2023 April 28 Issue

The Gesture of Sight is Always A Mystery

Introduction: Copper, a language of the spoken word of transformation. Speaking copper, transforming the sound of what future holds. Transforming into the metal of speaking copper.

The Gesture of Sight is Always A Mystery

The coppering of transformation metals its way forward, conducting and connecting us, to our elemental forces of communication. We hear through the Mycelial network within all of Space Time, and we are changed by the sight.

Within the energy of sight, the pineal within us connects its memory to all it sees, and we transform the input and output to our surrounds, making the network continuous and the fabric resilient.

The Red Threads weave their course, beyond judgment of coarse, and smooth the way into ease, joy, and embrace. The sound of the threads being needled into place, creates a pitch and timbre that transforms and allows the imaginal realm room to be.

We mark ourselves with Grace, as we emit light with the sight of seen, and the notes of C; Compassion, Courage, Creativity, and Culinary, branch forward into a taste for the new, the different, the impossible.

Forever amazed, we stand witness to the length and breadth that we will go to achieve the impossible, allowing it possibility in our world. The planets, galaxies, universes, and solar systems count on our willingness.

Reaching beyond normal, reaching beyond everyday, reaching beyond told or not told, or told to not, we follow the Red Thread of the Pulse of Living, and we engage in the watching awareness of being involved, not separate from.

The copper of our existence, the metal of our fiber, the courage of our resilience, allows us to participate in what we see, without fear of loss or losing. The numbers turn into letters before our eyes, and the story and the muse corrugate themselves into a telling of tale.

Transformed by listening deeply, we are able to create from the unknown to the known, from the mystery to the now present, we elliptical our orbit and bring forward the flight of our rising awareness.

Forming no ties to limitation, we emerge from the Alembic Egg transformed by our passage and ready to begin anew, with the gathered energy of the light of our own remembering.

No where is there a place that does not open to light, no door remains closed, no passage goes without assistance and willingness to enter. Light can both convey and shield, as needed, the travelers, as they make their way toward.

Reminding ourselves that we are moving vastness itself, we find that we can do more than thought possible, to others, and even to ourselves. That what was once thought impossible, then improbable, is now opening its doors, its gates, its ways and means.

The foothold on the ledge is now a path, wide enough for us to gather together, and move with the ease knowing, and the courage of feeling, and the creativity of ingenuity, and the culinary skills of a taste for adventure.

From the galaxy, past China and Russia, through England and France, we move out through the Portal and into the Garden Plan. Raw and new, with the youngest of shoots and the bravest of plants showing themselves, we enter.

Three-dimensional Space Time, woven from the threads of the Red Disks spinning their weave, we reach for and grab a hold of the fibers of our Listening.

Speaking forward to the memory, I want to hear closer than even the Seed, I want to hear inside the Seed, I want it to pop open and allow me to travel within its blueprint, its mapping system, its connection with the Mother of itself.

The tall and short of its knowing, the spread open of its roots, I want to taste its fruit before its even made, I want to let it know it is wondrous before its even sprouted and grown.

I want to give this to my children, the whole Gemmo of themselves, I need assurance of their worth in this world, I want to follow the Red Thread through the blood of this time, and create a memory of the honoring of blood.

Blood, a gesture of life, a gesture of breath, a gesture of allowing. Blood a formal equation of the connection to the Mother, blood a proportion that evaluates the element’s need to flow.

The threading and unthreading of the Red thread of the momentum of our heart’s desire becomes the passion of emergence. Yes, I want to eat the Seed, I want to crack it open, I want it to know the desire of my passion to embody life fully.

The Light that currents the life is spread through my mind, and I create an equation that follows the numbers that mark the letters and map the life of Light allowed inside the Seed.

Spinning the constant into a realm that folds the very nature of Light into a woven path that we can follow. Pulling the measure of weave into the count of 6, 8, pressured by the expense of time, the world measures, grows, contracts, steals time, is part of its way of living.

You cannot just give time, share time, promote time, because in all of this it becomes unvaluable. One must make time, evaluate time, promote time, charge for time, negotiate time, graduate time, until time becomes a completely incapable endeavor.

Time becomes a corporation, and education, a marriage priced out to the max, but in truth, you can only have time when its free. Time, outside of contract, time outside of mileage, time outside of agreement, time outside of promise, time outside of obligation, time outside of appointment, time outside of compromise, time outside of contract.

Where in the world can we find this kind of time? All our time has been promised away to someone, something, somehow. We move to become free of time counted, and somehow, some way, it just happens, we’re just here now in that moment, and we don’t even notice what we have to do, had to do, or what we even thought we wanted to do.

We’re just here inside the surprise and the miracle of time, like between all the worlds, nobody even knows where we are, because we did not even know, we’re just in that moment with no one watching, no one hearing, no one counting.

No one even seeing, and we’re right out there in full view, but no one sees us, because we did not negotiate with time to be there, so we are naked to the moment, not dressed up for company, but free in time.

Time, an exquisite mode for freedom. Unattached, unencumbered, unannounced, unrelated to limitation, time frees us and gives us the space we need when we ask for it.

The copper is not mined, the copper is not minted, the copper is meant for the asking, and the receiving of the thread, woven from the field directly, pulled from the skein of endlessness and given a place honoring the Red Thread of placement.

We are placed, we are homed, we are nested inside the transformative energy of listening deeply, and as we breathe the deeper breath of living, we are lifted by our own ribcage.

The bones of our nested nature wrap around us, securing our future and knitting together the organic nature of our origamic folding. Nested into our own selves, we pulse and beat the notes of Life, the xylophone of our bones plays the rhythmic notes, the resonant factors of hearing.

Hear yourself as you weave the next thread, as you combine the color of words to the numbers of shape, line, and volume. Mark yourself as noted, as counted, as papered into an awareness of living.

Magic is in the numbers, the letters, the folding and unfolding, in the letters shaped by breath and the numbers counted as they form strings, lines, as they curl and dive deep, making up stories that tell the equation sign language.

Listening to the copper, the resonance, the metal of elemental dirt, the found ground, the grounding wire, the current of currency, the coin of phrase, the till of the tiller, the way maker, we make our way to the fairy of our crossing.

The River Sticks, with its death barge, banging away, hammering out its durge, flounders and runs aground. Passengers disembark, perplexed with no destination, turned around, as the coins on their eyes fall away.

Without a primary source of income, the outgo stops. No more barging forward, no longer a passenger, but rather on foot, grounded, not to a stop, but rather a go, the many gather together.

Like a cluster of newly picked flowers, dusted off from the road dirt, they now plant themselves in greener pastures. Nu is new, and being one with everything, and not counted among the dying, death abdicates, it’s thrown for a loop.

The ins and outs of it all are too much to comprehend, but the challenge of the impossible always is. How does one impose a tax, when death has gone feral, chewing only on the bones of the past?

Time in its exquisite mode, brings honor to the tribe of travelers, the fey minded, the imaginers, the invisible ones, and allows death its untimely end.

Dearth, the scarcity of death, dearth, d’earth. Earth now enlivens, building off the bones of the past, and on into the Nu of present future. We are transformed and set upright, up from under, with under being renewed.

The Garden Plan rises up with the 4 horses, 4 dirt deep, and we ride the mares of Fire, Air, Water, Earth, they are the Metal of our making, we fashion them from the sword of flowers.

Never have we known how, or why, or when, or even who, but we have listened and we have heard, and we do see. Should we point out to you what has been behind you all along, would you turn to look?

A mountain formed of your own dreams waiting, a Cathedric Climb of immense importance, the pinnacle of your success, but like a person drowning, you must let go of the bag of gold.

The Mycelial network connecting the rooted equation and sending out the current, to allow a forward presence beyond any stop. Movement continues and life persists in its unfolding nature.

The corrugations unfold, the crease uncreases, and the bend opens up, to reveal an amount of precision in the Papered Awareness, of life telling the story.

The Tree of Life folds the Alembic Egg in its roots, and transfers knowledge through its fibered awareness of connection to All.

The circumferic measure of distance opens into an avenue of tapestry, and the fabric of living seeds itself word by word, gesture by gesture, telling by telling. Hanging on very word, we reach the stretch and pick the fruit of our Intention.

Increasing the numbers, the letters formulate their passage, and the Intention marks itself fulfilled. As the increase yields to the squared perspective, the vision registers a clear view, safe and unobstructed.

The forest yields its cover and the foliage parts, so that the path remains available and Time can expand with the space it is given. Space yields to the time necessary, to create what is needed.

Copper threads its metallic imprint, and lights the way for silver and gold to emerge. Transforming the environment and atmosphere with the electric photonic makeup of energy, the fibers carry the current forward as pattern.

The Healing Mycelial Light Imprintsial Patterns emit their energetic pattern of connection and thread their way through any and all obstructions, bringing light to unknot the not of no.

Sound comes, as the Intention rises through the Ger and is shemmed up by the Nu of new, and the Wood of Flute is seen whole and complete. Vision notes the timbre and pitch, and the She is Voiced with Compassion and Wellbeing.

The note of G; Gentle, Granted, Grateful, weaves its pattern and sound is made expanded and excited to be participating with the sight for visual acuity, and the ease of invisible to visible.

The sight of Fey is an honor, it they who fairy color, light, sound, and form from point to point, node to node, apex to apex, always lighting the way, emissaries of Hope, and the way of safe passage.

The gesture, safely in hand, allows its Mystery to be seen, so that the copper current of rise can make its way forward, and able to transform the unseen to the seen.

The Red Thread coppers its light and the Mystery yields its transformational bliss. Sight yields to the given, and gift is registered by the rooted connection to Gaia. Planetary in thought, galactic in scope, universal in endeavor, the entire solar system network is threaded together.

Closure:

Conforming no longer to the time, but instead the timing forming a time conforming to who we now are, allowing space around our breath, allowing more reason for joy, musing, and less confrontation to ourselves.

Publishers: Su.Sane and Robert Hake, Clarity