2023 June 30 Issue

Numbers are the Connectors of Moments of Time

Introduction:

Well, we stand alone at times, we learn that nothing is alone, so we are most important, and all we have to find out is why.

Numbers are the Connectors of Moments of Time

Counting ourselves lucky, we are companions to the numbers in our lives. That, and all the letters of the alphabet, which we hold near and dear to our hearts.

Not one day goes by that we are in constant communication with our favorite numbers and letters. They add so much richness to our time, adding up all the special moments and being able to convey them to others, what a piece of magic that is.

The digital, held at the tip of every finger, every finger the digit, we embrace our ability to point the way, in a way that conveys, not only direction, but gratitude.

What a mystery, what a question, what an answer are the numbers and letters of our time. Timed to perfection, the mystery always shows up to prompt us onto, and into, further and further research, study, and deeper understandings.

How we got from here to there and back again, is the tale of a huge undertaking. And there were times when the undertakers were ringing their hands in anticipation of a fresh catch.

We have managed to elude their grasp, and once again count ourselves as lucky. Lucky to be alive, lucky to be aware, lucky to be in a position to share what was, at first, thought unshareable.

Five, the number and the letters of change. Two fives, one on each hand. Two fives, one on each foot. We are filled to overflowing with fives. We have tens and twenties, too. We are a bank of numbers.

In the circumerfric of change, we are the radius leading out from the center, we are the arrow leading from the dot to the curve. Our curved existence leads us omnidirectionally through each and every layer we head toward.

The Garden of the Red Thread, we are threaded through the fine needle that passes understanding as an after stitch, and moves straight to discernment. Fibered into existence by the very thought of it, the Red Thread weaves us seamlessly throughout our lives.

We are no longer outside the garden gate, but rather inside the Garden Plan. The more that unfolds, the more we realize the actual circumference of our travel. We press ourselves with the flowers, and the fragrance blooms in the Air of our very nature.

Natural to the course, we give ourselves over to the sweetness within the Garden of the Red Thread, and the feeling of Home surrounds us with its loving embrace.

No longer feeling alone, or set aside, or looked over, or ignored, we have come past the illusional distractions of limitation, and into a Place that nurtures the heart and soul.

We are beginning to know the numbers better and better and better, and the letters unfold their language to story us along to the next and the next and the next grand moment, of which there are an infinity.

Eight practically speaks for itself, looped and curved as it is, and tells tales of endless variety. Diversity is its favorite topic, and we listen daily to the rumblings of something new appearing, that it brought home for us to nurture.

Every time the round clock face spins its numbers, we seem to advance closer and closer to an ending, but the trick of that lie doesn’t go well with eight, who says not to believe all that you hear.

Don’t be eaten up by that, eight says, its just a disgruntled undertaker pulling you by your roots. And as we all know our roots go much further than most are told about.

Do you have a sense of being pruned, cut off from whatever created all of this? That is of such an undertaking, that the taking was too much to really believe, if you honestly look into it.

Counting numbers are often used to help us go to sleep, to help us wake up, get back, and put all our ducks in a row. How do we keep an order to our lives when we are asleep?

How do we make sure that all is kept well and safe as we wander out, away from all those we love? How do we develop a technique that locks all the doors and windows, and checks all the closets?

How do we remember all that is important to us and not? Over life we have developed many ways, known and unknown to us, as we insure all our vulnerabilities safe.

We invent doors, locks, keys, insurance companies, guardians, and night watchmen. We place all our valuables into the hands of others, that we think are more capable than ourselves.

We hand over our ideas, perceptions, points of view, to spiritual pastors for the safety of our life beyond. No wonder we think something else is under the bed, and dare not look below.

We hinder our course to clarity, by banning all thoughts that begin to loosen these binds. Keeping our drawers all straight at night, while we pray on our knees and make apologies for who we are.

The chewing gum that we put on the bedpost overnight, we need to chew again, and re-think all the flavors of things, and allow more time for the gum.

Oh, I know, we should never chew gum in our bed, we should never chew gum in school, we should never chew gum in church, but later, we all sneak and do it one time or another.

We put it on the bedpost, because we never want to be without it, it helps us think, it helps us muse, it helps us have ideas that might get us in trouble, upset the drawers of perfect lineup, and maybe even swing one out.

A swung out drawer is a sight to be seen, because it is open and available for other things; like dirt, flowers, toys, old thoughts with lace that might reveal we have more feelings than we show.

The opening of content always happens when the drawers swing out, even if you did not plan it so. When what in our life starts becoming what we did not plan it so, we are outside of the box, the bag, the closet, and the most hidden of drawers.

A good large chest of drawers is often essential, when one has a lot to store, to fold, to keep safe. The most hidden is often the most delicate, fragile part of ourselves, that does not like too much light, and loves the dark for its comfort.

When you swing out the drawers and you make a garden in the dark dirt, 4 dirt deep, you can plant large seeds, that grow and climb, and are able to reach the tops of the highest of things.

Maybe a good grasp of peas, from a fairytale, or a thick red bean runner from Jack and his beanstalk, of a college of knowledge, or maybe the orange succulent peppery nasturtium that climbs high and flows over, till it fills all the drawers below.

Orange, the color of eating, assimilation, being eaten by the knowledge of yourself. Maybe pole beans feeding you all the way up, so you can be hardy and strong and potent.

Yes, climbing your way up, as you climb your way down, is the flexibility you’ll need to accommodate your drawers now swung out.

Populated and peopled, potency at its best, with questions that could fill any mailbox, when placed in the Garden Plan. Mail coming in each day, with the whisper of birds on its papers.

The folded content being filled with feathers of freedom, flight, and fancy, that have fallen out of the drawers of your wishings. Marbles, cupping up, and dishes making sure that the power of the exquisite roll is planted into each pocket, of each corner, of each drawer.

Yes, you are the feathered friend that sings away the nos and hums in the angles needed for the allowance of play. So bag up your marbles and place them carefully in your most important of pocketbooks and bags, because you don’t want to be found out without a shooter that can hit the mark.

Numbering among your friends, the birds come flocking, to set up the allowances needed to maintain the drawers of many numbers. Swung this way and that, the angles partake of the sun and its lighted way.

Who could count how many birds have stopped by on their way to there and there and there. Often leaving a feather of gratitude, we feed them well and make sure they’re safe while here.

Counting them as resident avian crew, they clean up the floor of the garden and keep away the mosquitoes, for which we are eternally grateful. Blood-letting being so out-dated.

As we count our blessings, we are aware that the ease is moving forward, beyond the obstacles of the past and making clear the path that opens up, instead of closing down.

The order of numbers, the number of bird’s feet and their toes, the gatherings of information, the letters that convey such things, all are part and parcel of a postage stamp garden.

The fairylines , or feylines converge from near and far, and intersect in the middle of the garden, it was the Plan all along. From ancient memories to up-to-the-minute news, the pulse runs deep and true.

What was thought impossible, apparently is quite possible, and it’s actuality becoming more well-known. It’s not every day that one has not only the curve of the radius show up, but to have the rounded nature of words at the same table, is a very long spoon.

What goes as imagination to some is quantifiable to others, you just have to know where to look, and be ready for the unexplainable to explain itself.

Tea and coffee are never far from hand, neither is pen and paper, or digital tablet or laptop. What goes for conveyance, also goes for multi-dimensional travel, like now.

The fact that the drawers have swung open, the contents grown up, out, and over, or over and out, can be reason enough to conclude, what was thought can be thought again to the exclusion of limitation.

There is no reason to believe, anymore, that what was once thought impossible stays impossible. As Alice’s father always said, “each morning do six impossible things.” Words to grow by, just ask Alice.

We never intended to be outside the box, a box, any box, but when you go hunting for the impossible, and the impossible shows up, then your life looks upside down to many many many people.

The one thing you can truly count on are numbers, and they will follow you to kingdom come and back. Their innate curiosity, matched to a tee with ours, lends support and companionship while traveling through dimensional hyperspace.

Volume and time mention this in their treatise on the factors of space and how they got there. Only by asking and the deep listening required, do you dig deep enough in the dirt to find what you are looking for.

When you are hungry enough, the numbers and letters cluster around you, as though you are a magnet to their future and yours.

Keeping a relationship with them, with anyone, puts you in close stead with the conversation surrounding their radial distance. From center to center, the intersecting overlap, is where the drawers are open and the contents spill open easily.

This sharing is what 35 years of exploration was able to unearth, and ‘4 dirt deep’ is a coined phrase that lends credence to the fact that what you find out is worth its wait.

Coming upon the treasure chest, the chest of drawers, what every flower knows is, you can get here from there, as well as from there to here, if you are willing to travel the distance.

Distance can bend and fold, it can corrugate and crease distance, as well as time and space, and they are both pliable to our needs, wants, and desires. This is no small thing, except that it can come and land in the Garden of the Red Thread when invited.

The current conceives its own embodiment, and allows no jurisdiction to what is not part, this in itself is a protective mode that insures that all is in order, even if it swings out.

Between management and acceptance there is a council that embodies the full score of the Dream realized. This council is made up of all the positions of the questions and its inherent answers.

We are combed together for the self-reliance that is necessary and needed for every positional fold that is corrugated. We begin to understand, as we move through the timing that is now converging, that we are now obligated to ourselves and what we are here for.

If we don’t take time to embody it, to eat it, to smell it, to rummage around in the drawers of it, we will not have a menu that is edible for the intelligence for the time to come. Look into your refrigerator, what does it have to say?

Why is it yours? Why is it your work? Yes, you must be chef, you must be creator, you must be cook, you must salivate for your daily bread. Don’t peep, salivate. If you have no salivation, you have no menu, if you have no menu, you have no appetite, and if you have no appetite you starve.

So stir up some needs, and allow them to smell, to salivate, to create longing, to create desire. If you have no desire, your body will stop eating, and you won’t have any flesh to put on your bones.

You’ll be a bony being, without the flesh to love, to create with, so your purpose in being loses its place, and you can’t find the right chair to sit in. All this is the future, for those who do not want to rustle up an appetite to eat their own future from.

Closure:

We may end in a jumble, or up just right, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s all the same. It is the same longing that creates our hunger and it’s all a matter of how we can be fed in the most abundant of ways.