Meeting of Mothers
This is a story that was channelled through me from Mother. I do not take credit for its content, but it is my responsibility to make it available for others. Please take a moment to quiet your mind and breathe. Feel the truth of this vision ring true in your heart and soul. Mahalo. Thank you. I love you.
Dunes of white sand she walks, moon shedding her tentative glow over the sacred homelands of Mother. In silence the circle forms. Smallest is that of the elder mothers. The grandmas of each tribe, carrying the depth if wisdom, love, and grace unknowable by younger generations. Ringed around the grandmas are the children, the grandchildren, those who are not physically mothers but are learning at the knees of their mothers, fathers, and grandparents. Around the children gather the generation in between , the daughters of the grandmothers. They stand at the vital point of protection, the edge, keeping the balance between the sacred magic and the physical world.
The hum begins in the center of the circle, a low moan, gathering breath and momentum as each female adds her voice to the mix. The cacophony rises, spiraling up towards the stars on the cool night breeze. The drone goes on and one, growing and falling in intensity, gaining depth.
A sphere of light is brought to life, illuminating the ages faces, moths open in purest prayer, eyes closed, their sight transcending the world around them. The sweeping of melody of girls voices soar high over the rest, hailing in the spirits of the new generation, welcoming each soul into awakening as it makes the journey from darkness into light.
From the midst of the women a cry is heard. “Save our Mother Earth, dear spirits, for she is ill, attacked and abused by her own children.” The lament repeats in wavering wails, shuddering through each circle.
“Great Creator, Source of love, Father and Mother, Darkness and Light, hear our plea in the time of change. Uplift the low and fallen, grant the awakened the wisdom, knowledge, and ability to heal and release old fears and sorrows from brothers and sisters who are willing to see the light but are in need of guidance.”
Brighter grows the sky and in it appears the visage of wisdom, patience, forgiveness, love. Eyes strong and soft, filled with fierce kindness and merciless compassion. They are bleeding the tears of polluted waters, inky black, rolling down her cheeks in rivers. She opens her mouth and from it pours the blood of her slain children. She speaks and in her voice can be heard the sounds of horses, birds, whales, wolves, bees, wind, water, fire, and the song of her sons and daughters.
“Hear me children, for the time is neigh. Though many are awakening, still more are crushed under the fear. The healing must pick up magnitude the feminine must come back into her power on this land for she carries the dreams, prophecies, and wisdom. She is nurturer, healer, care-taker, giver and taker of breath. She is gentle in times of weakness, joyful and supportive in times of strong will. She is graceful, kind, and loving. Her weapon is compassion and she wields it with adeptness. She must carry those in fear out of the depth, heal their wounds of the soul and banish the shadows. But to fulfill this task she must be whole within herself. Daughters, tend to your sisters. They are suffering the backlash of a male dominated society. Go to them, empty them of the false power they have taken on for it is not of the feminine, but of the male. Once there is only female energy left cleanse it, release the sense of unworthiness and hopelessness that has permeated it. Then fill them with the light of the Creator so that balance is restored within them. Leave no child in darkness that seeks th light. Love all. Teach your sisters to love themselves and to care for their bodily forms. Help each to become a channel to the pure and healing light of the Source. Grow gardens, be strong within your ohanas, take care of your children while they are young and vulnerable that they may come easily to the light with no shadows scarring their souls. I am here always to give guidance and to protect. Seek me in dire need. Follow your hearts. Appreciate, Breathe, Create, Love.
Her last words rumble over the white sands, thundering in an endless monotone, filling the air with passion, purpose, direction. The women now stand in silence once more. Many are weeping. The children have crawled into the arms of their elders, shaken by the power of the Mother.
The circle disperses into the night as swiftly as it was formed, figures wrapped in white cloths fading into the distance. Grandma Moon Aama stands alone in the desert now, eyes closed, face peaceful. He arms lift up and come together over her heart. The wind picked up, carrying in the breath of the Mother. It falls over Moon Aama, a veil of shimmering mist and again she raises her arms to receive the gift. The Night stills once more, Moon Aama becomes one with the sky and the earth and disappears into the stars.
Dunes of white sand she walks, moon shedding her tentative glow over the sacred homelands of Mother. In silence the circle forms. Smallest is that of the elder mothers. The grandmas of each tribe, carrying the depth if wisdom, love, and grace unknowable by younger generations. Ringed around the grandmas are the children, the grandchildren, those who are not physically mothers but are learning at the knees of their mothers, fathers, and grandparents. Around the children gather the generation in between , the daughters of the grandmothers. They stand at the vital point of protection, the edge, keeping the balance between the sacred magic and the physical world.
The hum begins in the center of the circle, a low moan, gathering breath and momentum as each female adds her voice to the mix. The cacophony rises, spiraling up towards the stars on the cool night breeze. The drone goes on and one, growing and falling in intensity, gaining depth.
A sphere of light is brought to life, illuminating the ages faces, moths open in purest prayer, eyes closed, their sight transcending the world around them. The sweeping of melody of girls voices soar high over the rest, hailing in the spirits of the new generation, welcoming each soul into awakening as it makes the journey from darkness into light.
From the midst of the women a cry is heard. “Save our Mother Earth, dear spirits, for she is ill, attacked and abused by her own children.” The lament repeats in wavering wails, shuddering through each circle.
“Great Creator, Source of love, Father and Mother, Darkness and Light, hear our plea in the time of change. Uplift the low and fallen, grant the awakened the wisdom, knowledge, and ability to heal and release old fears and sorrows from brothers and sisters who are willing to see the light but are in need of guidance.”
Brighter grows the sky and in it appears the visage of wisdom, patience, forgiveness, love. Eyes strong and soft, filled with fierce kindness and merciless compassion. They are bleeding the tears of polluted waters, inky black, rolling down her cheeks in rivers. She opens her mouth and from it pours the blood of her slain children. She speaks and in her voice can be heard the sounds of horses, birds, whales, wolves, bees, wind, water, fire, and the song of her sons and daughters.
“Hear me children, for the time is neigh. Though many are awakening, still more are crushed under the fear. The healing must pick up magnitude the feminine must come back into her power on this land for she carries the dreams, prophecies, and wisdom. She is nurturer, healer, care-taker, giver and taker of breath. She is gentle in times of weakness, joyful and supportive in times of strong will. She is graceful, kind, and loving. Her weapon is compassion and she wields it with adeptness. She must carry those in fear out of the depth, heal their wounds of the soul and banish the shadows. But to fulfill this task she must be whole within herself. Daughters, tend to your sisters. They are suffering the backlash of a male dominated society. Go to them, empty them of the false power they have taken on for it is not of the feminine, but of the male. Once there is only female energy left cleanse it, release the sense of unworthiness and hopelessness that has permeated it. Then fill them with the light of the Creator so that balance is restored within them. Leave no child in darkness that seeks th light. Love all. Teach your sisters to love themselves and to care for their bodily forms. Help each to become a channel to the pure and healing light of the Source. Grow gardens, be strong within your ohanas, take care of your children while they are young and vulnerable that they may come easily to the light with no shadows scarring their souls. I am here always to give guidance and to protect. Seek me in dire need. Follow your hearts. Appreciate, Breathe, Create, Love.
Her last words rumble over the white sands, thundering in an endless monotone, filling the air with passion, purpose, direction. The women now stand in silence once more. Many are weeping. The children have crawled into the arms of their elders, shaken by the power of the Mother.
The circle disperses into the night as swiftly as it was formed, figures wrapped in white cloths fading into the distance. Grandma Moon Aama stands alone in the desert now, eyes closed, face peaceful. He arms lift up and come together over her heart. The wind picked up, carrying in the breath of the Mother. It falls over Moon Aama, a veil of shimmering mist and again she raises her arms to receive the gift. The Night stills once more, Moon Aama becomes one with the sky and the earth and disappears into the stars.
The Tunnels of Mind (Written April 21st, 2011)
All the time I ask and wonder, am I going the right way?
On this path I often blunder, hoping for just a single ray of sun to light the way.
In the dark I see the brightness in the images in my mind.
They're memories and wishes of a brighter time.
All this wishing is for naught for here in this diamond heart lies the treasure.
Here is the secret of my sacred start.
So now I say, I pray for patience to wait and see another day.
The night may be long and the shadows dark but I know that I will not fall prey to the apathy that binds the mind and holds eternity at bay.
I will live and see this day, for it is already brightening and now I may go on my way.
This is my story (Written July, 2010)
Once there was a little girl. She was so tiny and sacred, completely one with the whole universe of truths. Polka dotted red skin hiding the shiny pinkness ofher delicate dermis. She was rocked in love, fed in love, breathing it, gurgling it in baby sounds. Those sacred vocalizations that are not understood by the occupied world. One day as the beautiful infant lay basking in bliss of consciousness, a dark cloud came to hover over her head. In it was reflected her holiness and perfection. But there was also something else, something deep and coiling, hiding in the depths of the dark murkiness of the cloud. As she stared up at the phenomenon, she began to see more and more clearly the creature at the center of the surging currents. It twisted and turned, restless and constantly unsatisfied, continually seeking to free itself, only wrapping itself tighter and tighter around itself as it struggled to be free. She watched as it began to morph, becoming hopelessly entangled in itself, straining against its own fabric, pulling thin in some places, bulging and compacted in others. For the first time the holy being of the one felt separate, but she did not know what it was, only knowing that this tortured being was at once her and not her. And this feeling of space between the joy and bliss of eternity jolted this raw and tender soul. She wished to reach out to the tormented being that hovered over her. But as she reached out a delicate tendril of her mind to stroke that being, it lashed out at her, it was pain and hurt, rent with longing. It reached out its tendrils towards her, but instead of gently embracing her soul the tendrils ripped at her being, hooking into it with sharp scathing nails, desperate to possess the love that was this tiny baby female. She wailed out in agony feeling so potently as the fibers of her spirit stretched thin and gave way, letting go of each other. Feeling for the first time a separateness within herself, a doubt that she was. The claws retracted, sensing that there was nothing else of merit to suck from her, realizing for the first time the fear that saturated itself. The infant woman drifted in unknowing, not understanding the absence of love and bliss that now existed in her being. Confusion. Her being’s infusion.
Barren (Written April 20th, 2011)
When the earth is cracked and bare,
The soil fallow and parched,
What is left?...
But the mystery of what lies beneath,
In the rich darkness
Revealed as the crust
Scabs and is brushed away...
The soil fallow and parched,
What is left?...
But the mystery of what lies beneath,
In the rich darkness
Revealed as the crust
Scabs and is brushed away...
Milk It (Written September 5th 2010)
Milk it for what it's worth. That's not much. It's more than your soul will ever long for and less than it will ever need. Milk life for what it's worth while you're dead asleep because that's all your going to have until you wake up once and for all. Milk it for all it's worth. Fill your house with garbage and your body with crap; but enjoy every minute of it, there's no way you cannot. Milk it for what it's worth, all the human dramas of the earth won't fill that hole in your heart. Milk it for what it's worth because it won't last forever. Milk it for all it's worth because it will be over in a single breath and all you'll have left are your broken bones. Milk it for all it's worth. What would you do if you have a million trillion dollars? Milk it for what it's worth: this experience of being in the mind for it won't last long and once it's done you'll never be able to go back there. It's a once in a life time experience that can last for as many life times as necessary; but when it's over it is truly done. No ifs, ands, or buts. So be sure you're done with the human experience before you choose to follow this path because there's no going back.