Time is Up

Tonight will I cough out a diamond that has been sitting in a compression chamber affixed at the back of my throat.

Tonight I will release the tension behind my eyes and near my shoulder that has grown sore as I cultivated such treasure inside of my own space.

This expulsion will not be gentle.  It will not be graceful. It will be messy, it will be hard.

It will be worth it.

 

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The Coronation.

For what felt like life times, she wept. Almost swept away by her own tears.

The crowd finally dispersed, confused.

The coronation was like none they had seen before.

Her tears were not in vain.

They were unsure of their newfound power; intimidated of themselves for the first time.

It was an awkward spectacle at first, until each one found their rhythm.

Tonight her tears were not the sobbing sort of times past.

When They realized She saw Them, they were again pulled into the rhythm and beat of their inherent hearts harmonic nature.

Suddenly all the colors became more vivid- an unexpected additive to such unfolding.

For the first time she felt willing to dance, and in that moment for the first time asked.

Each knowing the strength of their own thread in this divine tapestry.

It was a lovely pattern they chose to weave.

 

 

Crush

crush (v.)

mid-14c., “smash, shatter, break into fragments or small particles; force down and bruise by heavy weight,” also figuratively, “overpower, subdue,” from Old French cruissir (Modern French écraser), variant of croissir “to gnash (teeth), crash, smash, break,” which is perhaps from Frankish *krostjan “to gnash” (cognates: Gothic kriustan, Old Swedish krysta “to gnash”).

Figurative sense of “to humiliate, demoralize” is by c. 1600. Related: Crushedcrushing; crusher. Italian crosciare, Catalan cruxir, Spanish crujirare “to crack” are Germanic loan-words.

crush (n.)

1590s, “act of crushing, a violent collision or rushing together,” from crush (v.). Meaning “thick crowd” is from 1806. Sense of “person one is infatuated with” is first recorded 1884, U.S. slang; to have a crush on (someone) is by 1903.

 

According to etymology the use and context of the word “crush” is relatively new in relation to relationships.  When looking at the greater concept of the word, we see why “a crush” is called “a crush” at time in life when hormones are racing and our experience of ourselves and the world is limited.

We crush ourselves through our mental/ emotional states as we ponder and yearn, only to meet rejection perceived as devastation.

At thirty-eight and still single, I still get infatuation, however my ability to navigate the world and my own emotional reality allow me to avoid crushes.  I am too old for “crushes.” I know better.

This doesn’t stop me from occasionally roaming down Memory Lane as I rekindle those first rudimentary feelings of euphoria.  I think the older I get, the less euphoria I experience.  The thing about a “crush” when you are juvenile, is the newness of feeling in a multidimensional way that is beyond the norm. It messes with the psyche and the heart and the pattern of life before the feeling.  Life simply feels more full of tangible sensation when one is fixated on a beloved.

I guess these days, I get that through my animals, minus the sexual attraction.

In the past, a crush was always someone who caught my eye physically with traits I couldn’t identify.  That would be a starting point for finding the best parts of that person.  Unless they went out of their way to do me wrong, I would realize they “just weren’t that into me” and I would continue to love them from afar without expectation.  That is the best possible ending for a crush in my opinion… I could never imagine it working out; I am sure eventually I would be seen as intolerable.

As I get older, I wonder “Do single men my age even find me attractive superficially?  Will I always be one of those people you have to get a deeper feeling for, to appreciate?  Am I still as intimidating to people as I was proclaimed to be 10-20 years ago?”

I don’t know.  I don’t ask.  I am afraid of the honest answers in that realm, but I am dying to ask; at times I reserve myself out of the comfort of others.  It’s easier to be alone and not think about those things.  It’s easier to walk around naked in front of animals as I change from shower towel to everyday clothes.   I have no reason to think about my sexuality or what my relation to men has to with being naked or living life.  I’ve consciously and incrementally shut off a “valve” of sorts.

Today I caught the eye of one of the butchers at the grocery store.  He is a really nice looking fella.  When our eyes met, I just right-quick fixed my eyes forward as I continued my excursion except I slipped and I looked back, and he looked back at me.  I kind of close mouth smiled.  It was innocuous. It made me feel curious but not curious enough to make a fool of myself or visit the counter to pretend to be interested in items that I didn’t intend to buy in order to do something as cliche as look for a wedding ring on a butcher ( who probably wouldn’t be wearing a ring anyway, if he is at all up on safety protocol.)

At this age it’s easier just to abide by the fact that most people are taken, and I had to learn that the hard way… not the hardest way, but a hard way; Do nothing wrong but flirt with the wrong guy- get labeled a home wrecker.

Back in the day they would say if you were looking for a date- put two nice steaks and a bottle of wine in your grocery cart and wander around until you find someone you want to talk to.  I wonder if that worked for anyone.  Kinda sounds creepy to me.

I’ve attempted to follow up on body language with people who seem to be attracted to me… but it’s been a disaster and just like my attempts at flirting and the exploration of internet dating soooo very long ago, the results are not encouraging- I’ve given up, on following up.

This is a great topic for me to write about ad nauseam  because it’s one of those things I just stuff down into the crawl space of life experiences and I use my age to avoid examining it or going back to the worst parts of being crushed.   I am sure I am not the only one.

The Sacred Flame and The Hearth

Once upon a time our hearts were actually inside of ourselves.  Now you may say, “Our hearts ARE inside of ourselves.”  And you would be only partially correct.

We do have our internal, biological hearts and we must- in order to live this physical, biological life.  However, our heart, isn’t just some blood pumping organ and it wouldn’t be immortalized so poetically if that was it’s only purpose.

The heart is the cross roads of the body and the spirit that lives within the body, pumping life force miles a day through the blood.

“The Sacred Heart”

“Bless Your Heart”

“Home is Where the Heart is.”

“Heartfelt”

“Hearth”

There is an undeniable feeling when something “hits you in the heart”  or perhaps you feel “heart sick”.

Over time these emotional connotations calcify into biological dis-ease/discomfort/ illness.  The ability to transform becomes the chaotic output we experience as dissonance.  Healing is eliminated to the unseen end of a broad spectrum.  Life becomes cold, the hearth is empty or piled with coal.

You can say you “love” all day.  But where is your spark?  Do you even acknowledge your Hearth? Do you know your Sacred Flame?

The Hearth is the the middle ground cross road.  The Sacred Heart/ Flame is the inner eye, yet another cross roads of perceptions- leading further north the the crown which acts as a beacon to the Ever After and All That Is.

“To be woke” doesn’t mean to be falling head over heals in MDMA love over everything.  Nor does it mean to be knee deep in historical controversy without any attachment to Source/Spirit.

You become a different sort of conduit of perception when you are woke, because your heart helps process the mind with assistance through Spirit.  The entire biological and spiritual mental systems attach to the greater All as it aggregates information that seeks to know Truth.

That is it.

Truth has proven that it has been divided.  Truth has shown how that division has expressed itself on the micro and Macro.  We represent all of it from top to bottom, free will is each of us choosing a direction; simply put acknowledge the hearts and cross roads and act on the high road, or not.  Maybe there will be another time for you to re-evaluate in the future?

What is the cross road?  Left. Right.  Forward.

What determines outcome?  Intention.  Perspective. Adaptability.

There is no “One” cross road.  We encounter them daily to some degree.

Choose wisely.  Listen to your Hearts.

 

 

 

Tartaria

The walls were fortress’.  The arches were acoustic accouterments that swirled cells, existing as portals from one world to another.  Each room an infinite expanse of healing in balance of light and shadow.

The colorful windows served to display the various vibrations that emanate from colored light.  The steeples reached toward Heaven, and the exchange of energy between those points, transformed the ever existent Source illumination.

Source Illumination isn’t just a “light”. Or an “idea” – It is the electricity that powered our world and animated our Spirit.

They knew the priceless nature of Infinite Energy.

Where once we built physical structure to connect, the wiping of our history requires we reflect and remember, only to realize that we are being refined as those points of light. Those Cosmic Connections.  Star Children. Descendants of Tartaria.

The choice now- is to augment inorganically, or to organically augment.  They are not the same.  We’ve had the tools all along.  Thankfully there are those that still remember.

#Tartaria #StarCities #OrganicTechnology #Spirit

My Best Friend’s Journey: Maggie

I don’t remember the exact year that Maggie came into my life.  She was a childhood dog.  I think I must have been nine or ten; My first childhood dog Pepper, was reaching up there in age and I suppose my parents thought it was a good idea to bring in another dog so the death transition wasn’t too traumatic for young children who had their mother die.

There is no way I would ever be thinking about this if it wasn’t for the here and now, and the timeless nature of things.

Okay, so, Maggie was a Brittany Spaniel my folks picked up from the local shelter.  She was young and energetic… she really liked to jump up on people, which is an “unwanted behavior”.  I was at an age where I had to perform chores for an allowance, and one of those chores was picking up dog shit.  I would try and have fun with Maggie as I cleaned up the dog yard.  One of the things I would do is try and get her to not jump up on me, that is like dog 101.

Maggie didn’t have a super long life.  She died in my New Kids On the Block blanket, it was my prized possession about the time she came into our life.   It seemed right she passed on in it.

I didn’t realize that I have been working with her too.  I never thought of her as “my dog.”  I wasn’t allowed to even if I wanted to.  She was a “family dog.”  Probably so that my brother and I didn’t argue about such nuance.   I’ve literally been picking up animal poop in some capacity for the last 28 years.  You only do that stuff for true love, and in return, a true Love will try and make that as easy on you as possible if they are aware of how you struggle with it.

Maggie knew that I thought picking up crap was horrible,  but I think she also sensed my magic and imagination tied to the desire to try and make a miserable task bearable. True durability of connection.

When I was a kid, I wanted an animal of my own SO BAD!  I wanted something that was my own that I loved deeply.  When I finally was able to do that- the situation was so weird.

I rescued a meat rabbit from the neighbors.  They had hired me to feed their animals while they were out of town and I fell for one of their rabbits. So my dad built a hutch and I was able to have this Hunny Bunny.  She was reddish and had a black accent and this little bald mole spot above and to the side of her right eye.  It was that spot that made me want her.

Our relationship didn’t work out. She definitely needed more attention, and she had to sleep outside in the hutch all of the time.  It isn’t the way I would treat a bunny.  But my parents were more about having domestic “outside” animals and rules for things like that.  I wanted to cuddle with furballs.

I remember telling my dad that the rabbit was getting vicious and we needed to send it back to nature so we let her go down by a pond near our house… where I didn’t think she would last very long.  And that is what we did… we gave her back to nature.

I now see Hunny in Quantum Dream Cat. So this story isn’t going to stop.  If animals are here to assist us in being elevated humans, I am full on board.  I am listening.

I don’t remember how I felt with Maggie passing on the couch, in my blanket.   Once she started seizing, my parents made us leave.

I’ve been well acquainted with death while also dealing with it many times over my lifetime from an early age.

Claddagh was my first real experience with it all suddenly and first hand with extreme emotional attachment.   Everything else has been leading up to facing that moment and knowing that “The End” is never REALLY “The END.”

Again I will say, I am so full of love right now.  This is quite the experience.  It is certainly meant to be shared and understood for the vastness that it is.  This Truth swept beneath rugs meant to accumulate sorrows.  It is hard to talk about because it is hard to conceptualize that the whole thing is one beautiful conversation with All That Is.

These gifts, despite tragic ends, are proof of that which is hard to speak.

 

 

My Best Friend’s Journey: The Unfolding

It is Tuesday night.  Journey has had two full days with me.

Here, I am going to compile a list of similarities that I have seen in her that I knew to be distinctive Claddagh traits and other interesting synchronizations that I have observed. It is like Claddagh 2.0… maybe this is what happens when you get animals near Roswell…

  1.  The first time I ever took Claddagh in the car, we mutually wanted to hold hands.  On drives, we would often “hold hands.”  – Journey did the same thing on her first car ride with me.
  2. The “give me a hug” prompt- paws on my lap, “full hug” paws on shoulders.
  3. Same gentle nature about taking treats, and transporting her “baby doll” (new stuffy.)
  4. Played Bastille “Pompeii” and sang full volume with her and the cats and they acted like this was old news.  Which it is… or was like back in June or July I was on a kick.
  5. Her type of breed is Mountain Cur.  A type of hound used to tree small animals and hunt small game. They were prized during the times of the American Settlers and are considered the original Pioneer dog.  Pioneers would bring puppies by caravan, at times carrying them to the next destination.  This is Journey’s litter-al story. And there is a sacrificial squirrel here, meant to taunt and teach her- that is a whole story in itself.
  6. My uncle is fearful of pits, but an absolute lover of hounds.
  7. Everything that I transmitted about this living situation to this dog, though my heart is playing out like it’s already been lived.
  8. When I look at her I am 100% comforted and satisfied like being with an old friend and she treats me the same way.  My bed (or ours?) is her favorite spot in the house, besides being by my side.
  9. I know when her tail is in the proper position she is “integrated.”  Tonight, she was sitting like a normal dog, tail out, and not tucked under herself.  She is whipping it around like a very happy entity.
  10. The first night Journey was here, she peed and pooped in the garage.  She peed on the box of all the stuff I removed from the Malibu before taking it to salvage.  The car I had as long as I had Claddagh.
  11. She fell in love with my dad right away.
  12. She enjoyed having a conversation with my Uncle today, in the sunshine, in the same spot Claddagh would hang out with him almost every day.
  13. Claddagh had the cutest little underbite, Journey has the most perfect teeth I have ever seen on a dog.  Almost like she had braces.
  14. Both of them have the same intersection of “third eye kiss zone”.  Claddagh’s was her black dot.  Journey’s is her brindle radiation.
  15. Claddagh knew what it was like to be spayed before ever getting pregnant, like Capricious.  Journey knows what it is like to lose her litter and be spayed like Quantum.  (Like I am saying, it’s Claddagh 2.0)
  16. It took years for Claddagh to learn to be patient for the door to open, and even when she got it, at times she would be pushy.  Journey steps aside and prefers to be invited in.  (There is no reason this dog should have been on death row, right?  Maybe that is the first place you should look for your soul animal. )
  17. Claddagh going to the animal shelter about a month before passing and acting like a complete confident dog when I picked her up.  Like “I mastered this. I can do it again.”  And me making mental note of that at the time.
  18. All the things you should absolutely not do when meeting a dog for the first time when you know nothing about them- I did confidently.  I can dress this dog up and she acts like the same limp noodle I use to know.  I can get in her face and I know she won’t bite it off.  I can touch her paws and look into her mouth.  The eyes really are the window to the Soul.

I mean, you can take it or leave it… but why would you want to, if you know that your reality is bigger and better and more amazing than you are taught to believe?  Why?

I constantly talk about my dedication to Creation, all of this is confirmation of my faith and trust in the extraordinary.  Extra Ordinary.  There is still more to be explored.

I suffer the affliction of the heart.  At times how to express it.  This contract with this animal soul allows me to channel it and stay grounded.  She isn’t just a “pet”.

‘Claddagh’ is the Irish wedding band. Hands holding a heart with a crown.  You can show if you are taken or not by its position.  It stands for “Love, Loyalty, and Friendship” the circular band is Infinity.   When I finally knew what Claddagh’s name was, I was committed 100% for FOREVER past the Apocalypse.  I know it sounds crazy… but look at the times we are living in.

My soul has work to do and I can’t do it without that companionship.

For more info watch the link: Animals and the Afterlife with Jennie Taylor Martin