The Alchemical Rede Magazine
By Clarity
Making A Story More Made Up Than Ever Before, You
Surrender Introduction:
Speed up, slow down, tap tap, tick tock, what changes now?
Making A Story More Made Up Than Ever Before, You Surrender
We started out not knowing, but we felt, and that was the Key. We turned the lock and the Door opened, we went in to see what was to Be, and in doing so, we became what the Be of Become of what hummed and buzzed in our ears.
We were not afraid to listen, because the harmony and beauty of what we came upon lead us further and further away from the limitations, the chaos, the anger, the contracted fury the world was expressing as Real.
So, we took a deep breath, we sat down amongst the Bees, the flowers, the trees, and listened to the history that is far longer than human-kind, and we came to understand how human kindness came into Being.
The Land of Fey is rich beyond measure, its lore is fantastical, amazing, wildly imaginative, and completely believable, if you set aside your differences and allow the full animated color to infuse you with delight.
What last made you smile? What last made you frown?
Follow the smile, it will always lead you out of crumpled feelings, and into corrugated pages of what folds into a day worth being a part of.
Wiggle your toes in the snow, in the sand, in the dirt, feel the beneath you, the Gaia of your position and place, and know that you are not above it all, but rather part and parcel of this postage stamp globe spinning on its axis.
The stars are just as important as you are, the sun makes up your day, and its disappearance, your night. The monsters that inhabit your room, either in the closet, underneath your bed, or behind your door, are only there to entertain you.
They can steal your breath, make you scream, cause you to flee, or simply sit down with you for a good cry. They are there for you, they are not there to be paid, you’ve already paid the price.
What happens on this globe, is spun cotton candy.
Cotton, the fiber so many slaved for, sew many stitched in turn-of-the-century factories, sewn into stories, the pockets kept track, and the notes were passed along.
Handed down, ancient stories of the cloth of witness, tapestries hanging on castles walls, cold stone bearing witness to the passing of time.
We curl the circuit with our breath, we run the gamut with our feelings, and we wind up spooled into the ball of yarn that we spell, so that what we remember of the lighted Sun doesn’t go out on us.
Trees send their signals down from their crowns, to their deepest roots, and each root tells of what it hears, and passes it on. Story.
This is ancient, yet so timely that we cannot not tell what is unfolding. The Rabbit Hole is deep, and the falling is settling down, and the tea service is brisk and efficient, of which we are very thankful.
What is a handful, are the many twists and turns, curves and bends, and that the travel from here to there and back again can be exhausting, all adds up to down. We are down for it, both feet in.
Apparently you are too, or else you wouldn’t be here, and as surprising as that is, well, welcome, and onward. What constitutes a journey, is the amount of luggage you leave behind, not what you take.
The course is laid out by the before, the before you were here, and what is before you, both sitting in the same spot vying for your attention. Both wanting to be fed by your direction.
The wand of discovery augurs a good direction, pointing us toward what we want to enter into, a passage from question to answer, from center, to radius, to circumference. Travel.
There are no stories that don’t contain time/space, travel’s movement. Even to Be, is a point of found, a place that letters you into a point of selection, a recess in a fold, a bend in a crease, a Papered Awareness of being a part of what Is.
As we open up the lines that letter us forward, and number our days across the abyss, the wand of magic that we use allows us to feel safe enough to continue, to come forward enough, that we register we are Real to ourselves and others.
When we are faced with the immense, the small, the unknown, we must write our way forward, paint our way forward, step our way forward, as the sun arcs overhead and finds us casting shadows instead of stones.
We build up what we need, letter by letter, number by number, until the shape of our bridge is large enough to pass over, and we can gain entrance into the Nu of what is now becoming available.
The wand shows up in many dimensions, many forms it takes, to move forward what needs moving, so take a deep breath and be ready to receive; the audacious, the astounding, the ridiculous, the frightening, the soothing, the beguiling, the unusual, the preposterous, and let yourself flow.
Take in what you are being given, take in the feeling of what penetrates to the heart, so that you are able to swallow the far-fetched, as well as the close-up.
The wand of the Fey is filled with Magic, and the magic is to be used, to tell a story, to fashion an image, to allow you to travel beyond what you thought, or were taught, was correct, or right, or controllable.
Alice fell down a Rabbit Hole, we all know the story, and it adds up as well as down, so that what you thought was going in a certain direction, ends up entirely within its own made up, and not yours at all.
That is where a good story will take you, to a place you’ve not been before, and yet there is some sort of familiarity that keeps you going on. A dream that unfolds and you are folded into it.
Because you want to know things that are beyond what you usually reason out, or sort out, or figure out. To be outside the out, is to be inside the in of it, and from there you can go anywhere.
The Papered Awareness that lives inside you knows of what we speak, and the pages are rustling to be read. The Red Thread of close distance, sews its magic through the spine of the book, and your own strength of Will rises.
As the letters come together, we embrace what unfolds, what is spoken, and said from the inside out, and we are able to discern the differences that make up who and what we are, colorful characters in our own book.
What we collect collects us, and what we are to them they are to us, not objects of unfeeling, but rather feelings made whole and complete in a story worth telling, because the telling is the unfoldment of the stars.
The breath you breathe comes from the space that surrounds you, the ether you cannot see sees you, and knows that you are worth the energy it takes to make you up.
What thread do you have a hold of today, which way is it pointing you towards? Why did you wake up with it in your hand?
Each time we pass through the eye of the needle, we make a new impression upon the fabric, and weave extends its reach to the Red Thread and the Voice of the Mother. We listen and in doing so, we thread ourselves together.
No matter the time or the space, we are able to be present to the place of Home, and we settle into the safety and comfort made real. Now the Nu can set up and extend its invitation into your Heart, as the Heart of Gold resonates its notes of Clarity.
The surrender is now in full location of your heart, and you have come through the meditational flaw. Meditation is not outside of life, it is in itself the awareness of life to the conversation between the mind, the body, soul, and all the regenerative factors embodied in life.
The singular moment given voice, and in conversation with the next time, widened by space itself, as it creates room, room for the folded plan of an origamic living existence folding and changing, bending and receiving, cherishing and loving all concept alike in story.
If you are alive you are in story, you are making it up as you become aware of your own sentience, in a world that seems at times to stand still.
The coming forward of every beat of your Original Pattern, is the inter-dependent relationship of matter in breath, thought, decision folding position after position into your own content.
In your body, you are in touch with your own content, and this gives way to the making up of one’s own story. You qualify yourself as the expert, and every day you begin to learn, and you dissolve into the beginning once again, as you occupy your world each day in a new way.
The folding of an entire life is situated within the bend, and the bend becomes the receiver of the fold before it, and it bends into it, and you bend into your own pattern of intention.
You become the made hungry, you become the fed, you become the nourished, and the nourishment, in your conversation within, is your dialogue.
You potent yourself into a singular potency that is a square root of your underworld, moving its roots through the distance of your life.
You incarnate life, we incarnate life, and life incarnates us. We are sprung from the fold, we are initiated from the crease, we are corrugated from the hunger, and this creates the many-folded lotus that we become.
Inside the direction folded over the territory, inserted into the meaning, positioned for the opening, we become. We become you, we become me, we become we inside the true art of behavior, we become them, and them is the altering past that incarnates as we.
The spirit, from the beginning to the most evident, is palmed in our hand. We are the ever-returning sodium of salt, that marks ourselves with continuance, identity, and connection to our Existial Presence.
The filter of our becoming, always a statement of the depth of our travel. We round the bend, we curve the straight, and we narrow the focus of the eye. I am, I was, and I will be, all in one synthesis of now.
All is appointed, all is tasked, all is registered, all has meaning, depth, and purpose. Shall we take up our script and write it, where we can’t understand it, so we can trust it, and trust it is the only reason for it?
There are many meanings, but there is only one moment of trust, and once established, it continues until it is a continuance.
The void poses, the void rises, the void pretends, but it is never void, it is always full and vast, and known.
The content creates, the content establishes, the content marks, the content places, and the content comes Home.
The ecosystem of the content is the continuum. All is placed in a continuum, to guardian and fence in, the protected layer created as creation.
When one gathers, one curves, and wraps around what feels sentient. There is decision, longing, engagement, initiation, bridging, connection, and reaching, pouring, and finally being. Rather is a first step of longing.
The witness to the full fold in our lives is a Rather, it is always a gentle persuasion within intention, that yields to the felt, without reason.
The full autonomy of every decision made, starts with the reach of Rather, longing to touch what is. Now is a decision of Rather, and it engages all our sensing vitality. It must have taste, smell, touch, feeling, and ambiance that entitles the beginning to begin.
So, to dwell in Rather is an engagement with the frailness of choice, the fragile longing pushed back by fear, the fragile smell of delicious, the soft intelligencia of taste, precision, decision, and compassion.
Compassion for the answers still unsaid, compassion for a language that defers, compassion for an inner most wanting revealed, in the small comfort decision of Rather.
I’d Rather make my life different, I’d Rather feel my life different, I’d Rather become more rotational, I’d Rather learn in a new way, I’d Rather forgive the slowness, in the deliciousness of my timing.
To give into the softness of Rather, is to give into the softness of a new edge, to allow the fold not be so precise, to allow the small rise in a large space.
To Rather is a slow-motion, of an exquisite relationship with time, speaking more from the persuasion of the gut, so that the heart can embody a more fiery love.
We gain Rather than lose, we gather Rather than lose, we combine Rather than separate ourselves from the reach that longs us forward.
Now we are in touch with the Nu story, one that brings itself into view, and what we were reaching for is Rather evident amongst the flowers of our own blooming.
The Roses of the Red Thread are Rather beautiful, and their presence inside the Rabbit Hole is totally under standable. We’ve put our foot in it and there is no turning into other than what we are becoming.
Once the Rabbit hops, the caterpillar becomes the butterfly, and the Cat grins its audacious smile, you are in for such a story, that the answer to your question is served up on a plater of Silver.
The Heart of Gold brings you this story, so that you know once and for All, the truth is in the telling, and the telling is in the story, and the story is where you come In.
Closure:
I’d rather be Me than be all-decisive and precise You, that I have tried to become. I surrender my ruler, my sharp knife, my cutting-edge to a Rather, a larger piece of me that I have tired to bury. Tick tock, the clock is much slower now, to feel fast with ease.
Publishers: Su.Sane & Robert Hake, Clarity
