Who are you when you feel most at home?
How else it is, I feel another energy entered into the space, a download or a change in vibration, direction or frequency. All of these words from the dictionary of the ‘new earth’ do they describe what’s really going on or do they just confuse the listener and reader. Why must we tailor what we create to the minds of others, can’t we just rely upon our pure intentions and the divine to bridge the gap and fill the space, and bring our work to the laps of those who wish to drink it up like dogs, bowls full of shimmering water, their touches gulp it down. How I did the same, to the sweat in my veins and the words that glisten and linger. The poetic tongue the mouth of a beast, it’s one I always knew for its what feasted inside of me, it’s me you see a reflection of thee, maybe that’s who came in and down upon me. We may fight, we may struggle, and hate what comes through what pours forth through our vessels, we may hate and fight, and challenge, we may wish it were all different. But it’s not, and this is how it is, and what can we do with it.
Do you sing with your heart broken? Do your words wish to bring you into repair, or do they keep you low, molding in despair? Like the great hermit seeker, with candle and flame in lantern. I could change directions, flip the script and choose a new destination. What is it that the man is searching for?
When we seek to protect ourselves, is it from others, the voices that may come through into our own lives and mind, or is it from our own aspects of ourselves?
How separate are these things really?
When I feel something that feels like you, when I feel your voice, when I see your face when I hear your call, is this you who speaks through me as I write? Is it you who wishes to be seen? Do my intentions need to be more grounded and real and connected or is this outward flow simply enough?
I feel as though all questions will answer themselves soon enough.
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Breathe, inhale…. Exhale. Relax, release.
Inhale….. exhale, relax, release.
Inhale…. Exhale, relax, release.
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Is it enough to trust the pure intentions? How desperately I crave to go down deep, to swim in it, to feel it all. Fingers morph into the ones from childhood. A friends that I hated. I loved her so, but her fingers, her fingernails, I always hated, they scared me, with their length and bone. I chewed mine down at the time, there was no room left for excess, I was left alone with nothing to squeeze back for I had chewed them down so far. Standing on the ice, still in motion I chewed upon my hands, others moved around, about, they swirled and danced and I stood there chewing and biting and eating the nails that my body had grown for me. Off the ice I was scolded for just being there. That cut down deep, the first ever scolding from a man I held in high regard. It broke my heart.
Maybe these words are meant for a more private place, like my journal to take and to burn. I wonder which outlet is the right place, for all of this, as it all seems to overlap and layer. Is it possible to separate the two or the three of the infinity? Is it possibly to find a way through all of it?
How uncomfortable it all feels. To know and to see and to feel all the layers. Maybe I should just cut my finger nails off so I not longer feel reminded of the one who it reminds me of. I saw her in a dream, and then out in a field, she told me she remembered how I dream. It’s all vague, is this really what will help us heal?
The intentions within it all are just to trust and to let go, we have a whole infinite body of world, I wonder if to make art is enough. Is to create enough? Is that what will rise me up and out of the predicament of my circumstances or is calling it such a limit in and of itself?
How I wish for these things to feel light and fluffy like a buttercup in a field. A butterfly and a popsicle taken to the back of the throat with blood running down. What what what are we running from? The boob punches of the elementary school black top? It didn’t hurt you did it. Last picked, or 3rd to last for some games. Four square felt like a savor. To be kind, it be queen, and the to go inside and drop it all.
I reread, and the words have changed from what came to mind yet they somehow fit the rhyme better this time. Something I may not have originally known. Why is it the discomfort, the ache, and the missing limb that I fall back into? Has the pain been conditioned? Has the suffering been what has shown us our greatest lessons? Is my work to speak in code or to share it all clearly, yet I discover as I go and I share quite easily. Head poking out of the shutters I am here to stay, I am here to share. What is it that you would like to know?
Why is it that fingernails raise a greater alarm then the true heart of one’s being? Is it cruel and unkind to see a night reflection in another and wish for it to be dimmed? Or am I writing from the perspective of some other? All one though, correct?
Universal truth is truth from all angles, it’s seeing all things as just as vital and crucial and relevant. I shared so much, then I hid back away, how do I come back out again?
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I dreamed long ago, months or weeks or hours, that I was needed. I said no, for I didn’t wish to be, I walked away, I ignored the calls, and I put my phone down. It travelled to me through other voices and words and soon I was driving around the baggage, the one in need, that I had run from. I hid my feelings and kept my face looking straight. We ended up at a school. I went up and down staircases as it followed just behind. Quite and open. Soon crept back the thoughts of old, that I thought I had put behind me. I wondered if my mind could be read, I prayed no, for all that came through was judgments and hate, frustrations and blame. I so wished to be done and away from those, but here they were following. I searched this school, I needed to get to room (or the year) 2003, though it was on the bottom floor (foundations). I kept moving, I looked back and realized the way I had just came from had been shut off, big thick doors had closed behind me on the stairwell. The only way out and through was a small opening in the wall, that I had to go through naked to fit. I abandoned the need to find the classroom and slide through. This is that I suppose. My way out of the school and into the vast open air. The expanse of the parking lot. I made it out, and the one the followed still kept up in pace, Open and aware, walking through walls, always just a few steps behind.
I sat In the backseat of a car, now being the one driven, so angry and frustrated that they wouldn’t let me go. I built up furry and terror and summoned darkness from the depths to try and scare them away, and it worked. They jumped out afraid, and in that moment I realized what I had done. I quickly cleaned it up with the help of the angels, and ran after them, now not wanting to be the one left behind. Yelling out to my sister.
The final part, we entered into a home and I was told I must let go, I must trust and be kind and treat others with full respect in order to receive the rewards of what it is that my heart yearns for. A Bluetooth speaker. I stopped in my tracks and took off the feelings like coats. Dropping the anger and comparison and shame and releasing it from my being, so so quickly it happens in dreams. Grandmother willow said that this reality is a dream as well.
A prize was brought down the stairs. A mirror made for me, it had an angel on it embroidered with beautiful beads and lace. I reflection I suppose brought down from the upper realms, made through the portal of a woman, or a child, or a sister or a friend.
The ones I ran from and then again ran to, we all stood tougher and admired the creations of our own hands, or of the hands of one of us. What had been built and constructed; how we could use them, practical yet beautiful things. So wonderful it is that we get to create beauty and live in it.
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Now we come back. And the world I have consciously constructed feels blue and pastel at the edges. Pure is the word once used to describe. Yet what isn’t seen, or what is entirely and completely seen now that I see it, is the darkness, the black, and the gray and the blankets that cover the sun with thorns and wrappings and so I turn inward. How can someone I once admired, as sought after, have become as thin as bone, a frail small woman, still in the center of it all yet her eyes pop out of their sockets with nothing to hold them in place. I once loved you and now I see you gone. I guess I still love you as you are, so entirely and completely, yet love may not be enough to save you, a being outside of my own.
The sun fades behind the trees. Darkness brings light, darkness brings rich complex colors and shadows and mystery, things to be revealed and uncovered and discovered.
How absolutely exhausting it is to spend our time criticizing all that we are, all that we believe, all that we look like and all that we do. All that we create. The hatred off our own tongues would never be something spoken to another, why judge the creation, the body, the masterpiece of work, when it’s all in an active motion. A blessing in disguise. A work of pure Creation. All in its form and its glory. It’s perfect in its richness, its complexity, and its layers. We can call in ease and simplicity to observe, yet live in the magical complexity of the life around and within. We can exist in the backseat of the bus going down the street. Free to just watch and take in and listen. Simple in the action, simple and easy in the motion, we are in charge of our breathing and even that is automatic, and in it we just absorb and take in.
This is where the realness comes in. Not that it was fake before, yet it’s just different. All parts of it. Different layers let’s say. Now we see if all much different. Clearer, closer to the source, though the source is never far away.
Why did we pretend to be anything other than who we are? When did we learn to stop being who we wish to be, what comes easy for us? The us tbat sits in the back of the bus, or the middle or the front and just is, nothing to do and no one to be. Maybe we’re the one who talks to others, makes friends with strangers. Maybe we look out the front window or play a game on our phone, or maybe we read this. Maybe we observe others around, watch life happening outside. Safe in the moving vessel, we are free to relax, to just be. Someone else is in the drivers seat. A neutral yet friendly force and we can trust them to bring us to where we need to a go.
Now that that’s established, now that we know who we are when we feel our safest and best, maybe out of a bus, maybe alone in your bed. Wherever we are, where we feel like us, we can begin to just be again.
To breathe again. To exist in what feels like us again. The darkness or the light.
What feels like home to you?
Who are you really? A pixie, a gremlin, a man? Do you have roles or just skin and bones? What do your eyes look like? Do you have antennas? Are you electric? Is there a pulse underneath your skin, a rainbow fiery flame igniting in your veins? Is your skin translucent? Is it purple or blue or black? What does your heart feel like? Is it an organ or is it an energy center? Is it lit up connecting all parts of your body? Are their veins if white light connecting all parts of your being together?
As you explore these questions do you have more? What do you discover? Or is what you see changing? Are you an amorphous blob of energy and light? Are you all of these things? Do you feel calm and safe in being multiple things at once? Looking unconventional and strange. What about horns or bumps of scales? What do your wings look like? What would you like them to look like? What feels most like home to you?
Is this version of you something that you’ve created of who you truly are? Is it a dark coat to cover up your true inner depths? Or is it a way to access what’s really inside? Why is what’s inside as important as what we see outside? Aren’t they all portent?
If we have the ability to change, shapeshift into our desired shape and form, something that feels right and true from the center, why not explore how that feels now? What truly resonates?
Does it feel golden and bright like pure light? Does it feel angelic and beautiful, warm and peaceful? Or does it feel like something else. There is no wrong, and the highest in me sees the highest in you.
Do you love all that you see? All of these faces and shapes and spaces. All of these different aspects of being, do you love them all? They are all aspects of you, parts that have helped you along in some way.
All worthy of love and affection, care, connection and respect. All different things that help us live as the fullness of who we truly are, which is all of it, though when we regain this recognition and acknowledgment, what we choose tends to shift. It shifts towards what feels the best, the most light and the most alive. For that is what’s truest to our true center, our true essence, the core of who we are. Pure love.
Love is easy, love is kinda, love is free and light and unrestrained. Love sees all, and holds all, and loves all. All is equal as all is crucial to the whole, necessary to be who we are. All is important and has led is to where we now reside. The pains, the suffering, the joy, and the fears. It has all led us to where we now live and reside and dwell. In the totality of possibilities, there is all good.
It’s a true honor and pleasure to be here with you, thank you for rejoining me on this space. May you feel in love with yourself and what you carry within you, may you delight in the beauty and bounty of your essence, worshipping, honoring and understanding all layers of the self. I pray that you feel whole and complete and grounded and centered, in the magnitude of who you truly are, I pray that you receive the strength of this prayer.
I pray that you remember and that you live well. Free and clear and bright. Centered, clear, and aligned. May you walk a life of ease, grace and flow. Each step a prayer of effortless bliss. I pray that you listen and hear and love all. I pray that you love yourself. I love you. All of you, I love you, and thank you for being here.
May we meet again soon my friend.
Xoxo
Annika
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