Lucid Into the Memory of the People

I dreamt a memory of grandmother. I woke into the dream sitting with grandmother in front of a boulder rock in a river bed. She was teaching me how to listen and speak to the stones. The river had gone deep down into the earth this dry summer. I was granddaughter and went back to camp upon this dreamerers request. We must have been here for more then a day.I slip into my dreaming self to touch this perhaps tent of the finest leather I have ever felt. It looked like some cozy small sweat lodge, but I saw no entrance? Then we heard grandmother shout. I drew myself back into the body of granddaughter. "It's you". Grandmother leaped and was the body of Tiger. We flew up to track. Grandmother said, we need this one to help the waters. I saw something white move like snake. And then it showed it's face. A face that didn't appear to belong to this one. Grandmother will catch it soon enough, before it touches the waters that go to learn within the deep of mother. Feeling: loved and learning Reality Check: I woke with strength. The memory stayed with me and with it an attitude for a time, from a time when a young girl learned the land from her grandmother. Later after coffee and a walk I continued to hold this memory and drew a turtle's back to map where I was. I will research the leather structure to see if it was a tent,constructed into it's shape of the turtles shell?

The Thing About Dragons

To stand there

Facing one

Armor and sword melting

No cavernous consciousness can match

This primal force

Stand facing and
Drift inward without a fight

You will find the treasure of your might

It is the heart, it is the light

Nasa
Wreath 

Not All of Us are Narcissistic

I listened to Octavia Butler's Parable of the Sower last evening and colored. She's a difficult writer for a listener/reader to put down. I was more then half way through. It was midnight and I had to work in the morning. The minute my head hit the pillow I was traveling in the hypnagogic. At first it was one animal after another and another. The images streaming by were not extraordinary, but the sensations from them were filled with confusion. When I slowed this conscious state down I saw a black bear grab a white pole into the sky further then I could see. I saw a lioness frozen in time and the sensation of confusion rose in me once again. Then an incoherent white something. I woke and it took some time to brave up into dreaming again. I must admit I get angry sometimes at how self centered the human race is. We are not the only animals inhabiting this world.

When I finally went back to sleep I slipped into a chaos of older people. I was determined to get through these sensations of fear and confusion. In the crowd was a white haired woman wearing lavender, so I focused all my attention into slowing the streaming and into seeing her. I asked, do you want me to dream deeper with you? She must have had parkinson disease. I was teaching her how to walk more slowly, feel her feet and fall in love with the earth under them. She was a happy older woman and I woke feeling a bit less dreadful. I had an aunt with this struggle. She was a funny, happy old woman until the day she past. I love that she was in my life.

I will have to take time today to fall in love with people again. I find the whole of my species to be extremely self centered among the animal kingdom. I wonder if narcissism is on the rise in psychiatrist's offices?  I love the way Octavia Butler writes. Perhaps that's why I have to step away from her Earthseed books. I am a sensitive in a different way from her main character, but relate to the main character nonetheless. Her book parallels too closely to the chaos of 2020.

I am only working three hours today. On my way to work, in the middle of the road there were four peacocks around a white one, injured on his side on the oil road. I stopped the car and jumped out. He was dying and I wondered if this was that white incoherent something that I woke from last night in the liminal dreaming. He was dying slowly so I held an image of flight and ease and went to step on his neck to kill him swiftly. Just as I was stepping this younger man came running from behide me. He had gorgeous muscular tattooed arms. I said, he's dying and I was going to kill him so he wouldn't suffer so long. He grabbed me and hugged me. He said, yes it's ok. He is my bird, I have lots of birds. He picked him up and said he would take care of him. I got back in my car and thought how weird sometimes that my day life is much more dreamy then my night. I felt good about being a human again. How wonderful this man, not narcissistic at all as he walked away cradling this dying bird. Ok, I love humans again.

Dreaming With The Bees

I as dreamer am flying from my body in bed just a little ways into my backyard along the inbetween space where the corn field meets the unmowed yard. I see children, maybe human and maybe not, frolicking along this space. They are wearing gas masks and I feel disheartened. I find my whole self collecting into one calm breath before going deeper into this dream. Then a sensation as if a veil poofs away. I am four now. I am me flying above aware of my embodied thoughts and self in bed. This me is as an umbrella holding the image of the children energy wearing gas masks and asking how can this be changed. I am another who wears the face of the sun. I am another who wears the face of the honeycomb geometry. I am another who flies swiftly with focused intent. It is intense to hold the sight of gas masked children/bees. As I dream with/as the two faces, sun and honeycomb, the buzzing one takes us through several points of actions that have the children playing unmasked along the corn and yard. I watch and feel the hexagonal communications and my face shifts hues of green. I watch the subtle designs come into the honeycomb, like buddings of plants through seasons. Myself in bed breaths deep and leaves this dream. I wake quivering. I say, what if I plant selenium, will that help?
Feeling: sad and hopeful mixed together

Reality Check and Action plan: - The non-cooperation among the farmers around my home results in many different chemicals being sprayed with no regard to their interactions. It is eerie how toxins get normalized into social use in my country.
                         + I have been  asking about the bees and the eerie lack of them since I have come to this farm. This summer around the prayer garden and the shaking of the lovely mulberry, mighty pollinator, a large collective of honey bees buzzed about me. I sat with them on the unmowed lawn in the clover several weeks ago. My heart was in such delightful laughter just like it gets when I play with children.
                         + I am experiencing how one action has a ripple effect on this farm and with this farmer and me. I will not let my mind fall!
                         + Many years ago, with my younger son, we did a curriculum piece around planting selenium and all the benefits to soil and... I'll do a study for a week with this and whatever else comes.
                         + I'm excited to be joining in a teaching tour at a regenerative organic farm 80 miles away. The farmer I live with and I have worked out how not to use chemicals in the horses field.
                          + I am growing patience within. I will pay extra attention to what attracts me this week. Writing this my attention is attracted to this toy my dog has chosen to play with beside me. I see it is a sphere shaped from hexagons.
                           + Pay attention to what is said and seen in any in between or transitional spaces. Esp. pay attention to what I speak upon waking.

Balcony Holder

I have the whole day to myself on the farm. This is the ending of a very strange vacation. I didn't travel south to see my family and I ate cookies at midnight watching a movie on fostering children. I have been comet gazing, but last night the clouds and rain and thunder kept me in. I was so awake after the cookies and decided to polish off a chapter called myths and molecules.

I'm not sure when I transitioned out of reading into a dream where I was at the edge of the woods deciding if I would take the hand of this woman reaching from the woods edge. Perhaps having my self in bed awake inside this scene, had my dreaming self brave up and take her hand? Again I don't know how I transitioned from walking in the woods beside this woman to working and living with a family from Mexico with more than two children. I spent the night waking up into dreams of woods and not awake to the transition from one dream to another.

My favorite dream of the woods was me as my archer self standing rather taller than my body in bed. I woke in front of this lovely oak who was talking to me. Someone had trimed the top off of his canopy, but he appeared to have enough to thrive. He asked me if I wanted to come for a walk in the woods with him. Gabby, my dog was a bit afraid of him and he understood I wouldn't go without her. He then bowed his head in an offering of a balcony space for Gabby on top of his canopy. She was wagging her tail and jumped all in. I walked beside him and then a ripple, the light shifted into richer colors. I love this wood where I feel at home in. The green is so rich. There's no sensual distinction of mind that says I am plant life, I am animal animal life, water life... It's as if all life were joined in this richness, perhaps creation flowing. Not that we all are singular minded or not unique in form. Maybe it's that we beat in one heart? It is difficult to describe. Perhaps heaven is useful a word?  We made our way to a milky white moon clearing. Gabby jumped down and laid with me to gaze at the stars.  Then this oak who's name I can't pronounce and don't dare attempt to write, creates an arch so his face is looking upward. Gabby starts barking and running under and around the arch. I am laughing on the grass wondering where the comet is.  The oak I will call Balcony Holder goes into a stillness I can not match.

Again I did not wake up during the transition from this last dream to my feet touching the floor, out of bed and onto the front lawn. A squirrel crossed the yard and Gabby was gone into the small wooded area. I stood there with the lovely barn swallows excited in this last day of my vacation. I thought sense this is still my vacation, I'm going to let the dishes stack up. I'm going to write and grow some adventurous stories.

I went to feed the goats and horse after my morning coffee and a funny tongue and cheek post about disorderly nuts in the pantry. Kind of gave me a chuckle and feeling of no worries, that man has a clear orderliness for his nuts in the pantry. The goats and horse didn't appear in high excitement for the day. I wonder where they wandered in their dreams? I then had a thought, perhaps with that old oak, Balcony Holder, I am safe during the transitions. Oak has much meaning for me. On my way back to grab my bow and arrows I thought, oh boy are we in a messy, chaotic transition time.

Not the Covid Mask

My last act into sovereignty was to release the word underdog from my vocabulary. I can understand underdog from a gaming perspective. Yes it is exciting to cheer for a person or team that appears unlikely to win. Some paradigms are best left in the world of game playing. As for society, love and soul underdog denotes a person or people into a lesser position of need to strive. It often requires the striving to achieve and drop one's uniqueness into some herd mind glory. Often many forget they are not the cultural mask rewarded, they are not some cultural ideal. To "skill up" in order to further one's climb up the social ladder is madness. Becoming does not have to do with social status. No matter where a human lands in her life, she is no underdog to that life. In a dream I watched this last cultural mask chained about my neck, burn like some moth to the flame. Unchained I flew into the fire also and transformed.

A Goddess, raw with fresh earth stained between her toes entered. From her wealth of harmonics she voiced. I am the space within you offering warmth, safety and grace for all that is wild. I am a beacon for the wild earth ones. I am the music, the wave that carries the self to the self. I am the quiver holding your light and fire as you travel your passion outward.

To be a mask wearer you will follow your passions with undaunting dedication. To be a mask wearer you will know and love deeply the unmasked self. You will own your feet that touch the earth and chose the shoes that fit your sovereignty. To be a mask wearer is to be untainted by it's lusters.

Several days past this sovereign work, I continue to walk with vibrant skin. Embodied with that luscious life force, I stay centered with the help of a few animal guides coating my skin. Heightened in this sensual stream I laugh often this morning on my walk along the corn field, through the trees and over to the horses field. There is one feather in my hair. The blade of grass moves uniquely in the smooth ripple, waving in unison with all the others across the lawn.

Then indoors with my coats. Animal guides can bring in unpredictable weirdness from electronic devices. We were playing Catan at the table when I asked google, how many times is the word lamb written in the bible? Over 500 times. More than any other animal, says the voice from the speaker. I than ask google, how many times is lion mentioned in the bible? There is a noticeable pause and we get a question asked back. Do you want to know how many times a lion can mate in one day? Oh my Goddess we are laughing. Of course I say. Lions have been known to mate up to 100 times a day, says the google voice from the speaker at the kitchen window.

Vision Dreaming

The ocean is white rapids moving, washing away structures. From it's foam, new life on the shores. The white rapids bring in seafaring canoes. The child separates from their parent, no longer sits in their high chairs. They are given their own seafaring ways. The adults soon will pass, are given a Mighty Spirit to fare the swift current. Are sometimes beside their children and sometimes not.

Dear Prophets, bring a focal voice to the path before you. Take care, do not spout your ambient voice into egoic richess. This will muddy the messaging.  The people who can hear will gather together. This will be best in a slow steady pace.  Dreaming the prophet into shaman affords a sovereign gait to the vital growth. Daggers are blunted to sovereign feet. As for the liminal Flow, let the water lead you where you need your feet to walk earth. The winds will guide the air and pattern the fiery flames of human hearts at the hearth, from the candle, and campfires in tented communities. Some as a torch to the toxic strangle.

As the flowering grows, each species working colors from their own boundaries of absorbed light, pulse patterns to support the fresh world.  Many bridges of star to earth. New forms are birthed. As the flowering grows no longer one species for themselves.

Looking Back: Chapter 12 Healing the Amnesiac

2020 was the year of many heroes. There were holes everywhere in the thinning amnesic membrane. The the human species had lathered it on thick this time. What a mess we were making. It was not a pretty time. It was an exciting time. There, whether seen through the translucent thinning membrane or through rawness of direct vision from the holes, all potential for the bright cohesive collective that was to be, gathered. It was a grand and uneasy time. I joined the doormaker to help ease the light coming through the holes and give choice to the apertures openings. I say this was an exciting time because humanity was regaining their sight back. We were growing the 2020 eyesight with 360 degree vision once again. The Doormaker Guild was able to help bring the chaos into a focused Beauty. Slowly the people of this time stopped calling themselves crazy. The simple act of writing this history in my room in the library has me feeling that quivering. It is goosebumps everywhen. They shake and ripple along the river of my many lives. 

Slowly we the people of this time, stopped calling ourselves crazy. Many helping spirits whispered the most Beautiful songs to help us. It was this wash of song that held us in a sanity while this thick unsightly membrane broke and we birthed. Again a ripple. I am quivering at the sightly Beauty growing in this period. I forgot what the elders called this phase?  My life in this time during it's later years came to know the excitement of resistance. Montana would take it as a cue into action. She knew through fire and I knew because of her, that one step action dissipated the dread. She knew helping attractors would come in to birth multiple paths of growth. It was a difficult birth for the collective soul. Perhaps because of our stubborn resistance to letting go of the wrapping of ignorance to the many realities, we gained a trumpeting song to the helpers of heaven. The doormakers were not the only style of hero to step humanity into seeing the deepening light. There's a place of light that dances with color and affords us stability in the expansion of our collective heart. I say it was a time of heroes because that's what it took for those who had already lived lives in heaven to not only return, but step out with sovereign feet.

The word door is a common symbol to give individuals an action into their own Souls light. It is a path so each may unwrapped from their membrane of amnesia. On the side past death, it is really not so much a door but that which holds ease. I love the last half of Montana's life. It strengthens my other lives. She is a gentle power for the whole of us to smooth the edges of our lives. As she worked from her bright Soul beyond the dark night of this collective shock, she walked in a sovereign ease.

Oh sweet Jesus it was not easy to open my door. When I did is when I started to sleep with an image of the Elephant under my pillow. I imagine from an amnesiac looking in, my life looks simple and mundane. I find that to be a good mask to wear when working with any life thickly coated in unsightfulness. Several days ago I walked to the mulberry tree to shake it's berries onto a cloth. I did not connect then that I was singing a songline across the heart expanse into this action, into this space where I pray with the three sisters and radishes I am gardening. Bees like I have never seen on this farmland before come in to buzz around my feet in the clover as I shook the tree. Perhaps I did not look so mundane in the eyes of those unseeing ones of the many realities. I imagine I looked like some simpleton sitting in her PJ's laughing in the middle of the flowering clovers. I knew then that the soil from the farming lands here would be healthy again.

Let me tell you this short story of a ritual of pulling up weeds and taking down a fence in the horses field...

Aspiring Attitude

As I go through my writings, I am astonished at how many I weed out.  I found a jewel today that gave me much needed inspiration to overcome my piss poor attitude. I've been wallowing in a belief I am just too mushy and dorky a person to ever write like Neil Gaiman. Why even write? Then this piece and I had to double check to make sure it was mine. Then a mirror for my ego and I am strutting a new attitude.

The Gentle Power That Heals

It has been less than two years that I have been living on this farm in Sky Country. The green of the summer is spectacular. It ignites with sky blue into a strength of broad horizons. It invites me into it's embrace, waking up my memory so I stand at ease into broad horizons with strength to soar. I get to work with this amazing boy riddled with speech and language disorder and intense sensory sensitivities and defensiveness. He also has a desire to be apart of the language of his family. We had this break through together where he was able to use words in a joke, to tease me. The energy was delightful ease. On my way home from work the sun was dipping into twilight and a deer was in the corn field. I stopped diagonal on the dirt road to signal to the other car that a deer was about to bound across the rode. We sat there watching it's delightful ease bounding from field to creek bed and trees. I could not tell if she knew we were watching. It was the same energy I felt with the little boy earlier, no fear, ease and a delight risen up in my heart.

I started thinking how I no longer claim to be a christian. I refuse to let the dogma, the mental mandates of the church taint a long time relationship with christ that is this stir of delight into Beauty rising. I am more connected to the stories of a christ called Jesus in my experiences with Deer and with this little boy I work with, then a church. I talked with the mother the other day about my belief of healing. I said I can write and talk all the details of sensory motor integration and modulation, how they feed attention, reciprocity and language, but they are secondary. This bonding of family and community is the spark, it's the juice that makes it happen. So we both agreed Love rules his healing path. I felt like a dorky hippie saying it's all about Love and sang a few Beatles lines in my head. I also mentioned the story of the Roseto Mystery and offered her the reference from Malcolm Gladwell's book, Outliers. It is a story about how the community of Roseto, Pennsylvania have most of it's people dying from old age. It talks about a physician named Wolf and Bruhn, a sociologist, who brought their findings to the medical establishment to convince them to think about health and heart attacks in a entirely new way. They had to look beyond the individual and stop analyzing their choices and actions in isolation of their community. There is a magic in community in this small town for this little boy. As we go to the grocery store, or donut shop or city park I receive the most marvelous stories of this little boy. Each person we met gets in rhythm with him. There is no therapeutic modalities between him and them. It's fantastic. Lips turn upward and eyes widen and that gentle power that heals washes over both of us.

Otherworld Wild

I blur the line you draw for me
And take on the misty veil
And see beyond your tired god
I know myself of fire and water, earth and air.

I am more of Lilith, than Eve
I am myself known
I am the Wild of you
The veil is not danced for your delight

Drawing lines of your authority
Does not hold me
Come out from your crumbling temple
You lonely god

Beyond the mystic veil
There is a wonderment
For all you call Wild in this world
It is lit up with the voice of heart and change

Image: by Josephine Wall

Vision

"Among the racing stars,
Upon the arms of light,
The path of sprouting green is made…"

The Silver Eye
Unlocking the Pyramid Texts
Susan Brind Morrow

I am Becoming. Folding inward. Unfolding and pulsing back again. I abandon the process of cultural lock and key.  The River knows no directional flow with Source to the Becoming.

I am Being and do not abandon the play of keys. Holding to my nature I sense. Holding to my nature I grow voice in the fertile silence. The River knows coming and going with Source in the Being.

This world sensual, Being and Becoming. For you, I will not abandon my nature. I drape myself in my robe of stars. Walking bare foot on Earth, often I fall to my knees.

Unbinding the clinging mind, cultural Becoming and Being will cease to be a prison.

In great times of strife and darkness, the brightest of stars are born. In great times of strife and darkness, each family, each nation a bright star. New constellations pattern the skies.

Where Does My Anger Go?

Where are our memorials to the Women Warriors?

It is not only men of war that overcome flashbacks.

How many raped come home and thrive, how many do not?

My anger rises within the silencing of women.

My anger rises in the unsafe spaces of intolerance of speech.

Who can listen to an angry woman talking about being raped?

The victims voice we feed and then,

We go no further to the heroic welcoming home parties.

We stay ignorant and stupid.

She's exaggerating. She wanted him to play rough. She's making it up.

And what of the platform from childhood rape, when we push correctness of memory?

Where is the broader understanding of the truth of flashbacks?

My anger bends away from Fuck You!

My anger turns into determination.

I have made it home and whole,

I am an open and safe space for you.

I have a vision.

One step at a time, 

Into the creative flow,

Gathering energy as I go into community, We are

there beyond the anger and victim games.
We are a safe community toward wholeness, whispering

If you need to say Fuck You, say it .

We will hold that hand and nurture you home.

Being

Quit some years ago I met a man because I wanted to learn from him. Several years before I met him I slid into being a lucid dreamer. In those days I went from Beauty to horror to mundane through out the night. I reached out into community and discovered a dream group. It was a style that helped some. I went to yoga, learned about nutrition, mediatated, became a Nia instructor, expanded my religious understandings, drummed, danced, went to sweat lodges, studied science, read poetry, drank tequila, and play wrote. I say play wrote because I never could get past the overshadowing of my own thought that I was not capable of becoming a writer. All I did before I met this teacher helped some.

Now because I was befriended. Because the intentional community he organized and facilitated did not crumble under my chaos, but held as I did the work. Because his words were so humanly flawed, not perfect, and so brilliant and perfect. Because I know I don't know all the
Be- Causes, language and writing are as equally awake in me as my dreaming. I have a few other people in my life whose Being holds safe brillant lit spaces for my growth. On my walk this morning in a fit of gratitude and humbleness, I flicked away the dull thought, "How can I ever pay this teacher back"?

Now I take my Being into play with all the luscious sensations, chores and synchronicities of the day. I have the greatest initiation to bring into play for when I drift awake into the night. I can say it's prayer at the altar of dreaming. I feel anticipation like a child before she is able to unwrap her christmas presents. Oh how I love to play!

Prayer Is Bridges of the Imaginal Mind

I am not sure I know many people who's lives have not experienced the brush stroke of prayer. We call out to possibility from the warmest places of heart and spirit. We join forces into re-creation from the long time voice of prayer. Now it is the age of expansion and growth. Now it is a time when the imaginal mind brings the creative force, out of isolation. Prayer is not the only modality the imaginal mind has. We are in a time of expanding our daily practices from those vital fires of Beauty and Love. We brilliantly lead with this mindedness in hand with our logical minded skills. Humanity sometimes storming and sometimes as a warm gentle breeze, makes it's way here into this expansion.

I know my imaginal mind brings forth from a co-creation of my imagination and structures, instructions, inspirations and play from the Divine. Robert Moss's writings have been the most helpful for me. "The imaginal realm is a fundamental ground of knowledge and experience. In this realm human imagination meets intelligences from higher realities, and they co-construct places of healing, instruction and initiation. Here ideas and powers beyond the grasp of the ordinary human mind - call them archetypes, tutelary spirits, gods or daimons - take on guises humans can begin to perceive and understand." He writes of the advances in hard science, especially in the field of psychoneuroimmunology that "supply overwhelming evidence that the body believes in images, and that our thoughts and feelings can make us sick or make us well." Instinctually and practical sense wise, who of us does not know the thoughts and feelings that can heal? Robert goes on to say, "There is a world between time and eternity with structures created by thought that outlast anything on earth."

It takes practice to bring about a wholeness of mind. It takes practice. I find a heart full of wonder (Does not the kingdom belong to the child?) works well to recognize and open the doors into these realms. As Robert suggests, " You may enter through the gate of dreams, or the gate of death or on nights when you drop your body like a bathrobe." Forming sight into synchronicities grows the imaginal mind and paths into and from the day. Action brightens and eases this expansion of the human mind. Hand in hand we grow.

Flashlighting From The Imaginal Realm

I have no interest in the reader who might wish to gaslight this reality. Those readers who's mind is speaking, "bullshit piece of new age weirdness", I hope will stop reading at this sentence. I am interested in the reader that knows this reality or is open to experiencing it.

This is the realm of reality I speak from, "The Imaginal Realm is a fundamental ground of knowledge and experience. In this realm human imagination meets intelligences from higher realities, and co-construct places of healing, instruction and initiation. Here the ideas and powers beyond the grasp of the ordinary human mind - call them archetypes, tutelary spirits, gods or daimons - take on guises humans can begin to perceive and understand. "
Robert Moss
Blog post Wednesday October 24, 2018
Mysterious Realities: An Interview about Many Worlds, parallel lives, kairomany and dream travel

My dream: I am prey, a rabbit I suspect. I am running at an alarming rate through the underbrush. My very human dreamers mind talks, "There is no thought here. Only alarm." I notice my body in bed is being affected. I wake softly into the inbetween and relax my physical body. Then back into the dream. I am now the predator, a golden eagle. I am flying away and up. Such a luscious sensation of ease and what? My human mind, or perhaps some spirit helper, throws up an image to associate all these sensations into. I see a cast iron skillet mounted on a rooftop. As we land on it I jump from the body of this animal to watch. I see the eagle flapping her wings. I see talons holding and the beak ripping. I look behind the wings flapping and an image of windows in M.C. Escher style are closing and opening. Past the image are lights of a soft glow with the patterns creating from their movements. I can see the patterns into a cohesive design of beauty growing .

Feeling upon waking: high alert, not alarmed, restless

Reality Check: I get up to go to my own bedroom to sleep. It's 1:00 am. Eric gets up and we both see a light pulsing, brighter then dimmer in my bed room. I muster up my courage and before I step in the light stops. When I go to attempt sleep my dog jumps out of bed three times. She is not only barking as she peers out of the kitchen window, she is doing this unusually howling sound. We go outside once between 2:00 and 3:00 to stand under a clear sky and blustery wind. This morning Eric goes in to check what was making that light go on and off. He couldn't find any visual solution and suggests it was the humidifier. I haven't turned that on all week I say. He goes back to his work in his office, but my mind is still in what if mode.

If this was your experience...

Image: Audubon Society

Divining

One of my favorite geniuses is the skill of bringing the seen and unseen into story. We are the ones who tell the stories and from story we travel. We remember. We know. From story all the layers of our senses come alive. Some stories from the clinging to defensive fears and hate do not come alive but bring early death. Story is our ticket to many looks and voices. Story is a double edged sword that can grow the mind vital and free, or stunt it into servitude. Story is that stroke of genius that is the precursor to creation of form.

I will share with you my morning world. I have my story from this experience. If this resonates with you, I invite you to divine your own story from it's many signs and voices.

Before I step outside I wonder if the wind is too strong and mischievous today. I tuck myself along the christmas tree grove, protected from the wind. I sit and read about ancient Egypt. After I finish I go to reading a report from an active dream sister. Next I take to walking with my dog into the groove. The wind is strong from the NW. The clouds are moving fast along the clear blue canvas. I see the hawk fly easy just above the tree tops and laugh feeling this is a clear helping wind, not mischievous after all. I look directly North, hearing and seeing the geese as my dog takes off in a run. I run with her shouting and laughing into the NW until she stops. When she turns back running toward me I see a rather fresh deer leg in her mouth.

Galactic Birth Marks

My dreams have shifted a bit into an astral/galactic theme. This is from last nights dream.

I am a young member of an intergalactic team.  We observe and investigate births. I am learning how to detect five patterns of birth. When a birth happens in at least one of these conditions I am responsible for placing the stone. In what feels analogous to a kitchen I discover a birth about to happen. My vision is localized so all I observe is a wall surface that looks metallic but is not fully solid, nor is it cold. Some one from the group who has not entered this space, reviews the five designs or conditions with me. I find this one forming from the first set. I reach my hand into a space that feels of Love and Beauty. I bring forth that vibration cupped in my hands into this kitchen feeling space. I hold my hands steady, cupped until a stone forms. I write on the stone knowing that this provides something like a beacon and protective field. I know there is something like an archangel, or perhaps more like a warrior/fairy goddess mother that will come when needed or called by this being about to be birthed.

Reclaiming Soul Travel Within the Temporal Rhythms of Our Humanity

The liminal state often prepares my senses to dive into a deeper and more vast place of Being. It is not unlike putting on a warm coat for a wintry moonwalk about the farm. I am practiced to maintain that warm pause into the flow of the hypnagogic. Sometimes it is faces, sometimes landscapes, and sometimes color and light birthing into lively patterns. These days I have been experiencing animals in this transition state as I lay my body to bed. Calming and holding a sense of warm peace is good practice for any state of being. I notice a deer in calm among the rush of animals. When I draw my attention to her, her antlers begin to reform into the Fearn letters. Now instead of antlers is a message. Instead of the intense rush of the hypnagogic it is as all my senses are wrapped in this sensual warm blanket as I listen.

"I will take you to the alder tree.
The doorway opens to the sound of my hooves.
Ride with me."

It was smooth riding and the sensation shift was not unlike entering from a snowy moonwalk on the farm to inside my home. Knowing that we bring experiences back from the thresholds of the many realities of Being, I practice sensory awareness during the day. One practice to grow sensory intelligence is to pause and move slow enough during the transition at the doorway of your home. Feel all the variations and differences of outside and inside. These practices or games that come for me to do in the day help me at all levels of wakefulness.

I was on the back of deer, dropping my thicker coat of consciousness, when I dropped my bare feet onto the green moss bed. I slowed down into a pause to feel the sensation. To be awake in my dream body that is not as thick feeling as my physical body, seems to afford me a deeper sensual connection with all that is around me. When I am more lucid in these dreaming states, my sensitivity grows in the day. It is a growth that includes shaking away defensiveness responses during the day. I am in balance within my circadian biology.

There is a brook here that filters into the freshest of babbling sounds, touching the ancient stones. My hiraeth is at ease. This is a much needed respite from the loud tumult of modernity's fears. I linger a while in this place where everything feels fresh. I do not enter the next level that calls to me in the music of brook and stone. I chose to carry this calm back to the sun time of my physical body in bed. It is a warm, steady sensation, this fluidity upon the ancient stones. It is song steady. I part ways from the chaos of moderities fears.

It Takes One

My story today from a dream last night.

I live in a small village. The American helicopter lands once again with it's troops for us to feed. We are told they are here to protect us. Even though we are not part of that story, we feed them. It's a good trade as many of them have the best stories. On one visit the leader of the soldiers refused to get back on that war bird. I saw into this as he dropped one knee and stayed his ground. Many did not get on that helicopter and a few did. When it took off I saw into the decay of this and all helicopters like it. So it is I say to the village, this one man's act of defiance cloaked us from their warring maps. We celebrated that night and I dreamed onward for my people.

These men of a country I never knew existed, stayed with us and families grew. Where the first man who dropped a knee to the earth and refused the war bird, a black crystal grew. It was taller then any man or woman of the village. It's many surfaces allowed the people to gaze from the eye of any celestial sphere. Soon after we found we too could be as spheres, the animals of the jungle came to gaze at it's surfaces. The people no longer needed the black crystal to see or travel. We were master dreamers. After a while a Tiger came and the villagers wondered what a Tiger might see in the mirror of sight. I saw in my dream boar, antelope, birds, and monkeys. When visiting one evening a lightning came from the sky. The Tiger opened up and stones like a fountain came from the belly of Tiger. When we gathered them in and made necklaces, we discovered the worlds of all animals. The necklaces had opened up our hearts so we speak, one species to another. The crystal turned clear.

"To bring the flat landers out into the deeper order of reality is not enough." I understand this statement from her. We have had so many conversations through the years. This morning from a lovely talk with her, I wrote this:

Wellness and Attitude

If one takes the attitude of ritual into reforming daily habits there is a deepening of wellness in the practice. Undoubtly this will lead to staying the new healthier habit. Bringing stressfull thoughts and attitude into the action of shifting habits is like swimming up stream to get to the same shore that is there right beside and below you. 

Art: Jonathan Rhys

Choose Your Mind

"... I hope that you'll always remember that your life is charmed, and that your magic is you; and you don't have to prove anything to yourself or anyone else to get it!"
Jane Roberts
The Further Education of Oversoul Seven

I wake up at 4:00am and review a dream. When I go to look up the name of a cartoon that was playing on the IPad in the dream, I see I have a text from my sister in messenger. She is in Copenhagen. Next I am back to sleep with some delightful energy, including a read about trees from a dear Dallas sister.

Choose Your Mind

I am walking up steps into a building like the style of the University Library in Copenhagen, except the arches are created from pillars of trees that design themselves into the red brick. The lights from the windows vary in shape, color, intensity and movement. As I step through the door way I feel the heart pulse of these trees and movement of brick so luscious. When I go inside and I am discovered to be from Earth, there is a conference of elders. At this point I don't know if I am in trouble, a celebrity or something other? What happened next had me chanting, don't leave this dream, stay calm, stay calm… I experience a bustle of lights varying in color and intensity presenting in the shape of spheres down the hallway. Then they dart towards me as if they might spear into me, they do not. What comes next is a luscious sensation of shaking and tidal waving into my space or creating space? They step into human form at this point. 

We can offer you a choice of any mind you wish. 

An immense delight wells up inside me, again I chant, stay calm, stay calm… 
Well ok, I have many curiosities like science and art, sensation exploration, and Beauty. 

Oh yes. Excellent.

We move into the first archway as if we were floating like the candles in the commons area in Harry Potter. First the literary mind. I watch a swirl of light and colors with a delight and feel pleased that I no longer need to chant. I am finally grounded and centered here. This mixture is then held into an embrace by one and we move onto the next arches. When they prepare me to leave I catch the concept that they were surprised to see me again. Before I could ask what this meant they opened their embraces and a tapestry formed, warm and safe around my body. I shoot like a bullet back to my body in bed. I was surprised not to startle awake but lingered instead on that very thin edge of liminal.  

Some of my thoughts on the liminal edge: I think of what my teacher says and knows for himself. I have the map inside me to return. I am determined to return with this tapestry woven from my choose of minds and experinces here in this body on earth. How fantastic this second half of life. I am hoping to bring back delight to those that wrapped me safe and warm, lit up in swirls of color. I wonder, how many times has my Soul visited this place? I don't even know what this place/space is? What if I wrote my way back? What would that look like? Perhaps this: I write two stories. One as an ancient Soul having lived many lives on other worlds and this is my first visit to the world called Earth. One where I am an ancient Soul, having lived many lives on Earth and preparing to live on another for the first time. This world just there at the edge of my dreams, stirs an aching longing and so i know I have lived it before. The thing is both stories, holding no time, are the same story. Kind of like how when one lives in the Now, future and past are available without directionality. 

Feelings upon waking fully into my body in bed: 1. Excitement (chanting and breathing deep: breath, breath, breath…) 2. Surprise. I didn't startle awake away from the liminal edge as I felt so much  excitement. 3. Love. 

Someone Has to Look After the Youthful Wild Boys

I am moving back into my night dreams through a liminal state. I see board pieces from a previous dream fall away. Then I am watching and I am part of these bears birthing from a cave. It is intense and hard work to be birthed past this membrane that has been nurturing us to full fruition. We are joined together in an unwavering movement of birth. As witness it is rather beautiful to watch the form taking place. I love the faces of these Bears. I travel as witness for a time watching them shake their fur into being. They stay together as pack which seems evolutionary or a uniqueness on a soul level.

Then that sensation of softening into an expanse comes in. Kind of felt like how you step from indoor space to outdoor space with quiet and deeper awareness. Now I am in a dream of exodus. There has been a happening and what could be salvaged was in a covered space. We are refugees and must travel onward to find a new home.  I am having to assert myself to get my dyne that my mother gave me. I take note that it is the same blanket I am sleeping with in my physical body in bed. A man announces that we all need a towel, which has me thinking of Douglas Adams. Maybe this is dimensional upheaval? I am asked to hold vigilance for a few young wild boys. This is not a new request as I often accept responsibility for the young wild boys. We land the night on a strange landscape where the grass is red. The sky is becoming more available to our senses. The boys wish to bunk in a cave. I am done arguing that this is not a good idea, they should stay with the others on the open grassland. I stay just outside the cave so I can watch them and help watch for the openings in the sky. I see one is digging in some small cupboard built into the cave. He finds this strange spider like creature that is plastic and goes to scare the other boys. I see the live one under the cupboard wake up, it is a trap. The hand sized spider like creature moves to go after the boy. I run, putting on my work gloves and grab the thing and kill it. That's it! Look at what happens when you are reckless in play. I make them go to the open grassland and the whole dream feels safe now. This clan is making it's way and I am delighted at the many options toward open sky. I stay until dawn. It is a good sun.

Image: thoughtco.com

An Ancient Calm

Last night when she licked my face to startle me awake I was not so grateful. I put on my warmest clothes and went for a walk in the milky light, full moon so bright. The walk took us around the shed and down a walkway beside the marshy patch. It was when I stepped into the place of trees, I finally grew gratitude for this puppy who woke me. 

Back inside I slipped under that cozy blanket into a wakeful sleep. The hypnagogic is filled with animals again and I was peaceful enough to hold that flow without becoming overwhelmed. I entered this state of being from the state of being brought to me on my moonwalk. I continued the practice of calming beyond alerting to every animal rushing by. My curiosity entered me and grabbed attention toward a most unusual deer. She lay there so calm in the rush of animals.

Before the experiences of the deeper dreaming, my being in the liminal prepared my senses into a focus for the next field of being. It is not unlike putting on a warm coat for a wintery moonwalk about the farm. Breathing into that warm pause I notice her antlers reforming. I hold my attention to the “Fearn” letters. Now there instead of antlers is a message. All my senses, like a warm blanket gathered to listen, “I will take you to the alder tree. The doorway opens with the sound of my hooves. Ride with me now. Ride.”  It was a smooth ride, the sensation shift was not unlike going from the outside into my home space. I dropped my thicker coat of consciousness. Then dropping bare feet onto the warm moss, I pause into that sensation. To be awake in my dream body not as solid as the physical, seems to afford me a deeper sensual connection. The brook here filters only the freshest of babbling sounds, touching the ancient stones. My hiraeth is at ease. This is a much-needed respite from the loud tumult of modernity’s fears. This, I carry back into my day. The moon gently bows to the sun lit time. This an ancient calm that does not shout, nor worry, I carry back with in me. I carry it back to the sun time of my physical body. It is a warm, steady sensation, fluid upon the ancient stones, song steady and I part ways from the chaos of modernity’s fears.

Image by Semka

Traveling the Stars

I sat with the old man. I the dreamer and me the dreaming one, loves him.  When I first met him in my travels, my stubborn mind got that aha of ease that is abounding radiance. As it is among the stars, place is without travel, it is one experience into another. I first experienced him in the bush country. I like it there on nights where the clear fresh twinkle of stars touches my senses as I breath air on this playground called Earth. My mind, less stubborn now, whispers of unbounded radiance, "It’s not  like we all weren’t part of it all along". It’s so easy to love unbounded when another steps in to share.  When one or more from my species twinkles back the eye of their star, wow! There is this aliveness here, on the playground always speaking, sharing, yearning it’s love outward.  He reminds me into my wholeness to lead with my heart. Sitting with him I experience an infectious luminosity that grows easiest in all living beings, in the sharing of presence. He speaks all different ways and I laugh at the accents and words he wears. 

I say this,

Words from the clinging of that hierarchy of value placed on living beings feels like vomit to me. I see it sometimes as a chain around the heart and step back to avoid the vomit that comes from the chain.

He says this,

“It ain’t no good this better then you

It ain’t worth a spit in the bucket

So I’m choosen

Love

And Again Love and again…

It ain’t easy, but it sure is livin

This choosin

I choose my battle

Spit out when I have to

It ain’t a thing I am wantin to be

More or less or... then who I am

You best watch what happens when you are steppin back

Don’t be clingin to the chain of thought”

He draws closer to me and we don’t move an inch.

“When you step back, stay deep inside until that chain holds no power

You have no time for drama in your daily affirmations

Your mind can close doors as easily as it opens them

You share this playground with All that is Now

Play nice”