O-Hosha

She was short, squat & oxen-strong.

Her fierce features now only whispers in a few faces these days.

Her cheeks burnished apples.

Her dark eyes: hawk-like.

She wore tiny gold frame glasses with thick, smudgy lenses.

Her dusty, denim-like work clothes under an even dustier ancient leather apron.

 

Tiny work-boots made of cracks in leather.

 

Fields of corn and soybeans began at the back door of my free USDA apartment.

Sporty planes flew over their growing stalks weekly.

 

That shit they’re spraying is poison!

She appeared suddenly.

You gotta shut yer windows!

If you see planes you stay inside!

That shit is sand in the works you don’t need girl!

 

I hadn’t yet made the connection between my new illnesses & the fields.

I loved the horizon, and sky and watching the planes and the hypnotizing flow of the spray. Jip-C & I spent hours walking the acres of stalks at sunset. Years later I’d mourn Jip-C’s death at 14, too young for such an active and intelligent canine. She suffered many of the same endocrine & lymph afflictions that hold me down today.  No known cures, just endless pills that carried their own toxic effects.

 

Dreamtime: I’d find myself at her workplace.

Sunny, dry beautiful day, always.

An airplane hangar, in the middle of a field.

Chock full of projects.

Various lofts and items built down from the ceiling.

No space was wasted.

Everything from auto and plane garages, sculptures, greenhouses, rows of bottles, several kitchens, music and art studios.

Imposing laboratories.

She putters around in complete control of an immense number of complex projects. She’s gruff.

She yells.

Rarely glimpsed apprentices cower and nod in deference to her.

They are always scurrying.

She has no time for fools. It is one of her mantras.

 

Don’t be another goddamn fool, girl.

 

She speaks in a language I don’t know.

Her messages clear through a different channel.

Checking me over like an old jalopy.

Scolding, puttering.

 

Telling me:

you’ve got to heal!

You have a lot of work to do!

You’re rusted out!

Bad chassis!

 

She gives me recipes.

Just fucking do it and don’t stop, She orders.

Steep chopped ginger root and whole cranberries for several hours.

Drink the remaining liquid sweetened only with honey or maple syrup.

Boil wild rice and wild yams together.

Butter. Pepper! 

Soon I feel a not-unpleasant sensation under the skin on my left shoulder.

A small snake wound in a circle.

Stirring.

Calming the live-wire undercurrent of pain.

Soon it’s twin stirred in the other shoulder blade.

Easing the gashes in my energy field where my wings were hacked off.

Un-healed wounds carried through countless lives.

Pain that blackened my waking life like fire on paper’s edge suddenly lessened.

This analgesic effect didn’t fade as long as I used variations of her recipes.

The clanging furnace in the basement of my consciousness miraculously muted.

I applied concepts of Natural Hygiene and the healing was sustained.

My work expanded.

My comprehension in dreams expanded.

 

Well, duh, you dumb fuck. We are the library of Alexandria after all!

She once barked at me when I expressed doubt about retaining the information.

Refresher course!

You’ve forgotten how to drive that thing!

You already know, ya’ damn monkey mind!

 

In time I learned my chassis was wrecked beyond anything I imagined.

I keep her lessons alive in my life still.

She still makes herself known.

Many other teachers have visited me before and since.

Often they are animals.

Otter is an ancient and gruff interdimensional physicist.

Owl suffers no fools and will leave if you don’t listen closely.

Badger is a sacred clown constantly testing you.

My Golden People love me unconditionally.

They are always gentle, present.

They have saved my life more times than I can count.

More times, no doubt, than I am aware.

 

The good folks radiate warmth, peace, calm & unconditional love.

The bad folks, well, they don’t. They might pretend, but the strain will show.

There is a misconception about spirit beings, brought on by the mass disinformation tools like the bible. Such things train us away from trusting our interdimensional selves.

Dismissing all spirit beings as demonic is brain-washing.

Embracing all spirits is equally shitty advice.

That is more mind control to train us away from our natural function.

The cognitive dissonance of living in a sociopathic/psychopathic society makes it even harder to recognize when something has truly dark energy. But it’s easy to recognize with training. Easy to dismiss.

Evil is weak in the face of light.

Bullies will push and push but those who care have no need for such controlling tactics.

And there is truly caring, deeply loving Spirit all around us.

We’ve been blocked and disconnected from it.

But it lives within us. Always.

This is the nature of creativity and life.

Evil can’t fucking come close.

 

My Golden People are also your Golden People.

 

Equations are only solved with the constant that we are all interconnected.

Banish ego, false facts & longing.

Usher in unbridled intuitive flow.

​Accept imagination is the undercurrent between worlds.

Allow messages, visions, connections.

 

Mysticism is scolded in a world ruled by scams.

 

Mystics and visionaries who glimpse the great universal mechanism of love are dismissed, smeared, murdered.

What a brilliant way to turn people away from their innate power.

 

Yet the human imagination creates paranoia, anger and discord, and these things aren’t questioned in our existence!

We trust so much in these negative imaginings that wars develop over perceived slights.

 

We do not examine why we reject using our imagining/manifestation powers toward positive, loving outcomes.

Our most natural language is one of emotion passed through telepathic waves.

When you know who’s calling and you don’t have caller ID you are tuned into that natural grid.

We are able to communicate using the vibrations of air, water, skin, spirit.

Humans constantly talk with noise.

 

Birds do too, but less annoyingly than humans.

 

Animals, plants, insects and microbial species all understand the vibratory nature of communication.

Animals supplement telepathic communication with bodily expressions.

If you know an animal well, you know what I mean.

If you think this sounds ridiculous, then I guarantee you have been the butt of animals’ jokes.

We are so naive to congratulate ourselves on teaching a dog or cat a word.

They forgive our archaic and limited language.

They live in Love, unless traumatized.

That Love is our birthright as well.

 

They understand it’s impossible to teach most humans the original, natural language of mind and body that we long ago abandoned in favor of sentences, punctuation and endless misunderstanding.

 

Even humans who acknowledge our psychic communication constantly misuse and project the skills.

Humans are addicted to defending their singular perspectives.

Divisionary confusion rule this Gaia illusion.

You cannot assume someone received your telepathic message in any clear, conscious way.

Never assume your initial interpretation of someone’s message to you is so specific.

Ego must be push-broomed to the door as fast as it rises up.

We are so emotionally cluttered, messages dripping with smog-bits.

Neurological gnats across our telepathic choppers.

Chem-trail strands tangled with neurons.

Hearing blown from riding over the engine for hours.

You have to leave a voicemail, email, fax or post-it.

Even then misunderstanding ensues.

 

The use of languages a pastime, a plaything, a toy, a frustration, a hangman’s noose, a necessary evil.

 

Here, on Earth written language is especially cumbersome.

The ancient lyricism pounded to dust by each letter.

Some other lifeform’s languages use characters as well, but each stroke indicates emotion, history, metaphor, poetry.

 

A single character describing latitudes and depth of complicated emotional perspectives and consequences that human words have no descriptions for.

 

The most complex human emotional afflictions can be summed up in two characters or less on many planets.

 

The power of our imagination can create pathways to the health or illness of spirit.

The use of symbols, colors and lines reverberates deep into the fabric of Us.

We are a web of light.

You know when you’re on the path.

Everything comes together.

The universe is conspiring

always

to be reunited within you.

 

 

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