Where do we go from here?

And how do we start.

A letter to God, isn’t that what all of this is? I write and I write and I write, until I find a space of clarity again. Always pushing forward and past and through, because sometimes the insides feel like fire, and maybe that’s the golden key and ticket to a life well loved, and lived. To be within the flames of purification, to allow the unlimited cleansing power of ultra violet to wash the spirit clean, and to move from this place of purity and awakening.

The lower centers speak, in a language of anger and annoyance. My socks aren’t sitting right and I just wanna rage. Scream, shout and let it all out, come on. Like my contribution gets less and less productive the more I diverge from script , yet I am the one writing it, I am the director and the actor and the one on lighting and sound and cinematography. I heard the famous singer and artist Aurora once say “isn’t it wild that we are never not touching something, we are always touching something, our clothes or the earth or a chair” we are always in contact with something else.

That feels dense, that feels like pushing through the fog, while the room is full of rainbows. It feels dense and crowded and I can feel my body against the chair and my socks and it feels like the room has been stuffed full of bodies, people who want their voice heard, and I did move into a different space this time. Now i exist at my desk, the alter, the space where I feel the most, and I write, and I get out all that’s inside and around and then I burn all the words that come out of me. So different for this space, this tablet and website, so different for what I write now, and how I do it.

Maybe it it doesn’t have to be…

This has more calculation to it, because I know that it shall be read, and reread, and read again. And god damn! Some beings, some voices, some parts of me. Whomever it may be just wish to be heard. And it’s like we’re all stuffed into this space, this room together, that stays protected, just waiting for me to put pen onto paper and open up to the flow. Open up to the words that are ready. To come through, to be alchemized, to be transmuted, to be released. Ready. Here we go.

-

I spoke about schizophrenia today with a client, and asked what the different between that and someone with psychic abilities is. The line has not been established in modern science from my knowledge.

I also spoke with another client about using an ouija board, and how they communicated directly with spirits and heard about their deaths, before being told it needed to be burned and destroyed for it was not safe for them to continue speaking through it.

I believe everything that comes to me in my life has messages for me. I know that both of these conversations are connected to this all. Hearing and speaking to spirits, channeling their stories through, getting them out to be witnesses and released so they maybe free. It’s also for me, parts of me, past parts of me, my inner child. My ancestors, it’s for us all. As I face it all, as I write and clear it all up, so too does my future and my past. The present becomes bright and clear and strong.

The collective subconscious, as I work through it, write through it, it clears up my conscious waking life.

I crave it like no other, it’s a true gift to feel it.

This is one of the tattoos we created during one of those conversations.

A gargoyle goddess to protect against evil spirits.

And a reminder of our ability to see and face and rise out of darkness.