Introduction:
There is no directive, when the question is not asked, there is no directive when the disturbance is needed. Once let go, the prime directive becomes evident, and you are surrounded by the C’s of Compassion, Conversation, Complexity, Collaboration, Cooperation, Corrugation.
We find ourselves awake to the surrounds, the environment calling out, the field of energy, the atmosphere willing to enfold us, as we crease forward our desires.
Always we open to the deep listening, the wellspring of Voice, as it enfolds us in its deep nurturing embrace. The air is filled with the etheric, the invisible reality that holds all life in its cauldron.
We make our way each day into the folding nature of the bend and we thread our way forward by placing ourselves in the eye of the needle. Caught up in the weave, we ride the particle wave of light.
Each time we awaken, each day bringing fresh insights and any number of questions, the answers are there waiting for the questions to be asked. Each answer excited to be available to you.
Time equates its own remedy, makes the ticking less tockful, and allows the mystery of itself available to expand beyond thought. Here we find ourselves ready.
Marking ourselves as travelers, we prepared the way forward, and adjust ourselves to the new patterns ready to unfold their own nature to us. Safe and sound, the new expresses itself received.
The deep Mother Gaia, the deep Mother Galaxy, the deep Mother Universe, the deep Mother Solar System, all woven inside and out by the Nieth beaded stars. We are within the threaded circumference .
We orbit ourselves daily, our radius directs us from the our center, to our outer most curve, our situla. Here we find the expanse of who and what we are. Both particle and wave, embedded within the woven tapestry of living.
Noticing our place and position, we current our nature forward, and connect with all that Is. This connection, this plasmic etherous space, allows us room to travel.
Corrugating ourselves, our Papered Awareness accordions the sound, and the notes are toned into a phrase of connection that brings into existence the Need Fire of Neith.
Enter-netted, sound connects the fibers to our fabric made whole. Through the holes of ready, we weave our threads, and follow the Red Thread of our primary direction.
Needled into place, we are positioned into place by our need to see the notes of C: calm, connected, centered, and calibrated. Each in its own pattern, sets the timbre and the collection is Sounded Out.
The ratio of sound to heard is increased and the way is made easy. The ease opens the Soul’s reach, which allows the motion to open up its rock and roll, its side to side, its above and below.
Omnidirectional in sight, the view becomes expansive and the way is shown in its most extensive panorama. The expression of creativity is enhanced by the color intonation, and the energy field inhabits the surroundings.
As we are threaded and thread ourselves, we make up the cloth of our expression, and as we expand our reach, the Soul strengthens our mycelial rootedness. The Mother Tree astounds all who meet her, and are embraced in her defining branches.
Fey Fairie Fey, the emissaries, fairy the sight from point to point, node to node, star system to star system, large and small, their domain conjures up the alchemy of an endlessness of creativity, and a system of conveyance.
Embarked, traveling the tree line, the fey line, the lineage of eons, we set sail for the far reaches, the edge, the circle encircled by the square. We come to our Squared Perspective and are given to.
Once, then Twice Told, the stories our our travels add up, and the volumes expand, the mystery of little communication is answered in the questions, who asks these kind of questions, and why?
We are numbered in the trillions and found in the one. We count our blessings and are rich beyond compare, yet the gift we have been given few receive, yet it is freely given and its sound is harmonious.
Timed by the tick of no tock, the resonance precedes any metronome, and the clock is given but a glance. Making ready the need, the wanted desire Gers its strength and shems up its resilience.
The Wooded Way forms its passage, and the Flute of the Forest sounds its notes of play. Play enters us as children, we are entered into play each day, and though many many refuse it, it stands sentinel.
Guarded by our need, our want, and our desire, play unfolds the corrugated passages, and allows travel into unexplained vistas of color, sound, fabric, and pattern. We are threaded through, and by the Red Thread, the pulse of our longing.
Listening deeply we tumble down the rabbit hole, we fall through ourselves and land head first upside down. Here we are home to the unexplained of before, the mysterious, the impossible.
Impossible not to be here, we are forever at home, our place of imagination found Real and of great purpose. Without the Whole of Rabbit, the totemic resolve of fear, we would forever be caught in the trap of limitation and untruth.
Our mathematical equation of alchemy, unprovable only because it is forever growing, marks us and connects us purposely to those on a similar path. The Long Table, with its ridiculously long spoons, its broken pocket watch, and its Mad Hatter, judged beyond reason, sits waiting and ready for your attendance.
The Cat Eyes, of a disappearing nature, evoke the imaginal realm where fact is combined with wonder. Striped in pajamas of quarantine, the quarantine drops away and we are left with a cat of nine lives.
Storied into letters of purpose, perfection, and numbered into volume, we find purchase and gain a foothold. The formation timing is now setting a new purpose within the realm of what we call our life.
The Soul is posting a new volume for us to perceive, become, understand, and resonate a blueprint change is in the marking, and we know, I know, you know there is no surprise in this relationshipial wisdom inside of this time.
We create and are created by what we feed and are fed, and we initiate a new diet within the realm and volume of love. We retreat no longer in any way from hearing the Soul in every moment in time, of time, and now even outside of time.
These are new shoes for our feet to slip into, but we will be well grounded toe to toe, foot to foot, step to step. We have been well initiated for this squared space of delivery. We are totalized, you are totalized, they are totalized.
Whatever it takes, whatever it gives, whatever it wants, whatever it sees, whatever it feels, we are part of its weave and it is part of ours so that the threading is completely evolved in its distance.
Bee ready, the season is here for the Gaia distinction of thread that carries the wings of bee, butterfly, becoming. Whatever totemic you are from bug to bear, eagle to owl, lion to whale, panther to hippopotamus, raven to hawk, dolphin to swan, porcupine to deer, otter to fox, we are all part and whole to the Mother.
The finding is no longer a puzzle, it’s a forming format that enlargers itself piece by piece as creative wholeness. Future, what is that? That force that grows in front of us, and we hold its hand like a small child, hoping for brightness, lightness, courage, unity, beauty, poetry , abundance, art and allowance.
We comfort the Soul and the Soul’s orgasmic body comforts us with its expansive orgasmic brilliance. We came here for the beauty, the orgasmic, the taste, the smell, the touch, the flow of all our juices DNA’d into our expansive longevity.
100 hundred years, barely enough to gurgle, to teeter, to totter, to learn the long breath. 100 hundred years we have not even begun to see, we’re still in black and white.
No real color yet ,in our perception, only faded grey. The more indigenous we are, the more color we perceive we are. We don’t even know how to talk the talk of grace, walk the walk of acceptance, run the long spoon of feeding through the graces of living.
The pulling force of age has not even grown us a foot, we need to elongate our years with love, potency, tolerance, joy, laughter, play. We got out of the playpen too soon.
We thought we could crawl around freely and stand up, but we fell off the porch instead. It was a tall porch with a playpen and a long reach into other planets and galaxies, but we should have stayed there longer and allowed them to teach us more, so we would know, that when we climbed out and crawled around and stood up, that we didn’t know how not to fall off the porch and fly.
We missed all the classes of how to be in a world that was free, beautiful, wanting, and sometimes dangerous, so we went out into the jungles and sniffed and judged, measured polarity, because we did not know enough to work with all the crayons in the crayon box.
We chose six not eight, not 12, not 24, and definitely not 56, or 72. We had a small box, because we had not grown enough to be large enough to go beyond black and white, good and bad, large and small, top and bottom, so everything between has been lost to us, all the between, all the years of the between that are now, so we grow old each year dying more.
Losing count because it all goes down and up at the same time. This is not the work of the Soul, this is the work of immaturity, this is the work of not enough content, a shallow black hole that looks deep, but it is not.
We are cosmic characters that are now getting more time in the playpen, so we can grow up to live, not die, to love, not hate, to have compassion not judgement.
So stick your feet out through the bars if need be, so that your big feet and your big body live in the playpen again, and look at books of animals, planets, birds, fish, flowers, and trees.
We count the ways of childhood, and needle our way through the holes left over, the tatters in the fabric, the leftovers, the remnants, and mend all that is in front of us.
We appliqué the rabbit, the owl, the unicorn, all the rest standing in line wanting to be remembered. Our cloth of residence marks itself with abundance and we unpoor ourselves from the false map.
Bringing the rest of leftover into the center, we mend the reference and intend the matched into an area safe and free of debris. Compassion moves the ocean, collects all drops, cups us up into a situla of nested shells.
Time sands itself hour by our, ticks beyond tocks, and allows the flow its salted presence. Etched into the score of our cellular makeup, we swim in a sea of stars navigated by our inner compass.
Creating the moment by moment of breath, through the acceptance of our Papered Awareness, we corrugate, we fold, we crease and bend, and in doing so we hear the Sofiac Intelligentsia.
Gathered in our numbers, gathered in our letters, gathered in our equations, we are numbered in our course and favored in the enumeration of our content. Time falls and space elongates, giving each of us the ability to embrace the Nu.
The Red Thread winds its way through the pulse within us, and we hear the resonance throughout the woven fibers of our existence. Each thread vibrating at a pitch needed to include every color, seen and unseen.
The Fey match the notes to the tone and we are carried forward through the door of Passage, we are carried through the Portal of entry, we are carried through the opening of Ready.
Managing to move, even when the numbers don’t add up, the equation is off, the square is out of kilter, we advance just the same by listening to the Mother Tongue.
Our native language, coming from the stars, lands upon us like a soft cozy blanket, wraps us in its storytelling and completes the course of our travels.
Meaning creates its own footsteps, and we step out with the right foot of our passion for the telling of story. Sound, pattern, and word, each combining their forces and making the ease unfold.
Like children, we listen for the answers to our questions, the unfolding of our folding, the uncreasing of our crease. We have been corrugated and bent into the circle of our own circumference.
The radius is the eye in the center of the I, and we view ourselves as geomatric in origin. The photonic light of our eyes emit the vision of visionary alchemy, the unproofed result of eons.
Nu precedes itself, and comes after, time being its consort and space its domain. The reach is beyond number and the Soul is aware of the time it takes to conclude.
New branches it limbs from the Mother Tree, and the mycelial network runs deeper than ever thought. Thought is seeded from Nu, and the seeds of germination bring forward the vine of climb.
We climb the Cathedric Climb and answer our own questions, once finding the giant to be our very own nature of Home, made real by Place. We are placed squarely within ourselves and our stories become memories, our memories become Twice Told.
Never before and ever after are the between of each telling, and the fall down the rabbit hole was a real equation that stopped time and expanded space.
Inside the rooms of the story are the houses of time making ready the space to ship out its leaves of treed embarkment. The stars are ready and the finding is made up.
We make up the breath, as though we are breathing for real, all the while holding our breath for the next story to be told.
Completing all the surfaces that lay before us, we begin to include the Soul’s Reach. It comes out of the heart’s connection to the Divine, in every moment in time. The reach to feel and hear, the Soul’s Reach to the Divine, without a moment where connection is broken.
The Soul’s Reach calls for a willingness not to be interrupted by the disruption and unclarity of life. This commitment defines us and how much room we have to hear from our desires, instead of the race to make more room for separation.
When one makes this call, one’s life changes, and all at once you’re never separated from what you love, what you hold dear, and what speaks where the spoken has never been.
Few ask for this, but more will ask as time shifts, needs change, and distractions are allowed to disappear. Keep the ear willing, keep the mystery close, and allow the Red Thread to penetrate through in every moment in time.
This is what is given when it is dreamed for, and when it is dreamed for it becomes a way of life, and the living increases and the directive is more clear.
Closure:
When the Soul’s Reach fills your life, you will be assured a more directive nature, a more compelling will, and clear blueprint for a new conversation with the Divine, that enriches your Soul’s Reach.
