my body dances. Lucid and aware in an altered place. A silky, incandescent, subliminal layer. An infinte stream of conscious. I focus within breath.
Nothing More/Nothing Less.
There’s sense in waves. Patterns. Rythym. A truth settles on my shoulders, disguised as a butterfly; Ease the burden and do not let your precious Mother carry a load and hold a pain that you can manage yourself. Help her carry the weight of the world. The light and dark. The one and the zero. Share. Love. Become the part and the whole. Unify.
You are strong. Your branches are not so weak as when you were a child. You have grown. You have learned to carve your tales as a totem pole and carry it with strength. She has others to protect now. Our Mother, our home, our biosphere, our paradise has raised us. She cares for us when we are sick. All she desires is love in return. Be kind and loving. Be truthful and loving. In thought, action and deed.
The injured souls you carry and feed. These are versions of yourself that you thought you could become. They are your fears and insecurities. It’s time to let them go. You cannot save all of the stray dogs. Some may try to bite you when you stop feeding them. Stand strong. Don’t relinquish your power.
You have never forgotten how to dream, only fragmented them into pieces, disappointed with all, except perfection and sleep. It’s time to accept foe and friend. Remember the unified-time-stream. With ancestors and ancients. Tribes and tribulations. Let them tell you their tales.
Officials. Attending with queries. Needing evidence. Those that were seen dancing were thought to be mad by those that could not hear the music. Plastic. Ocean. Storm. Each wave you fight to hold on for your space on the boat. To not fall into the void and cease to be.
I met a small girl. I know ‘she’ is ‘me’.
The child I was scared of. The vulnerable power. The realisation I am powerful. I always was. I was just guarded. Sub-dued by duel authority. Awaiting instruction. Angry and fearful. And concerned with the noise of others.
I see you. I recognise you are a part of me. A shadow I was too scared to notice. And every time I ignored you it shattered you more, until your eyes were empty from not being seen. I am sorry. I didn’t believe such a knowing of innocence could possibly survive in places I had been.
Yet, I see that I have. A divergence is only noticeable after the event. When there are 2 possible paths and 2 futures are projected; you only realise the one that you followed when the time has already passed. The other becomes another distant relative.
True-love-rebels are the ones that dare witness. They simply observe, hold and love. Quietly. Willfully. They collect the silky threads of knowledge, knowing and time and weave them into bandages. Medicine. Healing-song. Beats. Rythym. Life. To be played with the children, another echo, a further future. The notes the children of tomorrow will sing.
Connection to one. Returning to zero. To keep sane and open when the dancing is over. The beat fades out. LUCID dreaming. Eyes wide shut. Reality shifted. Acknowledge the knowledge.
Do not try to modify memories, already gone. Knowing you are coming from a place that needs no adjustment in the past. You are responsible for your time in space and space in time. Look to yourself. Awaken in life.
And those that could not hear the music, those spectators watching from the surety of the shore. Those that identified with identity. Those that limited their passing through ports. Those that tightly gripped their official passports. Those that chose not to see. Their eyes looked fearful when the storm finally came. Eternal sleep. Worry not, it was all just an illusion, a hazy, forgotten, memory of a dream.