It’s a grid but not a grid.
It is even in form and pulse and flow.
It is light but also color and sound.
There is a place between dreaming
where conscious worlds intersect
and it is clearly connecting it all
like overlays but not overlays
light that is not light but it is everything
and then nothing at all
It is much like seeing the band of the Milky Way
but, yeah, then, it’s not really like that at all…
Words don’t work past a certain point, my love.
I need to touch you and let the picture bloom.
I need to meet you where we last were real together
far before the trainstop
(IT’S NOT A TRAINSTOP!)
when we become back into
That is where I’ve been seeing it move and stretch
and sizzle and break and thicken and howl
something is wrong with our grid that isn’t a grid
How long has it been going on? How could I’ve not noticed before?
I’ve been overwhelmed by messages from tortured peoples around the world for my entire life.
If you suffer from depression or anxiety then you’re just fucking TUNED IN.
YOU ARE CORRECT TO FEEL THAT DESPAIR.
It’s crazy to not feel disrupted at this point.
Something happened in 2009 that changed everything.
It became a black hole in our un-consciousness.
I assumed it was some massive detonation.
But the ripples move through the dimensions.
It isn’t nuclear, it isn’t matter. It isn’t of this illusion’s dirt.
It produced a reaction of grief.
I thought perhaps it was just me.
But the distortions in the way the light moved around the world.
It wasn’t quite the same anymore.
I can’t explain it any clearer than that.
The visions became more urgent than before.
Scattered moments, images. All connected to a history of feelings and events.
I am drawn into the viewpoint of many different kinds of people.
There is no life that holds a lesser consciousness than ours.
Brain & body size & shape have no fucking impact on intelligence, wisdom or spiritual understanding.
The peoples of the nearest oceans bombarded with sound and throbbing. Disoriented and agitated, people were dying everywhere.
The slow, sickening rot in the Pacific bloomed from Japan.
As it has been doing for decades. Only now, a lot more.
But there are so many spots where that poison blooms and there’s no public knowledge.
It was already a constant by the time I became aware of what I was sensing.
Like so many things, I didn’t get that it was something incredibly poisonous.
Everything is irradiated.
Giant pools exist throughout the world.
Sometimes right in the middle of cities.
Or littered throughout the Midwest.
It clusters around coastlines where military farts and blusters.
Just one of the odd pressures that impact upon us.
Everything that disrupts the Earth disrupts us.
We were born into an already distorted field.
We thought it was normal.
All this horrific shit we just nod and go, yeah?
That is brainwashing and mind control turned completely against ourselves.
“Yeah? So what.”
Violence, murder, rape, it’s all just fine and often our mass entertainment.
Brutalization is normalized here so you never get to really know Love.
It’s a word trampled so badly that the hugeness of what it represents will never be fulfilled in this illusion.
But you don’t need the word.
Because you can feel it, just beyond
It’s why you’re here, it’s the key to it all.
Not buying a giant fucking heart filled with sickly sweets
Actually regarding yourself with unflinching, unconditional LOVE.
That’s the right being denied the majority of humans on this planet.
Denied so much it sounds ridiculous to some poor souls.
Because they gave up on Love a long time ago.
Lately it’s been several children in the mountains between Russia & China.
They’re high up, but there’s lots of trees, caves, rivers, wildlife.
They build tidy little homes. Log frames. Brush and mud walls.
They understand how best to live with the mountains.
They could weave. Self sufficient. Clean.
Hunters, gatherers & the ultimate permaculture farmers.
An indigenous group.
But a tribe that came back to their land.
Maybe some left and came back to those who never left?
Very isolated. Persecuted for generations.
Perhaps that’s why they know of many surrounding lands.
They know the far-off boundaries generations warn against.
They have beautiful round faces warm and red like berries.
They laugh and play and make everything a game.
There are many parts of the Tribe family, spread over many miles.
A few thousand people. Very peaceful.
Large group gatherings followed the seasons.
Music & dancing. Hunting and sport competitions.
Was this some idealistic delusion?
I asked those who could bear watching MSM if there was any word of some Russian or Chinese genocide?
“Like, a new, one, or…?”
Never mind, I say.
Like so many things, no confirmations.
It is from these children’s viewpoints I understand the situation.
It is an ongoing battle with the younger ones who want to return home for the parents.
The older ones know that’s lost.
They have three camps they can reach from this underground hunting blind.
But the murderers are near.
An image shows me the guns are modern enough.
They seem to go off but then another comes from an unexpected direction.
It’s been days and the children are weary.
Terrified and calling into the ether.
What good am I to them?
I weep with their hearts.
It’s a wave I cannot resist.
I am in the ocean and the clearest hearts ring the loudest.
The ones that believe there is a higher power listening.
They would be so disappointed to see this fucking wrong number.
My therapist Alison suggests it may be a reverberation in time.
I can’t see this at first. It does not carry any sense of age.
It feels immediate, primal.
Like the reaction to the sledgehammers pounding ceaselessly through the sensitive cavities of all the ocean peoples.
But she might be right.
The way the gridnotgrid is malformed. Misfiring. Short circuiting.
What if it isn’t ‘right now’?
What if it’s just random information being released.
I’m so fucking tired and confused.
I think those kids are dead.
Alison reminds me it’s not my job to fix it.
That a panicked response is the last thing someone in distress needs.
I’m so busy receiving a constant glut I forget I’m broadcasting.
What they need to know is they’re not alone.
They need to know not everything is monsters.
They need my unconditional support.
No matter where their souls are, their energy is asking for acknowledgment.
Overcoming the crushing grief in order to radiate Care is an ongoing challenge I often fail.
To Love unconditionally in a temple whose load-bearing walls are compacted shame and fear.
Compressing my garbage into diamonds.
I prepare with fasting and highly filtered water.
Every step, movement and interaction a chant of the symbols:
‘I Love You.’
Positive Incantations only work when it is felt deep in the heart.
All symbols carry energy though dimensions.
So be very fucking careful about what chanting and hymns you choose to repeat.
There is other magic not powered by the heart.
We are all tricked into it one way or the other.
The light is different with that.
I once thought that was a kind of home, because it was the quality of light around my blood family.
It’s taken this long to recognize and resist that tug toward dysfunction.
That light is no place for Growth.
That light is thickets and thorns.
I use the sounds of crickets, peepers, OM, and an Amazonian Rainforest brook.
I burn sweetgrass and sage.
I sing dance and paint.
I bathe in basil.
This was once all done in water.
I cannot filter my tub water.
It is a toxic stew.
But Mother Water must be a part of this.
I re-create the caves and temples as best I can between the Sheetrock and laser waves of WiFi.
Meditation. Stretching. Quiet.
Willfully cooling the inflammation that simmers my atoms.
Rising above the drone of a tattered spinal cord.
I defend against negative thinking.
It blooms and blooms.
Breaking the big rocks leaves many pebbles.
These glacial periods of self-loving are excruciating.
This is what our modern distractions keep us from expending consciousness energy on.
Made all the more impossible by the fabric of us being ripped apart.
It fucking hurts and I’m barely started.