Folded Into Memory, You Swaddle Yourself by Clarity Artists

The Alchemical Rede Magazine

By Clarity 1

2023 November 17 Issue Folded Into Memory, You Swaddle Yourself Introduction: Coming through the Distance one more time, we make some new allowances, and allow size to become more of a companion than a contest.

Folded Into Memory, You Swaddle Yourself The Twice Telling of you comes by being folded into memory, and we are the memory of an ancient lineage, carried forward through our mitochondrial DNA, we are able to feel the sounds of ancient gatherings.

Whether family or friends, the connections are there, longlasting from millions of years of ne testing and allowing the growth of relationship to unfold its tendrils and form bonds that transcend time and space.

We are meta-data, we are combined energies, we are formed from a non-isolated energy, and therefore we are able to recognize kindred. Whether connected through by direct bloodline, or connected through by Mycelial content, we are rooted with the system that reaches beyond binary.

Out-sized by our own energetics, we are able to imagine larger than previous, past, or before, and we are able to advance ourselves into present from future, by knowing the potential, possibility, and probability of living. 5

We swaddle ourselves into these wondrous bodies, and tell ourselves we are we, we are us, we are me and you, and we are grateful to be aware, breathing, conscious, and alive.

We are fortunate to be able to listen to ourselves, the sounds resonating within our energetic eld of feeling. As the sounds vibrate within the chambers of our bodies, we mark the pitch, note, and timbre.

Listen closely to your Totem, the one that comes each night and lays beside you, breathes softly in your ear, and keeps at bay the most disturbing of dreams.

The monsters are not to be believed, as real as they sometimes seem, because the totemic energy is a bu er against intrusion, and the Healing Imprintsial Patterns dissolve them out.

The lettered awareness of our numeric placement, within the scope of the universality of geomatric ow, is the alchemical nature that binds us to one another, and allows the ow of thoughts and words to penetrate beyond consciousness.

Our Mycelial background, a deep resonating factor, keeps us grounded, connected, and upright in a way of Wooded. The ber of our being takes its cues from the Gaia Realm of 3-D, and the physicality of our makeup is sympathetic to its resonance.

We are nested into an array of thoughted patterns, lettered into existence through the alchemical layering that is natural to universal output, from internal input created by the imaginal realm of Play.

The telling of this is vast in scope and minute in its need for small. As the layers unfold, the immensity becomes evident and the telling is repeated throughout everything.

Remember. Remember it is not about growing up, it is about remembering. Forgetting no member or soul, we keep intact our divinest parts, so we know how to create ourselves again, when the world seems to forget where we came from, and who we are.

You can’t return to what you cannot remember, unless you put a little ticket with your name on it, so you can nd yourself. Make it small, so you can t it in your pocket, or larger, so you can pin it on your jacket.

A jacket you never take o , because it is attached to your identity. If you put a few leaves in your pocket, the trees will help you trace back to the roots of yourself, that is what they do so well, but so many forget to remember to ask.

Some think that trees don’t know anything, but the trees even know them, and that’s quite a miracle. How many remember things that don’t remember them. Looking into old things now trying to nd little pieces of catches in our breath, we almost remembered that.

All was beginning to marvel at the sense of things we are, and see that we are not to be over-looked. We are a rag tag race, that comes from many worlds past, present, and future. We gather the weeds and seeds of language, and the roots and leaves of identity.

We forget that we picked everything up from everywhere, we are no longer one people, one lineage. We came here to have it all, every little delicious piece, every little scrap of cloth, every little memory and thread. 12

Always costing our past, present, and future. We share scraps with each other, then we are a ronted that they seem to have a piece of us, and we too have a piece of them.

We cross a lot of waters, and it’s still the same, how delicious we are. None of us really part of who we originally were, so we can’t blame each other for anything we have, do, believe, and are.

We are the return of the rainbow, and that rainbow is essential for this time. So rise up, America, congratulations you’re just a hayseed, and nobody remembers where you started.

And that is the diamond in the rough that you came to be, and it is a forgiving Grace for others to become just an old hayseed, that grants room for the future. 14

So a story is told and a telling unfolds, and we are remembered by ourselves and others. To say and tell are the arts that the Voice rejoices in, because in the telling is the remembering, and in the remembering all the letters and numbers come together.

Gathering the reeds in hand, arm-loads of stalks, and dried leaves, and old bean pods, we hoist up to the door frames, the arching passage ways from the garden, we pass through the harvest and carry ourselves with the story of spring, summer, and fall into the house for the winter. 15

We are children at living, so new to it we barely remember why we’re here, and what for, and how. So new, so new to all of this, and at the very same time, as ancient as stone, fairy stones, precious stones, gemstones, we resonate our pineal in time to what we try to remember, and can in dreams.

We are overhead and under earth, we are both inside and outside the time of now and the time of next, we are between and betwixt, but neither exit or entered, because we are so here.

Call your totem to you, call all your totems to you, gather them up and breathe in their scent, the dryness and the dampness of their fur. See the shininess of their shells, the glint of the sun o their teeth.

Smile the smile of the crescent on your face, the moon of your identity cycles through you, and you land upon yourself, plant your own ag, and declare yourself sovereign.

There is no stronger tool to wield than the imagination at the tip of a tongue or the tip of the pen. The charcoal etchings are not that long ago, when we caved into our reside warmth and told the events in our world.

Inside the foldings, you swaddle your ngers with written bers telling you stories from each digit, as you count up and count down the times you have heard, or have told the tales that nurture your imagination.

Creating the folding, as the cloth gathers into abundance, we nd the pattern that nds us, and we needle and nettle our way forward through the wondrous stories we hear, and the ones we tell ourselves by taking in the generosity of the All.

From the small seed we are, to the grown we become, we are continually planting ourselves through what we know and what we feel. We stitch together the bers of our listening, and we open to the Red Thread marked with memory that stretches into in nity.

Keeping pace with the outcome, the income begins to build, and by no longer required to dig as deep, we are able to nd the coins on the surface, that have grown up from the treasured depth.

Future is bright, the ominous dissolves, and the fortitude of years pays itself forward, makes its mark, and trusts the Pulse and Pitch of the Mother Tongue.

We are the children of our play, the children of our imagination, the children grown to retain the avor and depth ripe with adventure.

As we focus our power of imagination on what we truly need, through the graciousness of compassion and love, who are the gift givers of life, we share our world into the world and the nesting doll opens up to nally see the gift all children know about.

Life is for expressing, and creating comes from the inside out. Marking our reserve with color, the shapes go everywhere, inside and outside the lines, and the geomatric resilience moves everything forward, to advance the unknown to known.

Inside the inside are the seeds of expression, expressing the fractal of unfolding, and the nature of delivery. Each sketch, each note, each tone, becomes the whole-ding ber of belling the sound into color, line, shape, and form.

Held in the Situla of the body, are all the notes needed to form expression, and the voice that seeds itself is the perennial of Gaia. Noted in G, we are; Graced, Guardianed, Guided, Gardened, and Grateful, so that when we nd the ease of our growth, we are Ready.

The combined strength of Gaia and you, are the ingredients needed to open the Portals of Garden, and sow the seed of future. We are combined, we are the combination, we are the combed in Nation, we are the ancient Comb of Self-reliance.

Our story is told, our voice has seeded many layers of Earth, and we have heard the telling, and re-telling, so that once heard is twice told, and the body has the muscle memory to hold itself upright and stable.

We are swaddled in our own bers of listening, we wrap ourselves up to feel ourselves, to feel our world, we wrap the the string around our ngers, we wrap the vines around our hands, we wrap up the gift of the seasons and hang it over our doors.

Winter is nding its way towards us, and in the swaddling we nd what nurturance is about, we nd the softness, the bundling, the cosy, that permits the body what it knows, that life is about expression. Express the ease, not the di cult, express the creative, not the non-doing, express the delight, not the pressure.

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Eased are paths of arduous, and gentle are the steps to take, as the leaves that have fallen crunch beneath your feet and the sky is now branched with the limbs of trees.

When in doubt, call your totem, and if you think you don’t have one, call on one, and see who shows up in your imagination. Do they y, crawl, walk, or swim? Are they large or small? What is it about them that you love, or don’t love.

Wrap yourself inside your totem and you will have wrapped yourself inside of who you are, that you used to know, before you forgot.

The Red Thread weaves its way through your Heart, your Pulse, your dreams, and when allowed, your Voice. Speak what is invisible to others, and allow them the possibility of remembering their own potentials.

We are bered in our awareness and the weave is woven around us, keeping us safe and allowing us the time to open up space, in a way that brings the seeds of a multitude of ideas, into focus and availability.

We pull the blanket of dirt up over our shoulders and tuck ourselves in, we are planted for the season and await the spring. Meanwhile our e orts to feel go out to the eld of mycelial rooting, and we connect across a eld of global energy.

Once connected, the disconnect of isolation is gone, the disconnect of silence is gone, the disconnect of few and far between leaves, and we share in the immensity of a vast community of Gaia. We remember.

Remember the story of you before you became, and remember the becoming of you, small, little, afraid, amazed, amused. Remember you numbering and lettering you way through thought, and how intuition was allowed or taught away.

Story yourself now, and bring with you your favorites. The full character of need is now moving into a nettled position. Need is now being mended, mending the voice of the feminine expression, the stinging of nettle, being the years of pain because of the unwillingness to hear the broken. 29

The broken heart that has loved in so many ways. The spoken metal of power, that was given no room to grow in, except in an unknown wild place that hid away in the woods, as it grew it cracked open everything earthen and stung its way into the sky, daring anything to enter.

It shielded itself and its ancient healing remedies, that had to be woven into thread, prepared into tincture, cooked into food, to feel ancient remedies into to Soul. 30

The weed of connection, the weed of memory, that won’t be cast away. Let the earth pitch you up, till your fragile nature is yielded more, more safe to all the ancient codes, and the marrying away of codial factors becomes part of your Wedded Circumference.

The Light comes back from the deepest pitch and the dug up surfaces to allow light and room to mingle, merge, and combine. We are nested into one another, and our roots know it.

We are woven, wreathed into a circle of remembrance, and we allow ourselves to enter into the Pitch of She, the Mother telling her ancient present stories that ll your head to overowing.

Treed for the course of discovery, we plant ourselves among the many and the few, and our colors show. Breathe in the breath that opens you up, slows you down, and plants you in your chair, your home, yourself.

Beginning and the end completes itself and we wonder why we are still here, because that is what we have come for, and to insure. We rally around the Maypole year after year, each Spring, just to see the new grasses arrive and the tiny owers in the meadow.

Small things that come to terms with a wider life and more meadow space, so we can roll around and smell the delicious scent of small, that is now seeded because of large.

We are the large dreamers that concentrate the iridescent au ju of living easily. You are me, and I am you, and we are the category of consciousness that we have worked so hard to be. And the Mother knows we have returned. We have looked for her return, but in essence she has looked for ours.

We begin to believe that we are the Trees, we are the Ogham, we are the Gemmos that leaf out to reach the scenting fragrance of what is called Desire, luscious Desire, divinely ignited Desire, reaching across the abyss of not yet made.

The ease makes itself known, and requests remembrance, a simple easy task, one that involves you deeply and steadfastly. Now is the time for you to remember the adventure you rst started on, and let it guide you with what it knows, not what you know already.

Closure: All that occupies us now, is which seed to plant, but not how deep, because they’ve all chosen now to self-seed.

Publishers: Su.Sane & Robert Hake, Clarity